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I swallow as I reach the last room on the hall’s right side. It’s the room my dad’s commissioned biology paintings hang in now. I grit my teeth and turn the doorknob as another loud shout hits me like a physical blow.
I swing the door open, and my eyes snap onto an armchair where some guy is curled up in a tight ball, screaming like he’s running from a monster. One step, two, toward him, and I can tell he’s young. He’s got on grungy clothes, and I guess because of that, he’s sleeping on a sheet—so he’s not an intruder. I don’t think.
He screams again, and I grab him by both of his shoulders. The guy fights me. Wow, he’s strong—and so young. I realize that as his eyes open and I see the tears all over his face, streaming down his cheeks even as he blinks at me in panic.
“Fuck! Sky?”
V bursts through the door. I notice that he’s empty-handed. Also wide-eyed, his face stretched in alarm as he looks from me to the guy and then back to me. I’m surprised when his eyes meet the young dude’s.
“You okay?”
He looks from the guy to me, but then back to the guy—who’s clearly not a stranger.
A spear of heat shoves through me: jealousy, I realize as I let the guy go. He shifts so that he’s sitting cross-legged, covering his face with his hands, which look dirty under the nails.
The guy’s shoulders give a small jerk, like a strained shrug. His back and his chest are heaving.
Vance looks at me, telling me with his eyes that it’s okay. Then he moves past me and puts a hand on the guy’s back.
“You’re okay,” he says—in what I can only call some kind of dad voice. He gives the guy a pat or two on the back, and he looks up at me.
“Hey Sky…can you be sure Little Missy isn’t awake?”
Wow…so this is discreet Vanny, asking me to leave the room without questions. He waggles his brows, which I take as: I’m sorry—love me anyway, please. And I do. I tell him that with a small, probably puzzled-looking smile, and I say, “Sure. I’ll check her.”
I step in the dark hall, listening, and when I don’t hear the baby, I stay put outside the guest room door. Babies scream the house down if they’re upset, so I trust she’s still sleeping. Maybe V knew that and just wanted to give the guy some privacy.
“Hey, dude. What’s up? Or down?” Rayne’s tone is kind and reassuring, but I catch a note of awkward.
“Nothing,” the guy says. His voice is hoarse and quiet.
There’s a brief pause. “You remember last night?”
My legs go so weak and cold, I have to brace my palm against the door frame.
“Yeah.”
What the hell is this?
“Looks like you had some of the chocolate chip cookies,” Rayne says. “That’s good. Water too?”
“Are you my nurse?” the guy asks. He sounds derisive…or maybe like he’s joking. I can’t tell since I don’t know him. I make a mental note that he also sounds Southern.
Vance says, “Nah, man. Just checking in. You have a nightmare? Or you just upset?”
The guy lets out a loud breath. “Nightmare. I’m not upset.” Now he sounds defensive.
“Okay. I guess you met Luke.”
“Not really.”
“He’ll probably be back in just a second.”
“I don’t care if he is,” the kid says, and I can breathe again because…yeah—nothing weird is going on here. Of course it’s not.
“Yeah?” I smile at how puzzled Rayne sounds. Even in a situation like this, he’s the cutest, sweetest human this world has to offer. “You wanna tell me anything about how you wound up in the hall last night?” Rayne asks. “What sorta things brought you to our house? I don’t know if you noticed, it’s kinda hard to get in.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
There’s another silence. I can imagine the guy looking down at his lap so he doesn’t have to look into Rayne’s painfully kind eyes. I know something about that.
“You come to talk to Pastor Luke?” Vance asks.
Maybe the young guy shakes his head; all I know is he doesn’t answer with words.
Then I hear another soft sigh. “Sorry to trouble both of you. I’m ready to get going now.”
“Now, wait. I’ve got more than one objection to that. First” —Rayne sounds like a professor— “your threads need a good wash. And you might want to take a shower. Second, I’m a dad now, kid. I’m feeling more like a dad than I ever would have thought I could. And you’re not a kid, but to me you sort of are. Don’t come at me with the arguments about nineteen or being working-aged…or college-aged. Whatever. You can’t buy liquor, so that makes you a kid in my book. We here at Casa de McDowell are about helping kids. Or young adults, or whatever. Especially gay ones. I don’t know if you’re gay, and it’s not really my business, but if you are gay…” I can almost see V’s face, the eyebrows lifted, his eyes wide with good humor. “This here is the fucking jackpot.”
