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“Beck.”Dallaspulls his hand away. “You’rescaring the shit out of me.”
Ireach across and take his face in my hands, brushing my thumbs along his cheeks until he calms down and meets my gaze.Everythingfeels completely breathless for a moment. “Ifound your mom.”
Hegoes absolutely still, his wide eyes blank.Idon’t think he’s even breathing.Whenhe opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, a weird sound comes out instead–a mix between a word, a sob, a whimper, and a visceral noise.Cuttinghimself off, he presses his fist to his mouth and shakes his head slowly. “Youdidn’t,” he croaks. “Youcouldn’t.”
“Shelives inSantaMonica.WhenIcontacted her, she offered to buy us all plane tickets.Ithink she wants to meet you face to face instead of calling.MaybeIshould have told you, butIdidn’t want to get your hopes up.AndIwas worried you wouldn't come.”
“Becauseshe doesn’t want to see me,” he protests, pulling back. “Sheleft me.”
“It’snot true, baby.Herboyfriend made her leave and cut her off from everyone.Bythe time he died a few months ago and she started searching, she had no way to find you.”
Leaningback against the door, he takes a deep, shaky breath and stares at his hands in his lap like he’s never seen them before.Thesilence feels eerie, butIbite my lip, forcing myself to be chill for once and give him space. “Youtalked to her?Tomy actual mom?” he whispers finally.
“Idid.”
“Didshe sound okay?Isshe healthy?Isshe dating anyone?Doesshe have a job?Did–”
Hewould have kept going all day, butIhold up my finger to stop him. “Dal, you can ask her yourself in like seven hours.”
Myboy never cries half-assed.It’ssomething to do with the hormones, how they stifle his emotions until they’re big enough to explode.I’mnot surprised when he breaks down;Ijust pull him onto my lap and let him cry against my shoulder for five minutes.It’sa rough one, tearing his body apart with violent, wrenching sobs, but allIcan do is hold him and hum one of my mom’s old lullabies into his hair while he rides it out.
Whenhe sits up and wipes his face, he still looks bewildered. “Howdid you find her?Idon’t understand.”
“I’vebeen asking around for a year and a half, trying to find someone that knew her boyfriend.Ifigured a guy like him might have ties to drugs.Acouple months ago, when he turned up dead, one of my contacts heard about it.Mybuddies helped me work backwards to finding your mom and getting her number.”
“Youhad contacts?Thatsounds expensive.”
Ofcourse he’s focused on the budget.Smilingand shaking my head,Ireach over and fix the strands of hair sticking to his tear-stained cheeks. “I’vedone a lot of favors, andScoutandRomepicked up some extra jobs when they could.”
“Theyhelped you?”Fora secondIthink he’s going to break down again, but he rallies and wipes his eyes roughly. “Shit,Beck.Idon’t even know what’s happening right now.”
“Everything’sgonna be okay, pretty boy.”Islide my hand into his pocket and pull out the clean tissue he always carries. “Cleanyourself up so the airport employees don’t think we’re kidnapping you.”
Thatpulls a garbled, weak laugh out of him as he tries to scrub the pent-up emotions of two years off his face.Assoon as we get out of the car, he spotsScoutandRomanloitering by the elevators and takes off running.Igrab the duffel bag withDal’sand my clothes in it and lock up.Ienjoyed packing both our stuff into one bag, a reminder that he belongs to me now.It’sa moment of euphoriaIcan hold onto later when he discovers everythingIforgot to bring and what a shitty jobIdid trying to pick outfits for him.
Dallasbounds up toRomanand tackle-hugs the huge man.Scoutgrins at me as the two of them squeeze each other tight, then yelps whenDalgrabs him and drags him into a three-way hug. “Thankyou,”IhearDallassaying, his voice muffled. “Thankyou, thank you.”
Everythingcomes together whenIstep up behindDaland wrap my arms around all three of them.Romangrips a fistful of my t-shirt, andScout’shair tickles my chin.Ican smell all of them at once, and feel our body heat mixing together in the cold parking garage.I’mmore scared of this huge building and the world beyondFortHoldenthanI’vebeen in a long time.Noneof us will know where to go or what to do, but we’ll make it.
Dallaslaces his shaky fingers tight through mine, andScouthooks an arm around my shoulders. “Ready?” he murmurs.
“No,”Dallassays instantly, whileRomanshakes his head.Scoutrolls his eyes and blows a fart sound out through his lips.
“Let’sgo fuck this place up, losers.”
DALLAS
IsqueezeMom’shand in my sweaty fingers, so tight it probably hurts. “Pleasetalk to him for me.Ican’t,Mommy.Please.”
Iknow better than to begAnjaliSantrafor anything once she’s made up her mind, butI’mso scaredItry anyway.Sureenough, she gently pries my hand off hers. “Yesyou can,Dallas.Goget your photo taken.”
Itthrows me off every time she says that name, like a hit of vertigo.Ionly chose it five months ago.Butit’s the good kind of dizzy, instead of the sickening, crushing feeling whenIsee my old name.
Takinga step forward,Ipeer into the classroom where a photographer stands in front of a backdrop and lights, snappingIDpictures for all the incoming freshmen at my new high school. “He’sgonna know.Assoon asItalk, he’ll be able to tell.Theneveryone will know.”
“Lookat me.”I’vealready outgrown my mother, so she has to reach up to take my chin in her fingers.SheandIlook so much alike–long black hair, dark eyes with thick lashes, and narrow, pointy noses.Wenever talk about my dad–to her, he never existed–but it doesn’t matter becauseIdon’t seem to have an ounce of his genetics except for the fact that her skin is a shade darker than mine. “Ifthe photographer thinks you are anything besides my handsome, perfect son, he’s wrong.We’llhave to go out for pizza after and laugh until our sides hurt at how wrong he was to mistake you for something you’re not.Alright?”
Istraighten up and try to swallow past my dry throat. “Yesma’am.”Ican feel her eyes on my back like a warm touch asItip my chin up and walk into the classroom.I’mwrapped in a hot, itchy binder under the brand new navy polo and slacks we picked out yesterday.Noneof the clothes fit quite the way they’re supposed to on the bodies they were made for, andIfeel like everyone can tell.EversinceIstarted to transition, it seems like the entire world is looking at me with x-ray vision.Iwonder if that ever stops.
