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After leveling him with a deadly glare, McBride said, “First door on the left. Take his shit. I don’t care.”
Jackson and Hugo followed Michael down the short hallway to the bedroom. It was very plain, almost impersonal, and the side table had a layer of dust on it that made Michael silently question how often Josiah actually used this room—and what exactly was his relationship with McBride?
Didn’t matter in this moment. Hugo found a suitcase in the closet and began throwing clothes into it. Under the bed, Michael unearthed some faded packing boxes and set those up for whatever else they found in the room that seemed personal. Clothes, books, a few things from the night table’s drawer. A box of mementos Michael didn’t look through too closely.
The lack of anything in the bathroom across the hall told Michael everything he needed to know about this “roommate” situation. He stalked one door down and into the master bedroom. He glared around its shabby decor and outdated furnishings a beat before going into the attached bathroom. Two toothbrushes. Two hairbrushes. Different kinds of shampoo and soap in the tub.
Roommates my gay ass.
Michael didn’t know the details of whatever arrangement Josiah had with McBride, and right now he didn’t care. He knew the broad strokes and it pissed him off to think McBride could just punt someone as kind and caring as Josiah to the curb with no warning and without his own personal belongings. Furious now, he got a box and threw every damned thing he could find in that bathroom into it: toothpaste, towels, a crossword puzzle book, room spray, razors, whatever.
In that moment, all he saw was the tiniest bit of retribution for someone he considered a friend. All he saw was Rosco and everything else Kenny had taken from him. Maybe a half-used bottle of shampoo wouldn’t fix anything wrong in Michael’s life, but taking it for Josiah felt good. It felt fair.
And because Michael was feeling exceptionally petty tonight, he took the batteries out of the remote for the bedroom’s wall-mounted flat-screen television. The remote for the streaming system, too. He couldn’t begin to guess which clothes in this bedroom might belong to Josiah, other than the stack of scrubs he found in one drawer, so he took all the underwear he saw and a handful of socks. Whatever. If Michael got arrested tomorrow for theft, he’d deal with it.
Tonight, he was trying to help a friend because he hadn’t been able to help himself.
By the time he returned to the living room with his box, Hugo and Jackson were there with a suitcase and two other boxes. McBride leaned against a far wall, still sipping at his beer, while Wayne and Brand stood at flanking positions, Brutus still close by Brand’s hip.
“Anything in here or the kitchen that’s Josiah’s?” Michael asked. “I don’t wanna have to come back a second time.”
“Slow cooker on the counter, but it’s a piece of shit,” McBride replied. “Just like Jo-jo. Take it. Then get the fuck out of my house.”
“Before you do what? Call yourself to have me arrested?”
“Don’t tempt me. Only reason I’m holding back is because I don’t wanna spend my day off tomorrow cleaning out his shit. I got better things to do.”
Michael glanced at Jackson, who stalked right past McBride without a care in the world. He returned from the kitchen a moment later with a slow cooker in his hands, which he held with two kitchen towels. The thing still had food in it.
“You find anything that’s important to Josiah,” Michael said in the growliest tone he could manage, “you call me and I’ll come get it. Clear? Sheriff?”
McBride blinked at him. “Get out. You want that piece of trash, you can have him.”
Brand stepped in front of Michael before he could charge McBride. “We’ll be leaving in just a few minutes,” Brand said.
Michael pulled on all his restraint and remained behind Brand while Jackson, Wayne, and Hugo took the suitcase and boxes out to their pickup. McBride kept a steady, challenging gaze on him, and Michael returned it, unwilling to back down. Not when the true nature of McBride’s relationship with Josiah—and his betrayal—were becoming clearer and clearer.
And he had a feeling the only reason McBride wasn’t putting up a bigger fight was because of Brutus and his firm attention on their enemy.
Once everything was loaded up, Wayne let out a sharp whistle. Brutus padded outside, followed by Brand. Michael held McBride’s stare as long as he dared, part of him wanting to goad the man into a fight. But this wasn’t about him. This entire exercise was about getting Josiah’s stuff back, and they’d done that. Most if not all. Time to make their retreat and regroup for any future battles.
Michael left the house last, hoping he made a goddamn point by doing so. He was silently furious with McBride over his treatment of Josiah, while also insanely grateful to the four men who’d come with him tonight to rescue Josiah’s belongings.
They got back to Dad’s house a little after ten. The trailer was dark and silent, so their quintet quietly put the boxes and suitcase outside. After shaking everyone’s hand and thanking them for their help tonight—Michael even ruffled Brutus’s ears—he went inside the house. Dad was asleep, snoring quietly in his bed. So peaceful.
Michael found a piece of paper in the kitchen’s junk drawer. It was too late to wake Josiah and explain what had happened tonight, so Michael wrote a succinct note. The simplest thing he could come up with, while also reminding Josiah he was still welcome in their home for breakfast.
Got your stuff. See you at 9.—M
He taped it to the top box, then stood outside the trailer for a long time, staring at the door, wanting to knock but not willing to disturb Josiah if he was asleep. And he must be if he hadn’t responded to the noise of Wayne’s truck coming and going, the boxes being left behind, et cetera. Or the poor guy had no idea what all the activity was about and was hiding in the rear of the trailer.
The latter made Michael’s heart hurt, because he didn’t need details to know Josiah’s life with McBride had been...dramatic. Probably traumatic. And that pissed him off.
But Josiah’s life wasn’t Michael’s to fix, so he went upstairs to his own bedroom and didn’t sleep up there either. Not for a long time. As soon as he finally dozed off, his phone alarm buzzed at eight, and he dragged his exhausted ass out of bed and into the shower. Fatigue sloughed off and he dried, dressed, and then looked out his bedroom window. It oversaw the trailer.
The boxes and suitcase were gone.
Confident it was because Josiah was awake and not because McBride had driven over to reclaim the stuff, Michael went downstairs. Dad was already awake and watching TV with the volume low, and Michael realized he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night so Dad could sleep longer. Dad just tossed him a wave, though, on Michael’s way into the kitchen. He hadn’t really thought breakfast through when he invited Josiah, but he had stuff for French toast, so after getting Dad a glass of juice Michael started making a good cinnamon custard for the bread.
