Chapter Eight
Will never should have answered his phone that morning. He should have let the call go to voice mail, so he could delete the message without listening to it, and then he’d be none the wiser.
Except he’d gone back upstairs and answered the damned call, and as he walked the seven blocks to Taz’s apartment building, his comforting sweatshirt already soaked through, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation.
“What do you want?” Will had said, not even bothering with a proper hello. He hated his mother’s lawyer simply for the fact that he’d represented her in court. He’d fought for her and he wasn’t a public defender, but Will had no idea who’d hired him. His mother obviously didn’t have the money.
“Good morning, William,” Banks had said. “Are you all right? You sound stressed.”
He’d have laughed out loud if Banks hadn’t actually sounded concerned. “I’m talking to you, of course I’m stressed. What do you want?”
“Marjorie called me a few minutes ago and informed me that Detective Morrell interviewed her last night about another alleged dealer she may or may not have done business with in the past.”
Will grunted. He hated lawyer doublespeak and words like alleged. “So? What did she tell them?”
“Now, you know I can’t violate my client’s confidentiality, but I was hoping you could tell me about the incident?”
Anger bubbled up inside him, and he resisted the very real urge to toss his phone against the wall. “And which incident would that be? The time this Christopher guy fed me heroin before raping me? Or the time I spotted him in a bar and nearly shit myself?”
“William, I understand this entire experience has been traumatic—”
“You fucking think so?” Will practically shouted the words, not caring that he was probably disturbing the other house residents. “Fuck you. I’m not telling you anything. I’m not a complete moron. You’re trying to get information that you could use to help that bitch get a reduced sentence in exchange for cooperating with the cops. No. She can fucking rot.”
“She’s your mother, William.”
“No, she’s not. She stopped being anything to me the first time she sold my ass for dope. Don’t call me again. Ever.”
Will hung up with shaking hands, then dumped the phone on his bed. He stalked the short length of his narrow room, going in circles, desperate to release the torrent of anger swirling inside him without knowing how. He never knew what to do with his anger, or his guilt, or his humiliation—three things he’d allowed to bottle up once until it nearly cost him his life.
But he hated talking about it. Any of it. Even with his shrink, he hated every single embarrassing moment of reliving the past, of working through how he felt about it. The self-hatred for never fighting back clung to him like a second skin, and he’d never rid himself of it. Everything he did to scrub it away—therapy, volunteering, sex—failed. It was still there.
And the very idea that Morrell had gone to his mother—no, not mother, Marjorie—for information to help locate Christopher no-last-name infuriated him. Will wanted Christopher caught and punished, but he also abhorred the idea that Marjorie could dangle what she knew about the guy over Morrell’s head in exchange for anything. He didn’t know exactly how all that legal shit worked, but didn’t people get released early for things like good behavior? Or whatever.
He didn’t want Marjorie back on the streets. He didn’t want Christopher, a known drug user, rapist and pedophile, on the streets, either.
“Fuck!” He shouted that to the ceiling, so tangled up inside that he didn’t know what else to do except scream.
Someone knocked on his door, then opened it. Jimmy stuck his head inside. “Will? You okay?”
“Not really.” Will collapsed onto his bed, as if his room had been a vacuum and once the seal was breached, all of his anger had fled, leaving him bone tired. He wanted it all to be done. But it never would be. “When will it stop, Jimmy?”
“When will what stop?” He came deeper into the room but left the door half-open.
“How am I supposed to get better and move on when the past keeps fucking with me?”
“Hate to say it, man, but that’s life. We all got pasts that keep fucking with us. Some worse than others.” Jimmy frowned, so sympathetic Will both loved and hated him. “You got more than most to work through, but you can get to the other side of it. The side where the good things start to matter more than the bad.”
“I thought I was getting there. I really did. And then I saw that guy, and now it feels like all the progress I made has gone to shit.”
Jimmy tilted his head. “Did you quit the Stanley Center?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Did you quit your therapy sessions with Dr. Taggert?”
“No.” What the hell with the stupid questions?
“Did you stop being friends with Taz?”
“No!” Will stood, hands balled into fists. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Showing you your progress hasn’t all gone to shit, like you seem to think. There will always be setbacks and challenges. That’s life. But Will, you got a fire in you to do better. To be better. Not everybody has that fire, so use it.”
Not everybody’s heart stopped for ninety seconds.
For some reason, he heard that in Taz’s voice instead of his own, even though he’d never told Taz about it.
And then he heard Dr. Taggert’s voice giving him the same advice he’d given over and over, for the last three years: “Don’t let the past control your present. Doing so gives your mother power over you again. Keep that power to yourself.”
He didn’t want to give her any power back. None. It was why he’d told Mr. Banks to fuck off with his questions. “You’re right,” Will said.
Jimmy chuckled. “Uh-huh. Once more, with feeling.”
“You’re right, okay?” He shook out his aching hands. “Nothing has actually changed. It’s in my head.”
“Hey, what’s in your head is still real. But it don’t change what’s on the outside. The life you built and the people who care about you. We’re all still here.”
Will stared at Jimmy as his words sank in. Jimmy and Gloria weren’t just supervising him, they actually cared. For the first time in his life, Will was surrounded by people who cared about his future and well-being, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He’d spent most of his life feeling alone, unwanted, and unnoticed.
His eyes prickled. “Thank you, Jimmy,” he said.
“I’ll remind you whenever you need to hear it. You ain’t alone, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Then how’s about breakfast? Natasha made some kind of baked egg thing. Think she called it a strata? Smelled good last time I was downstairs.”
“Breakfast sounds good.” Will scrubbed a hand through his tangled hair. “I’ll be down in a few, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
After Jimmy left, Will stared at his phone for a while. He wanted to call Taz, but Taz had made it clear last night that he wanted a time-out. So he left it alone, stopped at the bathroom to clean up a bit, then went downstairs to eat breakfast.
Everyone was at the table, even Sydney. He looked more stable than the last time Will had really interacted with him, which was some time last week. Sydney was bipolar and had paranoid schizophrenia, and when he decided he wasn’t taking one of his meds, he could be...scary. But today he was eating his plate of food with slow, dazed bites. He even smiled at Will when Will sat across the table from him.
“Does Will know about the microwave?” Sydney asked.
Will stopped studying the glop of baked eggs and...stuff on his plate to stare at Sydney. “What about it? Did it break?”
Gloria cleared her throat. “Syd has asked that we refrain from using it today.”
“It’ll send signals,” Sydney said, so perfectly serious that Will almost believed him. “If we turn it on, it’ll send signals.”
Last time the tap water was poisoned; now the microwave was possessed. “Okay, well, I don’t have any plans to use it today,” Will said.
Sydney smiled, then shoveled eggs into his mouth. Down the table, Cherie rolled her eyes. They’d all lived with Sydney long enough to tolerate his episodes. Saved the screaming fits if they didn’t go along with it. Gloria had probably already called his psychiatrist.
The breakfast strata was better than Will expected, so he ate the small portion that he’d accepted. It had bacon and bread and potatoes and cheese, so it was kind of heavy for him, and his stomach felt funny afterward. But he didn’t hurt Natasha’s feelings by complaining, so he waited until it was time to clean up, then asked Jimmy for some antacids.
While he was busy wiping down the dining table, Donata sidled up to him with a smirk on her face that he didn’t like. He didn’t know her deal, other than she had a lot of old scars on her forearms, talked too loud and always smelled like vanilla. She rarely paid him any real attention, though, preferring to focus her snarky attacks on the women in the house, so he side eyed her while he cleaned.
“You gay or somethin’?” Donata asked out of the blue.
Will straightened, the dishrag in his hand, and glared across the table at her. “Yeah. So?”
“Jus’ askin’ is all. Cherie said a boy came to see you the other day. Said he was real cute, too. And tall.”
“Cherie gossips too much.”
“So’s he your boyfriend?”
I wish. “No, we’re friends.”
“Oh.” She almost sounded disappointed—which was really weird. “How come?”
“It’s complicated, and it’s not any of your business.”
“Fine.” That smirk came back. “Just tryin’ to make friends, jeez. Don’t be so uptight about it, butt boy.”
His mouth fell open, but Donata sauntered off before he could respond. He didn’t know what he’d have said, anyway, other than fuck off. Which she’d done on her own, so whatever.
I do not understand women. At all.
After that bizarre exchange, he’d retreated to his room to surf the web, watching random cat videos, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t manage to concentrate on any particular thing. His thoughts had kept swirling around to Marjorie, Morrell and getting to see Taz again. Soon. So he’d finally given in and made the call, and now he was nearly to Taz’s building.
He wanted to talk to Taz about his morning, sure, but more than that, he wanted to cement Jimmy’s words into his brain. He wanted to know for certain Taz still wanted to be his friend, was still there for him. The real test of Taz’s friendship would be how he reacted once he learned the full truth about Will’s abuse, but Will wasn’t ready to toss all that onto the table. Not yet. Not when he had to be in his right mind for the setup later today.
If the cops found Christopher, it would all come out in the open anyway, but until Will was forced to shed light on that side of his past, he wasn’t going to share it with Taz.
Taz opened his apartment door with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like someone getting over the flu, and it made Will feel guilty for insisting they get together.
“Hey there,” Taz said. “Come in.”
Will did, immediately shedding the bulky sweatshirt, allowing the air-conditioning to cool his overheated skin. “Thanks for letting me come over. I know I don’t have a whole lot of time.”
“It’s okay. I’m really glad to see you.” Taz looked like it was taking all of his energy not to reach out and hug Will. “My dad went out of town suddenly.”
“He did? Why?”
“Work. He mostly freelances, but a company he does a bunch of work for wants him to go to California and fix their staff out there. Or something. But he’s gone for a couple of months.”
“Months?” Will stared at Taz’s distressed face, unsure how to feel. Yeah, work happened, but Peter was Taz’s lifeline to the outside world. How could he pick up and leave? “So that’s it? He’s gone already?”
“Flew out this morning. He called me last night. It’s why I texted out of the fund-raiser today. I felt really shitty. Nervous and scared but also determined. I want to show him that I can get along without his help.”
“That’s really brave.” Will’s respect for Taz doubled. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, but maybe this is a good thing. A good push to step out of your comfort zone.”
“I hope it is.” Taz started to speak, then hesitated.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. Tell me about you.”
Will grunted. “My mother’s lawyer called me this morning. He wanted me to tell him about seeing Christopher, but I basically told him to fuck off.”
“Good for you.”
“Yeah, I just... I got mad thinking that if she had useful information for Detective Morrell, that she could use it to her advantage. I mean, she’s not even eligible for parole for another twelve years, but who knows what could happen? Shady deals go on all the time, don’t they? Especially if the cops are looking at a bigger fish?”
“Do you think your mother has information on big drug players?”
“I doubt it.” Will had no illusions that she’d used everything she knew to keep her own sentence down, but she’d spent month after month in a haze of heroin and alcohol, so God knew if she remembered anything she could trade to the police. “I’m probably overreacting.”
Taz was staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed, as intense as Will had ever seen him. The direct attention made Will back up a step and say, “What?”
“You don’t think this Christopher guy would come at you, do you?”
Will wrapped his arms around his middle, his stomach squirrelly all of the sudden. “I never really thought about it. I mean, I was able to stay pretty anonymous during the first year of trials, even with my last name, and I’m not on any social media. He definitely recognized me at the bar that night, but he’d have a hard time tracking me down.” And now that the idea was planted in his head, a cold knot of fear twisted his stomach up tight. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry.” Taz moved toward him, stopping an arm’s length away. “I’m not trying to freak you out, I promise. I’m worried. I mean, you told me you were abused, but the guy handling your case is a narcotics detective, so I’m guessing there’s way more to the story.”
So much more than you could possibly guess.
He could give Taz a little bit more truth, though. “My mother was a heavy drug user, for a lot of years. It’d be three years ago this past January, the cops were tracking a known drug dealer, and they busted him doing a deal at our house. That’s when I went into foster care.” Will had probably given Taz enough clues of the big picture to finish assembling the puzzle for himself, but he didn’t seem to see the connections between the drug dealers and Will’s abuse.
Or maybe he didn’t want to make the connection, because Will’s reality for two years had been a living hell. No one wanted to think such a thing was possible. That a teenage boy could be treated like cash money.
Taz let out a sad, ragged sound. “It sucks thinking you were living in such a bad situation while I was partying it up at college.”
For some reason, that made Will laugh—a sound both hard and brittle. “It is what it is, though, right? We can’t change our pasts. Honestly, I thought I was going to be able to leave all that shit behind, but now it’s gotten stirred up again. Maybe I have too many skeletons in my closet to ever be able to shut that door completely.”
“Then you rip off the door and find another way to seal it,” Taz said. “Board it up, brick it up, whatever it takes. I want to be there while you do it. Help, if you ask.”
Will’s heart melted a bit. “Thank you. I mean it. Talking to you about this? It really helps.”
“I’m glad. We haven’t known each other that long, but you’re important to me. I want to help make you happy.”
“Likewise.” He reached out and clasped Taz’s hand. Squeezed. “I’m sorry your dad left. I know it’s not the same, but you still have me.”
Taz smiled. “It’s not the same. It’s better.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
Will had half a mind to kiss him, simply to know what it would feel like, but he didn’t want to cross any lines that might upset Taz more. Not with his dad’s departure still such a fresh wound. “I’ll call later to check in, okay? Once I’m done with setup.”
“Okay. Have fun.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Will squeezed his hand once more, and then let go. He grabbed his sweatshirt, and all too soon he was outside, dialing for a taxi to take him across town to the fund-raiser venue. Some nightclub called Altitude. He wanted Taz to be beside him, for them to spend the day doing this. Creating something that would benefit so many homeless kids.
But Taz had his own shit to deal with, and it was probably too soon to prod the guy into leaving the house and socializing with a group of strangers. Will wasn’t much of a social butterfly himself, but he knew that days like this were good for him. Good for his anxiety and his recovery. Good for acting like a normal human being once in a while.
Good for helping him be the best person he could possibly be, so that he didn’t disappoint Taz. So that one day he’d be the person he wanted to be—happy and wanted. Needed. In love.
Whole.