Three weeks, two more shoots, one strip party, and Shane had banked half of what they needed to pay off the debt. Half. In three weeks. He’d halved a debt they’d been paying on for years.

Jason was more and more like his old self every day. Because Jason had been working at the Feed since he was twenty, Phil was more than willing to take him off stock. He was trained to work out on the sales floor, which Jason initially resisted because he didn’t think he was a people person. He proved himself wrong, and the new position let him spend more time with Elizabeth, who was likewise spending more time with him off-hours too. Working one job five days a week gave him time for a social life, and Jason was thriving.

Shane couldn’t look himself in the mirror anymore.

Thursdays seemed to fuck with him the most, because he had a serious déjà vu at Mineo’s when Noel and Tristan walked inside. Shane nearly dropped the tray of hoagie rolls he’d brought out from the kitchen. Noel and Tristan had their heads together like before, talking quietly, Noel staying close in that protective way he had.

Shane shoved the rolls into the bread bin and contemplated a fast escape. He hadn’t spoken to Noel since the pharmacy. Three weeks of missing him, and there he was, in the perfect fucking flesh, and Shane felt too dirty to be in the same room with him. He wasn’t a coward, though. He stayed at his station and began fixing the reuben with lettuce and onion that Tina called out.

He didn’t turn around, not even when he heard Noel placing their orders. He kept his back to the counter and made their sandwiches, then called out the order number. He was at his station working on another sandwich before Noel came for the tray.

He tried to be happy for Noel. Spending another day with Tristan, whose story had horrified Shane. He couldn’t imagine living his life one paragraph at a time, writing everything down like a manic journalist who couldn’t miss a quote. The loss of control over your own life.

Okay, maybe I can imagine that part.

Shane wasn’t drinking, wasn’t doing drugs, wasn’t cutting or binging and purging. He’d given away control of his life by his own choice and stopped writing in his own journals because nothing he had to say about his life mattered enough to record. He didn’t know what was going to be left when he could finally afford to quit.

Maybe you should keep doing it until it destroys you. Then it won’t matter.

No. Shane trying to kill himself was what put them into the downward spiral he was breaking his own spirit to claw out of again. He couldn’t do that to Jason. He’d never be that kind of coward again.

He glanced over his shoulder and was stunned to look right into Noel’s eyes. Seated at a nearby table, he faced Shane’s direction. Tristan wasn’t there. Bathroom maybe. Noel’s face was hard to read. No anger, no disappointment. Kind of empty, which hurt a little bit. Shane looked away.

The lunch rush was over, and they weren’t super busy. Shane found Paul up to his elbows preparing a brisket for brining. “Can I take fifteen?”

“Yeah, sure,” Paul said. “Tell Lucky to cover for you.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Lucky was a busboy training to work with the food, and he was ecstatic to take over for a little while. Shane escaped out the back door and into the alley. The dumpster kind of reeked, but he needed air. And to get away from Noel’s eyes. Eyes that asked questions Shane couldn’t answer.

Why did you dump me so fast and hard?

He checked his phone out of habit, even though it hadn’t vibrated. Ever since the ICD was installed—because it sounded funnier than inserted—in Jason’s side and he’d gone back to work, Shane demanded frequent texts. Jason humored him, and he had sworn to be honest about any type of unusual symptom—so far of which there had been none.

Jason had a checkup tomorrow. Shane had teased him that his new hardware needed a tune-up. He got flipped off for that one.

A text came through from Noel. Sorry I chased you away. How’s J?

Shane: Better than ever. Back to work. Sales. No lifting allowed.

Glad to hear it. You ok?

No. I’m so far from okay I forget what it looks like.

Couldn’t very well type that, so he lied.

Shane: Fine. We’re getting thru it.

Liar.

Shane blinked.

Another text on the heels of the one-word declaration.

Noel: Wish you’d talk to me. Just talk. Plz?

Can’t just talk to you.

Why not?

I’d want more than talk.

Why’s that bad? We’re good together & not just sex.

They had been good together. They could talk, joke and have amazing, toe-curling sex. The kinds of things that could forge a real relationship—something Shane had wanted for years. Now that wouldn’t happen. Even if Noel could accept the porn, Shane wasn’t sure he’d accepted it himself. Or forgiven himself for making that choice.

Noel: Need to know if you mean it. Don’t want to end this but can’t wait forever.

It was the opening Shane needed. Then don’t wait. Have a life. Forget me.

Noel didn’t reply.

The table was empty when Shane went back inside.

* * *

“What’s bothering you?” Tristan asked in the middle of a perfectly good conversation about wacky ice cream flavors they’d like the try. The kind of wonderful, inane conversations people had with their best friends.

Noel kicked a stone down the sidewalk ahead of them. They’d decided to walk off lunch, and he thought he’d done a better job of hiding his emotions. “It’s complicated.”

“Boy complicated?”

“Yeah.”

“Have we talked about this before?”

“No, actually. It’s not a fun subject.”

“Were you dumped?”

How did Tristan do that? His brain had been permanently scrambled by a bottle, and he still read Noel like a neon sign. “Kind of. We weren’t even technically dating, just kind of seeing each other. Then he had this personal crisis, and he shut me out. We haven’t talked in three weeks, and he pretty much just said to forget I ever knew him and move on.”

Tristan stopped walking, his eyes wide. “Was I there for that? Tell me I didn’t forget something like that.”

“No, it happened via text while you were in the john.”

“Oh. Like just now at lunch?”

“Yeah. He works at the deli where we ate.”

“Not that hottie with the dark hair?”

Noel was impressed that Tristan’s memory hadn’t blotted their time at the deli out yet. “That’s him.”

“Damn, Noel. Did you fuck him?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, and thank God no one else was nearby. The old Tristan had no qualms about digging into his sex life, and that trait was back full force. “Yes, I did, and it was great, and I really thought we connected. Guess I was wrong.”

“What was the personal crisis?” Tristan opened up his notebook and began scrawling notes.

Noel explained Jason’s heart attack and the stress of their unknown debt, and even Tristan seemed confused by the end.

“I don’t get it,” Tristan said. “If you guys connected like you said, why would he push you away just when he needed you the most? That’s stupid.”

“I don’t know, Tris. That’s the million-dollar question.”

“And you don’t know why he’s in so much debt?”

“No.”

Tristan slapped him on the back of the head. “So find out. You’re a cop, dumb-ass. Do some digging on him. Is there a library around here?”

“Library?”

“Yeah. Internet. Old newspapers. Maybe you’ll find a clue if you look into his past.”

“That seems kind of creepy.”

“Shane’s not talking to you, so you can either try to forget him, which I know you won’t. Or you can be a little creepy and try to find a way to talk to him. Maybe there’s nothing to find, maybe there’s something. You won’t know if you don’t look.”

“Were you always this devious?”

“Yes. So you wanna?”

“What? Right now?”

“I don’t have anything better to do. You might have to remind me what we’re doing a few times, but I know I’ll agree with myself that this is a good idea.”

Noel wasn’t so sure it was a good idea, but he changed their route.

The public library was only a few blocks away. It was small compared to most Noel had been in, with two small research rooms and a table with four public computers, two of which were taken. One of the librarians at the desk waved at him, and Noel waved back. He came a few times a month to borrow new books if he couldn’t find something interesting in the thrift store.

Tristan pulled a chair over for himself, while Noel logged on. “What should I search first?”

“Google Shane’s name,” Tristan said with a big fat “duh” in his tone of voice.

Noel typed “Jody McShane” into the search box, hoping the spelling was correct, and hit Enter. He selected the News tab, and was surprised by the first headline he found, dated fourteen years ago. “Truck Driver Killed By Stepson.”

“Holy shit,” Tristan said.

“A local teenager is being held in police custody for the alleged murder of his stepfather.” Noel’s insides wobbled. He read the rest silently because he didn’t trust his voice.

Police responded to a 9-1-1 call and found Thomas Lowry, 47, dead from an apparent blow to the head. Jason McShane, 18, was taken into custody and later confessed to killing the man in self-defense. McShane alleges that he and Lowry argued about the welfare of McShane’s ten-year-old brother, who was also witness to the crime. He alleges Lowry physically attacked him, and that he had no choice but to defend himself and his brother. McShane is facing manslaughter charges.

“Oh my God,” Noel said. “Jason killed a man. I can’t believe that.” And Shane saw it happen.

“I wonder what ‘argued about the welfare’ means. See what else you can find.”

Noel changed his search to Jason McShane. The first article looked like more of an op-ed piece on Jason’s trial and subsequent conviction for manslaughter.

Three years in prison is the price you pay for protecting someone you love from abuse. This is the lesson learned by eighteen-year-old Jason McShane today, when his sentence was handed down. Confront the man who’s been molesting your little brother and go to jail.

Ice skittered down Noel’s back, even as his stomach turned inside out. He stared at the last sentence, its implications hitting him in his soul, fierce and cruel. Shane had been molested by his stepfather. Jason stepped in and the man ended up dead. No wonder Shane was so protective of his brother. Jason had sacrificed years of his life and God knew what else in prison. He forced himself to keep reading the article.

Is the manslaughter conviction unjust? No. Jason McShane admitted to taking a life in defense of himself and his brother. He pled guilty. However, the punishment seems unduly harsh in light of what he’ll be leaving behind: a traumatized sibling with no family, no place to live, and no remaining sense of safety. Did the judge take into account the child affected by his ruling? I doubt it.

The article went on some tangent about mandatory minimums on drug charges, which had nothing to do with Jason’s trial. Pennsylvania didn’t have minimum sentencing for manslaughter convictions, but the author’s point was made in the first two paragraphs. Jason had protected his brother and was taken away from him at a crucial point in his life.

The utter terror on Shane’s face when he got the phone call about Jason’s heart attack made perfect sense.

Noel searched a bit more, sick to his stomach over what he’d learned, and yet somehow relieved. No, relieved was the wrong word. The bits of personal history were a matter of public record, so he didn’t feel guilty over having discovered them. He was glad to know them. To know Shane and Jason’s history and to understand their relationship. He only wished Shane had felt comfortable enough to tell him himself.

Nothing explained their crippling debt, though.

Strike that.

“What’s that one?” Tristan pointed.

Noel clicked. Dated almost three years after the arrest article was the byline: Convicted felon successfully sues for custody of brother. After Jason’s early release, he hired a lawyer and sued for legal custody of Shane, who’d been living in various foster homes. And he won. With a good lawyer who could not have been cheap. The debt was making more sense, but that was ten years ago. Surely that bill had been paid.

Tristan flipped back through his notebook, probably reminding himself what they were doing and why.

Noel logged off. He’d seen enough. Even if there was more to uncover, he didn’t want to know. Not like this. He desperately wanted to talk to Shane. Hell, right now he’d settle for hugging him. A hug for everything he went through as a kid, and a hug for whatever he was going through now.

Shane was not okay. He’d seen it at the deli in the way he slumped over the counter. In the deadness in his eyes when he’d looked at Noel. Noel trusted his instincts, and now they were screaming at him that something was wrong. Something that had nothing to do with his fear of losing Jason to heart disease.

“What are you going to do now?” Tristan asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Talk to him.”

“He’s working.”

“So stalk him, then talk to him when he gets off.” Another statement full of “duh”.

“Look, let’s get back to enjoying our day. I’ll figure it out.”

“You better. You must really like him.”

“Why do you say that?”

Tristan patted his knee. “Because while you were reading those articles, I thought you were going to break the computer.”

“He went through hell.”

“And you want to make it better for him.”

“I want to help him. Be there for him. We haven’t known each other long, but I care about him.”

“I can tell. I think I’m kind of jealous.”

Noel grinned. “Don’t be. You’ll always be my best friend.” He slung his arm around Tristan’s shoulders for a sideways hug that he pulled out of a little rudely. They were in a public place, and the librarian was watching them.

Hell.

“Come on,” Noel said, chilled inside from more than just what he’d learned on the computer.

The heat of the June afternoon did nothing to melt the cold wrapped around his heart. He hated rumors, but he also hated lying. If anyone questioned him about the odd hug in the library, he was out with an old friend. He didn’t have to go further than that. Not until he was ready.

* * *

Jason practically shoved him into a chair at the dinner table the minute Shane walked in the front door. He let himself be handled because he was too exhausted to care—until Jason plunked a big bowl of some sort of vegetable stir-fry in front of him.

“Eat,” Jason said.

“Seriously? I ate at the deli.”

“No you didn’t. I called Paul and asked.”

“You what?” Shane’s skin prickled with irritation. “You’re checking up on me?”

“Yes. You look like a ghost, Jo. You barely eat at home, and I swear to God you’ve lost weight, and you’re skinny enough. Whatever it is you’re doing to earn that money isn’t worth it.”

“It’s worth it to me.”

“It kills me to see you this miserable.”

“It’s only for a little while longer, I swear.”

Jason glared, then plunked a glass of milk down next to the bowl. “Just eat, please?”

“Fine. Jesus Christ.”

He ate, barely tasting it, until his stomach ached and he couldn’t finish. Jason watched him the entire time and seemed satisfied with the results. Shane refrained from childish remarks. He didn’t want to hurt Jason’s feelings over something so simple as making him dinner.

His phone rang. Chet.

Shane excused himself to his room to take the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, sweetheart, how’s tricks?”

“Same as always.”

“Look, I won’t keep you but you’re such a good sport last minute, and I need to ask a favor.”

He swallowed hard as his stomach got angry over all the food he’d eaten. So far, Chet had been more than fair with him, only having him shoot topping scenes, as per his preference. He should have seen this “favor” coming. “Ask away.”

“I have a shoot scheduled for this Sunday, and one of my models cancelled. I need a fill-in for a bottom.”

Fuck, shit and damn. “What’s the scene?” He did not want to do another reluctant fuck scene. He’d hated that beyond hate.

“It’s a three-way.”

“Hell no” dangled on the tip of Shane’s tongue, caught by the memory of Jason in that hospital bed, pale as death. “How much?”

“Twenty percent increase from your last payday.”

“Thirty percent. I know how well those scenes do.” He’d chatted a bit with his last scene partner, who earned royalties, and he made bank on threesomes, which meant Chet earned a hell of a lot on his end.

It sometimes amazed him what people spent on porn when there were so many free sites out there.

“Fine, thirty percent increase.”

“And no double penetration or anything too kinky. I haven’t had anything up my ass since Tony.”

“I’m amazed you could walk to your car after that shoot, my boy. You’ll do fine on Sunday.”

Oh no. “Who am I doing this with?”

“Tony and Boomer.”

He’d nailed Boomer to the mattress last week. Shane was so going to hate this shoot.

“See you Sunday, honey,” Chet said. “Ten o’clock.”

“Yeah.”

Shane collapsed onto his bed. He’d wait until he was walking out the door on Sunday to mention this to Jason. No sense in making him worry and wonder more than he already was. The thirty percent increase was the only reason he’d agreed to do the scene. They were so close to having enough to pay off the debt. So close.

After Sunday, they’d be nearly there. Only three grand to go.

I can do this. I will do this.

Knuckles on his door. Jason poked his head inside. “You have a visitor.”

“I do?” Shane sat up. “Who?”

“Noel Carlson.”

Hell.