With less than four weeks until release day, here's a Teaser Tuesday treat! The first three chapters of AS I AM (All Saints #3). This is the third book in a series, but can absolutely be read as a standalone book.
Dr. James Taggert
double-checked the wall clock time against his wristwatch, a little surprised
that Will was late for his appointment. He was never late. He often showed up
ten minutes early for their twice-monthly sessions and then had to sit in the
waiting room with Gina. Today he was three minutes past due.
His desk phone buzzed.
“Your three o’clock is here,” Gina’s voice piped over the speaker.
He hit the talk button.
“Thanks, Gina. Send him in.”
Will knocked gently, as
was his custom. But as he strode into the office, everything else about him was
markedly different. His normally shaggy brown hair had been combed and slicked
back a bit, showing off more of his face. Instead of his customary loose pants
and baggy sweatshirt—even in the summer, he wore that sweatshirt—he had on
clean jeans that fit and a blue button-down shirt.
Dr. Taggert had probably
done a poor job of hiding his surprise, because Will froze halfway to the
armchair he favored for their sessions. He glanced at the clock. “Crap, I’m
late.”
“It’s okay,” Dr. Taggert
said. “You’re dressed differently than usual.”
“I had to. I had a job
interview before this.”
“You did?” He was
impressed that Will was finally being proactive about his future. “Do you want
to tell me about that?”
Will shrugged as he sat,
shoulders back, less guarded than even their last few sessions. He’d changed so
much in a year and a half and was nothing like the terrified, mistreated boy Dr.
Taggert had first met in the emergency room. Although lately a kind of anger
had clung to him, indistinct, but lurking beneath the surface. “I mean, it
wasn’t for like a big job or anything,” Will replied. “Kate helped. She
probably feels sorry for me because I’m such a nutcase I can’t get my own
interviews.”
Kate Alden was Will’s
social worker. She had referred Will’s foster mother, Jennifer, to Dr. Taggert
for treatment, and Will had been one of the biggest challenges of his career.
He’d survived a childhood full of neglect, including two years of horrific
abuse by his drug-addicted mother, been placed in emergency foster care at age
sixteen, and for the last year and a half Dr. Taggert had worked with Will over
simple tasks like eating three times a day. Taking care of himself. Believing
in his own right to be happy.
Kate took a genuine
interest in the kids she helped, too, and they were both concerned about Will
with his eighteenth birthday looming in two months. He’d no longer be a ward of
the state; he also had nowhere to go except a halfway house, and Dr. Taggert
worried for his safety. Will was still emotionally fragile, and his recent foul
moods troubled him.
“What kind of job is it?”
Dr. Taggert asked.
“Part-time Food Lion
stock boy.”
“Any particular
department?”
“Um, produce, I think.
They made me pick up a few cases of things to make sure I was strong enough.”
“I’m assuming you are?”
He shrugged. “I guess. I
had a little trouble with a box of apples, but it was slippery. No handles to
grab.”
“Do you think you got the
job?”
“No.”
Dr. Taggert’s heart
dropped. “Why not?”
Will grunted. “Because as
I was leaving, I heard one of the guys who interviewed me say, ‘He’s too
fucking little.’”
Hell. A stock boy job
would have been perfect for Will, because it required little contact with the
public. And the last thing he needed was more people giving him crap about his
size. Five feet tall and ninety pounds soaking wet, Will had grown up with very
poor nutrition, and two years of hell had left him with a serious aversion to
food. Dr. Taggert could help him with certain things, but nothing could be done
about his height. Muscle tone, maybe, but Will was terrified of gyms because
they were full of strange, half-naked men.
“They haven’t officially
said no,” Dr. Taggert said. “When did they tell you they’d let you know?”
“Tomorrow, but there was
this big kid waiting to go in after me. I won’t get it.” Will leaned forward,
resting his elbows on his knees, frowning. “I know you and Kate and Jennifer all
worry about what will happen when I turn eighteen. Believe me, so do I. A
halfway house terrifies me, but I can’t stay with Jennifer. She needs the room
to save her next foster kid. But how do I pay for food and rent without a real
job? And what about therapy?”
“Do you wish to keep
coming to therapy?”
“Yes. I know I’m way
better than I was, but once I’m out of the system…I can’t pay you with money I
don’t have.”
“Don’t worry about the
money. I’ve done pro bono work before, and I’ve worked with other clients on a
sliding scale based on their income. I’m not going to abandon you, Will, I
promise.”
Will seemed to relax a
fraction. “Thank you. But I still need money. I mean, I liked the idea of
piling apples and filling in bagged lettuce. It’s kind of solitary, you know?
Plus I didn’t graduate high school, so the list of places that will hire me
with zero work experience is, like, as long as my finger.”
He made a mental note to
do some digging into work opportunities based on Will’s history. As much as he
hated the idea of suggesting he apply for disability, Will’s PTSD was both well
documented and extremely crippling.
“Have you talked to
Jennifer about any possibilities?” Dr. Taggert asked.
“Not really. She’s got
Darren to worry about right now.”
Will had mentioned
Jennifer’s newest foster child during their last session. He was on the autism
spectrum and required a lot of her attention. Darren also had frequent
outbursts that frightened Will, especially if it woke him out of a sound sleep.
“And she’s already done
so much for me,” Will added. “Especially those first eight months or so I was
with her. I hated making her upset when I didn’t eat.”
“She understands why that
was going on, and she isn’t keeping a scorecard. None of us are. We want to
help you, and that’s why we do. We care about what happens to you.”
Will held his gaze for
several long seconds before blinking. “You do, don’t you? I guess I’m still not
used to that. Adults giving a shit.”
“You had a lot of adults
in your life who failed you. Who hurt you instead of protecting you. And I
can’t promise you that no one will ever hurt you in the future, but you’ve
already survived the worst kind of hell, and you’re still in one piece.”
“They can’t hurt me if I
don’t let them.”
Dr. Taggert tilted his
head. “Do you mean by protecting yourself physically?” He’d suggested Will take
self-defense classes in the past, to help him feel less anxious in public
spaces, but Will hated the idea of having to touch the instructor—and the
instructor touching him in return.
“Kind of. More like up
here.” He tapped the side of his head.
“Shutting out the
possibility of relationships seems good in the short term, but what about a few
years down the road?”
“Can’t think about a few
years. I can barely think about a few months from now.”
He understood Will trying
to protect himself, but closing off from other people was rarely the best way
to go about it. “Will, no one can truly take power from you unless you give it
to them.”
Will’s expression
hardened. “Those men took power from me.”
“No, those men took from
you physically and emotionally, and you are healing from that one day at a
time. But the only way they can take power from you now? Is by letting what
they did continue to control your actions.”
“So I’m supposed to grow
up and magically forget that I was fucked six ways to Sunday for two years?”
Dr. Taggert took a
breath, choosing his words more carefully. “I am absolutely not asking you to
forget that. It’s impossible to forget that kind of pain. But allowing your
pain to dictate your actions gives those men power all over again. I’m not
telling you to jump on social media and start chatting with every person you
stumble across. But please don’t cut yourself off from forming actual,
real-life friendships. Especially with people your own age.”
Will shrugged. “No one
wants to be friends with a wreck like me.”
“You aren’t a wreck. And
I think if you gave it a chance, you might surprise yourself.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll
prove myself right.”
They still had some work
to do on Will’s self-esteem. “Why do you think no one wants to be your friend?”
“I’m a mess, Dr. Taggert.
I have panic attacks, I don’t like to be touched, I hate being near older men I
don’t know, my mother is in prison, I never met my father, I didn’t finish
school, I don’t even have a GED yet, and oh yeah, I’ve had more dicks up my ass
than Johnny Rapid.”
Will’s volume had risen
with each item rattled off his list of supposed flaws, and he’d ended with a
sharp snap. Will often got upset and frustrated during their sessions, but this
cold anger was new and startling.
Also kind of startling
was the fact that Will knew the name of a gay porn star.
“None of those things
makes you unlovable,” Dr. Taggert said. “Especially not your abuse, and anyone
who treats you poorly because of it isn’t worth your time or energy. Not everyone
could have survived the hell you went through, but you did. You are alive and
you are making great progress. You have people in your life who care about you,
including me. Give yourself a chance to live, Will.”
Instead of soothing his
anger, Will only looked more obstinate.
“Tell me what you’re
thinking about,” Dr. Taggert said.
“Punching you in the
face.”
He tensed, more concerned
for Will than his own safety. In all of their sessions, Will had never once
become physically violent with him or needed to be restrained against hurting
himself. “Why do you want to punch me?”
“So you stop being so
nice. So you see me how I see me.”
“How do you see
yourself?”
Will cast around the room
before his attention settled on the glass coffee table. Dr. Taggert had left a
notepad and pen out. Will ripped a sheet of paper off the notepad and crumpled
it in his hands. Then he tried to smooth it out flat. “Like that. Doesn’t
matter what you do to it, but the wrinkles and dents are never gonna go away.
It’ll always be ruined.”
“It’s hardly ruined.” Dr.
Taggert leaned forward and snatched the pen. He flattened the paper a little
bit more. “You’re right, the wrinkles will always be there, but it can still do
its job.”
He wrote something down,
then pushed the paper toward Will.
You have value, Will. Never doubt that.
Will picked up the paper.
He stared at the words, his expression blank.
Dr. Taggert held his
breath, hoping like hell he’d gotten through.
He held out a hand, and
Dr. Taggert gave him the pen. Will scribbled something on the paper, crumpled
it up, then tossed the wad across the room. He stood without a word.
“Will?”
“I’m done,” Will snapped,
then left the office.
Concerned by the abrupt
departure, he briefly considered following Will to clarify what exactly he was
done with. Instead, he crossed to where the paper had landed near his desk and
opened the wad far enough to read what Will had written under his own
handwriting.
Believe me, I learned my value in that bedroom.
The awful words
disappeared in his closed fist. He ached for Will, and for all of the progress
he thought they’d made. He debated calling Jennifer, giving her a heads-up. He
couldn’t tell her about the note or anything they’d discussed, but he could
warn her to watch Will’s mood tonight, especially if she was likely to be
focused on Darren.
Will’s final spoken words
concerned him more than the words on the paper. He hadn’t specified what he was
done with, exactly—their session today, any future therapy, or life in general?
Even though Will had never shared suicidal thoughts with him, it was the kind
of thing that set off alarms.
He picked up the phone
and called Jennifer.
Chapter 1
Sixteen months later
Will
Madden tore through the front door of Carter House, gave a cursory glance at
the two shapes in the living room—Natasha and Cherie were watching something on
the ancient television—and made a mad dash for the stairs. His chest hurt, his
lungs weren’t working right, and he was teetering on the edge of a full-on
panic attack. He needed to get to his room at the halfway house before he fell
into it completely.
He hated having attacks in public. Or even in the living room where
the other residents could see it. Mostly they didn’t care. Natasha had anxiety
issues too. But Will cared. The attacks made him look weak, vulnerable.
Three rooms upstairs,
plus the shared bathroom. His was at the end of the hall, tiny, barely more
than a glorified closet, but it was his own room. It didn’t have a lock. None
of the doors did (house rules), but no resident was allowed to enter another
resident’s room without permission (another house rule). Only the two social
workers who ran the place were allowed in the rooms, but only if they suspected
trouble. Like drugs or alcohol. Those got you tossed out, period.
Will had never tasted
alcohol, and his one experience with drugs had been neither fun nor exactly his
choice, so no thanks. He had enough trouble remembering to take his
prescription meds.
He pushed his bedroom
door open and then shoved it closed when he was on the other side. He soaked in
the familiar smell of his spray deodorant. Bright afternoon light reflected off
white walls made the shoe box feel bigger. A bed and dresser were the only
furniture.
The size was worth it for
the privacy.
Will sat on his narrow bed
directly under the curtainless window and dropped his head between his knees.
Pulled a deep breath in through his nose. Pushed it out through his mouth.
I see the moon and the moon sees me. The moon sees the somebody I’d
like to see.
Some of the pressure in
his chest eased as he pulled on the familiar nursery rhyme.
God bless the moon and God bless me. God bless the somebody I’d like to
see.
More pressure went away.
The cold panic that had settled in his gut earlier in the day began to thaw.
I see the moon and the moon sees me. I see the moon and the moon sees
me.
Deeper breaths eased into
regular ones. He sat up, glad to have warded this one off before it consumed
him. So stupid. Stupid-ass thing to get so worried about, anyway.
He heard his shrink’s
voice in the back of his head, asking the familiar chestnut “Why do you feel
stupid?”
“Normal people don’t
panic at being assigned to a fund-raiser’s setup team,” he told the wall, since
his shrink wasn’t in the room. His appointment was tomorrow, so yeah, he’d have
to bring this up. Dr. Taggert didn’t like it when Will kept his attacks to
himself.
And it wasn’t so much the
fund-raiser itself. He’d helped on a bunch in the almost year he’d volunteered
for Sam Hartley at the Stanley Center. It got him out into the world a few days
a week and made him confront his PTSD-related anxiety head-on.
He curled up beneath the
window and tried to figure out what about this fund-raiser had sent him into a
blind panic the moment he left the office. It was for an LGBT teen homeless
shelter they’d worked with last fall. All Saints House. The Stanley Center
wasn’t involved directly, but Sam wanted Will to be available to Jonas Ashcroft
on setup day, since this was Jonas’s first time coordinating a benefit by
himself. Jonas had filled in as a temporary full-time assistant this past
winter, so Sam had a soft spot for him. Will had been sad to see Jonas leave.
Jonas.
That’s why the panic.
Jonas didn’t frighten him. Total opposite. Jonas was model gorgeous with dark
hair and piercing eyes, and he smelled fantastic. Will’s stomach wobbled as
that panic tried to come back. Working around Jonas again, even for only eight
hours total, terrified him, because he’d been attracted to Jonas from the
instant he’d walked into Sam’s office asking to volunteer last fall. He’d
silently yearned for someone like Jonas to say his name the same loving way
Jonas said Tate’s.
Not that he ever had or
ever would say anything about his stupid crush. Jonas had Tate, and even if he
didn’t, no one wanted a hot mess like Will. No one ever would. He’d resigned
himself to that after Guy. Fast, sweaty fucks were all he got.
Except he wasn’t even
supposed to have that anymore. Not for a while, thanks to his shrink.
I wonder if Taz is online.
The therapy-induced
restriction on anonymous hookups had been the catalyst for Will’s newfound
obsession with online chat rooms. A few weeks ago he’d signed up for several,
unsure what he was looking for. Some of the rooms were for guys looking to hook
up. Some were strictly chat only, and Will had gravitated toward those to avoid
temptation. About two weeks ago he’d struck up a conversation with a guy whose
handle was TazManicDevil, which he thought was hilarious. Last week he’d
admitted his nickname was Taz and that Will could call him that.
Will’s handle was
WillHeWontHe, so he’d told Taz to call him Will. They’d bonded over having PTSD—although
neither had confided why—and how it restricted their abilities to move around
in the world. Taz made him laugh when few other things did. He was only pixels
on a screen, but in some ways, he was the only real friend Will had. And he
also lived in Wilmington, which made Taz seem even more real to him.
He dug his refurbished
laptop out from under the mattress and plugged it in. The stupid thing would
run for maybe ten whole minutes without being connected to the wall outlet, but
it did its job of getting him online and providing him some ability to interact
with the world. Plus he’d saved up and bought it himself. He was proud of it,
from its bad battery life to the crack on the top cover.
Taz had admitted to
working from home—lucky him—which meant he was online a lot. Almost every time
Will logged in, he saw Taz’s handle, even if he was idling and not currently
active. Will waited for his laptop to connect to the house’s Wi-Fi, then opened
his browser. Last week he’d set his homepage to this chat room.
TazManicDevil. Idle mode.
Will poked him. Dude.
He waited, declining two
requests to private message with other people.
Taz went active. Hey. You work today?
Will’s heart did a funny
flip. Yeah. Just got home. You?
Finished about an hour ago. Was watching TV.
Anything good?
Nah. Mostly waiting for you to get online.
He grinned at the screen,
strangely happy over the idea that Taz had been waiting for him to chat. Here now.
Yup. How was work?
Usual, aside from working through a panic attack.
??!! What happened?!!?
The instant concern
knocked away the tiny fear that confiding in Taz was the wrong thing. His own obnoxious
habit of second-guessing every decision in his personal life.
Assigned to a new fund-raiser for this weekend. Shouldn’t
be a big deal, but people, you know? One on one is okay, but groups freak me
out.
I get it, trust me.
I know you do. And I know the guys I’ll be working w/ but
still. It’s scary.
Can’t keep an eye on or control a crowd.
Exactly!
Christ, but Will loved
having someone in his life who got it. Who didn’t question him or second-guess
him or tell him to just get over it and try to be normal. But was Taz really in
his life? Right now he was only a name on a computer screen. His shrink kept
hammering at him to establish relationships with people his own age, to make
friends he could spend time with, and he wanted to do that. It was just so damn
hard to trust anyone.
He really, really wanted
to be able to trust Taz. To know Taz was real, really understood PTSD, and
wasn’t catfishing him for kicks. He needed to know now before he got too
invested.
Will held his breath as
he typed: Can we talk in person?
Taz was silent for so
long that Will’s stomach soured, positive he’d just ended this semifriendship
over his stupid need hear a compassionate human voice.
Never mind, it’s okay, he typed. Send.
Sorry, you surprised me. Chat only and all.
I know. Sorry.
I do want to meet you in person, Will.
Will smashed down a bloom
of hope before it got too big. But?
An invitation to use the
voice chat feature popped up on screen. They’d never done that before. Will
clicked on it before Taz changed his mind, eager to know what his friend
sounded like.
“You there?” Taz asked.
Will closed his eyes and
let the warm, deep voice slide over him like hot fudge on a sundae. Smooth and
wonderful and stupidly comforting, considering it was coming over his
computer’s crappy speakers. “Hi.” He’d kind of squeaked that, so he cleared his
throat and tried again. “Hello. Taz?”
“It’s me. Hi there.”
“Hi back.” Will dragged a
trembling hand through his shaggy hair, glad they weren’t doing a video chat or
anything. He didn’t want Taz to see how stupidly nervous he was.
“This felt easier than
typing out a bunch of personal shit,” Taz said. “This okay? Us talking?”
“Of course.” He’d just
asked to meet Taz in person; this was a good compromise. “You sound kind of how
I imagined you would.” They hadn’t exchanged good photos—the profile pics on
the chat site were obscured for both of them—but the stats made Will want to
get under him fast. Six feet, 180, green eyes, ginger. Former college wrestler.
Yes, please.
“I do?” Taz asked. “How
do I sound?”
“Strong. Friendly. Do you
sing?”
He chuckled, and that
sound skittered down Will’s spine in a nice way. “Not really. My gramma took me
to church regularly when I was a kid, so I sang hymns, but it’s not the same.”
“Oh. You sound like a
singer.” Stupid small talk sounded stupid. “So we both want to meet in person,
but…?”
“It’s why I’ve got the
PTSD shit to deal with.”
“You don’t have to tell
me.” Didn’t sharing personal shit require tit for tat? Will didn’t want to dig
into his own issues, especially not over a voice chat.
“Except I kind of do, if
we’re going to meet. It’s not something I can hide on the outside, and I should
warn you anyway so you don’t freak out.”
Will snorted. “I just
freaked out over doing a fund-raiser with people I know. Hit me.”
“I’ve got scars. Bad
ones.”
“Okay.”
Taz paused. “They’re on
my neck and the left side of my face. Acid burns.”
Surprise jolted through
him. “Acid? Shit, are they healed?”
“Yeah. It was two years
ago. The doctors, they did some skin grafts, but you can still see how it
doesn’t look right. It’s all waxy and discolored.”
“That’s…” He had no words
for the shock and anger rolling around inside him. Shock because acid burns.
Anger because even though he didn’t know Taz well, he hated the idea of someone
hurting him like that. “How’d you get burned with acid?”
“It was back at college.
Jealous, bigoted fucktard who didn’t like that I was bi and openly dating a
dude.”
“Christ, Taz. Was the
fucktard arrested?”
“Yeah. Plea deal. Got twelve
months and a day. Two years’ probation.”
“That’s not fair!” Will
grabbed hold of his temper before he shouted again. Last thing he needed was
someone coming to see if he was okay. “That’s not enough.” Not for scarring
Taz. Not for all the shit that came with PTSD and having to warn a guy before
they met in person the first time.
No amount of prison time
was ever enough for ruining someone’s sense of safety and ability to freely move
around in the world.
“It is what it is,” Taz
said. “One of the things that helps when I get really down is remembering he’s
stuck in Minnesota for another year and a half. The boogeyman can’t get me
here.”
Meanwhile a few of Will’s
boogeymen still wandered the streets because they’d never been identified. He’d
blocked out a lot of those two years, especially the faces. He didn’t want to
see the faces in his nightmares anymore. But the voices.
He hadn’t forgotten their
voices.
I see the moon and the moon sees me. I see the moon and the moon sees
me.
“Will?”
He startled at the
worried voice from his laptop. “I’m here.”
“You doing okay with
this? Hearing this?”
“I’m sorry you were
hurt.” He chewed at his thumbnail, grateful for the sharp spike of pain he got
when he bit at sore flesh too close to the nail. “That’s why you have PTSD?”
“Yeah. Scared me really
bad. It was someone I knew, you know? Plus all the pain afterward. It all
jumbled into this big mess in my head.”
“It was someone I knew, you know?”
Oh yeah. He knew.
“A big, jumbled mess
that’s so overwhelming it’s easier to ignore it than try to untangle it,” Will
said.
“Exactly. Fuck, dude, are
you a shrink in your spare time?”
Will laughed. “No, but
I’ve been in therapy since I was sixteen. Some shit stuck.”
“And you’re nineteen?”
“Yeah. Twenty in November.”
He could finally leave his shitty teens behind.
“That’s a lot of
therapy.”
“I have a lot of shit
jumbled together.”
“Does it help?”
“Therapy?” Will’s mind
tried to turn back to that black moment he’d had a year and a half ago. “It’s
had some really awful times, but yeah. Therapy saved my life. My doctor’s
really good, too. He isn’t just head-shrinking you and plying you with pills;
he really gives a damn.”
“Wish I could afford a
therapist like that.”
Taz sounded so sad that
Will wanted to reach through the computer and hug him, and hugging strangers
wasn’t usually an impulse he felt. “When I was in foster care, the state paid,
but now that I’m over eighteen, he does our sessions super cheap. It was free
until I got my income figured out, and then I wanted to pay.”
He’d needed to pay. To
use the money he was getting for something useful besides rent and food.
“When you say income
figured out,” Taz said, “you mean your job? The fund-raiser thing?”
Shit, he’d said too much.
He also didn’t want to lie. Even though he’d graduated from a name on a screen
to a name with a voice, Taz was still mostly an unknown. So why the hard-on for
honesty?
He’s the first real friend I’ve had since I was thirteen.
“No, I volunteer at the
Stanley Center,” Will replied, voice a little shaky. He hated telling people
about the source of his greatest humiliation. “I get disability.”
“Oh. Okay.”
That was it?
He couldn’t see Taz’s
face, but he got the impression his expression was as mild as his response.
Usually people looked at him like he was some sort of nut job or a liar,
because what seemingly healthy nineteen-year-old got disability checks?
Mental cases who couldn’t
hold a dishwashing job for longer than two weeks, that’s who. Dropouts with no
diploma, no GED, and no actual work experience. And no fucking way could he put
“excels at being fucked up the ass” on a résumé. He’d either get laughed out of
the office or bent over the desk.
No, thank you.
He wanted to work. He wanted to get a regular job and pay taxes and be
a normal human being, like the other people he knew. Sam and Kerry and Jonas
and Dr. Taggert and all of their friends and loved ones. Volunteering at the
Stanley Center was helping by degrees, but he still had a hard time with any
task outside the actual office. He’d never attended any of the fund-raisers or
community functions he’d helped coordinate or set up. Never seen the results of
his own hard work in motion.
“Will?”
“Yeah?” Had Taz been
talking?
“You went away again.”
“Sorry. I do that
sometimes. Get caught up in my own head. Used to scare the hell out of my
foster mom.”
“You like your foster
mom?”
Will grinned at his
laptop screen. “I do. Did. I was a pretty tough case, and I know I scared her a
couple of times with my shit, but she stuck it out. We still keep in touch.”
“You haven’t talked about
what your shit is yet.” The comment was tentative, uncertain, but it hit Will
like a brick.
His entire body went
cold. “I, uh…”
“You don’t need to give
me details or anything, I’m sorry. I just… Ballpark? Please?”
Taz had taken a huge risk
in telling him about the acid attack and his scars. Will didn’t want to open a
vein over the years he’d lived in complete and utter hell, but he could give
Taz something. Something to explain his issues and his inability to work. “When
I was younger, I, uh…” He swallowed hard against rising acid. “I was molested
for two years.”
Those six words barely
scratched the surface of everything he’d endured, but Taz didn’t need to know.
The only person who ever got those words were Dr. Taggert, and half the time it
was through written notes, instead of actually speaking them. Things that, even
years later, could turn him into a shivering, sobbing, terrified mess in the
blink of an eye.
I see the moon and the moon sees me.
He clung to Jennifer’s
nursery rhyme like a talisman to ward off the demons of his past.
And Taz hadn’t spoken.
Hadn’t even acknowledged he’d heard the confession. Will checked his laptop,
but the voice chat was still open. “Taz?”
“Sorry, just…” He sounded
weird. Sharp, gruff. Mad.
Great, he’d just fucked
up his first real friendship in years. Who’d want to keep being friends with a
basket case who couldn’t work, and who was as used up and tossed away as Will
felt most days? Just like that wrinkled ball of paper.
“They arrest who did it?”
Taz asked.
Will blinked at the
screen, uncertain how to answer that. “Some of them.” Three men, plus his
mother. But the case was still, technically, open, even three years later.
“Some of them?” His voice
went darker, deeper, and Will was glad they weren’t in the same room, because
the force of Taz’s anger, even through the crappy speaker, was making his
insides shake.
“I can’t talk about this
anymore.” He hated how his voice was shaking, but he couldn’t stop it. He drew
his knees to his chest and started rocking.
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
Soothing now. So much better than mad. “I’ve never wanted to hurt other people
so badly before. Jesus Christ.”
Will blinked hard. No one
had ever wanted to do violence to others on his behalf. Not ever. Didn’t stop
the shaking, though. Or the driving need to change the subject. “Why do you
like being called Taz?”
He made a funny sound,
like he was trying to laugh but it got caught on his temper and strangled. “My
real name is Thomas Zachary, so the initials were kind of there from the start.
But in elementary school I started acting out a lot. Got the nickname Tasmanian
Devil, and the name kind of came out of that.”
“Oh. I like it. Will’s
boring.”
“I think Will’s a nice
name.”
The compliment eased some
of his nerves. “Thanks. I mean, I guess I could have been stuck with something
really weird, like Ernest or Voldemort.”
Taz laughed. “I hear you.
When I was in foster care, I was in a house with two brothers named Romeo and
Tybalt. For real.”
Will had never read the
play, so he tried to remember the weird modern movie version he’d seen on TV a
long time ago. But it was so hazy, his early life. When things were sucky but
hadn’t descended into hell yet. No luck remembering who Tybalt was, but he
played along so he didn’t sound stupid. “Guess their parents were Shakespeare
fans,” Will said.
“Guess so. Anyway…you
still keen to meet?”
“Of course.”
He could hear Dr.
Taggert’s voice in the back of his mind, warning him about meeting up with near
strangers he’d met in an online chat room.
It wasn’t in a hookup room. Chat only.
Predators know how to put
you at ease, he’d reply.
We’ll meet in public.
The voice stayed quiet.
Good. Besides, he was making friends.
He hoped. He really
needed Taz to be who he said he was.
“Do you know Benton
Park?” Will asked.
“Yeah, it’s not too far
from where I live.”
It was three blocks’
walking distance from Will, which meant they at least lived on the same side of
the city, possibly even the same neighborhood. “There’s some trees and benches
on one side, opposite the bus stop. Want to meet there?”
“Right now?” Taz didn’t
sound keen on the idea.
Will wanted to meet him
now more than anything else in the world. He needed that stable connection he’d
thought he’d found in Guy. “Sure. I can bring food. It’s getting close to
dinnertime. We can picnic or something.” Christ, could he sound any cheesier?
“Um.”
Oh shit, I fucked up again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t
think,” Will said. His hands were trembling again, damn it. “I know you don’t
like going out because of your scars. Shit. It’s just, I don’t know you, so I
can’t go to your place, because that’s a guaranteed freak-out, even though I don’t
think you’ll hurt me, but…fuck.”
Taz laughed. “We’re a
pair, aren’t we?”
“I guess. Maybe we should
stick to talking this way.”
“No.” Resolve deepened
his voice. “It’s evening. Trees cast shadows. I’ll wear a hat. I can do this. I
need to do this. I haven’t walked farther
than the corner bodega in over a year.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I can walk to meet
you.”
Hope tried to rise up
again. “Are you really sure? What if you have an episode? I don’t want to be
the reason—”
“You didn’t throw acid on
me, Will. It wouldn’t be your fault.”
It would feel like his
fault. “What do you like to eat? There’s a great sandwich shop near here. One
of those quirky places that sells giant kosher dills right out of a barrel.”
“Um, they got roast
beef?”
Will ran down his mental
list of the different sandwiches on their board. “Yeah, pretty sure. Special
fixings?” He yanked a notebook off the stack under his bed and scribbled Taz’s
complex list of toppings on an empty page. “Okay, if they have all that, I’ll
ask for it.”
“Thanks. And I can bring
sodas. I have root beer, cola and diet cola in my fridge.”
“That’s a lot of soda for
one person.”
“Don’t like water. I know
it’s good for you, but…”
Will heard the shrug he
couldn’t see. He laughed. He really liked how easily Taz made him laugh. Few
people could, besides Sam and Jennifer. Sometimes Sydney, the only other male
resident in the house, but that wasn’t usually on purpose. Sydney had issues
with paranoia. “I like root beer.”
“Awesome.”
He glanced at the time.
“So meet you there around six thirty?”
“Okay.”
“If it helps, I’m nervous
too.”
Taz let out an audible
breath. “It does help. Thanks. So I’m looking for a guy with shaggy brown hair,
little shorter than me, on a bench beneath the trees.”
Will groaned. “Um, I may
have exaggerated one thing on my profile.”
“Cock size?”
That got another
well-deserved laugh, because the chat-only profiles didn’t have a spot to list those
inches. “No. Height. I said I was five-six, but I’m only five foot. I’m a
midget.”
Taz chuckled; Will really
loved that sound. “Don’t worry about it. But thanks for the heads-up. Otherwise
I might have stepped on you without realizing.”
“Ha. Ha.” He owned his size.
Shit diet from birth to adulthood, combined with unlucky genetics. His mother had
been petite, too.
His gut rolled, and he
shoved all thoughts of Marjorie away.
“So I’ll see you at six thirty?”
Taz asked.
“Absolutely. See you
then.”
Will snapped his laptop
shut, then stowed it under his mattress. He ripped the sheet of notebook paper
out and tucked it into his pocket, stupidly excited to try something as panic inducing
as dinner in a public park. With a man he’d never met before. A man he wanted
to get to know better instead of run away from.
A man whose laughter made
him feel safe instead of cornered.
Dr. Taggert might have
put a moratorium on Will’s obsession with anonymous sexual hookups for a while,
but he couldn’t possibly have a reason to object to Will making a new friend.
And even if Dr. Taggert
did object, Will was pretty sure he wouldn’t give a shit. Not this time.
Chapter 2
Taz
stared at his computer long after he’d shut down his browser, equal parts
thrilled and terrified and not sure which one was going to win this time.
He’d joined the chat room
six months ago out of sheer loneliness, needing to establish some sort of
connection with other human beings, without the awkwardness of face-to-face
meet-cutes. No one wanted to look at him for long periods of time, not even his
own dad.
Not that his dad, Peter
Callahan, avoided looking at him, exactly, but Taz remembered what it was like
before the acid. When he’d been a good-looking athlete with a ton of friends.
Now he was a guy folks either stared at in fascinated horror or they avoided
looking at altogether. Considering his dad had only ever known him with the
acid scars, he did a better job meeting in the middle.
Peter visited several
times a week, bringing him cold groceries and things he couldn’t get off
Amazon. Treating him like a human being with thoughts and feelings, reminding
Taz there was someone out there who cared about him.
Taz tried to stand, to go
get the two sodas he’d promised to bring to this meeting with Will. Even
thinking Will’s name made him smile. Taz had surprised himself by initiating
the voice chat, and then immediately wondered why he’d waited so long. Will had
an addictive voice. Soft without being weak. Strong, even when he sounded
upset. And his laughter made Taz’s heart flutter.
Will was also the first
person he’d told about the scars who hadn’t stopped messaging him right away.
He still wanted to meet Taz in person, and that scared the holy hell out of
him. As much as Taz craved communication and contact beyond his father, he
didn’t want to get his heart broken again.
You’re just friends, moron. You’re having dinner like friends do. Don’t
make it bigger. Give him a chance to run away before you hand your heart over
like a desperate idiot.
He got his body to
cooperate and stood from his desk chair. Stretched, since he’d been sitting for
about two hours straight. His work-at-home job as a transcriptionist had been a
godsend—one more thing to thank Peter for—and he loved his ergonomic chair, but
all that sitting had given him a pooch he’d have tormented his own damned self
over in college. Sometimes he really missed the energy of the gym. The teasing,
the camaraderie, the push to do better. Hell, he even missed the smells of pit sweat
and funky socks.
Once, a few months ago,
he’d considered one of those gyms open twenty-four hours, hoping he could go in
at some obscure hour when maybe no one would be there. The instant the girl at
the desk saw him, her expression sent him fleeing. He never went back. When he
told Peter about the total failure, Peter had encouraged him to order whatever
he wanted in terms of home gym equipment.
Taz had yet to take him
up on that offer. He’d cost Peter so much money already.
Now he kind of regretted
that. His shirt was loose enough that maybe he’d only look stocky, instead of
flabby. Not that he expected Will to cruise him at all; he’d already been
warned about the scars.
He strode across the
small living room to the attached kitchen. Rustled a plastic bag out from under
the sink and put two cans of cold root beer in it. It was off-brand, but he
thought it tasted the same as the popular stuff, and hopefully Will wouldn’t
mind. He stopped in the bathroom to take a piss and comb his hair into neater
waves. Making himself presentable without actually looking at his broken skin
had become a kind of game since he’d moved into this apartment.
The row of prescription
bottles on the counter mocked him with their sheer number. He wasn’t due anything
for a few hours, but walking to the park was going to do a number on his
anxiety. He tucked one of the bottles into his jeans pocket, in case.
Then he plunked a Blue
Rocks cap on his head and stared at the front door of the apartment for a solid
minute. Muscles frozen. Heart fluttering.
Cruel, hateful people
were on the other side of that door.
So is Will. He’s funny and nice, and he’s waiting for you.
A roast beef sandwich was
also waiting for him, fresh from a deli Will recommended, piled with all sorts
of great things. Even if all he got out of this was a sandwich and a
conversation, he could live with that. It was more than he’d had in a long
fucking time.
Move your right foot forward. Good. Left foot next. Good. Keep going.
The mental exercise got
his limbs to loosen, and he palmed his keys as he reached for the knob. Turned
it. Pulled it open.
“Push through it, Zachary, you aren’t a quitter!” Words spat at him
by his wrestling coach during a particularly brutal training run. He’d been
recovering from a chest cold, which had diminished his lung capacity, and he’d
fallen behind the other runners.
“I’m not a quitter,” he
said to the empty hallway beyond his door. He stepped out, then locked his door
behind him.
Sounds from other
apartments drifted to him. Voices and noise that could be televisions or music.
The hall smelled like old cigarettes and mildew. It was stifling. He wanted
fresh air. Needed fresh air. So he started walking again.
His entire journey from the
apartment to the sidewalk across from the park was an exercise in
stop-and-start techniques. In visualizing himself moving so he could cross the
street before the light changed. Keeping forward motion, attention straight ahead,
ignoring every single person he passed.
No one ran screaming, so
that was something.
He waited for the signal
to change so he could cross the street to the park. He was on the bus stop
side, so Will would be diagonal from him, the farthest point away. The earnest
way Will had admitted to lying about his height came back to mind and made him
smile. He really didn’t care much what Will looked like, as long as he stayed
as kind and friendly as he’d been online, once he’d seen the monster he was
eating with.
Other pedestrians began
streaming down the crosswalk. Taz kick-started himself into going with the
flow, just another person heading home after work or out to dinner with
friends. A normal fucking person.
The small park took up a
section of a block that had once all been housing, in a neighborhood effort to
get more green areas into their city. The grass was a sickly green, but the
trees were growing strong at the far end, and the playground equipment wasn’t
rusty enough to be dangerous. Someone had even planted a few flower beds inside
old tires here and there.
Instead of walking as the
crow flies, he stuck to the perimeter, away from the scattering of kids and
various others enjoying the hot July evening outdoors. Two metal benches faced
each other beneath the shade of three closely planted trees, and a small, slim
figure was pacing between them.
Taz checked the time on
his phone—6:50. Shit.
Ice dropped hard in his
belly, threatening to keep him rooted to the ground. He was late and if that
was Will, he looked frantic.
I’ve already fucked this up. Fantastic.
And he couldn’t get his
goddamn limbs to move. Adrenaline spiked, putting a bitter taste in his mouth.
His heart raced. This whole thing had been a huge mistake.
Maybe-Will turned a neat
pivot, his hands clutching a white paper bag, and he froze. Seemed to look right
at him. His entire body seemed to wilt with…what? Dread? Relief? From the
distance of about thirty feet, Taz wasn’t sure.
The boy strode toward
him, his lean body perfectly advertised under a pair of well-fitted jeans and a
green dress shirt that looked tailor-made for his coloring. Shaggy brown hair,
as advertised. The closer he got, Taz saw more details. Wary brown eyes.
Scuffed loafers on his feet. And fuck, he was small. Barely came up to Taz’s
shoulder, and he wasn’t exactly a giant. He also brought with him the
intoxicating scents of meat, pickles, and something soapy.
“Taz?” the boy asked.
That voice.
“Yeah.” Taz cleared his
throat hard. “Yes. Hi. Will?”
“Yup.”
He gaze lingered on Taz’s
face, and for the briefest moment, Taz forgot there was anything ugly to see,
because Will smiled at him. He didn’t flinch or grimace or look away fast. He
held eye contact, no guard up, but his anxiety was clear in the way his fingers
trembled against the paper bag.
“I’m late,” Taz said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be.”
Will nodded. “Was it hard
walking here?”
“Yeah. My episodes are
more like freezing up. I can’t make anything move, not even to protect myself. I
have to work to get going again.”
“I’m kind of the
opposite. I go into full-on shaking, shivering, caught in dark moments mode. I
fucking hate it.”
“Me too.”
“And how sick are you of
people who don’t understand saying, ‘But at least you’re alive’?”
Taz snorted. “So true.
Platitudes don’t help.”
“Not really.” He held up
the bag. “Hungry? They might be a bit soggy, but I’m starving.”
He bit back the
boneheaded instinct to say he looked like he was starving, because rude. Will
also hadn’t put a lot of oomph in that statement, which suggested he wasn’t
actually all that hungry. Taz was, though.
“Definitely,” he replied.
“I brought drinks. They might be kind of warm now, though. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, I’ve drunk worse
things than warm root beer.”
Taz chewed on that as
Will led him over to one of the benches. He put the bag in the middle, so Taz
sat on the other side and watched while Will emptied the bag of two wax paper–wrapped
sandwiches, some napkins, and a plastic, twist-tied baggie with two giant green
pickles in it.
“I love their dill
pickles,” Will said. “I got another one in case you wanted one. I wasn’t sure,
but you asked for pickles on your sandwich, so…” He trailed off, his cheeks
pinking up.
“I do, thanks.” The
thoughtfulness made him like Will even more than he already did. He unwrapped
his sandwich, mouth watering at the thick stack of roast beef, lettuce, tomato,
pickles, sweet peppers, raw onion, and mayo, all pressed between two pieces of
thick-cut rye bread.
It tasted ten times
better than it looked, and Taz was four solid bites in before he realized Will
wasn’t eating. He had a half sandwich in his hand, something pale like turkey
or chicken, but he was staring at Taz. And not in the “ew, gross” way that he
expected from people nowadays, but in a “you fascinate me” kind of way. It made
his skin prickle.
“Am I being noisy or
chewing with my mouth open?” Taz asked.
“No, sorry. I’m
just…taking you in.”
Taz flinched.
“No!” Will winced at his
volume. “It’s not the scars. I mean, I see them, sure, but it’s all of you.”
Despite being embarrassed, Will gave him a full once-over that had Taz paying
closer attention.
Had Will seriously just
cruised him?
Taz glanced at his
rounded belly. “Well, there’s plenty of me.”
“Meanwhile, I’m skin and
bones. What a pair, huh?”
“Yeah.” He waited for
Will to start eating before he attacked his own sandwich again. Will took small
bites, chewing each one carefully before swallowing. Actions by rote to get the
food down, instead of savoring every bite the way Taz did. He adored all the
sharp, tangy flavors in his mouth, all the textural contrasts. “Don’t like your
sandwich?”
Will shrugged. “It’s
fine. It’s a sandwich.”
“You could have gotten
something different if you don’t like sandwiches.”
“It’s fine. It’s food,
right?” He took another small bite of pale meat, white bread, and nothing else
that Taz could see. Chewed it slow. Swallowed. Almost bored with the whole
thing.
Taz had never had much of
a brain-to-mouth filter before the acid, and it hadn’t developed any after. “Do
you have an eating disorder or something?” It came out gentle, not accusing,
but Will still flinched.
Good guess.
“It was a lot worse when
I was sixteen,” Will replied, not making eye contact. “After the, uh, abuse
stopped. I hated eating. Took months before me and my shrink finally figured it
all out, and then it started getting better. I was able to focus on food as
necessary fuel, instead of something that could hurt me.” He finally looked up,
his dark eyes sad. “I wish I could be the guy who scarfs down a burger and
fries with his buddies then goes back for a hot fudge sundae, but I’m not.
Doubt I ever will be.”
Taz eyed the other
uneaten half of his sandwich, his stomach suddenly unhappy with what was in it.
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is, right?
I’ll never be a competitive eater, and you’ll never be America’s next top
model.”
The instant laughter that
burbled up from inside Taz surprised him, when all past teasing about his scars
had always produced anger. Except Will wasn’t mocking him or pointing out his
flaws. He was teasing him in a gentle way that said Will accepted they both had
huge flaws, and that was okay.
“That’s good,” Taz said
with a grin, “because I look awful in high heels.”
Will’s eyebrows arched.
“And you know this from experience? Something I should know about, young man?”
Taz laughed again, and
goddamn, it felt good. Sure, he laughed at sitcoms and funny movies, and
sometimes his dad even told a good joke. This was different. This was…flirty.
And a hell of a lot of fun. “No, sorry, no cross-dressing skeletons in my
closet.”
“Shame.” Will licked
crumbs off his fingers with a pretty pink tongue, then put about two bites’
worth of sandwich down on the waxed paper. He grabbed the pickle bag. “Speaking
of closets, you came out senior year of college?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t really
want to head down this particular branch of memory lane, but he could take a
fast detour. “In high school, there were a few casual things, but nothing
serious. Enough to know I liked guys and girls. I dated girls my first three
years of college, partly because I was worried that coming out as being into
guys too would affect wrestling. I had a scholarship, so I didn’t want to do
anything to ruin that, you know?”
“Makes sense.” Will slid
the tip of a fat pickle into his mouth and held it there.
Taz’s heart skipped.
Blood pumped into his dick at the very suggestive way Will slowly bit into that
fucking pickle. “Uh-huh.”
Will put more force into
it, and there was an audible crunch. Juice dribbled down his chin.
Fucking Christ.
Taz grabbed a napkin and
dabbed at Will’s chin.
Will’s eyes sparkled. “So
what prompted you to come out?”
Had Taz been talking
about something? Oh. Right. “Charlie.” The name chilled some of his arousal and
left him cold. “We met sophomore year and became good friends very quickly. We
were definitely attracted to each other, but I was dating someone at the time,
and cheating was never my style. Junior year I got dumped, so I met up with
Charlie at a party to commiserate, and we ended up back at the dorm fucking.
The chemistry was great, and we wanted to keep it going, but Charlie was out
and I wasn’t.”
He always hated this part
of the story because it had been so fucking selfish of Taz. “He agreed to keep
us a secret until I was done with wrestling senior year. He stayed in the
closet for me, pretended we weren’t together even though we were. So after the
team didn’t get the win for nationals, I came out. I kissed Charlie in the gym,
in front of everyone.”
“Wow.” Will licked the
pickle. “That was brave.”
“Seems stupid, looking
back. It pissed someone off enough to throw acid on us.”
“How badly was Charlie
hurt?”
“Barely. Small spot on
his arm. Mostly it hit me.” Taz had been the one suffering, and Charlie had
fucking walked away.
Will’s eyes went wide.
Guess I said that out loud.
“He dumped you while you
were in the hospital?” Will asked. “What an asshole!” That shout got a few
heads swiveling in their direction. Will didn’t seem to notice the uptick in
his volume. “Who does that?”
Taz shushed him. “I loved
him, but it’s not like we’d exchanged rings and vows for better or worse. He
couldn’t handle the hospital and all of the local media attention, so he got
out. I don’t hate him anymore.”
“That’s because you’re a
decent person.”
“Maybe. He did break my
heart, though. Hard.”
“Someone should go break
his face.”
Taz blinked hard. “You’re
a fiery little thing, aren’t you?”
Will glared. “Are you
making fun of me?”
“No. I’m trying to figure
you out, that’s all. I like you. Hell, you’re the first new friend I’ve made in
two years.”
“Me too. I mean, I know
people. But I don’t do this. Meet up and hang out. Getting personal with new
people is…problematic.”
“Who are you telling?”
Taz smiled, and finally Will’s face softened. “I never really thought I’d make
a friend by commiserating over anxiety attacks and past violence.”
Will shrank down a bit.
“I still don’t want to talk about that. My past.”
“I wasn’t asking. I made
a statement, that’s all. And I’m apparently doing a shitty job of saying I’m
glad we started chatting, because I like you and I like having a friend.” He might
as well go for it. “Plus, you’re hella cute.”
Will’s lips twisted into
a sexy, almost taunting smile. “Cute, huh? Cute like puppies are cute?”
“Cute like I want to
reach over and kiss you. That cute.” Maybe he shouldn’t have been flirting so
hard, but he liked Will and it felt so good to be around someone he genuinely
liked—and was attracted to. Male or female, he hadn’t felt that draw in too
damned long. But what if Will didn’t feel—
Will leaned in. “So kiss
me, big guy.”
His heart kicked up. He
took in Will’s slightly parted lips, curious how they’d feel against his own.
How Will’s lean body would feel pressed up against his. What he’d taste like.
Charlie tasted like mint and chocolate, and then everything was on
fire.
The world went briefly
gray, and Taz’s entire body seized up tight.
Will was mentally kicking
himself for flirting so hard with Taz, especially when he was on a no-sex diet
for the next couple of weeks, when Taz’s already pale skin went a ghostly shade
of white. His whole body seemed to go rigid, his gaze distant. Frozen someplace
else.
Crap, Taz was having some
kind of episode. Will replayed their conversation, trying to figure out what
he’d said to freak Taz out so badly.
Kiss. Public park.
“Fuck my life.” He’d have
clocked himself upside the head for being so stupid if he wasn’t afraid of
someone in the park calling the cops on two nutcases sharing sandwiches on a
bench. The last time Taz had kissed a guy in public he’d ended up in the
hospital, and Will was all fucking casual about kissing him in a park
surrounded by people.
Total strangers, and not
a gymnasium full of classmates and fans who might give a solid damn about Taz’s
sexuality, but still. It hadn’t made a difference to Taz’s brain.
And he didn’t know Taz
well enough to bring him back from wherever he’d gone. Touching him while he
was out of it might very well end in a bruise or two, and Will didn’t want that
on Taz’s conscience. He definitely preferred his own active meltdowns to this
quiet, frozen statue his friend had become.
He moved their trash out
of the way and scooted a few inches closer on the bench. “Taz? Can you hear me?
It’s Will. Taz?”
A slight flicker in Taz’s
eyes. Not much, but he could work with that.
“Listen to me, okay?
You’re in Wilmington. We’re in a park in the city. No one’s going to hurt you.
Taz?”
Taz’s breathing sped up
so fast Will nearly shoved the empty paper bag over his mouth and nose. Then
Taz shook himself all over. Blinked hard several times. His skin kept that
awful pallor, but he looked at Will and seemed to actually see him again. He
dropped his chin to his chest and told his lap, “Fuck, Will, I’m sorry.”
Will tilted his head.
“What for? It was my fault.”
“No, it’s not. It’s my
stupid fucking head.”
“Hey. Hey.” He waited until Taz met his gaze,
hating the misery in his green eyes. “Dude, we’re both mental cases, and maybe
this is three years of therapy rubbing off on me, but I’m smart enough to
recognize triggers. I shouldn’t have told you to kiss me while we’re sitting
here in public.”
Taz seemed to study his
face while he got his breathing under control. Some color came back to his
cheeks, too. “It’s so stupid, though, to freak about a kiss. I bet I wouldn’t
have if you were a girl.”
“How do you know that?
Have you flirted with or kissed a girl since the—” The what? Accident was wrong, but words like assault or attack were too strong for their conversation. “Since the incident
at college?”
“No.”
“So you can’t be sure if
it’s specifically boy kissing that’ll trigger you. Could be any sort of public
kissing or displays of affection.”
Taz frowned. “And what do
you suggest I do to figure it out? Hit up a bar, flirt with a girl, and see if
I freak out?”
“That wouldn’t be my
first instinct, no.” Will hated the idea of Taz getting with someone else, guy
or girl. But they were friends, and Taz’s dating life wasn’t his business.
Except I want it to be.
He liked Taz. A lot. When
six thirty had come and gone with no Taz, Will had started to panic. Seriously
panic. He’d second-guessed every part of their earlier online conversation,
trying to figure out how he’d fucked up, how he’d scared Taz off. He’d cursed
himself for not getting Taz’s cell number beforehand.
And just when he’d
resigned himself to being stood up, he’d looked around and spotted a baseball-capped
man in dark jeans and a blue band shirt, holding a plastic grocery bag. He was
standing perfectly still near a garbage can, still too far to properly see his
face, especially with the hat casting shadows, but something inside Will had
responded to Taz. In that first moment, he’d known without a doubt that Taz was
someone he wanted in his life.
Taz was tall and
wonderfully soft around the middle, like someone who’d be crazy comfortable to
curl up with in bed. Thick auburn curls peeked out from beneath the ball cap’s
rim. And he had adorable freckles all over. His hands and up his arms. His neck
and cheeks and forehead.
The scars had captured Will’s
attention briefly, because he couldn’t help but see them. Taz’s left cheek and
part of his chin had a bumpy, waxy look that descended onto his neck and
disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. But it wasn’t scary or awful. The
scarring wouldn’t be all that noticeable if not for the lack of freckles on
half of his face.
Plus he made Will laugh
when so few people could.
He loved that Taz had
trusted him enough to be honest about how he’d gotten the scars, and Will had
hated this Charlie jerk instantly for dumping Taz when he’d needed him most.
And then they’d flirted and the whole conversation went to hell, because Will
was a horny idiot.
Taz dropped his head into
his hands, muffling his words. “We were having such a good time, too.” He
snapped back to attention. “We were, right? I mean, I was having a good time.”
Will smiled, because
episode or not—“This is the most fun I’ve had with another person in forever.
Period. To be honest, when I got home today and got hold of my panic attack, my
first instinct was to see if you were online.”
That made Taz’s lips
twitch. “Really?”
“Yes. I knew you’d understand
and let me vent. I knew I’d feel better. And I meant it when I said you’re the
first real friend I’ve made in pretty much forever. I don’t want to risk our
friendship by flirting you into anxiety attacks, so I’ll dial it back.”
“I started it when I called
you cute.”
“I made it worse by
daring you to kiss me.”
“I wanted to.” Taz picked
at the inseam of his jeans. “I just couldn’t stop the damned flashback.”
“Is that what happened
just now? A flashback?”
“Yeah. Flashbacks are
different for everyone, or so I’m told. I’m not back there reliving the attack
frame by frame, or anything. I get caught up in the emotions. All the joy from
being out with Charlie, then the blinding pain and fear, not really
understanding what’s happening or why it hurts so much. All those feelings
freeze me up and I get stuck.”
“Makes sense.”
Taz grunted. “It still
sucks, though.”
“Well, I have to admit,
it does bruise my ego that the very idea of kissing me sends you into an
episode.” Will’s light tone and exaggerated hand gestures did their job: Taz
smiled.
“Sorry to bruise your
ego, then,” Taz said, laughter in his voice. His entire body seemed to relax
more as they moved past the dark moment. “Tell how to make it up to you.”
Taz was no longer a
faceless name in a chat room. He was a real person Will wanted to get to know
better. He was safe.
Will leaned in, heart
beating a little bit faster. “Invite me back to your place.”