Chapter 15
Road Trip
Josha
“Poor baby,” Gem says, running a finger down the crack in the gas tank of his motorcycle. “I don’t think a hex wrench is going to cut it this time.”
With his shorn hair and his tats and his goddamned muscles, he looks almost nothing like the boy I met with the busted handlebars, but that conspiratorial smile—so bright it’s blinding—is the same.
“Go pay the man his money,” I say, smothering a return grin. “I’ll get ‘Bonnie’ loaded up.”
“By yourself?” He cocks a brow in amusement. “Can I watch? I haven’t had a chance to see those muscles in action yet.”
“I have a truck ramp, asshole.”
We spent most of Sunday scouring the thrift stores in Bakersfield until Gem found the perfect jacket to replace the one he lost in the fight. This morning, he took the world’s longest shower and then insisted on cleaning half the condo before I finally dragged him out of the house.
Seven more hours, and I can dump him back at Big Top and be free of him.
Mostly. Sort of. At least he won’t be sleeping right down the hall.
Shilo and Hals will be home with Milla in five days, and they can deal with him and whatever existential crisis is making him act like—my boyfriend—a crazy person.
“Are you gonna let me drive at all?” he asks when we stop for gas on the way out of town.
“I’ve seen what happened to your ride.”
“Then grab me a six-pack while you’re in there.”
“Not a chance, idiot.”
But at the last minute, I slide a box of orange Tic Tacs onto the counter.
He gives me another one of those heart-stopping smiles when I toss them on his lap as I climb back behind the wheel. If I’m not careful, I’ll get addicted all over again.
“We should jump over to the 101 and go up through San Francisco. Didn’t you say Rachael’s still living there?”
The casual question hits me like a knee to the gut.
“If I take the 101, we’ll hit the East Bay at rush hour. I’m not sitting through two hours of gridlock on the 580 so you can relive old times with my sister.”
“I was thinking more about hitting up Homeroom. Jalapeno-popper mac?”
“You’re stalling. I’m not going to help you avoid your family and prolong their torture for an overpriced bowl of mac ’n’ cheese.”
“Blasphemy! It’s totally worth the price.”
“Tell me I’m wrong, then. Tell me you’re not looking for a chance to bail.
Have you even called to put them out of their misery yet?
” I know he hasn’t. I would have heard from Shilo and gotten chewed out for keeping them in the dark.
And even though I know he’s probably not gonna disappear while his bike is strapped to the bed of my truck, I can’t bring myself to trust him.
Every time he gets like this and I let my guard down, he vaporizes out of my life like a phantom.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s been hard, surviving without the walking disaster they created fucking up their lives.”
“They fucking love you, Gem.”
“For all the good that’s done any of us.” He chews on his thumbnail and mutters, “They’re better off without me.”
“Or you’re a selfish prick who needs to grow up and stop blaming everyone else for your issues. You made your own choices. Going to ENC. Drowning your dissatisfaction in alcohol and drugs. Using me to—”
“To what?” He cocks his head, and some of his sass returns.
“I don’t know. To get back at Shilo and Hals for helping raise me? To punish me for not being a fuckup too?”
“To make myself feel like a real person?”
My chest squeezes involuntarily, but I refuse to let myself feel sorry for him.
“What does that even mean? How were you not a real person the whole time? You’ve always been larger than fucking life.”
“See? Practically a real boy.” He flashes a wry grin, followed by a sigh.
“You know what a star drop is? Don’t answer that.
I know you do. It’s the first big trick they teach you in aerials if you go into one of the vertical apparatuses.
It looks scary and impressive to the audience, but you’re locked in, and it’s completely safe as long as you engage your core.
Seven-year-olds can do it—and not just the Russian ones.
“I’m a star drop, Rocket. Something that appears flashy if you don’t know what you’re looking at, but ultimately unremarkable.”
“Ninety-nine percent of the world would never attempt a star drop. You only think it’s easy because you grew up in the circus. Don’t try to tell me you’re not remarkable.” The urge to argue his self-worth is automatic, even after all this time.
“I’m ordinary,” he insists. “My talents, my rebellions, even my family drama is a cliché. My mom knew it. I think that’s why she fought so hard against me going to Montreal. She knew I wouldn’t be able to hack it as soon as I wasn’t a big dick in a small pond.”
“You performed all over the world when you were a child. That’s a pretty big pond.”
“I may have exaggerated my experience to impress you,” he admits.
“Mostly, they dressed me up and stuck me in the ensemble until we started Big Top. Look, I’m not avoiding my family because I’m angry, Rocket.
I’m fucking ashamed. I don’t think I can face them without my self-righteous shield, even if it was bullshit all along. ”
This vulnerability is a new weapon, and I’m inadequately armored for the fight.
“Why go crawling back at all, then? Why not get your shit together first? I saw how much money you made the other night. You never needed me to ‘rescue’ you. You said it yourself—I’m only here because you missed your adoring little fan club of one.”
He studies me for a long moment. “If you haven’t figured that one out yet, you’re not as smart as I thought.”
I take the goddamn 101 and buy him his stupid mac ’n’ cheese.
As predicted, the 580 is a nightmare, and worse, the Richmond Bridge is shut down because some asshole with a rifle decided to take pot shots at the cars from one of the Chevron refinery tanks, and we get rerouted into the city.
By the time we escape the traffic, it’s ten o’clock, and I’m completely fried. Gem is half asleep in the passenger seat. I’m pretty sure he popped another Vicodin while I was taking a piss before we left Homeroom.
I finally find a cheap motel with off-street parking on Seventh Street at the edge of the Leather District and elbow Gem awake.
I pay the night manager with some of the cash Gem gave me to supplement our gas fund, sliding the bills under the bulletproof glass.
“Do you think he thought we were a couple?” Gem asks as we carry our respective bags up the dingy stairwell.
“In a place like this? More likely he thought I was your john. Or your pimp.”
“Why am I the hustler? Is it because I’m prettier?”
“Have you seen your face today?” The bruises have faded to a sallow yellow green, but they’re still visible along his cheek and jaw.
His eyes sparkle. “But you’d pay to have sex with me. I think you’re flirting with me, Rocket.”
“This is not flirting.” Definitely not. Is it?
“Too bad. You should try it sometime. You might have fun. Maybe even get laid.”
This shit again?
“Jesus, Quill.” I round on him. “How many times have we been here before. This?” I wave my hand between us. “This isn’t real. I’m not playing games with you anymore.”
Unexpectedly, he grins. “You called me Quill.”
For fuck’s sake. I roll my eyes and climb the final flight of stairs, ignoring his quiet chuckles at my back.
All I want to do is lie down and pass out, but the room is small and reeks of stale cigarettes, and the sight of the two double beds is dredging up my own deep-sea demons.
“I’m going out,” I tell him, tossing my duffel on the nearest bed. “All I’ve eaten today is gas station candy and pasta. I need some real food.”
“I’ve got something you can eat.”
“Jesus, Farrel. What are you, twelve? Or high?”
“Unfortunately, no. We should hit up a dispensary.” He bounces off the bed, annoyingly energetic for someone who was almost passed out twenty minutes ago.
We make it half a block before he gets distracted by two guys in a dark doorway.
“Are you kidding me?” I grab his elbow and drag him away. “Everything’s laced with fentanyl these days. We’ve had three ODs in Fort Bragg since January. Suck it up until tomorrow, and we’ll get you some weed. You get stupid on me one more time, and I’m leaving you here to rot.”
“Yes, Daddy.” He shrugs in surrender, then snags my hand when I scowl and turn to walk away. “You’re right. I’m an idiot. I’ll quit the shit, I promise.”
“Sure.” I pull my hand free.
“Let’s go to a gay bar,” he says, taking in the surrounding scene.
“Why?” Exasperation leaks from my tone. “What could you possibly get out of that, other than a new way to fuck with me? You’re not gay, Gem. The only dick you’ve ever been interested in is your own.”
“Maybe I’m breaking bi.” He sounds almost wistful, begging me to smile at the reference like an inside joke.
I know I’m being an asshole—gatekeeping his identity in some twisted form of bi-erasure born of jealousy and self-preservation. But I’ve been here so many times before, only to have the rug pulled out from under me. I don’t have it in me to start believing him now.
“I tried once, in college,” he says. “Getting with another guy.”
“Tried?” A hot wave of jealousy swamps me before I shove it down. “Let me guess, you didn’t like it.”
“Not with him.”
“You didn’t like it with me either. Or have you forgotten that part?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. Everything is different with you. It always was.”
“Fuck off with that shit. I’m not gonna roll over like some starved puppy just because you’re bored and lonely and feel like messing with me again. I told you; I’m over your whole fucked-up little game. I’m over you.”
Something haunted bleeds into his eyes.
“Are you still a virgin, Rocket?” he whispers.
Un-fucking-believable.
“No.” I whirl and stalk away before he can read the lie. “You wanna play gay chicken? C’mon.”
“Where are we going?”
“A club.”
“You hate clubs.” Like he didn’t suggest the same thing two minutes ago.
“You don’t know me anymore.” Another lie.