Chapter Seven
Slade
The truck’s headlights sweep across the front of the house as I pull into the driveway just after nine. I kill the engine and step out with a genuine smile still tugging at my mouth.
I close the front door behind me, lock it, kick off my boots, and hang my jacket on the hook. My shoulders feel lighter than they have all week, the kind of easy satisfaction that only comes from a solid day’s work and a little unexpected fun .
The house feels strangely quiet, the kind of heavy silence that immediately puts me on edge.
Only the hallway light is on, casting long shadows down the corridor.
I frown, moving deeper into the space. The living room is completely dark, the TV screen black and lifeless.
I continue toward the kitchen and flick on the overhead light.
Still no sign of Andrew. He’s usually up at this hour, sprawled across the couch with his feet on the coffee table or rummaging through the fridge.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with cold water from the fridge door, taking a long sip while my eyes drift across the room. That’s when I notice the mess on the kitchen table.
I set the glass down and walk over, brows furrowed.
The table is covered in papers. I slide the closed laptop aside and pick up the top leaflet.
It’s for a community college, about twenty miles away.
The photos on the front look modern and inviting…
sleek new buildings, students laughing on a sunny quad.
There are multiple copies scattered across the table.
On the back of one, someone has neatly filled out the contact information section.
Mr. Ramirez. Below it is a short handwritten note:
Hope to see you in August, Andrew. Get in touch if you
have any more questions.
A surprised laugh escapes me, half proud, half disbelieving. Andrew… he actually went and visited the community college. He’s thinking about going; finally doing something with that sharp brain of his instead of wasting it on stupid shit.
My smile fades a little as reality settles in.
How the hell did he even get there? He doesn’t have his own car.
I taught him to drive when he turned seventeen, but I never got him one because his behaviour kept getting worse and he hadn’t earned it.
Public transport? A taxi would’ve been expensive as hell.
The train isn’t cheap either, and the buses from our little town to that area have no direct route. It would’ve been a pain in the ass.
I swallow hard. Why didn’t he just ask me? I would’ve taken the day off in a heartbeat. I would’ve loved to go with him, walk the campus, and hear what the counsellors had to say. When the hell did he even do this? Sometime this week while we’ve barely spoken?
Guilt twists low in my gut. Yeah, we’ve been avoiding each other since Monday night.
I couldn’t stop replaying what happened…
him crawling into my bed, pressing that bare ass against me, the way I was so fucking close to caving and letting him stay there.
But he has a girlfriend, for God’s sake.
It can’t happen… I had to get out of that room.
Still… I’m incredibly proud of him for even considering college.
I shift a few more leaflets aside and my hand lands on a folded newspaper.
I pick it up with a soft chuckle, since when does Andrew read actual newspapers?
But the laugh dies slowly in my throat when I see the rental section.
Several ads are circled in red ink. Wait…
Andrew wants to move out? Why? Is this because of this week?
Because I rejected him? Because he feels unwanted?
I stand here under the bright kitchen light, the proud warmth from a minute ago now tangled with a heavy, uneasy feeling in my chest.
I turn the kitchen light off and head upstairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight. I go straight to Andrew’s room. The space is dark when I push the door open, but I can hear him faintly snoring, the sound soft and rhythmic in the quiet.
I cross the room to the little desk he keeps in the corner and click on the lamp, casting a warm, low glow across the walls. Then I move to the bed and simply stand here for a long minute, watching the steady rise and fall of his back.
He’s actually wearing pyjamas tonight… soft grey ones that look freshly washed.
Honestly, I don’t even remember the last time I bought him a pair; he usually cycles the same set over and over because he barely ever wears them.
He only pulls them on when he’s had a particularly rough day and wants to feel safe.
I frown and lower myself onto the edge of the bed, one leg bent beneath me so I’m facing him, the other foot still planted on the floor.
I reach out and nudge his shoulder gently. “Hey, Drew… wake up.”
Andrew mumbles something incoherent and does this cute little snort of disturbance before groggily lifting his head. “Hmm? ”
He face-plants back into the pillow almost immediately.
“Andrew?”
He hums again, a sleepy “Mhmm?”
I let out a quiet laugh, soft and warm in my chest. “I’m proud of you.”
Andrew turns his head just enough to peek one tired eye open at me. “Why?”
I smile and, for some reason I can’t quite name, start stroking slow, soothing circles along his back, the fabric of his pyjama top warm beneath my palm. “I saw the leaflets on the table. You’re thinking about community college?”
He yawns wide, the sound cracking with exhaustion. “Yep.”
I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk about it right now… fair enough, I’ve just woken him up… but I can’t stop the words from spilling out anyway. “I would’ve liked to come with you. I would’ve taken the day off to take you, Andrew.”
He pushes up onto his elbows, still lying on his front, and looks at me through half-lidded eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you. It’s not a big deal.”
I frown, because we both know that’s a load of bullshit.
“Not a big deal? Are you kidding me? This is amazing. You’re taking a serious step to better yourself, to actually use that brain of yours for something good.
You went out of your way to travel there all on your own, to an unfamiliar place. I’m so proud of you.”
Andrew searches my face for a long beat, something vulnerable flickering behind his tired gaze. “ Oh … I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t think it would be worth taking time off work for. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I’d like to go with you if there’s a next time, yeah?”
“Sure,” he mumbles.
I hesitate, then ask the question that’s been gnawing at me since I saw the newspaper downstairs. “So… you want to move out?”
Andrew lets out a short, bitter laugh and drops his forehead back to the pillow. “I mean… yeah. I’ve got to live for myself, right? My mom left when I was still a good kid. I had to break up with Cici because she didn’t care that I wanted to better myself and go to college. And you…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He just sighs heavily and flops back down, turning his face away from me.
The realization settles over me like a weight: Andrew feels like he’s not good enough for anyone.
Like he can’t please a single person in his life.
Like no one could ever love him exactly as he is.
My chest tightens painfully with sympathy, guilt, and sadness.
The forbidden thing I’ve been trying to bottle up all week creeps out, thick and insistent.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand up, shrug off my uncomfortable day clothes until I’m down to my boxers, and climb into the bed beside him. I pull the covers over myself, the sheets still warm from his body heat .
Andrew freezes instantly, still facing away, then tries… very discreetly, in a way that’s almost funny… to inch a little farther from me so our bodies aren’t touching. I don’t say anything. I don’t pressure him. I just lie here, close enough that he can feel I’m here, and stay.
After a few minutes of thick silence, Andrew’s voice comes out in a whisper so small I almost miss it. “Are you gonna leave?”
“Nope.”
He turns over slowly, keeping the covers pulled up tight to his neck like he’s trying to hide behind them. “Why?”
I shrug one shoulder, keeping my voice low and steady.
“I want you to know that you are wanted. That I’m proud of you.
That I’m not letting you move out. And that…
I feel a lot less guilty knowing Cici is out of the picture.
Well done, by the way, that can’t have been easy.
I’m just sorry she didn’t want to support you through this. ”
Andrew nods, taking it all in, his fingers absently playing with a stray thread on his pillowcase.