22. Jimmy
Jimmy
T here had been no affectionate cuddles after our release, no murmured good morning, no soft, first kiss against my mouth like I’d hoped for.
Sutton had walked away from me like a paying customer always did—without a backward glance at the escort who’d only been hired to get his rocks off. He’d rutted against me until he climaxed, but at least he’d been kind enough like some of my past experiences to help me get there as well.
Sure, he’d left the bathroom door cracked open, but I hadn’t seen the action as an invite considering the utterance of where he’d headed to wash the feel and stench of me from his skin.
Sutton regretted what we’d done. Him leaving me behind was all the evidence I needed, his tone about showering as dismissive as anything I’d heard when working for Elite.
I’d gone on to become that whore Dad had accused me of being when I’d gotten caught on my knees for that jock back in high school. He was probably right about me being a worm too, good only for wallowing in the dirt, living beneath everyone else where light that offered warmth would never reach me.
Pulling on my clothes that Sutton had taken off of me the night before had been a struggle. Stepping out of his door into the bitter cold morning had caused me to hunker further in on myself as I wallowed in self-pity and heartache.
I should have known better than to pursue a man like Sutton. I wasn’t enough for him, and he was too well-respected to be in a relationship with a person like me.
The following hours proved me right.
He didn’t text.
Didn’t call.
Avoidance at its finest, but I willingly— gladly —repaid the favor in kind since the entire affair embarrassed the fuck out of me. Who the hell was I thinking I could land a man of such standing? Someone as highly respected as Sutton Forrester?
I made it through the day by finishing painting Dad’s house with music blasting to keep my mind from spiraling and contacted the realtor.
Tuesday, we did a walkthrough and talked numbers, deciding on an open house Saturday and Sunday.
With nothing to do on Wednesday, I stayed in bed until close to noon and drank coffee from The Moose rather than walking downtown past the station for one of Kel’s scones and a latte.
I drove down to Berlin to do a little shopping and ate at a restaurant’s bar by myself, ignoring the guy who’d hit on me.
Thursday, I slept even later, my mind nose-diving to the point I didn’t even want to get out of bed, but Gram called, telling me DJ had gotten in trouble at school.
Kurt hadn’t been able to leave work, so she’d picked up her grandson and had taken him back to her place since she couldn’t get a hold of his mom either.
I agreed to hang out with them, try to get the boy out of his petulant funk, as she’d called his attitude.
DJ sat on the couch, arms crossed and scowling when I arrived at Gram’s.
“Good luck,” she whispered and left us alone, heading to the kitchen to make us a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
“What’s going on, buddy?” I asked, ruffling DJ’s hair and sitting beside him.
He jerked away from me, but wetness filled his eyes.
“Gram said there was some trouble at school,” I said. “Want to talk about it?”
“Why? So you can be like Dad and tell me how I need to wise up or else ?” The kid even made quotation marks with both hands.
I sagged into the couch. “I would never say something like that to you.”
DJ hung his head, a tear sliding down his cheek. He sniffed and swiped his shoulder over his face. “Austin said my dad’s trying to steal his mom from their family.”
I had no fucking clue what the hell he was saying.
“I called him a liar and punched him in the nose.”
I had to admire DJ for sticking up for his dad even if the asshole didn’t deserve his son’s loyalty or love.
“Dad’s gonna be pissed that I got in trouble—won’t even care that I had his back!”
Unsure what to say, I tugged DJ into my side, and he huddled close, reminding me so much of myself when clinging to Sutton in my childhood that my throat tightened, and I had to blink against threatening tears.
We sat in silence together, and I wished I had the perfect advice to give DJ, but all I knew how to do in the face of danger was freeze like a coward. At least I now had control over my bladder unlike when I’d been a kid.
“Want to try to defeat Dr. Eggman?” I suggested a distraction.
“Yeah!” DJ hopped up to turn on the TV and Xbox. “Dibs on Sonic!”
“I’ll be Knuckles,” I said with a chuckle and settled in to keep DJ’s thoughts from the day’s not-so-great events or possible fallout after Kurt found out about the altercation.
Gram offered to cook dinner for us, but I told her not to bother, deciding to take DJ to Dig-In for a burger and fries. She opted to stay home—the cold made her bones ache—so the two of us boys drove downtown and parked in the lot.
DJ scooted on antsy feet to the diner’s red door, chatting about the boat he’d built on Roblox while at his mom’s over the weekend.
His detailed descriptions about redeeming codes, getting gold, and using portals baffled me, but the excited waving of his hands instead of tucking into his food a short while later kept a smile on my face.
Jamie walked in halfway through our dinner, screeching my mind to a halt like a needle over a vinyl.
Sutton followed, and like he wore a honing device, his head snapped our way, gaze landing on my face.
As usual, I couldn’t read a single one of his thoughts because he didn’t react to my presence.
Of course, he’d seen my car out front, but I had no such heads up and couldn’t help the jolt that ripped through me or the widening of my eyes before I could settle myself and fix my own mask firmly into place.
DJ spun in his seat to see what had caught my attention. “Chief!” He waved, ants in his pants again.
A gentle smile curved Sutton’s mouth for the boy as he lifted his hand in return, and I couldn’t help the jealousy that snaked through my guts.
Stars lit DJ’s eyes when he turned back around. “I’m going to be a cop just like Chief Forrester when I’m older,” he said, grabbing a fry and dunking it in ketchup. “I’ll put bad guys in jail where they can’t hurt anybody.”
“Cops are the best thing ever,” I said, fighting to keep my attention on DJ as Jamie and Sutton sat at the opposite end of the diner.
Awareness of Sutton being in close proximity caused the hairs on my arms to stand at attention, even if he ignored me as I attempted to do with him.
“They’re protective,” I whispered past the tightening in my chest. “Helpful. Kind.”
Everything I had always wanted but couldn’t have.
Worm.
Whore.
Clearing my throat, I took interest in the few, cold fries on my plate and the tomato I’d removed from my burger and left beside the limp pickle.
“Dad said Chief’s a punk,” DJ continued, “but he had too many beers that night. I know he didn’t mean it.”
Ever the faithful son making excuses for his asshole father.
“He talks all sorts of bullshit when he drinks,” DJ continued, and I didn’t bother chiding him for the swear word.
I understood Gram’s reluctance to move to Florida, her concern for DJ not having someone in his corner like she and Sutton had done for me.
If she decided to go—I would stay. Even if my heart shredded every day from having to see the chief while out and about downtown.
The door opened again, letting in a blast of cold air, and I glanced up to find DJ’s dad scowling and scanning the restaurant. His focus landed on our table, and he attempted to walk our way, face growing more thunderous with every step.
I cowered into my seat, eyes locked on the man whose instability suggested he’d been at the bottle, the frown furrowing his brow and red-rimmed eyes promising shit was about to get ugly.
The sensation of things moving too quickly slammed into me, but I couldn’t control my brain or body as he stumbled to a stop beside our table, hands fisted at his sides.
“That’s my son!” he slurred, and all I could do was stare up in horror at the man who looked like he wanted to smash my head between his meaty palms.
“Hey, Dad,” DJ said, his voice wary, limbs still for the first time since entering the diner. “What are you doing here?”
“Did you hear me, you fucking fag?” Kurt hissed rather than acknowledge his son, leaning down to get in my face.
My breath exited my lungs in a rush, and I cringed deeper into the booth.
“Dad!” DJ slid off his bench and tugged Kurt’s arm, pulling him upright. “That’s not a nice word! And Jimmy is my friend! I heard Gram on the phone say he’s a good influence on me.”
“Fucking groomer,” Kurt sneered, ignoring his son. “You need to stay the fuck away from my boy, you hear me? Don’t give a shit what Mom says—you keep your filthy hands off him!” He grabbed hold of DJ’s wrist, and the boy winced.
Adrenaline raced through my blood, causing my heart to palpitate and extremities to tingle. A lack of oxygen made me lightheaded, and I swayed in my seat.
I saw bruising on my arms from harsh fingertips. Felt the sting of a split lip. Heard the ringing from having my ears boxed. Remembered the warm wetness when I peed myself while Dad beat on me.
“Kurt!” Sutton barked, coming to the rescue, but I was too far gone in my panic to appreciate him being a hero like he’d done for me countless times in the past.
A whimper slid across my lips.
Fuck you, Dad. I hope you’re burning in hell.