2. Chapter 2
Protecting Sam and loving him from afar became pretty much my only identity, and I was fine with that.
I would do anything to ensure his happiness, even at my expense, though I did have a happy life for the most part.
I didn’t only help Sam because of my love for him, but because I genuinely wanted to and cared about him.
Who knew where this empathy for him came from?
I just remembered sharing a bedroom with him when I moved into my last foster home when I’d been fourteen and hearing his horrific nightmares every night.
The cries and whimpers pulled out this weird need to protect him.
He was two years older than me, and I was smaller, but that never stopped me from this urge to shelter Sam.
I’d often held him as a teen as he thrashed at night, soothing him back to sleep, and he’d clung to me because he had no one else.
Neither of us had anyone but each other.
I’d been shuffled around foster care homes for as long as I could remember.
Somewhere down the road, moving from house to house, the reason I was put into the system became lost, or maybe I ceased to care.
Eventually, I got used to rejection, neglect, and the idea I’d never find my forever family.
I soon learned to take care of myself because no one else bothered to.
My rotating foster parents gave me the bare minimum to work with, and the rest was left up to me.
I’d been under no illusions that I’d succeed or even graduate high school.
Foster kids rarely did well in life when they left the system, ill-equipped to be thriving adults, and many fell to homelessness, drugs, or suicide.
That didn’t seem to stop me from finally grabbing our things and taking Sam away from it all.
I was used to surviving over living. It was all I knew.
But Sam finally gave me a purpose. I loved being needed by someone so much that it became my drug of choice. I was addicted to it.
Abuse was common in foster homes, and I grew relatively used to it.
It came with the territory, though some homes were better than others.
It hadn’t all been terrible. But our last foster parents finally drew the line in the sand for me.
They crossed to a place that changed the tide for Sam and me.
Being smacked around was one thing, but because Sam struggled to focus and remember things or do what he was told, it only served to piss off our foster parents, taking it out on Sam the most.
When he’d forgotten to clean the kitchen, which had happened too many times, our foster father finally lost it on Sam.
It took two other foster kids to pry his fingers off Sam’s throat.
I hadn’t been home at the time, but when I stepped into our bedroom to find him crying and saw the redness and bruises, I was fucking livid.
Sam couldn’t help it if he had a hard time focusing or remembering things. He really did his best not to forget, but he failed more often than not. I helped him with his chores and schoolwork as much as possible, but I wasn’t always able to, and I was terrible at school.
After one of his more horrific nightmares one night, Sam finally confessed to me why he got them.
All that time, I’d assumed the abuse from our foster parents was the reason, but it was so, so much worse than I ever imagined.
Sam told me stories about the months he’d spent in a facility dedicated to conversion therapy for queer kids.
It was an effort to get him to tell me even that much, and I was sure he left some details out.
I struggled to believe that such a thing was even real or legal.
That wasn’t abuse. That was literal torture of children.
Fuck, no wonder he always hurt or forgot shit.
Later that night, after he’d been nearly choked to death, I’d packed up our things, stole some food and drinks, and we snuck out, never to return. We were better off alone together.
Sam and I lived on the streets for nearly two years, shuffling around in abandoned buildings or living under bridges.
Sometimes, we’d stay with a homeless community who helped us.
I took jobs where I found them, like at restaurants that needed a dishwasher or someone to take out the garbage.
The jobs didn’t pay enough to actually save any money or rent an apartment, but they kept us fed, and sometimes, we bought clothes at this thrift store that sold stuff for under five bucks.
It was where I bought us a couple of old skateboards so we could move around a bit faster, living in our nomadic life.
Sam also tried to find work. He didn’t have as much luck as me, but he always did his best to contribute. He wasn’t helpless, but staying on task while working wasn’t easy for him. His efforts only made me love him that much more.
Our friends knew how I felt about Sam, and I made them all vow never to tell him.
He needed me, not my damn pining. I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship.
If we didn’t work out or ruined our friendship, I wouldn’t be there to help him, and he wouldn’t be there to meet my clingy needs.
And in the almost seven years we’d known each other, Sam had never shown any indication of being interested in me.
Just because we were gay didn’t mean we suddenly fell into each other like in some romance book.
Life wasn’t a fucking fairy tale. It was hard, gritty, and it hurt.
While I loved Sam and wished we had more, I accepted this life. I’d rather have him in it as a friend than tell him how I felt and lose him. And I couldn’t be upset about him not reciprocating my feelings because he had no idea. I’d stay with him as long as he needed me.
Kingston, or Alpha, as we liked to call him, clapped me on the back as we got ready to open the bar that night.
“How are things going, Nacho?”
I wasn’t a fan of my nickname, but what’d you expect when I ate nachos as often as I could get my hands on them? I was addicted to them. It was something I made myself often while in foster care because they were cheap and easy to make. Sam was the only one who didn’t call me that.
“It’s going good.”
Alpha ran a hand through his cropped, dirty-blond hair and scanned the bar.
“You’re going to be twenty-one soon. Do you want to help out more with serving tables?
I could use an extra hand. You’d still be doing what you’re doing now.
It’ll not only bring in more hours, but it’ll also bring you more money and tips. ”
My smile grew wide. “Fuck yeah, I would.” God, Sam and I could really use the extra cash. “Thanks, Alpha.”
We shook hands before he grabbed my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “You work hard. I wish I could do more for you guys.”
I huffed a laugh and shook my head. Was he fucking kidding me? “You’ve done enough. You’ve given us all jobs when most of us don’t even have an education, and you gave us a family and good friends. In all my life, I never expected to find such a thing, man. We’re all eternally grateful to you.”
Alpha’s turquoise eyes glimmered as he rubbed his neck. “I love having you all in my life, too.” Before things got too emotional because that wasn’t Alpha’s style, he walked off to get ready to open.
It had been almost four years since Sam and I were practicing on our cheap skateboards at the skate park when we first met Alpha. He was a fantastic skateboarder and taught us all his tricks. It didn’t take long to form a friendship.
Alpha was only twenty-eight, just a little older than us. He’d been abandoned himself, so it was inspiring to see him come this far and own his own business.
When he opened Alpha’s Rejects, he brought in those of us who needed a job and a home—a safe place to work and make friends.
He called it Alpha’s Rejects because all of us who worked there had been rejected in one form or another, and we were all part of the LGBTQ+ community, though the bar welcomed everyone.
I did menial tasks like keeping tables clean, washing glasses, and mopping floors. It wasn’t exciting, but it was a job, and I did get to see some pretty awesome bands.
Despite Sam’s struggles with working, he took a shine to bartending. He was fucking good at it, too. I couldn’t begin to explain how happy and proud I was of him to find something he loved and made money at. As long as he had his sound-canceling earbuds on while he worked, he was good.
I headed to the employee lounge to grab an apron, because working here could be messy, when I walked in on Stix and Stone eating each other’s faces. Well, they were kissing, but it seemed like they would die if they didn’t kiss harder. A flash of loneliness stabbed through me before I squashed it.
They must have noticed my presence, prying themselves apart.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “Just grabbing an apron.”
Stone’s face turned crimson as he rushed out of there, making me chuckle.
I hadn’t been a fan of Stone at first. Despite working here, he’d been an outsider, and even worse, he’d hated Stix for the longest time.
It turned out he had internalized homophobia and took it out on Stix because Stone had a crush on him.
Stix had always been outgoing, and he was the one who pulled Stone out of his shell.
They worked their shit out, and now you couldn’t pry them apart.
It made me so happy they found each other, yet I drowned in envy.
Stix laughed at Stone’s retreating back before pulling out his drumsticks from his back pocket and sitting down to tap out a rhythm on the bench's worn wood. His mullet, shaved at the sides, looked like he’d cut it himself and had it freshly bleached. “What’s up, Nach!”
“Hey, Stix.”
I grabbed one of the black aprons, hanging on a hook, draped it over my head, and tied it around my waist. I side-eyed Stix, who was entirely too quiet. That man could talk your ear off, so something was definitely up.
“What?” I asked.
His smile turned crooked, and his dark brown eyes filled with mischief.
“Don’t say it,” I sighed.
“Say what?”
I rolled my eyes. “I know you. You’re like a nagging mother hen.”
He shrugged and continued tapping out a rhythm with his drumsticks. “I just want to know if you and Pippin have gotten it on yet.”
I didn’t really like the nickname they gave Sam.
Pippin, from the Lord of the Rings, wasn’t the brightest, though he was brave.
Sam wasn’t like that at all. We’d watched the movie a couple of years ago when it came on TV.
Sam didn’t like the name that much either, but our friends giving us nicknames also made us part of the crew, a part of the family.
“God… You’re such an ass.”
“That’s what Stone always says.”
“He’s right,” I deadpanned.
“Come on… please tell me you’ve finally confessed your—”
“Confessed what?” Sam asked, right on fucking cue, because that was the story of my life. I gave Stix a death glare before smiling at Sam.
“Nothing. Hey, did you hear that Alpha’s going to make me a server, too?” I said to him, quickly distracting Sam from my conversation with Stix.
“I heard that!” Stix said. “Now you and Pippin can work closer together.”
I was going to fucking kill him, friend or not.
Sam’s eyes grew wide as a smile spread across his face. “Seriously?” He crossed the small room and pulled me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
I held him back, inhaling his scent, permanently branded into my soul. It was our typical lime and coconut scent, which was clean, mixed with his unique smell. Sam loved it, so I always made sure we had a bottle on hand. Even better, it was cheap.
“Thanks, Sam. The extra cash is going to help.”
Sam did pretty well as a bartender, even working three or four days a week so we could pay the bills and rent on our tiny, rundown apartment. It was barely enough, but we made do.
I pried myself away from him before I clung tighter, never letting him go.
“Pretty soon, we’ll get a house like Stix and Stone did,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said with as much enthusiasm as possible.
I never strived for much in life after years of having nothing.
While dreams were nice, they weren’t practical in our lives.
Dreams just led to disappointment. Even with extra money, we’d never be able to afford a house.
Stix happened to come into money thanks to his wealthy deadbeat dad, who paid him off, never to see him again so that he could live with his new family. What an asshole.
I quickly checked my pockets to make sure I had the extra pair of earbuds charging in their little case.
Those were one of the few things we splurged on because they allowed Sam to focus while working.
A bar was loud and crowded, which could be overwhelming for him, so it was important to knock out some of that noise.
I always had an extra pair on hand just in case he lost his or they needed recharging.
“You ready for work? Got your earbuds?”
He ran long fingers through his floppy red hair, and his green eyes twinkled. He had such pretty eyes. They looked like gemstones. They weren’t the type of green muddled with yellows and browns. His were bright like summer grass. “All set.”
“Awesome. Let’s get ready and remember to take breaks, okay?” I would remind him throughout the night, regardless. Alpha would be around to help out, too.
“I will.”
Sam also wrapped an apron around him, and I watched his every movement. I sighed, shutting down any pining thoughts of my best friend to focus on work.