MAC
FOUR
NOW
From the time I was ten, I told Sage everything. Told him my dreams of moving into a house boat—it’s a trailer on water, I mean come on. Told him how I was afraid Martha Feltcher was going to kiss me. How I wasn’t in a rush to have sex.
Looking back at all the hints I dropped over the years, I should have known he already knew I was gay. I mean, it’s not like I was subtle.
I always thought I was, though. I thought I hid it so well. Always keeping my eyes on his whenever he changed in front of me. Always laughing at dumb jokes about girls. Always pretending to check out a pair of tits.
But at seventeen, when I started noticing small things about him, small things that made me feel big things, I decided I would keep the whole thing a secret.
When the line of tan skin met the pale skin of his thigh, I knew I had to keep it to myself.
I knew that if I opened that door, told him I was into dudes, it was only a matter of time until I told him the rest.
It wasn’t fear of his reaction to me being gay. Sage isn’t like that; we once beat up Danny Calwell for calling Luna a dyke. It was what that last shard of secret would do to our relationship.
Then my dad found out. He came home early on a Saturday, and Saturdays he usually was out spending money we didn’t have on pointless bets he never won. But that Saturday, he came home.
I was nineteen and wanted to kiss someone I actually wanted to. I kissed a few girls before this point, trying to trick myself into liking it. Trying to change what I already knew.
But I was done. I wanted something that was real. There’s one guy in our school who was out, Sawyer. I wasn’t even into him. I was too far gone for Sage to even notice anyone else. But Sawyer was there, and out, and into me. So, I invited him over.
Sawyer got more, or less, than he thought coming home with me. My dad walked in on us making out on the couch, my dick in Sawyer’s hand.
I remember screaming for Sawyer to run, to get out. I tried to talk my dad down. But he was too fucked up to even hear me, not that he would have if he was sober.
My dad made it well known that he hates “those damn homosexuals”. Made it known Luna wasn’t welcome in the house after she came out. Not that I had friends over often, anyways.
I shouldn’t have had Sawyer over that day. Shouldn’t have let it go as far as I did. And I paid for it. I always paid the consequences; and I paid for every stolen moment with another man. The actual beating is a blur, probably too many blows to the head, or my mind deleted it to save my sanity.
The next thing I knew, I was dragging myself through Sage’s front door.
Bloody and broken, and needing him to make it better, to take it all away.
He was always good at that. Always good at making my shithead dad a fleeting memory.
Even when Dad broke my arm for simply being home when he didn’t want me there. Sage was there, helping.
He’s saved me more times than I can count.
In the light of day, I see his front steps differently than last night. Last night I was so focused on getting to Sage, I didn’t really look. Now I see the dark stains on the door, stains I put there two years ago.
Dad swore if I ever came back, he’d kill me. That he’d rather have a dead son than a gay one. So, I ran. I ran until I couldn’t run, walked until I fell, then crawled.
Henry was the one who found me. I made it halfway into town before I passed out on the side of the road. Henry stopped and took me in. He tried to take me to the hospital but relented when I started to panic. Blubbering and stammering that I couldn’t. He reluctantly took me home.
Henry was a medic before he got out of the army. I remember him telling me that. Telling me that I’ll be ok. That everything would work out.
Memories slam through me, hard, and hash, and…
“Mac?” I blink. The dark stain is fading back into place now that I’m not super imposing the past onto the present. I look out towards the voice.
“Well shit, honey! It is you.” June rushes towards me in her bathrobe, pink house slippers slapping against the gravel. Her long, brown hair is braided over her shoulder. “I thought it was you, saw you through my window.” She comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps and smiles up at me.
June was Mom’s best friend. Sage’s mom, not mine. My mom was never a mom—a reluctant caregiver is even too generous of a title for the woman who gave birth to me.
June would always make sure she “forgot” PB her shoulders are hunched, and her face has more wrinkles.
Deep indents run along her mouth, showing a life of smiles.
June has had a tough life, lost two kids and a husband, but she still finds it in her to smile.
Still always trying to help lighten someone else’s load.
I didn’t realize how badly I missed her till this moment.
“June!” I step down onto the gravel, and I’m still looking down on her.
She doesn’t give me time to feel awkward or feel bad for leaving without saying goodbye.
She wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a tight hug.
Her familiar smell assaults my senses, and I melt into her embrace.
Like Mom, June was always the best when it came to comforting me.
My eyes close on their own, and I relax.
My arms are quick to return the hug just as fiercely.
“It’s so good to see you. You look good, healthy.” She pulls back but keeps her hands on my shoulders as she visually inspects me. She nods to herself before her smile drops. She narrows her eyes, the only warning that she’s no longer there to embrace me.
Her hand smacks against the back of my head.
“How dare you leave without a goodbye! We raised you better than that!” Smack.
Smack. Smack. I let her, not moving a muscle, just letting her smack me.
I deserve more than a few love taps for leaving her and Mom like that.
She’s right; they did raise me better than that.
“I’m sorry, June. I had to leave, my dad—”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” she says, practically mimicking Sage’s words from last night.
“We would have stopped that fucker. We’d do anything for you, honey.
” Her hand stops hitting me and holds my cheek.
“But I understand; you were young and terrified. I just wish I had gotten a few hits in when Sage attacked him. You never deserved that.” The door behind me opens, and Sage steps out, the entire trailer squeaking.
But I’m lost. Stuck on what June just said.
Sage attacked my dad? Even after I snuck out?
Even after I broke my promise of staying?
“I see your better half came back. About time.” June winks at Sage and pats my cheek. “Don’t disappear again.” She starts to step back, but I grab her wrist.
“Wait, he attacked my dad?” Her eyes bounce between Sage and me. Conflicted and hesitant.
“You two need to talk.” With a tight smile, she walks away in a rush—as much as June can rush nowadays. I turn around, pinning Sage with a glare. A glare I don’t have any right to.
“Tell me what she meant.”
“Fucking June. Always a meddler,” he mutters with an eye roll. “Come on, Henry needs his truck.” He walks past me, pulling down his fake Oakleys, leaving me standing dumbfounded, staring at his back. I don’t even steal a glance at his ass in his worn-out jeans. Ok, so maybe a tiny, quick peek.
By the time we’re pulling into the garage, I’m a mess. I was a mess before, but I keep replaying June’s words. Sage went after my dad. Even after everything, he still had my back. I’m a piece of shit.
The past two years haven’t been all sunshine and roses, but I deserved worse. After Henry found me and took me home, he saved me again. He offered me the small apartment above the garage. I had a job, and a roof, and time to recover. And it took a long time to recover from that night.
My body healed, but I didn’t. It took a year before I could even look at a man sexually. Every time I even thought about it, I’d have flashbacks of my dad. The words, the slurs, the hatred he poured into me with every hit.
Eventually, I ripped the Band-Aid off and dove into my sexuality. Fucking men in bathroom stalls, going back to their houses with them. I’m not proud of most of the shit I did in a false attempt to reclaim something my dad stole.
Now Sage is here, staring at the garage and leaning back against his beat-up Mustang.
I was surprised the car still ran. He won it in a fight when we were seventeen.
He played dirty, but he won it. Half the time, it didn’t start, ran on fumes, and sounded like it was about to die if you went over twenty miles per hour.
Maybe he’ll let me fix it up. Since I’ve been working in the garage under Henry for two years, I’m actually pretty good at fixing shit now.
It’s not the dream job I wanted, to be a cage fighter, but it’s practical.
Everyone needs a mechanic at some point.
I take weird pride in the work I’ve done here with Henry.
“So, this is where you work?” Sage asks as I climb out of Henry’s truck.
It’s bizarre seeing him here, my past meshing with the present.
But it feels good. I want him to see where I’ve been.
I want him to be a permanent part of my life again.
I’ll have to thank fate for him picking up the phone and calling me.
“Yeah. And I live up there.” I point to the small window above the open garage doors.
The apartment is small. More of a storage space that Henry converted into an apartment.
Before he could afford to buy the house, he lived here.
It’s small; there is barely enough room for a bed, a hot plate, and a bathroom.
But it’s mine, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it.
“Gonna show me your room?” he jokes, putting his sunglasses on his head, his shaggy, blond hair pinned underneath.
By the time we woke up and got out the door, it was well past noon.
I had texted Henry last night, before I lost track of time and asked if I could return his truck this morning.
But I’m well past the need it by two he texted back.
I had forgotten how hard it is to get a hungover Sage moving in the morning.
“Uh, sure. Let me just drop off the keys. I’ll be right back.” I hurry inside, making my way to Henry’s office in the back. I hear his muffled voice arguing from here.
He’s always fighting with someone. Henry is a bit rough around the edges, but a big softy once you get under his hard shell. Not many people would have done what he did for me. Wouldn’t have given me a second chance.
I knock on the closed door and slowly push it open. Henry is a huge black man, built and intimidating. He’s in his forties but doesn’t look older than thirty-four. He scowls when he sees me.
“Just figure it out. It’s one part, I need it by Tuesday. Mhmm. Yeah, I know. Alright. You too. Bye.” He wraps up his phone call all while staring at me with narrowed eyes.
“You look like shit,” he addresses me. “My truck better look better.” He grunts as he stands from his desk chair, the only sign of his age. He shoves his hand out, waiting for me to return his keys. I dropped them into his palm with a smile.
“Aw, thanks. And yup, she’s in one piece. Thanks for letting me borrow it. Sorry I’m a little late.” I always feel bad about disappointing Henry. After everything he’s done for me, I get itchy when I mess up. Doesn’t seem to stop me, though.
“Boy, I told you two so you’d be here by four. I’ve known you for two years, and you have never once been on time.” He chuckles as he walks past me to go check on his precious truck.
“You know me so well,” I joke, trailing behind him. Suddenly, I’m hit with nervousness about Sage meeting Henry. Henry knows too damn much and can’t keep his thoughts in his head. I quicken my steps to catch up with him. Stepping out in the blinding sun, I see Sage right where I left him.
“Sage, this is Henry. Henry, meet Sage.” I make a terrible introduction, almost stuttering out Sage’s name. Blindly sending up hopes and wishes Henry doesn’t say anything to damn me.
“Well fuck me. Your boy here talks about you too damn much. Nice to meet ya.” Sage smiles at Henry’s words, looking over at me with a delighted smirk as he shakes Henry’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, sir. I’d love to hear what he said.” Fuck me. Nope. In no world will I allow Henry to continue this conversation. And also—sir? Who knew Sage had manners? And why do I like that word out of his mouth so much?
Because you love every word he says. Even when he calls you an asshole or screams at you.
“Right, well, it’s almost four so…you got shit to do right, Henry?” Henry looks like a pig in shit, smiling wide because he sees right through my thinly veiled diversion.
I just made the secrets he knows ten times more interesting to him. Before he can say anything, even a goodbye, I’m dragging a smirking Sage inside. All too aware of my hand on his arm. Even Henry’s version of an evil cackle can’t distract the nerve endings from firing.
“Something you don’t want him telling me, bud?” I grumble my response while continuing up the stairs in the back. Sage just laughs harder.
Please don’t let me mess this up.