33. Mac
THIRTY-THREE
MAC
NOW
I wake with a panicked gasp. Sage’s shouted fuck ripping me from sleep I desperately need. While the sun shining in through the window tells me I at least got a few hours, I feel like I only slept minutes. Sweat clings to my body, making the sheets feel like it’s Saran wrapped to my skin.
Sage passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, but I fought against it. Not wanting to take my eyes off him. Careful of my every breath, not wanting to jar him in any way. I must have lost my fight and fallen asleep.
Rustling from the floor brings me to my knees. “Baby?” I ask, unable to keep the worry from my voice. Sage sits hunched over the tote bag, hands frantically fanning out its contents.
Blankets, photos, tiny knick-knacks Mom was fond of, all spread out onto the floor. He stuffs them back into the tote bag. Every object held with careful hands. Cherishing.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” he lies, but I don’t press it. I know he’s not alright. I know his entire life is now stuffed into that bag. When everything is back safely tucked away, he hugs it to his chest. Relief washing over his handsome face. Eyes closing as he exhales.
I scrub at my face, trying to rid myself of the last dredges of sleep. Sage finally lifts his head and looks at me. Pain and grief clear as day in his brown eyes.
When he tries to stand up, his cut arm must rub against the bag wrong, and he cringes. His nose scrunches and his lip snarls in pain. Finally offering something I can actually help with. I’m quick to move. Climbing from the end of the bed in search of my jeans.
“Arm ok?” I ask, digging around in the pocket. My fingers finally touch the baggie of pills.
“Hurts like a bitch,” he grumbles, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. At least he didn’t lie about that, not that I would have believed him.
I drop my pants and open the baggie. I can’t believe I bought drugs from Clint. He’s been selling to Karen for years. Feeding her addictions with a slimy smile on his face. He gave me that same smile last night.
I curse Clint, the asshole pharmacist, and the goddamn fire for the millionth time.
“Here.” I hold out the pill between two fingers and drop it into his palm. He doesn’t even try to fake a smile like he did last night. Just tosses it back and grimaces as he swallows it dry.
At least I’m good for something. I don’t have the faintest idea how to help him. I can’t fix the trailer, can’t turn back time and prevent this. All I’m good for is buying him drugs.
Ok, I need to come up with a plan. I can’t let myself downward spiral here.
Sage needs me. I start trying to force my brain into submission.
Creating a makeshift to-do list. Sage needs a shower; he’s covered in ash and dirt.
Then we should probably eat something. My stomach gives a grumbly agreement to that thought.
Then I need to figure out how to contact this fire marshal.
June seemed very adamant about that when we collected the bag.
Then…well then, I’ll figure out the rest as I go.
I glance down at Sage on the edge of the bed.
He looks so broken, deflated, and defeated.
I’ll have to figure out how to fix that, too.
He hugs the bag to his chest tightly. The small amount of joy I had that everything wasn’t lost goes up in smoke.
Turning from joy to resentment. He clings to it like a life jacket.
Like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning.
I’m not jealous of a damn flamingo bag.
“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll go find something to eat,” I suggest. But that’s apparently a terrible suggestion. Sage’s face snaps to mine so fast he probably has whiplash. His eyes go wide with a look of pure panic.
I try to backtrack, hating the panic almost as much as the sorrow. God, why do I always fuck shit up?
“Or I can wait and we go together?” I ask. The panic fades, but only slightly. Fuck, I’m in over my head. I don’t know how to fix this.
I can be the calm man in the storm. Can keep my emotions at bay when in a crisis situation. But I have no idea how to handle the aftermath. Whenever bad shit happened when we were kids, I’d simply come up with some stupid prank to distract him. But I don’t think that will work now.
Here, Sage, sorry about your life, but wanna go fill Luna’s room with balloons? I shake my head. God, I’m useless.
Sage nods and grunts as he stands from the bed, careful of the bag in his arms. He takes the two steps required, and stops, turning back to me with another damn panic-stricken look.
“I won’t leave. What’s wrong?” I ask, moving towards him, hands outstretched, reaching towards him.
“I...I can’t bring this,” he says, glancing down at the motherfucking bag. I want to tell him to just put it down, but I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut. Instead, I place my hand on top of it, surprised when he doesn’t yank it back.
“I’ll hold onto it. I can sit on the bed until you’re done.” But he doesn’t let go. His grasp on the bag tightens instead. “Ok…or I can sit on the toilet seat. That way you can still see me?” I ask. He looks conflicted still. Looking down at the bag with so much longing my heart aches.
“Do you trust me?” I question with my heart firmly lodged in my throat. I hate seeing him like this. I hate not knowing what to fucking do to make it better. But I don’t think anything can make it better. Not right now.
“Yeah. Yeah, ok…” he says, nodding his head along with the words. He doesn’t look confident in this plan, not in the slightest, but he slowly relents his grip on the bag.
I move carefully, slowly, like trying to take a bone from a junkyard dog. I murmur reassurances, telling him it will be safe, that I won’t let anything happen to his precious bag.
Once I have it, he starts moving again, casting sad glances back at me. Which I nod and smile at, like a dumbass.
He slowly tugs his shirt over his head, and I see just how filthy he is.
A clear-cut line marks where his shirt protected his skin.
His arms and neck are several shades darker than his torso.
Once he’s fully undressed, he turns on the water and steps into the small shower, closing the glass door behind him.
His arm is held up over his head to keep the bandages dry.
I add clean his arm into my mental list of shit to handle. At the hospital last night, I made sure to steal gloves, tape, and any gauze I could find. Then felt guilty as shit when the nurse handed me a small bag of supplies.
I move to sit on the toilet like I promised. Keeping the bag held to my chest, copying the way he held it moments before. Sage sighs when the water heats up. Dropping his head down, he watches the dirt circle the drain before disappearing.
God, I want to go to him. Pull him into my arms and never let go. I want to hug him and kiss him, and reassure him that I’ll figure it out. I don’t know how yet, but I will. I have to.
He sucks in a shaky breath I can hardly hear over the water. His shoulders start to shake. I fucking hate this bag. I hate that I have to sit here and keep a promise instead of rushing to him like I want to.
My knees start to bounce. I have to fight against myself to stay sitting. My body screams to go to him. Demanding I hold him together while he breaks. But I can’t. I have to stay here and just watch.
A few seconds, or minutes, or days pass, and Sage remains motionless. Only his silent crying and his shoulders shaking. I sit forward on the toilet, scooting to its edge. The restraint keeping me in place fraying at the edges.
“Baby?” I ask quietly. I’m afraid he can’t hear me over the shower, so I say it again, this time louder.
He clears this throat, running his hand over his face, camouflaging the tears into the running water. A quiet, “Yeah?” follows.
I know Sage. I know if I sound like I pity him, or have any sympathy whatsoever, he’ll direct his feeling at me. All in the form of anger. Sage hates pity and resents other’s empathy. So I’m careful to watch my tone. I choose each word carefully.
“There soap in there?” I question. Trying to get him to speed this up so I can finally move off this toilet. Finally hug him like I need to. The glass doors are fogged, and steam blocks my view of him, but when he turns, I feel his scowl more than see it.
“Yeah,” he answers angrily. But he’s moving, washing his body and wrapping up this little exercise of my restraint. It’s nonexistent. By the time he’s finished and shutting off the water, I’m a ball of nerves. My knees are bouncing so hard, it rattles the cheap plastic of the bag.
He grabs the dirty towel off the hook and runs it over his blond hair. I’m a terrible person. Even while he’s breaking, I still can’t keep my eyes off him. Can’t control my gaze like I should. He wraps the towel around his hips and stares down at me on the toilet.
Or truthfully, he’s looking at the bag in my arms. I sigh and stand, returning the bag into his arms. I kiss his temple and step away, giving him privacy I don’t want him to need.
“Now, we need to get some food.” I leave him in the bathroom and re-enter the room, collecting my clothes and getting dressed. The baggie of pills is shoved back into my front pocket in case he needs them again.
Wouldn’t that be the perfect ending? Getting arrested for drugs I bought from Clint.
Dressed and ready to face the shit show that today will be, I lead Sage down to the garage, finding Henry.
“You boys doin’ alright?” he asks, and Sage cringes at the obvious concern. But he corrects himself fast enough. Rolling his shoulders, he masks his expression.
“Yeah. Thanks for letting us crash here,” Sage says, and hell, I don’t hear an ounce of annoyance or aggression in his voice.
Henry’s quick to wave away his gratitude, like he always does whenever I thank the man. “Don’t mention it. I grabbed some bagels on my way in. You both need to eat.”
Even though these are totally pity bagels, they are delicious. He got them from the good place downtown. Completely out of his way and not “on his way in” at all. Even Sage can’t turn down free food. He’s stuffing his face like he hasn’t eaten in days.
Leaning against a toolbox, we set up a picnic on the workbench, the three of us standing around it. Sage has been quiet since his thank you to Henry.
But! He did chuckle a few times when Henry started telling stories about me. Embarrassing stories about my failed attempts when I was first learning how to work in the garage. Henry embellished the shit out of every single story, and Sage ate it up.
I had this weird thought during the entire thing.
That this is what it’s supposed to feel like when you bring a guy home.
How it’s supposed to feel. Your parents telling your new date damning stories.
Possibly whipping out a photo album to cement your embarrassment.
I never had that. I had the embarrassment and shame, but not because of my foolishness.
But because my parents are drugged-up assholes.
I tune out yet another story about me and focus on my phone. I texted June, asking her about the fire marshal. Asking her what I’m supposed to do now. And like always, she was quick to help. Sending over the number the marshal left and telling me to just be there for Sage.
June is just as bad at texting as she is at making phone calls. The three dots keep appearing and disappearing, over and over again. I asked how to be there for Sage, and now I wait, scowling down at my phone when the damn dots vanish again.
Sage scoffs at whatever Henry said. I look up to find him smiling at me.
My stomach explodes with bats, my own smile popping up to match his.
For a second, I let myself think everything will be ok.
That we will actually get through this whole thing.
Sage is smiling at me, the bag sitting by his feet.
A small step in letting it go. Shit might actually be ok.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and the bubble bursts.
“What?” Sage asks with obvious nerves. Whatever expression I wear kills his short-term joy. Henry moves to stand behind me, dropping a heavy hand onto my shoulder.
“Uh…nothing.” I click off my phone, not bothering to reply.
June hadn’t sent a helpful tip on dealing with someone else’s grief.
Instead, she told me the marshal is at the park.
He’s going around, questioning all our neighbors.
She didn’t say what kind of questions he was asking, but I know it can’t be good.
Up until now, I hadn’t given the cause of the fire much thought.
I’ve been so focused on Sage and his pain, I never thought about it.
I guess I assumed it was just an accident.
The trailer was old, the lights flickered, the ceiling leaked.
It wasn’t like anyone did any maintenance or safety inspections on it.
I guess I just assumed it was faulty wiring or something.
But a fire marshal wouldn’t give a shit about faulty electrical work. Wouldn’t be interrogating neighbors for a shit trailer burning from an accident. Had someone done this on purpose?
June didn’t say what he was asking. Didn’t say anything except he was there asking around, that I should come to the park.
I need to say something. Sage’s panic is starting to grow as he stares at me.
The smile now long forgotten. Vanished like it was never there.
His hand reaches down for the bag like it’s gonna soften the blow of whatever I just read on my phone.
I need to take care of this. And I don’t think Sage should have any part in it. I don’t think he can handle it.
“Nothing.” I smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
“So I’m gonna run to the park real quick.
Maybe catch the fireman who wants to talk to us.
You should hang out here. Maybe get some more rest.” I try to keep my voice even and calm, but of course Sage sees through it.
The bag is back against his chest and he’s scowling at me.
“Fuck no. I’m coming with you,” he says like a petulant child. Can’t he see I’m trying to help him? I know he avoided looking at the trailer last night. I know he’s not ready to face it. Why won’t he just let me take care of this?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a tension headache beginning to grow behind my eyes. “Sage,” I groan. I want, no, I need to do this for him. I can’t make him smile or laugh right now. But I can go talk to the fire marshal and handle whatever that entails.
“I’m coming, Mac,” he says with all the determination he can muster.
“You can take the truck,” Henry informs me, unhelpful. I need him to have my back. To agree I should go alone, and instead, he’s offering me his truck. Which yes, that’s helpful, but come on, man, tell him no.
I look back at Sage and know I’m not gonna win this. Stubborn asshole.