Chapter 32 Jay
We don't get out of bed until almost noon.
By the time we've showered and dressed, my stomach is growling loud enough to echo off the walls.
I grab my jacket from the chair. "I feel like an idiot.
I keep forgetting to feed you. I'm supposed to be taking care of you and I keep forgetting the most basic things. "
"You're not an idiot. We've been busy." Ivan grins at me.
"Still. You need to eat. We're going to Betty's. Right now."
"Okay, Betty's it is. Let's go."
We walk to the diner hand in hand, our fingers laced together. It feels strange at first—I've never held anyone's hand in public before, never thought I'd be the kind of person who does this. But by the time we're halfway there, it feels natural.
Betty's eyebrows shoot up when we walk in together, when she sees our hands joined. But she doesn't say anything. Just grabs two menus and leads us to our usual booth by the window, the one with the cracked vinyl seat that I've sat in dozens of times alone.
"Coffee?" she asks, already reaching for the pot.
"Please," Ivan says, sliding into the booth across from me. "And a lot of food. I'm starving. Like, genuinely starving."
"Growing boy like you needs his fuel. Gotta keep your strength up." She pours our coffee, the steam rising, and heads off to give us a minute to look at the menus.
Under the table, Ivan finds my hand again. I lace our fingers together, resting our joined hands on my thigh where anyone who looked could see.
"This is nice," he says quietly, looking at me across the table.
"What is? The diner?"
"Being out with you. Doing normal things." He squeezes my hand. "I've never done this before. The whole dating thing. Taking someone to breakfast. Holding hands in public. Any of it."
"Me neither. Not even close."
Betty comes back for our order. Ivan gets the hungry man special—eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, pancakes, the works. I order the same, even though I know I won't finish it. She winks at me before walking back to the kitchen.
"She knows," Ivan says.
"Probably."
"Does that bother you?" He's watching my face carefully. "That someone knows? That we're not hiding?"
I think about it. Betty has served me coffee for two years, ever since I started coming to this diner. She's never asked about my life, never pried into why I'm always alone, but she's always been kind. A friendly face in a sea of strangers. A constant when everything else was chaos.
"No," I say, and I mean it. "It doesn't bother me. Let everyone know."
Ivan's smile widens. "I don't want to hide this either. I want everyone to know you're mine."
The food arrives quickly. Betty sets the plates down with a knowing smile and refills our coffee without being asked.
Ivan digs in immediately, and I watch him eat. He's shoveling food into his mouth, barely chewing, eating so fast it's almost violent. Like someone might take it away if he doesn't finish quickly enough.
I know that habit. The foster kid survival instinct that never quite goes away—eat fast, eat everything, because you never know when the next meal is coming.
Because if you don't eat fast enough, someone bigger will take it from you.
Because food is never guaranteed, never certain, never yours until it's in your stomach.
I figured he'd outgrown it. By living with the Reyes family and having regular meals. Yet here he is, barely chewing, practically inhaling his food, and I realize he still has scars too.
He looks up and catches me staring. Swallows what's in his mouth. "What? Do I have food on my face?"
"You're eating like someone's going to steal it. Like you're in a race."
He freezes, fork halfway to his mouth. Then he sets it down slowly, looking embarrassed and a little ashamed. "I didn't realize I was doing it. I thought I'd stopped doing that as much."
"That's the point. It's automatic." I push my own plate toward him. I've barely touched it, just moved food around. "Old habits die hard. Some of them never die at all. Here, have some of my food."
"You're not eating." His eyes go to my still-full plate.
"I don't eat much. I'm not really hungry."
"Jay—"
"I know. It's not healthy." I shrug. "I got used to going without for so long that now even when there's food, I just can't. My stomach doesn't want it."
Ivan looks at my plate, then at his empty one. "I eat too fast and you don't eat at all. We're quite a pair."
"We're a matched set."
He picks up my plate and slides it back in front of me. "Eat more. Please. For me. You don't have to finish it, but just try."
I look at the food. My stomach is clenched tight, the way it always is, protesting the idea of being filled. But Ivan is watching me with those blue eyes, and he said please, and I find myself picking up my fork despite everything.
"I'll try," I say. "I can't promise I'll finish, but I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking."
We eat in silence for a while after that with Ivan forcing himself to slow down, to chew properly, to put his fork down between bites. Me forcing myself to take bites I don't want.
When we're done and Ivan's finished everything on his plate, and I've managed about half of mine, he reaches for the check that Betty left.
"I've got it," I say, grabbing it first.
"Jay, you don't have to."
"I want to. Please let me do this."
He hesitates. He knows I don't have much. He knows he's doing better than me financially with a steady job.
"Let me do this," I say again. "Please. At least let me buy your food when you're here."
He nods slowly and lets me pay, but I can tell he wants to argue.
I can see it in his eyes—the desire to take care of me, to provide, to be the one with resources.
We'll have to figure this out eventually—the money thing, the fact that he has more than me and probably always will.
But not today. Today I just want to feel like I can take care of him, even in this small way.
"Where to now?" he asks as we leave the diner and step out into the warm afternoon sun.
I've been thinking about this since last night, planning it in my head during the dark hours. We can't just stay in the motel room all day. I want to give him more than that. I want to give him a real day, a normal day, the kind of day couples have when they're getting to know each other.
"There's a grocery store a few blocks over," I say, taking his hand as we walk. "We could pick up some stuff. Have a picnic at the ridge. A real date thing."
Ivan's face lights up like I just offered him the world. "A picnic? Really?"
"If you want to. I mean, it's not fancy or anything—"
"I definitely want to." He squeezes my hand. "Lead the way. Let's do it."
The grocery store is small, one of those local places that's been around forever.
We wander through together, grabbing a bunch of things.
Bread that's still warm from the bakery, deli meat that the guy slices fresh for us, cheese, a bag of chips, a couple of sodas.
Ivan adds a package of chocolate chip cookies and a bunch of green grapes.
I add a chocolate bar because I've seen him eyeing the candy aisle.
"You didn't have to do that," he says when he sees it in the basket.
"I wanted to. You like chocolate."
"How do you know that?"
"You always did."
At the register, Ivan tries to pay again, pulling out his wallet, but I wave him off firmly. "I've got it. Let me."
"Jay—"
He relents this time, but I know he won't keep doing it.
We take the groceries back to the motel and pack them into a bag, then head to where the Shadow is parked in her usual spot. Ivan climbs on behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, settling against my back like he's been doing this for years.
"Ready?" I ask over my shoulder.
"Let's go."
I start the engine and pull out onto the road. The day is perfect. Warm with a blue sky and a few white clouds. Ivan is holding me, his chin hooked over my shoulder, his mouth close to my ear.
"I love being on this bike with you," he says, loud enough to hear over the engine.
"Why?"
"I love holding onto you." His arms tighten around my waist. "Go faster. Open her up."
I grin and open up the throttle. The bike surges forward, the engine roaring, and Ivan whoops against my ear, his grip tightening around my waist. I take a curve faster than I probably should. I lean into it hard, and Ivan leans with me perfectly, trusting me completely.
"Again!" he shouts, laughing.
I push the bike harder, weaving through the empty road, taking curves faster, opening up on the straightaways. Ivan is laughing, a joyful sound that gets lost in the wind but I can feel it vibrating through his chest against my back.
He trusts me. On this bike, at these speeds, with his life in my hands—he trusts me completely.
That means more than he'll ever know.
We take the long way to the ridge because Ivan keeps yelling in my ear to keep going. Whenever we slow down at intersections, he keeps his mouth close to my ear, whispering things that make my face heat and my hands unsteady on the handlebars.
"You smell so good," he says at one stoplight. "I want to eat you up."
"You're going to get us killed," I tell him, but I'm smiling.
"What a way to go." He kisses my neck, just behind my ear, and I shiver despite the warm air.
I shake my head and keep driving. I've never been happier on this bike than I am right now.
The ridge is just as beautiful as it was before. Rolling hills stretching to the horizon, the silver glint of the river winding through the valley, the huge open sky. We park the bike and find a flat spot near the edge, spreading out our picnic on the grass.
"This is perfect," Ivan says, looking out at the view. "This is exactly what I needed. Air and space and you."
We eat sandwiches and chips, passing the soda bottles back and forth between us, sharing sips. Ivan takes out his phone and starts taking pictures. Of the view first, then of the food, then of me when I'm not paying attention.