Chapter 43 Jay
We shower together, which takes significantly longer than it should because Ivan keeps pressing me against the cold tile wall and kissing me until the water runs lukewarm and then cold.
By the time we finally get dressed and head to Betty's for breakfast, the sun is high in the sky and it's almost noon.
Betty raises an eyebrow when we walk in together, hand in hand. Her eyes track from our faces to our joined hands and back again, and a knowing smile curves her lips. "Late night?"
"Late morning," Ivan says, grinning.
She shakes her head but she's smiling warmly as she pours our coffee. "The usual for both of you?"
"Please. Extra bacon if you have it."
We slide into our usual booth by the window. Ivan's foot finds mine under the table almost immediately, hooking around my ankle.
"So," he says, wrapping both hands around his coffee mug. "What do you want to do? With your life, I mean. Long-term. Five years from now, ten years from now. What does that look like in your head?"
I stir my coffee slowly, watching the cream swirl, not meeting his eyes. The question makes me anxious. "I don't really think about it. I've never let myself think that far ahead."
"Why not?"
"Because thinking about the future feels like jinxing myself." I shrug, trying to make it sound casual. "I've learned to focus on getting through today. Tomorrow can take care of itself."
"But you're good at what you do, Jay. You're talented with bikes." Ivan leans forward, his eyes intense. "Mick wouldn't have hired you and kept you on if you weren't."
"Mick hired me because I was desperate and willing to work for cash under the table for almost nothing."
"Maybe that's why he hired you initially.
But he kept you and gave you more responsibility.
He trusts you with custom work now because you're talented.
I've seen you talk about engines. Your whole face lights up.
You understand machines in a way most people don't. That's not something you can fake. "
I don't know what to say to that. No one has ever talked about my work like it matters.
"Working for Mick is fine," I finally manage. "It's steady. He's good to me. I know what's expected every day."
"But it's not a career or a future you can build on. You're making less than minimum wage in cash. No benefits, no health insurance, no security. What happens if you get hurt on the job? What happens if Mick decides to retire or close up shop?"
"I'd figure something out. I always do."
"What if you didn't have to figure it out alone? What if there was a better option?"
Betty arrives with our food, and we go quiet while she sets down the plates. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast. She refills our coffee and disappears back toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going with this?" I ask, picking up my fork. "What are you trying to say?"
"I've been thinking a lot about the future.
About our future together." Ivan cuts into his eggs.
"I live on the northern outskirts of Atlanta.
Twenty minutes from the city if traffic cooperates.
" He takes a bite, his eyes never leaving mine.
"There's a lot of opportunity in Atlanta. For both of us."
"What kind of opportunity?" My stomach is already tightening with tension.
"For me, tons of construction work. The city's always building something.
For you..." He sets down his fork. "There would be plenty of work.
There are motorcycle shops all over Atlanta.
Dealerships, custom builders, restoration specialists, racing shops.
Someone with your skills could find real work there.
Legitimate work. With an actual paycheck and benefits and a real future. "
"I'd need certifications though. Proper training. Credentials." I shake my head. "I don't have any of that. I'm just a guy who's good with his hands."
"You could get certified. You're only twenty-one, not sixty-one.
There are programs, trade schools, community college courses.
Hell, some shops will train you on the job if you can prove you know what you're doing, and you absolutely can prove that.
" He reaches across the table and takes my hand.
"You could build something real and steady.
Not just surviving day to day, but actually building a life. A career. Something that's stable."
"I'm scared," I admit. "Actually, I'm terrified."
"Of what? Talk to me."
"Of everything." I force myself to look at him. "What I have here isn't much. I know that. But it's mine and it's predictable. I know what to expect every day. I know Mick's shop, I know Betty's diner, I know my shitty motel room. It's familiar. It's safe in its own way."
"It's also keeping you stuck. Keeping you from growing."
"Sometimes stuck feels better than falling." I pull my hand back, run it through my hair. "What if I move to Atlanta and I can't find work? What if no one wants to hire a guy with an arrest record and no formal certifications? What if I end up worse off than I am now?"
"You won't be alone. We'll be there together."
"That's what scares me too." I meet his eyes directly. "I don't want to be dependent on you. I don't want to show up in your city with nothing and expect you to carry me financially. I don't want to be your burden."
"That's not what I'm suggesting at all."
"But that's how it would feel. To me, at least." I push my eggs around.
"I told you before, that I need to get my shit together before I can really be part of your life.
I can't think seriously about moving to Atlanta until I know what's happening with the court case.
Until I've proven I can stay sober for more than a few weeks.
Until I have something real to offer besides my damage. "
Ivan goes quiet. I can tell he's choosing his words carefully.
"I hear you," he says finally. "And I'm not trying to rush you. I just want you to know that there's a path forward. That you don't have to stay stuck here forever. That there are plenty of other options. I want you to keep an open mind about things."
"I know. And I appreciate that you think about these things."
"I understand that you need time to plan and prepare. It would be a big adjustment."
"Yeah, I need more time."
"Okay. That's fair." He picks up his fork.
"Then we take our time. The court date is in ten days.
Let's get through that first. See what happens.
And then we'll talk about next steps. Together.
As partners." He smiles at me, soft and patient.
"I'm not going anywhere. No matter how long it takes, whatever you need. I'll wait."
I want to believe him. I desperately want to believe that there's a future waiting for me in Atlanta, with a real job and a real life with Ivan. But the fear is still there, coiled tight in my chest.
"If I do move to Atlanta eventually. If I get my act together and find a decent job. Would you want to live together? Like, actually live together in the same place?"
Ivan's whole face softens. "Absolutely I would. That's the whole point of all of this. That's what I'm working toward. A life with us being together."
"But not at Rosalyn's house. Not with the foster kids."
He shakes his head. "No, not at Rosalyn's.
Our own place. An apartment, maybe until one day we could afford a small house.
Something small to start. Just a one-bedroom, with a little kitchen and living room.
A safe place that's ours." He glances over at me.
"Would you want that? Living together? Or is that too much too fast? I'm pushing things too fast, aren't I?"
"No, it's not that. I've never lived with anyone before. Not since the group homes and the foster houses. And that doesn't count because it wasn't a choice."
"Living together would be just us. Making our own rules. Building our own life."
"What if we drive each other crazy? What if we can't stand living together?"
He grins at me. "Am I already driving you crazy? I can back off if I need to. A little bit, maybe. Not a whole lot."
"Please don't. Whatever you do, don't back away from me." I reach over and rub my thumb across his hand. "Let's get through the court date first. One thing at a time. And then we'll talk seriously about Atlanta. About the future."
"That's all I'm asking. One step at a time."
We finish breakfast, but my mind is spinning out of control now. I can feel my heart starting to race, that familiar tightness in my chest that signals a panic attack might be coming. My palms are sweating. I wipe them on my jeans under the table and try to anchor myself.
"Caleb found a new dinosaur book at the library," Ivan is saying, not noticing my rising panic. "Now he won't stop talking about the Therizinosaurus. Apparently, it had claws three feet long."
"Three feet?" I force the words out, trying to act normal.
"That's what he says. He made me look it up to prove it wasn't just a made-up dinosaur." Ivan grins. "He was right, of course. The kid knows more about dinosaurs than most actual paleontologists. He corrects documentaries."
"He sounds like a handful. Sounds exhausting."
"He is. But in the best way possible." Ivan sips his coffee. "What about you? Have you had any time to work on the Triumph? The one you were restoring?"
"Not really. Between Mick's shop during the day and Betty's at night, I barely have time to sleep, let alone work on personal projects." I push a piece of hash brown around my plate. "I miss it, though. Working on something that's mine. Something that's not just a job or an obligation."
"You'll get back to it. Once things settle down a bit. Once the court stuff is behind you."
"Hope so."
The anxiety is getting worse. I can feel it building, that irrational panic that comes whenever I think about changing anything substantial in my life.
My current situation is objectively crappy.
But it's familiar. Safe. I know exactly what each day is going to look like, and there's a weird comfort in that predictability.
Change means uncertainty. Uncertainty means things can go wrong. And in my experience, things always go wrong eventually.
"Hey." Ivan reaches across the table and touches my hand, his fingers gentle on mine. "Where'd you go? You left me all of a sudden there."
"Nowhere. Just thinking. My brain won't shut off."
"You're worried about moving to Atlanta?"
"A little." I force a smile. "It's a lot to think about. A lot to process."
"I'm sorry if I pushed too hard. I probably overwhelmed you. Rosalyn says I'm very goal-oriented. When I set a goal, I push myself hard to reach it. This is the first time I can remember someone else being involved in one of my goals though, and I didn't realize I was steamrolling you."
"You weren't. I always want to know what you're thinking or planning." I take a shaky breath. "I just... I don't know how to explain the way my brain works. The way even good things feel dangerous because they give me something to lose."
"You don't have to decide anything right now," Ivan says. "Let's table this discussion if it's stressing you out. I just wanted you to know there are options. That's all."
Betty swings by with the check, setting it down between us. "You boys need anything else? More coffee?"
"Just the check," Ivan says. "Thanks, Betty. Breakfast was perfect as always."
She sets it down and winks at me. "You look tired, hon. Make sure you're getting enough sleep. You're working too hard."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll try."
When we leave the diner, Ivan takes my hand as we walk down the sidewalk. In broad daylight, where anyone could see us. I tense for a second, waiting for someone to give us a dirty look. But no one does. People just walk by, absorbed in their own lives, their own problems.
"Is this okay?" Ivan asks, noticing my tension.
"Yeah." I squeeze his hand, force myself to relax. "I like holding your hand. I don't care who sees it."
We walk back to the motel hand in hand, and for a few minutes I let myself imagine it.
A life with Ivan in Atlanta.
Waking up next to him every morning instead of just on weekends. Coming home to him every night.
It feels impossible. It feels like something that happens to other people, to people whose lives aren't built on quicksand.
But maybe, just maybe, it doesn't have to be impossible.
Maybe I could actually have this.
If I don't fuck it all up first.