Chapter 24
Foster sat across from Cary at McMurphy’s, watching the Giants pregame on the big screens arranged around the bar.
There was a lively, animated crowd. Folks were always happy when the Giants were playing well.
Maybe not the Iggles fans, of course, but there was nary a Philadelphia jersey in the place that afternoon.
Yet, even with all that positive energy around him, Foster couldn’t shake his foul mood.
He reached for his beer and took a swig. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a big guy moving quickly in their direction. The crowd parted around him like the Red Sea.
Anton marched up to their booth. He glared at Foster. “Outside. Now.”
Foster searched Anton’s face, trying to gauge why the guy was pissed. “What am I in trouble for?”
“I’m trying to determine that.”
Foster glanced at Cary and back to Anton. “I’ve left him alone. Just like he asked.”
“I’m aware.”
“Why are we going outside, Anton?” Cary asked, throwing one arm over the back of the booth and glaring up at the giant guy.
“You’re not invited,” Anton warned Cary. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Cary glared up at Anton. “If you’re about to lay hands, I’m not letting him walk outside without backup.”
Anton placed both set of knuckles on the end of the table and leaned in, closer to Cary. “If I wanted to beat his ass, I wouldn’t have asked. I would’ve dragged him out there already.”
Anton turned his focus back on Foster. “I heard something today, and I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt instead of assuming the worst. If I don’t like the answer, I can’t say for certain that I won’t want to put my fist in the middle of your face, though.”
What had Anton heard? The curiosity got to Foster, even with the thread of violence lingering near the answer. “With an invitation like that, how could I refuse?”
Foster rose from the booth and went toe-to-toe with Anton.
A few heads turned, watching the animosity and assuming the worst. They backed up a bit, giving the two of them room, in case things turned ugly.
Hopefully they weren’t right to be worried.
Anton only had about an inch on him in height, but he had a good thirty pounds more muscle.
Foster swept towards the door, ushering Anton outside.
Once in the parking lot, the chill November air was stronger than the adrenalin coursing through his body. Foster crossed his arms over his chest to warm up, all while scanning the lot for nosy onlookers. No one had followed them outside, which was shocking, but then, it was cold and dark.
Foster hated it when it got dark earlier and earlier. It wasn’t even five and the sun was almost fully set, leaving only a dark gray, cloudy sky above. The only light they had was from the one illuminating the McMurphy’s sign and the nearby parking lot lamp.
Anton turned to face him. “You told Jude to get over it?”
Foster frowned, trying to remember ever saying that. “No, but I told him that it was no way to live stuck in the past—which is about as close as I got, if memory serves.”
“You have no idea what he went through. You don’t get to judge him.”
“I wasn’t judging him,” Foster said. “It was clear he hasn’t dealt with everything that happened. It’s been nearly fifteen years, well past time for him to move on.”
“Again, you don’t know what he went through.”
“Look, I was only trying to help.”
“A little late, don’t you think?”
Foster shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do to fix the past but try to be there for him now.”
Anton took a step closer. “You want to help? Okay, but you need to know everything before you’re allowed to open your fucking mouth again.”
Foster steeled himself, not sure he wanted to know everything.
“How much of the bullying do you remember?”
Foster sighed. “I know people yelled shit at him in the halls. I heard about nickels being thrown once. The spraypainted slur on his car.”
“That’s it?”
Foster shrugged. “That’s all that comes to mind.”
“Yeah, people yelled at him in the halls. They also tripped him. Punched him. Pantsed him. Knocked him to the ground. Violently kicked him when he was down. They threw raw eggs and rotten food at him. Flung pennies and nickels so hard they left little round bruises all over his body. They filled his locker with trash on three different occasions—might’ve been more, but there was so much going on, I kind of lost track here and there.
” Anton paused a few seconds. “Let’s see…
Yes, they spraypainted slurs on his car—but it was also his house and the windows of his father’s business. ”
Foster shook his head.
“That wasn’t the worst, though. The worst was the notes they slipped under their front door threatening to kill him.”
“Jesus Christ.” Foster’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t know about all of that. Definitely not the threats. I remember a bunch of people were called to the office and interviewed. I saw cops around that day. No one would talk after—was that what it was about?”
“The cops came out a couple of times about this,” Anton said.
“The police and the superintendent of schools interviewed multiple students over the course of a couple of weeks. Not one of them cracked. It was our word against half the school.” He paused.
“By our word, I mean Jude, me, and Roan—because you weren’t around. ”
Foster’s jaw set.
“Jude’s dad had a security camera, but the resolution was shit back then, especially in the dark, so they couldn’t tell who was delivering the threats or vandalizing their place.
Rick and his friends always had an alibi when that shit went down, too.
Rick had the cops half convinced we were making it all up—or doing it ourselves—in a smear campaign against him.
He told them Jude had a crush on him and that he’d rejected him in the locker room.
He said Jude had shoved a hand down his pants.
By Christmas, they were treating Jude like the accused instead of the victim. ”
Foster’s stomach turned. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah. I bet you didn’t.”
Foster ignored the comment. Anton was baiting him, and he wasn’t taking it. “Jude was eighteen. Why didn’t he just quit sooner instead of sticking it out?”
“He wanted to—from day one—but his dad laid a guilt trip on him. I promised your mother on her deathbed that I would make sure you crossed that stage. He begged Jude not to quit—but in his defense, I don’t think he understood just how bad it was.
Jude loved his dad. He was a good guy and didn’t want to disappoint.
As the torture escalated, he didn’t tell his dad how bad it had gotten.
Not until the vandalism forced him to. After that, his dad pulled Jude out of school himself.
But it was too late. The damage had been done.
The threats continued showing up under the door, even after he’d quit.
He didn’t feel safe anywhere, not even his own home. ”
Silence fell for a few seconds.
Foster fought a wave of nausea. He’d known it was bad, but he’d had no clue the torment Jude had experienced. It had been a living nightmare.
“I thought I understood why he was angry with me,” Foster said. “But now… I don’t get how he doesn’t loathe me.”
Anton searched his face but said nothing.
Foster shoved a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. No wonder Jude had been cold and distant, especially in the beginning.
No wonder why he’d fought his feelings so hard. It was a minor miracle he’d developed feelings at all.
“It couldn’t have been easy watching me avoid the same suffering. It wasn’t fair.”
Anton’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t Rick go after you?”
“I have no idea,” Foster replied.
“None?” Anton asked, his tone one of disbelief.
Foster captured Anton’s gaze. “None.”
Anton was quiet a few seconds. “Your best friend caught you both, but he covered for you. It made me wonder if you were in on it.”
“I wasn’t in on anything,” Foster spat, eyes wide.
“And Rick wasn’t my best friend. He was barely even a friend.
We were teammates and nothing more. I hated that motherfucker.
” He hated Rick even more after hearing exactly what he’d done to Jude.
He clenched his fists, wishing Rick was there to vent his anger on.
“You don’t know how badly I wanted to out you to take some of the heat off Jude. He wouldn’t let me.”
“I almost wish you had,” Foster said.
Anton frowned.
“If it would’ve made his life easier… I wish you had.”
Anton searched his face for a few seconds. His brows smoothed a bit. “I saw you pining for him across the dance floor on Halloween.”
Foster lowered his head.
“You looked miserable.”
Foster chuckled mirthlessly. “I felt miserable.”
“Why?”
Foster eyed Anton. “Are you asking what my intentions are?”
“Something like that.”
Foster met Anton’s gaze. “I care for him a great deal.” He sighed. “A few weeks back, he told me he ran into Rick.”
“He never said anything to me.”
“Well, Rick had noticed my car parked near the shop early one morning. He made assumptions. Accurate assumptions… but whatever he said, it really rattled Jude.”
“Just seeing that fuckface rattles Jude.”
“I could see pain in his eyes, but I didn’t really get it until now,” Foster said.
“But even then, I thought to myself that being near him might’ve been hurting him more than helping.
” He sighed. “I don’t want to be a constant, painful memory for him.
I don’t want to make things worse. I want to make them better, but…
maybe I can’t be that for him. No matter how much I love him. ”
“I think you can be that for him,” Anton said. “I’d noticed changes in him, while you and he were doing your weird vengeance sex thing. Positive changes.”
Foster eyed Anton.
“Honestly? I don’t trust you to be there for him. Not like he needs.”
“I want to help him,” Foster said.