Chapter 6 #4
Makes Malcolm question why Howie lives in a trailer, but it apparently came with the saloon when he bought it.
Iggy says it made more sense to live on-site than bother renting it to other people who might not respect the business and the noise it creates every night.
Makes about as much sense as anything else grownups do, especially when alcohol’s involved.
Howie isn’t a drinker, though, not according to Iggy; he just likes to see people having a good time.
“How’s your cheeseburger?” Iggy asks after a while. He’s got grease on his chin and doesn’t seem to notice.
“It’s fine. Better than fast food.”
“Yeah, Uncle Howie says he doesn’t like the cook much, but he came with the saloon. Something about an employment contract. I don’t know, it’s business stuff.”
“Maybe one day Howie can hire a cook he likes better. One who doesn’t smash the burger flatter than highway roadkill.”
Iggy pokes his own half-eaten burger. “Smashed burgers will probably be stupid popular one day.”
“Maybe. So, you gonna hang around after you graduate? Work in the family business?”
“Wow, that was a topic jump. Dude, I’ve been here for maybe six months. While I love that Uncle Howie is giving me a bedroom and three meals a day, plus a station wagon to drive around, it’s hard to…you know.”
Malcolm shakes his head, not sure what Iggy’s getting at.
Iggy hasn’t shared a lot of details about his life before Chance, only dropped enough hints that even a dope like Malcolm gets that his life kind of sucked.
That Howie’s is the first stable place he’s lived in a long time.
But having a home doesn’t mean you automatically love the people in it.
Oh. He does get it. “Howie’s your blood but he’s not really family to you yet, so the saloon isn’t a family business?” Malcolm asks.
“Yeah.” Iggy smiles and eats a potato chip. “Basically. Howie’s been great, and he doesn’t have to be. I know my dad’s burned him for money in the past, and I really want to trust Howie will always have my back, no matter what. But…”
“But what?”
Iggy’s shoulders sag and he shoves his food carton to the side. Balls his hands in his lap and stares out over the dark, rushing creek. “My parents found out I was gay, and they dumped me here. I don’t have anywhere to go if Uncle Howie hates it, too.”
Malcolm’s heart begins thudding so hard he’s sure Iggy can hear it.
Iggy’s never said it so bluntly, never verbalized something Malcolm’s suspected since their first conversation.
Maybe not consciously, but it’s been in the back of his mind.
A hopeful thought. Then that hope comes crashing down under the weight of Iggy’s other words.
“Your parents dumped you off because you’re gay?” he asks.
“What other reason’s left?” Iggy leaps off the tailgate, which bounces the car and Malcolm nearly loses hold of his food container.
He shoves it aside, attention wholly focused on Iggy, who’s pacing a short path.
“Why’d they give in this time when CPS took me away?
Why else didn’t they fight for me, instead of letting Howie take me? They hate me.”
“It’s impossible to hate you, Iggs.”
Iggy stops, his back to Malcolm, and that isn’t cool.
Malcolm slides off the tailgate and comes up behind Iggy.
For the first time, he wishes he was taller than Iggy, and he isn’t sure why.
Not until he turns Iggy to face him, sees the tears in Iggy’s eyes, and something inside him shifts. Snaps into place.
“Hey, your parents are assholes, and you’re better off here,” Malcolm says, not recognizing the quaver in his own voice. “I’m better off with you here. You’re my best friend, too. You’re…Iggs.”
Iggy doesn’t meet his eyes at first, head angled to the side, avoiding him.
But his body isn’t tense under Malcolm’s hands, and Iggy doesn’t pull away.
It’s nice having him this close, close enough to hug, and it’s not weird to want to hug another guy, right?
Iggy isn’t just any guy, though, and something important is happening here.
When Iggy finally looks at him, it takes everything in Malcolm not to brush those tears off his cheeks. “You don’t, uh, mind that I’m gay?”
“No way. It kind of makes this easier.”
“What?”
Malcolm stops thinking and lets those weird, bubbly feelings take hold, and he kisses Iggy. Kisses a boy, this boy, for the first time, and it’s everything he always thought a kiss should be. It’s sweet and tingly and scary and intense, and it leaves Malcolm breathless after only a few seconds.
Iggy blinks dumbly at him, his lips wet. “Monte. You don’t have—”
He kisses Iggy again, a little harder, not really sure what he’s doing, not until Iggy finally kisses him back. Then it’s lips and tongues and hands, and their chests are pressing together, and Malcolm stops processing anything except touch and taste and the needy little sounds Iggy’s making.
They tumble together into the back of the station wagon, and they kiss and kiss, and keep on kissing…