Milán
Jordan closes the door behind him with a quiet click and leans against it while I toe off my shoes and shrug out of my jacket, hanging it on the hook on the wall. I wipe my palms against the thighs of my jeans, and we stand still for a bit, looking at each other.
He straightens up and steps closer.
“The guest room’s occupied,” he says softly. “Wren and Sutton are here.”
“I guess I can always sleep on the couch.”
He shakes his head. “That wouldn’t be very wise. The couch is really uncomfortable. Lumpy.”
“Then I’m all out of ideas.”
He nods thoughtfully. “I have a bed.”
I widen my eyes. “And you’d give it up for me? You really are a good host.”
His lips twitch, and a snort of laughter escapes.
I press my lips against his. The kiss is familiar.
I know his taste and his smell. I’m an expert on the way his mouth feels on mine.
I know him. Everything. There’s a foundation here.
The solid building blocks of a friendship so sturdy that it can carry everything else we are to each other with ease.
I never thought I wanted this, but it turns out I was wrong, and once that last layer of pretense has been peeled away, only honesty remains, taking tentative steps out beyond the strategic ignorance we’ve both been hiding behind.
I’m here, right where I want to be.
It’s terrifying admitting it, because admitting it means also accepting that I’m willingly opening myself up to the possibility of getting hurt. I don’t know how to not be afraid of that.
But I want to take that risk.
I want everything good that comes with Jordan to outweigh the fear.
Following Jordan up the stairs feels symbolic. Like the start of something new. My fingers are linked with his, and I walk after him.
It’s dark, and I stumble.
I almost go down on my knee, but manage to catch myself and ram into the banister instead.
I curse out loud, and Jordan lets out a snort.
“Shh,” he whispers.
Too late.
We both whip our heads around when Theo’s door opens. He appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and squinting at us.
“Dad?” he says, voice hoarse with sleep.
“Did we wake you up?” Jordan asks in a low voice. “I’m sorry. It’s still early. Go back to bed, kiddo.”
Theo blinks.
“Yeah.” His eyes move to me. “Hey, Milán. Are you here to pick up Rory?”
“Not right away. In the morning. There’s plenty of time,” I say.
“Oh.” He stands there for a bit, then glances back into his room before he looks at us. “Where is he, then?”
I glance at Jordan and go to the doorway. The mattress on the floor has a mess of sheets on it but no Rory.
“Bathroom?” I say to neither of them in particular.
Jordan comes down the few steps and goes to the door on his left. He pulls it open and looks in, then glances at me and shakes his head.
There are a lot of explanations for where Rory could be. There are more bathrooms in this house, for starters. Maybe he’s getting a glass of water in the kitchen. The fact that he’s not right here doesn’t mean anything at all.
“His backpack isn’t here,” Theo says.
It might still be nothing.
Backpacks are easily forgotten somewhere else. This can still be largely nothing. A mountain out of a molehill. Much ado about nothing. Blowing things out of proportion.
Jordan goes downstairs. It’s like somebody has hit pause on a movie while I wait. He’s back after a bit, not meeting my gaze as he hurries past me upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.
Once he’s back, he stops next to me and says nothing, just shakes his head quickly.
I pull my phone out. No missed calls. No texts.
I swipe my thumb over the screen and find Aiden’s name.
I listen to the dial tone and resist the urge to pace.
Considering how drunk he was when I put him to bed a few hours ago, he manages to sound remarkably composed. Sleepy, but composed.
“There better be a fire,” he says. “Locusts will do, too. Really any kind of disaster will—”
“Is Rory home?” I cut him off.
It takes him a bit of shuffling and cursing. Then footsteps.
“No,” he says after a bit. “He’s not in his room. Or anywhere. What do you mean? He’s supposed to be at Jordan’s.”
“He’s not.” I drag my hand through my hair and look around. “He’s supposed to be. But he’s not.”
It hits me then that something is wrong. It’s not a creeping sense or subtle realization. Just boom! And there.
Something is wrong.
“Maybe he’s on his way?” Aiden says.
“Wait there,” I say before I end the call.
I dial Rory and wait. Nothing.
I try again.
And again.
Eventually, I give up and look at Jordan.
“The cops,” he says quietly.
I nod and lift my phone again.
It rings before I can dial, and for a short, absurd moment it feels like everything is going to be okay when I see Rory’s name on the screen of my phone.
I scramble to answer, nearly dropping the phone twice.
“Hello?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then a small voice.
“Milán?”
I want to laugh from relief. I swear, wherever he is, whatever’s happening, I won’t ground him. I promise. He’s okay. My hands shake from relief.
“Rory?”
There’s another beat of silence.
“I’m in trouble.”
I whirl around. My chest tightens. The air has gotten thinner in a snap, and breathing, something that should be automatic, suddenly takes conscious effort. I have to remember how to do it. My heart starts pounding in my chest, heavy and uneven. The fingers that clutch the phone go numb and cold.
“What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t say anything, and time moves faster than it should.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I…” His voice is so thin it feels razor sharp in my ears. “The… The old factory building where I found Dog.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stay on the phone. It’s going to be fine. Whatever is happening, whatever went wrong, we’ll figure it out. I’ll come and get you, I promise.”
There’s some more shuffling and silence. So much silence. Silence that hurts the ears because all you want right now is a voice to confirm he’s okay.
“Rory?” I ask, alarmed again.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here. I…” He hesitates, and I listen to him breathe for long moments. He lowers his voice even more. “I didn’t mean to—”
The call cuts off. I lower the phone and turn to look at Jordan.
“Sutton’s car. I’ll get the keys,” he says over his shoulder, already sprinting up the stairs.
Five minutes later, we’re speeding through the streets. It’s too early for most people to be up yet, so the city is still asleep, sluggish on its feet.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan blurts.
I snap my head toward him and frown. “For what?”
“I didn’t keep an eye on Rory. You trusted me with him, and I fucked up. I—”
“Hey.” I grab his fingers, squeezing them.
“This is not anybody’s fault. He snuck out.
How the hell were you supposed to stop that?
We’re not going to set up a twenty-four-hour monitoring system for the boys because we’re not insane.
Besides, we don’t even know what’s happening here, so we’ll go get Rory, we’ll go back home, get some sleep, then deal with whatever was going through his head in the morning. ”
“He said he’s in trouble,” Jordan says quietly.
“He’s also a kid. Trouble is a word that might mean anything. Even if he just went on a midnight walk, that also means in trouble, because I’m going to ground him. Maybe he has another stray dog there?”
“I think he heard me talk about you,” Jordan says softly. “About you planning to leave.” He looks down at his lap. “I was talking to Wren about it. About… how I lost my shit on you. I think Rory heard. At least some of it. And then… He might’ve been upset about it, too.”
I close my eyes for a moment. Squeeze his fingers.
“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
Jordan breathes in deeply and nods.
I hold his hand for the rest of the drive, both for me and for him, because even if I did my best to approach this situation with calm, I’m more than a little worried.
Everything about this feels off. Wrong. Not that a fourteen-year-old taking off in the middle of the night and ending up in an abandoned factory can ever be described as normal, but this feels off to the point where it’s a physical discomfort underneath my skin.
I park the car, and we jog to the already familiar ghost town of the old factory. I take the flashlight Jordan grabbed before we left, put it between my teeth, and jump the fence.
I make my way to the offices where we first met Dog.
It’s the same abandoned office space, but this time there’s no Rory.
I debate calling his name, but something stops me.
Instead, we make our way through the abandoned hallways, glancing into offices as we go until we reach a large metal door in the back of the building.
Jordan pushes it open, and we step into a short hallway that opens up into the factory itself.
It’s a large, empty space with walls covered in graffiti and a floor covered in bird shit.
A staircase leads up to a metal platform that runs along the wall all around the room, creating a sort of half-floor.
The air smells musty, and somewhere above us pigeons are cooing.
Every now and then a draft from the broken, boarded-up windows blows through the room.
I see him almost immediately. Rory is sitting on the stairs, a backpack by his side. He’s still like a statue, blinking as the flashlight beam stops on him.
“Rory.” I sigh with relief and start forward.
“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” The voices echoes in the empty space.
I stop and sweep the flashlight beam to the left and right until it lands on the speaker. A man steps out from behind one of the metal posts that holds up the stairs and the platform above them.
It takes me a moment to even place him. I’ve only seen the guy in a photo.
“Dallas?”
“The one and only.” He spreads his arms and steps forward like he’s stepping onto the stage in front of a crowd of adoring fans. His voice echoes and makes a few pigeons take flight above us. “No warm welcome? A shame. We’re practically family.”