Chapter 5
Jem sat on the sofa, stroking Scipio’s head. The Lab was sitting up, alert instead of his usual boneless sprawl, and his dark eyes tracked Tean as he paced.
“I have to do something,” Tean said for the fifth or sixth time. He pushed his hands through his hair, making it even wilder than usual.
“Okay,” Jem said. He made sure his hand was moving slowly, smoothly, and evenly over Scipio’s dark fur. No closing his fingers. No grabbing handfuls of fur. Slow, smooth. Worked his thumb behind Scipio’s ear. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” Tean said. “But I’ve got to do something.”
Jem had come home from work and found the house dark and Scipio desperate to go outside and do his business.
Tean had answered his call with a few brittle sentences.
And now here they were, the clock inching past eleven, with only a single lamp burning, and Jem had a moment of confusion: why hadn’t he turned on more lights?
“I know you hate him,” Tean said. “I don’t blame you. But he didn’t do this. He wouldn’t kill somebody.”
Headlights swelled against the blinds, turned, shrank.
Taking off his glasses, Tean stopped in front of the fireplace. His shoulders dropped. He rubbed one eye. “This is going to ruin his life.”
Jem tried, and the words didn’t come. He ran his hand down Scipio’s side, across his flank, chasing the texture of the Lab’s fur. The next time he opened his mouth, he said, “Come here.”
“I know you think he deserves this.”
“Come over here.”
Tean stepped over to the sofa. Jem held out his free hand, and after a moment, Tean put his hand in Jem’s. Jem squeezed once. Harder, maybe, than he needed to. But Tean squeezed back. And then Jem pulled Tean’s hand to Scipio’s head and said, “He says you haven’t been petting him enough lately.”
With a wet laugh, Tean scrubbed at the dog’s ears. He sank down next to the sofa, but his hand moved steadily, petting Scipio in time with Jem’s own movements.
The Lab’s tail thumped enthusiastically since this was, clearly, the treatment he deserved.
After a while, Tean slid his glasses back on. He petted Scipio with both hands now, and the Lab flopped onto his side and stretched. “This whole thing is crazy. I feel like it’s not real. Or like it’s a joke, and pretty soon everyone’s going to start laughing.”
“You want to help him,” Jem said.
Tean’s hands slowed. Then they dropped into his lap. Jem had gone still too.
“He doesn’t have anyone else,” Tean said.
“Except his wife,” Jem said.
Tean’s spine went rigid.
“That was a joke,” Jem said. “That was a bad joke.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“His family—the family he grew up with, I mean—they stopped talking to him after he came out. His friends at work treat him like he’s subhuman. I—”
But Tean stopped.
“You broke his heart,” Jem said.
In the light of that single lamp, it was difficult to tell how much of the change was color rising in Tean’s face and how much was shadow.
“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”
“Nothing,” Jem said. “It was a stupid thing to say.”
Something in the refrigerator clicked on and began to hum.
Tean got to his feet. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”
“I just don’t know what you think you can do,” Jem said. “He confessed.”
“I’m too tired to talk about this right now. I’m not thinking clearly, and I’m emotional, and I’m—I’m not in control of myself. Can we have this conversation tomorrow?”
Jem couldn’t look Tean in the eye, so he looked at the floor. After a moment, he nodded.
Tean’s footsteps padded toward the back of the house.
“Oh hell,” Jem said and went after him.
Tean stood at the foot of their bed, arms folded across his chest, face a wreck.
When he saw Jem, he stiffened—not much, barely more than fresh tension in his shoulders.
Jem ignored it. He pulled Tean into a hug, and as the seconds ticked past, Tean slowly relaxed against him.
His head drooped, and then, finally, he let himself rest against Jem’s shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jem said. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
“I’m sorry,” Tean whispered.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was a jackass.”
“You weren’t. This is so unfair of me. I—I hate that I’m doing this to you. But Jem, I honestly don’t know what to do.”
Jem hushed him, ran his hand through that wild hair, and hugged him closer.
They got ready for bed silently. And unlike most nights, Tean didn’t read with the lamp on, and Jem didn’t scroll Instagram. They lay next to each other in the dark.
Jem closed his eyes and focused on his breathing: slow and deep. He imagined his chest rising and falling naturally—
Ammon.
—like he was asleep. But he couldn’t get enough air, and something heavy—
Ammon.
—pressed down on him. This sick-sour heat flared to life every time he inhaled, and it reminded him of—
Ammon.
—what it felt like when he needed to puke.
Heart racing. Sweat popping out. The room tightening. Get up. Move. Run.
It was too much.
And then it was like a fever breaking, and the worst of it washed away. What was left, he packed up. He wanted to laugh. Fucking Ammon.
Hours later, when Tean got out of bed and dressed quietly, when Scipio’s tail thumped with sleepy interest and Tean whispered a command, Jem rolled over, eyes closed, until the back door shut.
He wasn’t asleep. He wasn’t awake. It was some middle ground where thoughts ran round and round his head.
And what he thought was that one day, his mom had just been gone. She’d never said goodbye.