Chapter 4
Rico
This might be the most insane thing I’ve ever done. Yet at the same time, it makes perfect sense.
Jesse needs Adam, but Adam can’t be here for him. Actually, no. Adam has given Jesse everything he possibly can. He’s got nothing left for him, so now it’s my turn to step up to the plate.
I can’t help but feel like I’m Jesse’s last chance.
Sorry, Jay. That rubs me up the wrong way simply because it doesn’t ring true at all. But I’ll respect it until he tells me otherwise, if he ever does.
In my head he’s still Jesse for the time being, and Jesse has been alone in my apartment for over twenty-four hours now. If he’s even still there. It’s occurred to me more than once during this shift there’s every chance he could have robbed me blind and already be back in LA by now, drunk again.
Or worse.
Those bruises have been haunting my thoughts. It’s obvious he got a beating, probably only hours before I showed up at his place judging by the way they’d changed color quite spectacularly by the time I left yesterday morning.
It wasn’t like I’d meant to snoop on him. I just put my head around the spare bedroom door before heading out to work to make sure he was okay. The covers were pulled down, and he was only wearing boxers as he slept.
Seeing all his cuts and bruises made me feel like I’d been given a hard blow myself.
I know he hasn’t always been an angel, but it does seem to me like life also hasn’t been very fair to Jesse Silverman at times.
Did he do something to warrant retaliation?
I wouldn’t be surprised if he was mixed up in stupid or illegal shit.
But nobody deserves a physical punishment like that. Especially not someone who looks so young and helpless when they sleep.
Between the naps he took at his place and in my car, then catching a glimpse of him as I left for my shift, I can safely say that vulnerability is not a one-off or something he was faking. When Jesse’s asleep, he lets his defenses down. The angry mask slips away and then I see him.
The sweet kid who saved my favorite Halloween candies for me. The kind, talented boy I used to know is still there. I believe it, even if he’s buried deep.
But he’s clearly living with demons, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones steering the wheel more often than not.
If they’ve whispered into his ear that he could get plenty of money from pawning my laptop, my watch, and whatever else he can find, then I could be heading back into a disaster zone of my own making.
At least my phone, wallet and car have been with me here at the station.
“Got much planned for today, Lieutenant?” one of my guys, Anton Quick, asks as the last few members of the One-Thirteen pack up in the locker room.
“Uh, not much,” I say, trying not to feel or sound guilty.
There’s no reason to, after all. Adam was incredibly relived when I suggested bringing Jesse back from LA with me, so it’s not like I kidnapped him or anything.
But I guess the situation is delicate and I don’t feel like splashing Jesse’s business all over the station.
Especially when I told the crew his story only a few weeks ago.
I didn’t mention his name, obviously, but I’d hate for him to think I was gossiping about his personal affairs with my colleagues.
“Anton and I are working on Becca Bean’s Halloween costume!” Sawyer Nelson, Quick’s best friend, announces joyfully. “You should join us.”
“There’s so much glitter,” Quick says, sounding haunted.
I laugh and shake my head. “Tempting, but I think I’ll pass.”
Quick has the kind of modern family I really admire, although I appreciate he went through a lot of heartache to get where he is now.
His parents are very much ‘pray the gay away’ kind of people, so he denied who he really was for years, marrying a lovely lady called Meagan.
They had their daughter, Rebecca, and he was happy to a certain extent for a while.
I’m not sure what triggered it, but eventually he did come out.
The twist is…she was his biggest champion and protector.
Still is. Especially when his own flesh and blood got nasty with him, calling him an unfit parent and trying to push him into conversion therapy.
Meagan was there for him through thick and thin, including when he finally went no contact with them all.
When she married her new husband, Brent, Quick was her best man.
Even though he has his own place, the three of them co-parent Becca together.
I’m sure Meagan would be supportive of involving a fourth person into the mix, but I’ve never been aware of Quick dating. At least he’s got Nelson, who takes his role as honorary uncle very seriously. You’d have to if you’re committing to spending your day off helping hand make Halloween costumes.
“What’s Becca going trick or treating as?” I ask, genuinely interested.
Quick shakes his head as we wander out of the locker room. “A cyborg pop star,” he says like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Apparently it absolutely has to have working electronic parts, or it just won’t do.”
“And glitter,” I remind him.
He scowls at me while Nelson laughs. “Can’t forget the glitter, bro!” his best friend cries, squeezing his shoulders and just generally hopping around behind him. Knowing Nelson, he’s making himself an ensemble to match Rebecca’s.
Seeing the natural way they approach their unconventional dynamic reminds me that some families do survive greater challenges, but also…
it’s normal that some don’t. After all, Quick’s parents still pop up every now and again demanding visitation rights and even threatening to sue for custody of Rebecca, all while condemning their son to the devil.
At least my folks aren’t like that. We talk. I see them for the holidays. They just haven’t visited my place once in the seven years I’ve lived there. In fact, Jesse is the first person to occupy the spare room in that whole time. They always say they’ll make the effort one day, but…
Ah, it’s cool. They’re just getting on with life as best they can.
Sometimes I think about growing up and how we had relatives in Mexico who we only spoke to on special occasions and only saw maybe once a year or even less.
It’s only because of the internet and smart phones that we think it’s weird now if we don’t connect with family all the time.
By the standards of a couple of decades ago, me and my folks are doing just fine.
Probably.
I leave Quick and Nelson debating whether or not Rebecca needs a real LED eye patch, chuckling softly to myself as I walk to my car.
But there is a hint of melancholy to my mirth.
My parents did what they could, I’m sure.
But they certainly never doted on me the way Becca’s parental pod does. Especially after…
That’s just the hand I was dealt. There’s no point in dwelling on it.
Although…it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I’m pondering about the people I’d intended the spare room for versus who’s actually inhabiting it currently.
Jesse Silverman.
Is he still going to be there when I get home? What will I do if he isn’t? What will I do if he is?
The drive back to my apartment doesn’t give me nearly enough time to reach a satisfactory conclusion.
But I only dawdle in the parking garage for a few minutes, deciding I’d rather know than not, and sooner rather than later.
I take the stairs rather than the elevator to the fourth floor, preferring to keep moving rather than standing still even for twenty seconds.
Before turning the key, I take a breath, then push onward.
Both literally and metaphorically.
“Hello?” I call out, shutting the door behind me and dropping my keys in the bowl on the table in the entrance hall. “Jesse?”
Nothing. My heart starts beating faster. I try and remind myself as I move through the apartment that he’s a grown man, and if he wants to take off and keep ruining his life, that’s his own decision to make. I just don’t want him to. A lot.
I hesitate outside the spare room door. “Jesse?”
A groan comes from the other side and relief rushes through me. “Yeah?”
“I, um…” I was just checking you were still under my roof where I might have a chance of stopping you from doing something incredibly stupid. “I was just going to make breakfast. Do you want some?”
The pause stretches out. But then he groans again. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
Dinner had been awkward yesterday, but I’ll suffer sharing as many meals as necessary to know that Jesse’s eating properly again.
That kitchen was…well, I shudder just thinking about it.
Nothing in the cupboards or refrigerator but dirty crumbs, out-of-date ramen, and ketchup packets.
He must have been eating something, but I have no idea what.
Maybe that’s where all his money has gone—on takeout.
And other things.
I try and put that from my mind as I start pulling out ingredients to make waffles, as well as sausages and orange juice. I crack an egg into a mixing bowl then step on the lever to open the trash can so I can dispose of the shell.
The first thing I see is the empty bottle of tequila glinting back at me.
My stomach drops. I’d completely forgotten I even had that from some party with the One-Thirteen where I’d made margaritas. What cupboard has it been languishing in all this time?
How hard did Jesse have to look to find it?
My desire to make breakfast vanishes. I toss the rest of the egg in the trash as well and the dirty bowl in the sink before tidying the other bits away. We can make toast or cereal instead.
After we’ve talked.
“Jesse, can you come out here please?” I call through the door sternly.
It opens a moment later to reveal him yawning and stretching, bleary-eyed and dressed only in his boxers.
Only he doesn’t look so helpless and vulnerable now.