Chapter Sixteen
Wesley pulled into the gravel driveway. The single-wide looked just as it had when Nate had whisked him back to his condo. Aside from the storm door hanging off its hinges, it looked normal enough. Meaning not too out of place in this particular trailer park.
A sigh came from his toes. The mess waiting for him inside was the least of his problems, although daunting enough. He had to figure out the thumb drive issue, but he was no closer to an answer now than he’d been when he’d left Nate’s.
He didn’t have the thumb drive they were after.
But wait— Maybe he didn’t need it. He could hand over a blank one.
He shook his head. No. That would earn him immediate retaliation.
What about one full of encrypted files? They’d think they’d gotten something, and it would buy him some time.
To do what, he didn’t know. Certainly not enough time to move house.
But for the first time in hours, a small surge of hope broke through the fog.
“Desperate times,” he muttered. “Hope they fall for it.” He tapped the steering wheel, killed the engine, and swung open the car door.
Time to brave the heat—outside and in—as well as the disaster area he’d left behind.
The faded brown of the front door was not a welcoming sight.
His heart sank when he stepped inside. No magical mice had appeared while he’d been at Nate’s and cleaned up the mess for him. He was on his own.
Looking around the kitchen, his shoulders sagged.
Laminate countertops. An old four-burner electric stove in avocado green. At least the small fridge was white. Nothing like the condo’s kitchen with its stainless-steel appliances, including a dishwasher and a six-burner stove with the grill in the center.
God—he’d loved cooking for Nate. Loved caring for Nate. Loved Nate.
His eyes fell shut with the realization; a whoosh of breath escaped him.
Oh God...
He’d fallen in love in a measly couple of weeks.
How—he didn’t know. But he had. He’d hated walking away without a word, but if he had to give Nate up and allow him to think Wesley was an ungrateful asshole who’d abandoned him in order to keep him safe, then so be it.
He’d come to learn that Nate had severe abandonment issues due to his childhood.
And what Wesley had done would inflict so much pain on the man he loved.
The thought of Nate in that kind of pain left his insides ripped to ribbons, like bright colored construction paper torn straight down the grain.
Barely an hour had passed since he’d high-tailed out of Nate’s life and Wesley missed him already. Missed him like lungs missed air.
He pressed a fist to the pain in his chest, curled his fingers in the soft worn fabric of the tee shirt Nate had loaned him that first night. This was the only tangible reminder he had of those blissful two and a half weeks.
He’d lived his fantasy.
Living with and loving a man.
And now, he was alone once more. For Nate’s sake, it had to be done.
A sob clogged his throat. He blinked hard, forcing back the tears.
He didn’t have time for histrionics. For his own sanity, this dumpster fire of a trailer needed to be cleaned up.
But first—he needed to seal up the back window and stop the inflow of hot air.
His electric bill was going to be astronomical.
When he reached the utility room—he gasped. The window had been fixed, and a bright yellow sticky note clung to the glass.
I took the liberty of fixing your window and adjusting the thermostat.
Darius’s Dad
Wesley half-laughed, half-sobbed at Officer Bennett’s thoughtfulness. He hadn’t noticed that the temperature in the trailer wasn’t stifling and humid. He shambled to the hall and his gaze locked onto another sticky note. One he’d passed right by without noticing.
Hope this is okay.
Darius’s Dad
The thermostat read seventy-eight degrees. It was perfect for him when he wasn’t home, but now that he was, he ticked the temperature down several degrees.
More tears stung Wesley’s eyes. He needed to thank Officer Bennett.
The man had gone above and beyond. He patted his pockets for his cell phone.
Empty. Well, poop. He headed for the front of the house, hoping he’d brought the device inside and didn’t have to trudge back to the car in the blazing heat.
He scanned the kitchen counters. Nothing. His gaze skimmed the living room surfaces as he headed for the front door. Coffee table, end table, couch cushions. Nope. Ugh.
Back outside, the August heat wrapped around Wesley like a wool sweater. Suffocating. Sticky. He found his phone in the driver’s-side door compartment. How it’d ended up there, he had no idea.
His shoulders immediately drooped at the panel of notifications. Two missed calls, a voicemail, and a text from Principal Halvorson.
Please call me as soon as possible. Thanks.
His stomach flipped.
He tapped to return the call, hands shaking slightly, and walked back to the trailer.
“Wesley,” she answered on the first ring, tone clipped but not cold. “I’m sorry to do this by phone but given some recent concerns that have been brought to my attention, I think it would be best if we parted ways before there’s a bigger issue.”
Wesley gaped in stunned silence, then swallowed. “What concerns?” His mind whirled, but he had a hunch.
“I was alerted to some circumstances that may be viewed as inconsistent with the district policy of professional expectations. If you submit your resignation today, it’ll stay out of the school board’s hands, and you’ll be free to move on quietly.”
“Do I have a choice?”
Mrs. Halvorson sighed. “There’s always a choice. But this is the cleanest way forward.”
He could fight, demand specifics, refuse to sign—but what good would that do? Once the schoolboard got wind of anything, it wouldn’t just be his career on the line. If the whispers ever reached Nate, if his name got dragged into whatever story they thought they had—it would add insult to injury.
His eyes burned. “Fine. Email me what I need to sign.”
“Thank you. I’ll have HR send it within the hour.”
He stared at the phone, heartbeat thudding. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually quit. No, he’d been fired in a backhanded way. But better to walk away quietly, carry the stain himself, than risk a spotlight turning on the person he’d just shattered in the name of protection.
He wandered into the kitchen. The fridge was mostly empty—just condiments and a half-used carton of almond milk that probably should’ve been thrown out two weeks ago.
He didn’t bother sniffing it; just set the container in the sink.
The pantry was marginally better. A few cans of soup, some ramen, a box of probably stale crackers.
Wesley grabbed a can of chicken noodle and popped the lid with a spoon. He dumped the soup into a pot and set the pot on the stove, then leaned on the counter while the contents warmed.
His body ached with the kind of fatigue that went deeper than tired. Bone-deep. Soul-weary. And he hadn’t even tackled the cleaning yet. Or the issue of the thumb drive.
The soup bubbled. He stirred it mechanically. He’d just ladled some into a chipped bowl when a heavy slam rattled the back door.
He whirled around. The door swung open, crashed against the wall, and bounced back.
Two guys in all black, wearing balaclavas, came at him.
“Knew you’d show up sooner or later, you faggot,” one snarled. “All it took was threatening your sugar daddy.”
Wesley froze like a sighted hare.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Then his heart stampeded like a herd of third graders during recess and leapt into his throat. He swallowed hard. The lump stayed.
“I’ll give you one last chance to hand it over, otherwise—”
Wesley held up his hands. “I s-swear—I have no idea what you’re t-talking about.”
“So you say.”
The other guy lunged and wrenched Wesley’s arms behind his back, gripping his elbows. Hard.
Wesley tried to haul in air, but between the gourd in his throat and his swelling nasal cavity, he couldn’t. He panted. Tried to count.
“Let me refresh your memory.”
Wesley’s arms were yanked harder. His shoulders screamed. He panted through the pain.
“That fuckin’ faggot club. Two months ago.
Someone put a thumb drive in the little pocket on the strap of your backpack.
We watched security footage. You picked up the backpack and left.
You were supposed to deliver the thumb drive to someone, but that someone says he never got it.
We’re here to get it. Now, where the fuck is it? ”
“If I-I had it, I’d give it to you. I s-swear to God.”
“Well, I don’t believe in God.”
A meaty fist drove into Wesley’s stomach. Once, twice. Heat exploded in his gut. His breath rushed from his lungs, and he gasped for air. Tried to groan through it, but he didn’t have anything in his lungs to make a sound.
He took another blow to the chest. Then another. He gulped in air only to choke on it. His throat constricted, and pain rolled from his neck to his gut.
The same fist connected with his face. Blinding white heat stabbed his skull, and his eyes scrunched closed. A hit to the other side of his head sent a shockwave of agony all the way to his toes and buckled his knees.
Wesley hit the floor with a thud and his head caromed off the bottom corner of the tv cabinet. Cannon fire reverberated in his head with each heartbeat.
A boot connected with his kidney, fire suffused his lower back, and he cried out. Another kick. Another hoarse scream. Wesley curled up, but pain lanced through him with every heaving breath.
Banging on the front door halted the onslaught.
“Wesley, you in there?”
Officer Bennett. Help!
He didn’t have the breath to call out, but willed the man to come in, whatever might compel him to do so.
“Wesley, I know you’re supposed to be home. Answer me or I’m breaking down this door.”
The goons bolted for the back door. Crashing through the house like elephants. His head throbbed.
“Stand back!”
The door exploded open. The boom from Bennett’s kick and the door’s bounce off the wall behind it sent another thwomp of agony through Wesley’s head. He couldn’t care less—help had arrived. Thank God.
“Shit. Wesley, hang tight,” Bennett hollered as he thundered past, his steps like mortar fire in Wesley’s skull. “I’m calling for backup. A squad car and an ambulance should be here soon.”
Then there was blessed silence, except for the thudding of his heart. Each gasping breath sent a wave of torture through him, which elicited another gasp and another surge. He did his best to slow his breathing, ease the torment. He didn’t dare move anything for fear of added pain.
Bennett’s distant shouting faded behind the throb in his head.
Relief overwhelmed him and he melted into the floor.
For the moment, he was alone and safe, and help was close at hand.
He panted until his heart slowed. Sobbing in relief, he hissed in pain at the contraction of his stomach. With a shuddering breath, he let go.