Chapter 16. Liam
Summer sneaks into Aspire. I want to scream, because the heat makes me want to die, but some things are kind of nice, I guess.
Light lingers past dinner now, and who would say that the sun makes us happy?
I’m in a much better mood, despite the air being definitely much warmer, which sucks because the heat is fucking suffocating.
The heating system stops its constant death rattle and the AC kicks in instead, with another constant death rattle, but definitely not complaining about having central AC.
Fuck yes, it's a small blessing, and makes me want to kiss the walls of this facility in gratitude.
Although there's no AC in some places. The guards prop open the courtyard doors during rec so we don't all die in that old gym from how hot it is.
The evening breeze is blissful, and everything smells like fresh grass and rain, so I'm feeling fucking alive.
On Saturday, I'm watching Ethan while sitting on a bench with Jack.
We got a little miracle today: popsicles.
It's the cheapest brand they could find, but I'm not fucking complaining.
Summer is doing that to me: not fucking complaining about everything.
Mine is lemon and it's melting all over my face.
Jack's is grape and there's not one part of him that's not purple now. He’s licking his arm as the melted popsicle runs from his hand down to his elbow. We’re both shirtless and wearing shorts.
Most of the guys are, actually, and I'm surprised the staff and guards all allowed it.
Ethan is also only in shorts and he looks so fucking good.
I feel my cheeks getting hot every time I peek at him, which is crazy, as we've been together for almost a year now.
He's volunteering for yard work — he said it was good to stay busy and fit, which is insane, because he definitely doesn't need more work — and he's carrying a bag of dirt with an ease that's genuinely unfair.
Fuck, I'm already thinking about helping him clean up later in the shower.
My cock throbs with the thought. He works alongside a couple of other guys.
That's when the cold hits me like a freight train.
A jet of water slams into my back so hard I drop the popsicle.
Nooooo, my poor popsicle! I yelp like a kicked dog, and spin around, and there's Griff, standing fifteen feet away with a garden hose in both hands, aiming it like a fucking assault rifle, his face split into the widest grin I've ever seen on him.
The image is insane. I definitely wasn't expecting Griff and the Maniac Grin.
"What the FUCK…" Jack screams, leaping off the bench as Griff swings the hose in a wide arc, catching him square. The water is freezing, straight from the ground pipes, and Jack's purple popsicle stain runs down his torso in rivulets now.
Behind Griff, I see two other guards, one named Patterson and the new guy, Diaz, each armed with their own hoses, spraying into the crowd of kids who are already swarming the courtyard in various states of outrage and ecstasy.
A pack charges Griff from the left, shrieking, arms up, trying to wrestle the hose from him, and he just plants his feet and sweeps the stream across them like a riot cannon.
That old man isn't about to go down any time soon.
One kid goes down on the wet grass, sliding on his stomach for a good three feet, and comes up laughing so hard he can barely stand.
"GRIFF, YOU'RE DEAD!" Jack bellows, and he's already running toward the chaos, not away from it.
He launches himself into the horde surrounding Patterson, grabs at the hose, and gets blasted point-blank in the face for his trouble.
He sputters, shakes his head like a wet dog, and goes right back in.
I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe. Like, full-body, tears-streaming, stomach-cramping laughter that I haven't felt in months. Hell fucking yeah. Griff catches me looking and points the hose directly at my face.
"Marsal! You think you're safe?"
"NO, NO, NO, NO!"
The water hits me and I'm off the bench, stumbling, arms over my head, gasping because it's so cold it feels like my lungs have been vacuum-sealed.
Fucking shit, fucking hell. I'm soaked in seconds, my shorts clinging to my legs, water running into my eyes, and I'm still laughing, can't stop, because Chris fucking Griff, the man who once made a kid do fifty burpees for talking during prayer, is currently being tackled by six kids while spraying water into the sky like a broken fire hydrant.
Diaz has given up and is just hosing down anyone within range while cackling. Patterson is being dragged across the grass by three kids hanging off the hose, and he's yelling, "LET GO, YOU ANIMALS!", probably rethinking his career choices, and it's very fucking funny.
I run into the fray. The grass is slick, and I almost eat shit twice, but I don't care.
Someone, Sammi, grabs my arm and uses me as a human shield against Griff's hose.
The water hammers my back and I howl, and Sammi behind me is screaming with laughter, and then we both go down in a tangle of limbs and mud.
I look up from the ground, blinking water out of my eyes, and see Ethan across the yard. He's standing there with a bag of dirt still in his hands, watching the carnage unfold with an expression that's half disbelief, half amusement.
Then Griff turns the hose on him.
The stream catches Ethan full in the chest and he stumbles back, hair plastered to his forehead, dropping the dirt bag. He puts his arms up, but it's too late.
I'm sitting in the mud, completely drenched, watching this, having the fucking best time of my fucking life.
Jack has somehow gotten hold of a bucket, I have no idea where from, and is chasing Patterson with it, sloshing water everywhere, his Batman tattoo glistening on his wet neck.
"VENGEANCE!" he screams and dumps the entire thing over Patterson's balding head.
Patterson stands there, dripping, arms out, looking at the sky like he's asking God for patience.
Then he grabs Jack in a headlock and drags him toward Diaz's hose. Jack is fucked.
Ethan is walking toward me now, soaked from head to toe, his red-brown hair dark and dripping, those green eyes lit up. He extends a hand. I take it, and he hauls me up, and our fingers are slippery. Our chests are heaving and we're both so wet. It's fucking amazing.
"You're a mess, puppy," he says.
"Look at yourself!" I exclaim, grinning up at him, and he gives me an amused smile. Ugh, I love this boy.
A kid barrels past us, chased by two others with cupped handfuls of muddy water. Everyone's laughing. The whole yard is unrecognizable.
Ethan watches the chaos, and I watch him, and he looks so… relieved? Young? Happy?
Griff has surrendered the hose to a pack of kids who are now turning it on each other. He stands in the middle of the yard, arms folded, soaked to the bone, his gray hair plastered flat against his skull, and he looks happy, in a way that makes his whole face different.
"I can't believe he did this," I say to Ethan.
"I think he's been planning it," Ethan says, wiping water from his eyes. "He had those hoses set up before any of us got out here today."
"Sneaky bastard."
"Military planning," Ethan says. I laugh.
Someone slams into my back. Jack, arms wide, soaking wet, grabbing me in a bear hug that nearly takes us both down. "LIAM! DID YOU SEE ME? I GOT PATTERSON! I GOT HIM RIGHT IN THE FACE!"
"I saw, you lunatic," I say, shoving him off, but he just grabs me tighter, his chin on my shoulder, vibrating with joy.
"This is the best day of my life," he says, and he means it, but Jack very frequently has the best day of his life, even when it's only burgers for dinner, and I love that about him, and I envy it.
I pat his arm. "You've got mud in your ear."
"I don't care! I've got mud EVERYWHERE and I don't CARE!" He releases me, throws his arms up, and runs back toward the fray, screaming something about Batman and justice.
I watch him go, laughing. Ethan steps closer to me.
We stand there for a minute, side by side.
Kids are sliding through mud on their stomachs.
Diaz has been fully conquered, he's sitting on the grass with his hands up in surrender while three kids spray him from different angles.
Patterson is wringing out his shirt, shaking his head.
Miles appears at the edge of the courtyard. He's standing under the overhang by the gym entrance, dry, arms crossed, watching everything with that unreadable face of his. He hasn't moved into the chaos. He hasn't retreated, either. He's just there, observing.
Then Jack, wild, soaking, grinning, runs up to Miles and grabs his arm.
Miles flinches, his whole body going rigid, but Jack doesn't let go.
He's saying something, gesturing toward the yard, pulling at him.
Miles shakes his head. Jack pulls harder.
Miles looks at Jack's hand on his arm like it's a specimen he hasn't encountered before.
And then, slowly, Miles steps out from under the overhang.
Jack whoops and drags him into the open just as Griff reclaims the hose from the kids. The stream catches Miles across the shins and he freezes, his whole body going stiff as a board, his mouth open in probably the first stage of a complete system shutdown.
Then he looks down at his soaked pants, looks up at Griff, and says, "That was unnecessary."
Griff grins. "Consider it therapy."
Miles stands there, dripping, his posture now ruined by the water, his dark hair dripping into his eyes. Then, shocking us all, he bends down, scoops up a handful of mud, and hurls it at Jack.
It hits Jack square in the shoulder with a wet thwack.
Jack freezes. Miles stands there, hand still outstretched, his face looking like genuine horror at his own actions.
Then Jack grins, that feral, unhinged grin, and says, "Oh, you're dead."