Chapter Sixteen

Tomás

Early fall turned to late fall and the temperatures dropped. Hell freezing over a real thing in the mountains. I'd healed from the injuries and have been ignored by The Ark Boys. After everything went down, I processed the shit that happened. First the hazing. Taking off my clothes and making me feel as if they were really going to kill me had been a coward, shit move. What they did to Charity and Dasher was way worse. The thought that I had pissed myself when whoever placed that frozen spoon on my back making me think it'd been a torch still had me burning in shame. But the worst of my real injuries had been attributed to almost drowning. And that had been my fault. Nothing but my indecision had kept me under. My own shame, my cowardice. Yeah, cowardice was a word I learned too. And according to Dasher, Kieran had saved my life. He'd dove into the cold waters and pulled me to the surface. He'd shouted at his friends to help get me up and out and then shoved everyone away so he could perform CPR on me. According to Dasher, he'd never seen Kieran so worried about another human life that wasn't his crew. Everything sort of hazed out after that. I tried not to think too much about shit. It wasn't the first time I thought I was going to die. Dad had always called me a resilient fucker. I just shrugged it off, burrowed it somewhere never to see the light of day, and kept going. Only when the shit hit me in my nightmares did I realize those bad memories were still there. But that was something I had to deal with alone.

I still felt unsettled about losing Daniel's ring. I'd gone to Casera's to report the so-called theft, but he simply looked at me with resignation and said that I should try to play nice. He didn't say it like that, but that's the gist of what I got out of our conversation. Casera hadn't had sparkly eyes for me.

Dasher had been distant. The smile I'd seen at the games, gone, replaced by pain he tried to hide. The leg getting worse. And like everyone in this damn school, he felt he had to hide it. Even from me. I didn't get it. I was his friend and he kept me in the dark about the important things. Then I remembered he'd said we weren't best friends. Maybe I had read everything wrong. Maybe, we weren't friends at all.

That hurt my chest. I missed him.

But I still had Jack and weed.

Jack rubbed his nose as if fighting something inside it, the guy more than a little stoned. "You should ease up on the shit," I said as we walked to the theatre building.

"Mind your business. Not like you're not smoking."

Yeah, I had a stash in my room I'd bought from him. Whatever.

Cora slid into step beside me, and Jack took off faster into the building. "Are you going to the Halloween party?" she asked.

No one talked about what happened at the lake. I knew some of the students were there, I just didn't have a clue to who witnessed the shit. No one talked about it to my face, but I had heard whispers.

"They cheated."

"Exiled."

"Pretty much dead."

And Ashton, Micah, and Charity had avoided me as if I hadn't existed. Which was fine. I didn't care about them. I cared about Dasher.

Cora elbowed me softly. "Hey, you okay?"

No. I wasn't. But I did what I always did. I inhaled the shit inside and smiled. "So, Halloween. Are you asking me out on a date?"

She giggled.

Halloween. Something so mundane and normal. I hadn't realized I wanted normal. Normal sounded good in my book.

Halloween had never been my thing. Nick loved it. He always used to convince me to dress up as girls. Once he'd even put make-up on me. We'd hide from our parents, but one time I hadn't been able to get the eyeliner completely off and Miguel had beat my ass for it. Honestly, I think Miguel beat me harder than necessary that time because he knew Nick was behind it and he took out all his anger on me since he couldn't on Nick. Daniel had done nothing but sipped his beer and watched. He'd been okay when our brothers and dad beat me, but he protected me from anyone else. Mom had to call the school that time and say I had a bug that lasted two weeks. She sent me back when she got a warning letter from the state. Apparently, keeping kids out of school was against the law.

"Maybe we can go together?" Cora said.

"Sure. What do you want to go as?"

"Hm," she said, tapping her cute chin. "Give me your number and I'll text you."

We exchanged numbers and she caught wind of some of her friends and took off.

Inside the theatre class, Dasher was on the stage where he worked on the finishing touches of the costumes. Luckily, he did seem okay.

"Tomás!" Mrs. Comiskey shouted just as I was about to take a seat. She always yelled regardless of where anyone was at.

"Yes, Mrs. Comiskey!" I yelled back.

She clapped and it echoed in the almost empty auditorium. "Dr. Shanahan has given us the great news!"

"Uh, yeah. I'm all healed!" I gave her a thumbs up.

She waved her hand as if flapping a fly, her wrist bands clicking together. "Not that, you foolish child." Another of her terms of endearment. "Mr. Blake T has been quarantined for ten days. Apparently, he has a bug."

Despite Dasher being on stage taking Charity's measurements while simultaneously trying to ignore me, I saw that sly smirk on his face as if knowing I was about to pass out. "Bug! What bug?"

"The one that requires ten days of quarantine. Now go get fitted, young man. You are starting."

"What?"

Though she already turned around and started yelling at Taylor for chopping off her curls. Dasher gave me a little wave. I made my way on stage quicker than I'd ever been for the last six weeks.

"What does she mean?"

Charity rolled her eyes. "You sing better than Blake," she said.

"I can't dance."

"Neither can he."

"Why are you not defending him? He's your husband."

She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. "PT Barnum is my husband and that is not him. You are."

"I thought you hated me," I said sheepishly.

She quickly glanced at me as if not wanting to really look at me. "I don't hate my husband."

Dasher laughed, his face so red.

"I hate you."

The easy A turned out to be four weeks of practice and four performances ending with the last one for the sponsors of the normies before winter break. This was so not happening.

Why did I do this?

I got a text from Cora right before I got home.

Cora: Harley Quinn and Joker?

I stared at her text, my heart warring with my thoughts of burrowing into a hole and never coming out. Normal would be good for me. A dance. Halloween. A date. Sure. I could do that. But DC? Not happening.

I sent her a response.

O, hell no. No. DC. Spiderman and MJ

Cora: MJ is just a regular girl. Ladybug and Cat Noir?

I stared at the words wondering WTF?

Me: Who would I be, the bug or the cat?

Cora: The Cat, silly! It'll be great.

I never heard of them, but I agreed anyway and headed inside the house. Guarded, trying not to be noticed or step on some booby trap my enemies set up, I tiptoed to the stairs. Something crashed to the floor in the living room. Then silence. Curiosity would one day get me killed. I peeked around into the dining room and saw Kieran sitting at the table alone. A glass of juice spilled over on the floor at his feet. His eyes focused forward but unseeing. I still wasn't sure why he hated me so much. Why he had to be such a dick. But watching him hazed out sent a wave of unease rushing through me. I'd never seen him high or drunk before. This didn't seem like him. I broke cover and he didn't quickly turn to sneer at me. A dead giveaway that something was wrong.

"Hey," I said.

He blinked out of his haze and for a moment, just a fraction in time, I saw a boy underneath the aged look. A sick boy. But that was quickly replaced by the Kieran I knew. "Hey," he said and tried to climb to his feet. He didn't make it when he fell back on the chair.

"Woah, are you high?"

"Bagh, negeri, sa," Or at least that's what I thought he said.

The animosity between us took a backseat. I turned his chair so I could look at him, panic rising to the surface. I cupped his face. "Talk to me. What do you need?"

He slapped my hand away. The stubborn asshole. If he was on something illegal calling an ambulance would get him in trouble, so I dialed Dasher. The only person I knew that might still have Fox's number. I prayed he still had Fox's number. He did and didn't ask questions when he gave it to me.

Fox answered on the third try. "Who the fuck is this?"

"There's something wrong with Kieran," I said, cutting him off. Thank the Greek gods that Fox did not need clarification.

"He's diabetic," Fox responded without missing a beat. "Whatever you do, do not call the medical facility there."

The only thing I knew about diabetes was that Nick Jonas has it. My brother Nicolás had a thing for Jonas and read everything about him, which meant I learned everything about him too. "What do I do?" I felt like screaming.

"There's orange juice in the refrigerator. Feed him some even if he's an asshole."

"Okay, okay, don't hang up. I have to put the phone down."

I sprinted to the kitchen and brought the jug. I placed it on his lips. Fuck it. By that time my hands were trembling so hard most of it spilled down his shirt. He spat at me, swatted me, but I kept giving him some. Until finally his words made sense.

"Fuck, what the fuck," he spat, wiping his mouth.

My trembling legs gave out and I dropped on my knees in front of him swallowing the lump in my throat. Relief rushed through me. I pressed my forehead against his knee and just breathed. Feeling him alive eased something inside of me that shouldn't have been there. I hated him. I did. He hated me. But he didn't push me away at that moment.

"I'm fine," he repeated softer. And then I felt the brush of his fingers in my hair. I closed my eyes savoring the touch. Alive. He was alive. "I'm okay," he repeated in that same soft tone I'd never heard from him before. The motion of his fingers against my head felt good. Too good. I lifted my head to look at him and he cupped my chin. The touch sent heat skittering through me. My cock pulsed and I realized my hand was on his thigh. Every touchpoint and the limited space between us came into clear focus. "Tomás," he said. "You weren't supposed to have drowned." He licked his lips, and slowly blinked his eyes, groggy still. "I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry. I shouldn't have—"

We both jumped when we heard Fox yelling on my phone. Whatever moment just happened, gone. Kieran plucked the phone off the table as I backed off, feeling slightly embarrassed that I needed the consoling while it was him who almost died. But I wanted to hear the rest of his apology. To hear him say he was sorry for hurting me.

"Yeah, I'm good. No. I don't have it on."

I could hear Fox yelling at him but not the exact words.

"It died. Yeah. Fine," he growled out and hung up. Handing me back my phone, he looked down at his wet shirt. "Were you trying to save me or drown me?" He still looked pasty and disoriented and when he got to his feet, he swayed a little bit.

Accepting that I wasn't getting that apology, I got to my feet and took his elbow.

"I'm fine," he hissed out.

"Yeah, no. Come on. I'll put you to bed." The last part had all sorts of images clouding my mind. Filthy images of putting Kieran to bed, under me, and I quickly shoved it away. His apology probably meant shit. And I wasn't into dudes. I was just tired, horny, and needed a blunt right about now.

I ignored his protests and it eventually just turned to mumbles of shit I didn't care to listen to. I was used to this. Whenever my mother turned up drugged out of her mind on our doorstep, or whenever I found her slumped in the living room, I carried her into the tub and made sure she didn't die. I couldn't call an ambulance then either. Daniel had warned me that foster care would get involved and then I'd have to live with strangers because Dad would never allow a background check and Miguel alone would have the social worker running, screaming out of the house.

I set him down on the bed. "I should take you to the hospital."

"Fuck no. I'm fine. I just need to measure my blood sugar." He got to his feet, and I followed him to his dresser in case he fell. He still looked out of it.

I hung back and watched as he pulled stuff out of a false bottom on his top drawer then meticulously prick his finger. All that time, he said nothing and didn't even look at me. Once he was done, he dropped his ass back on the bed. I took in a few calming breaths before I approached him. "Let me help you." I sounded worn out.

"I'm fine," he said, without moving.

I placed my hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat even through the layer of clothing. "You're not fine."

"I'm just tired. I'll be fine."

I knew he wasn't fine because he didn't argue with me for pulling off his t-shirt when I did, leaving him exposed. I tried not to look at his toned chest then realized he was a dude. I could look. His skin was pale, but the kind of pale that could take a good suntan and not burn much. His nipples were pebbled and pink. He spent way too much time lifting weights to get that kind of definition. He had a burn scar just under his ribs. A perfect circle. I tossed the shirt on the floor.

"Pick it up," he grumbled.

At least he was well enough to complain. "Fine. Later. Let me get a towel to clean you up."

He shook his head. "I'm not getting into bed like this. I need a shower."

"You can't even stand, bro. How are you going to take a shower?"

He glared at me. The color coming back to his face. I'd argue with him more if it got him back to his old self. Better. Healthier. "Fine. But let me help you."

He nodded.

I guided him to the bathroom which was epically clean. No surprise.

"What?" he asked.

I hadn't realized I snorted. "You're a germophobe."

"Why, because I clean my room?"

"Bro, yeah."

"Stop calling me bro. I'm not your bro."

We didn't talk as I undressed him down to his boxers. Not the flowy kind, but the tight sports kind. I quickly busied myself with the shower to distract myself from his ripped, perfect body but when I turned back, he was naked. Just standing there. Naked. I couldn't help but look. I mean, anyone would've looked. It was right there. He had a thin scar from his navel to pelvis that looked like an old surgery wound. And although his dick was soft it was … yeah, it was nice. I felt heat rush to my cheeks. I needed to leave. But he stood clinging to that sink as if his life depended on it. If something happened to him, Fox would kill me.

I kicked out of my sneakers and dropped my cellphone inside the shoe.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, bro. You're not my type. I just want to make sure you don't fall and hurt yourself."

I turned him around and led him into the tub, stepping in behind him with my clothes on. Getting my clothes wet made things uncomfortably cold and I thought it ridiculous, but being naked with Kieran was dangerous. I wasn't going to go there.

He leaned forward, under the spray and I got a good look at his naked back. Scars of various sizes marred his skin as if someone had taken a whip to him. No way. Just no. The scars on his back meant something. Pain. Tears. I didn't want to think about Kieran under the whip.

"Stop. Touching me," he grumbled like a prickly old man.

I realized I had used my free hand to run my fingers over the scars while I kept hold of him with the other arm around his waist. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"This doesn't look like nothing."

"Okay, how about none of your business."

I was pretty sure he would've shoved me away from him if he had the strength for it. I didn't listen and trailed my finger down the arch of his spine, down to the top of his ass. I wanted to touch him everywhere. Why did I want to touch him everywhere?

"I'm not gay," he said with little conviction.

"Okay," I said, not really caring. But I removed my hand. Taking advantage of him hadn't been the reason why I joined him in the shower.

"Don't, stop. Fuck. Just."

I think I knew what he wanted, and when he didn't curse me out for touching him again, I kept touching him. I grazed my fingers against his scars, then lowered my hand down the path of his spine and slipped my fingers into his crack. Not deep, not touching anything, just feeling him. So smooth with patches of hair in certain places, like his lower back, his ass. I cupped one globe and squeezed gently, massaging. Just massaging. And lowered my hand to the back of his thighs, then back up. Touching him ignited heat in my lower belly and my dick started to swell. I wanted to let him go and give him a better rub down with both hands, but I was afraid he would fall.

After a few minutes of touching him, I grabbed the soap. This time, I ran it over everywhere. I dipped my finger into the crack of his ass, grazing his taint and rubbing the pucker of his hole. He tensed for a second before a quiet moan escaped his parted lips. I wondered if he'd let me push in deeper. The thought made all my insides heat up despite the tepid water. After grazing it a few times, I washed his legs. They were muscly and filled with light dusting of hair. The whole touching so damn weird. He was a dude. I'd never touched a dude this way before and I liked it. Then I slipped my hand around his hips, following the v indentation, until I lathered the length of his cock. It felt smooth, long, thinner than mine. I had to take a better peek at it. It was uncut with a blunt tip. I gripped it tighter, the smooth glide made it easy to work up and down. I ran my thumb along his slit, smoothing out the soap. He gave a little hiss and thrust his hips deeper into my hand. His skin was soft, like smooth velvet.

"Let me?" I asked, not sure if he would pick up on what I was asking.

He nodded. And I tightened my grip on his shaft and started pumping as he thrust his hips into my fist. My own cock pressed against the back of my zipper. I thought about just taking it out and sliding it between his ass cheeks. See how far he'd let me go. But I couldn't risk it. I didn't want him to push me away in this. I could figure out my own shit later. Right now, I wanted to pleasure him. To see his orgasm tear through him. To hear him moan louder. I trailed my lips against his shoulder, up to his ear. I didn't kiss him. I couldn't. I didn't know what I was doing, what I was feeling. This wasn't okay. I should've been freaking out. This meant I was gay, or at least bi. For a moment I thought my father would kill me. Miguel would kill me. But then I remembered they were dead.

He jerked a few more times into my hand and came silently onto the tiles in front of him. I waited until he stopped trembling to run the water down the mess and wash him again. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything.

I helped him out of the shower, trying not to slip in the wet tile. He took a towel and covered his hips. "I'm fine," he said not sounding fine at all. "Don't slip."

Then he walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I didn't change out of my clothes. Instead, I dried as much as I could, picked up my shoes with my phone inside, and walked out. He was already under the covers. "I'll check up on you later," I said.

"Don't bother," he grunted.

Stubborn ass. I walked out, changed into dry clothes in my room returned with a glass of water and more juice, just in case.

He grunted again.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Thank you."

I put everything back, even picked up his socks that had fallen on the floor and put his t-shirt in the hamper. I didn't know why, but I couldn't just leave him alone. He was lying down, staring at the ceiling.

"How long have you been diagnosed?"

"I'm not doing this with you."

His attitude pissed me off. "Well," I said, pulling the chair closer. I sat down smug as hell. Even put a smile on my face. His eyes narrowed. "Fox didn't want you to go to the hospital here. Means you're hiding this from the administration, means you don't want your family to find out." I got to my feet in case he got his strength back and decided to kill me. "And," this was the lowest blow of all and I knew it. "You're gay. And if your family is anything like mine, they will put a bullet in your head, if not exile you and let someone else they pissed off put a bullet in your head, if they find out. Meaning it's our secret." I made sure to stress the our part.

He shifted in the bed as if he meant to launch himself at me. Except at that moment, his friends had arrived. Their talking and laughter just outside the door.

"I'm not so far gone that I won't make you disappear with that information."

I smiled. I felt it too. Deep in my bones. Kieran would kill me. "Well, thank you. I'll make arrangements to have certain information sent to Maddox the moment I become missing. I'm sure even I can figure out how to do that."

Someone knocked on the door and I opened it. Fox and Wren stood just outside.

"My hero!" Wren said, pulling me in for a hug. For a moment, I thought he had a knife and was going to stab me with it. I realized, if Kieran was going to make good on his threat, he could stop me right now. His friends knew about his diabetes. But … I turned to him. His face had gone from pasty to red. They probably didn't know about the gay thing.

Interesting.

"He's all yours," I said and exaggerated a gesture into Kieran's room on my way out.