Chapter 33

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SKYLAR

SKYLAR STARED blankly at the floorboard as Ward navigated the city, heading towards his apartment.

Was this really happening? Had he really just walked away from Uncle Zeke? From his job? And was he really about to walk away from his apartment? His life? Everything? Skylar had been dreaming about this moment for over ten years. Planning for it. Desperately waiting for it.

There was no way it could finally be real.

It was too soon. Skylar knew that. He trembled in the seat, pressing his hands between his knees. A part of him was panicking, on the verge of telling Ward that he'd changed his mind. That he needed to go back. It was only three more months. What were three mere months after ten long years?

But when he imagined walking into Uncle Zeke's apartment or meeting up with another client, his stomach revolted.

Skylar pressed a hand over his mouth.

“Sky?” Ward murmured.

Skylar breathed slowly through his nose while he waited for his stomach to calm down. “Huh?” he managed to get out.

“I think we're here.”

Skylar looked up, realizing the truck had stopped. He glanced at Ward, and his heart started beating erratically for a very different reason. Oh fuck . Ward was clearly trying to hide it, but there was disgust and wariness written all over the man's face as he surveyed the neighborhood.

It would be worse once they got upstairs.

Then Ward looked at him, and everything on the man's face vanished, replaced by nothing but concern and fierce protectiveness. “Sky? It's okay. I'm right here. And we're gonna get you out of here, okay? Where are your keys?”

Skylar's breath caught. “Oh no. Shit.” He frantically patted his pockets. Had he left his keys in the car? He'd been agitated and confused after the car wouldn't start, not knowing what to do. He felt a bulge in his pocket and gasped with relief. “Right here,” he said, pulling them out.

“Good. Come on. Let's go get your things.”

Skylar cringed, but he followed Ward out of the truck all the same. One way or another, he had to get this over with.

He led the way into the building. Across the filthy and cracked linoleum floor. Up the narrow, creaking stairs. Past apartments with occupants shouting or cursing or playing their televisions too loud, even at that early hour. Finally, they reached his door. Skylar hesitated there, fiddling with his keys, both desperate to get inside and dreading Ward's reaction.

“Sky,” Ward murmured, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, baby. It's almost over.”

Skylar swallowed hard and nodded. He shoved the key into the lock, twisted it, and rushed inside, barely waiting for Ward to follow before he whirled around and locked the door behind them again.

He didn't look at Ward. Didn't want to see the man's face. Skylar immediately flew into action. He went straight to the closet, flung open the door, and grabbed his duffel bag.

Skylar tossed the bag onto the floor by the bare mattress, then started digging out his clothes. He shoved aside everything he'd used for work—the dresses, the skirts, even the suits—and snatched down everything else. There wasn't much. A handful of worn t-shirts. A few pairs of frayed jeans and shorts. Some socks and underwear. All of it worn out and several years old. All of it faded, threadbare, and coming apart at the seams. Skylar dumped it all in a pile on the bed, then kicked off his sneakers and stripped out of the clothes he was wearing. Even though they were his own and had nothing to do with work, they made him feel suddenly filthy after Uncle Zeke had barely touched him.

And he wanted to feel clean.

Skylar dumped the clothes on the floor inside the closet, grabbed a clean shirt and pants from the pile on the bed, and got dressed again. Once his shoes were back on, he grabbed Charlie's old hoodie and pulled that on as well. It would be way too hot outside to wear it, but Skylar wasn't leaving it behind or risking it getting lost. Not for the world.

Then he went for his money.

Skylar started in the kitchen, yanking open a cabinet and pulling down a box of cereal. He plunged a hand inside, dug around, and snatched out the wad of cash wrapped up in a plastic sandwich bag. Skylar shoved the box aside and went for the next hiding spot: an open box of baking soda sitting all by itself in the freezer. He held the box over the sink and ripped it apart, scattering white powder everywhere. Skylar shook off the plastic bag and stuffed it into the crook of his arm with the other one as he continued on.

He had eleven hiding spots in total, each containing one thousand dollars. One was an empty stick of deodorant. Another was an empty shampoo bottle. He'd skipped places like the inside of the toilet tank, considering how often that one showed up in television shows. Skylar gathered up all the little bags of cash—half of his life savings—and dumped them into his duffel bag before stuffing his clothes in on top of it all.

Throughout the process, he felt Ward silently watching him. Skylar couldn't bear to look at the man. What must he be thinking?

Skylar shook his head and yanked the zipper shut on his bag.

“Sky?” Ward murmured. “Anything in the bathroom you need?”

“Shit,” Skylar gasped. He ran for the bathroom and flung open the medicine cabinet. How could he forget? He snatched down his toothbrush, hairbrush, razor, and deodorant, but those weren't nearly as important as the rest. Skylar grabbed his supplements, syringes, and a vial of testosterone. “Damn it.”

“What's wrong?” Ward asked.

“This is my last one. I'll need another one in two weeks, but if I leave the city–”

“Hush, kitten,” Ward murmured, coming up behind him in the bathroom. He caught Skylar's gaze in the mirror. “We'll figure all that out once we've got you settled, okay? I'll take you to the pharmacy myself. First thing tomorrow morning, if you want. I promise.”

Skylar started to nod in agreement, then gasped again. “Shit. I need to go to the bank. Get the rest of my money–”

“Sky, easy. It's Sunday. The bank's closed. What bank do you use?” Ward asked. When Skylar rattled off the name, Ward gave him a smile. “We have a branch down in Paso. We'll go as soon as they open tomorrow, okay? And there's a good pharmacy right next door.” Ward bent down, putting them at eye level. “Everything's gonna be fine, sweetheart. It's over.”

Skylar shook his head. It wasn't over yet. Not until he walked out that door for good.

“Do you have everything?” Ward asked.

“Um.” Skylar sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “I think so.” He dropped his toiletries and injection supplies into his duffel bag and yanked the zipper shut again.

“You don't want any of your other clothes?”

“Fuck, no,” Skylar gasped. “I'm not a girl. I don't want anything to do with that part of my life.”

“Okay. Anything else in here?” Ward asked, waving at the tiny bathroom.

Skylar scanned the room, shaking his head. The makeup could all go in the trash, as far as he was concerned. Same with the feminine clothing in the closet. And the wigs and hair pieces. The high heels, the nylons, all of it. He needed Sarah to be officially dead.

“Any pictures? Mementos? Anything sentimental from Charlie?”

Skylar shook his head again. Whatever pictures he had, were all on his phone. As for gifts, he and Charlie had never given one another anything but time. That had always been all Skylar wanted. And he hadn't wanted to risk losing any tangible gifts again. He kept picturing that horrible dumpster in the driveway, all his worldly belongings—Charlie's gifts included—heaped and broken like so much garbage. After that happened, he'd begged Charlie never to buy him anything again. Skylar had claimed that hoodie when Charlie decided to get rid of it a few years back, though. Charlie had outgrown it, and that winter had been particularly brutal.

Still, he did as Ward said and searched the apartment one more time. There was nothing else, though. Everything he'd planned to take—everything that mattered—was in that bag or on his body. His own clothes. His toiletries. His money.

Skylar sucked in a breath and tore into his duffel. Did he get all the money? What if he'd missed one? What if he'd counted wrong?

He dug out the plastic bags and counted them again. That was eleven, right? He shook his head and counted once more, but he wasn't sure he could trust his own mind just then.

Ward laid a hand on his. “Sky? How many are there supposed to be?”

Skylar looked up at him, his lower lip trembling as he searched the man's face. Ward could have questioned his lifestyle choices or commented on the abysmal conditions of his apartment, but all the man had done was encourage and support him. Look after him. “Um.” Skylar ran a shaky hand back through his hair. “Eleven. There's supposed to be eleven.”

“Okay.” Ward pointed at each one as he counted aloud, then did it again, dragging each bag to one side, doing it all slowly, deliberately, making sure Skylar watched. “They're all there, Sky,” Ward said, giving him a gentle smile. He could have easily pried into why Skylar hid money around his apartment. Could have lectured him on the rationality—to say nothing of the risk—of such a decision. But Ward said none of that. It didn't even show up on his face.

How had he gotten so lucky as to meet this man?

Skylar had to shove that thought aside as he crammed each plastic bag back into his duffel, hiding the money underneath his clothes, then zipped the bag shut one last time.

“You ready?” Ward asked.

Skylar gathered up the bag in his arms, hugging it to his chest, and nodded.

“Okay. Let's get out of here.”

Skylar followed Ward out into the hallway. He didn't even spare the apartment another glance before he pulled the door shut behind him. Skylar left the door unlocked. It wasn't like he was ever coming back, and there was nothing in there worth securing.

They went downstairs and stopped in the building's entryway. Skylar pulled out his keys again and grabbed his mail, realizing he was going to need some kind of forwarding address, not to mention stopping the utilities to his apartment.

“Sky,” Ward murmured just as Skylar's chest started heaving. “You don't have to worry about anything today. We'll figure it all out tomorrow.” Ward gently took the mail from his hand and stuffed it into a side pocket on the duffel bag. “We'll get everything handled. Okay?”

Skylar let out a shuddering breath. “Okay.” He closed the mailbox, then considered his keys. Skylar took the apartment and mailbox keys off the ring, walked over to the door to the manager's office, and stuffed both through the mail slot there.

They fell with a plink on the other side, and Skylar felt a weight drop off his shoulders. Holy shit . He really was leaving for good.

When he turned back around, he found Ward watching him. The man didn't comment on his actions. Skylar should have given notice. Should have maybe left a note. Something. But Ward didn't say any of that. The man simply held out a hand and waited for Skylar to join him.

Skylar took his hand and followed him outside.

They got back into Ward's truck, Skylar buckled into the passenger seat with all of his worldly belongings clutched tightly in his arms.

Beside him, Ward started the truck, opened the navigation app on his phone, and began driving.

Skylar closed his eyes. Jeebus . He was actually leaving. Actually walking away from his life. Was it really over? Really and truly?

He had so many things to figure out. Where to go. What to do next. He'd need to find a job, and fast. Make some more money. Find a new doctor somewhere. Recover from surgery. Start over.

Skylar opened his eyes when he felt the truck accelerate. They were getting on the freeway. Leaving the city.

Except they were going in the wrong direction.

“Ward?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Where are we going?”

Ward frowned. “To see Charlie.”

Skylar's heart rate kicked back up. “Why?”

Ward's frown deepened. “For one thing, he's expecting me. I always go spend time with him after I've seen you. But for another…” Ward glanced at him, studying his face. “Geez, Sky. You were going to leave without saying anything to him?”

Skylar winced, shrinking into the seat.

“Sky?”

“I was gonna write him a letter,” Skylar blurted out, feeling his cheeks flush with shame. “The plan was always to walk away with a clean break. I figured I'd get on the freeway and start driving. Once I was a full day out of the city, I'd stop for the night and write him a letter, then mail it before I continued on. My phone, too. It's on the Pratts' family plan, so I was gonna mail that back at the same time. It wouldn't be right to keep it after I left.”

“Sky,” Ward gasped.

“I know,” Skylar replied, cringing. “I know. It's awful, and I hate myself for it. But Charlie deserves so much better than me.”

Ward's frown changed to a look of pity as he returned his focus to the road.

But the man didn't deviate from his route. Skylar watched as the miles rolled by, taking them closer and closer to Charlie's house.

“Ward–”

“I promised him, Sky. He's expecting me to be there. Besides, I want him to know he's more than welcome to come visit and stay with us, so he can see you, whenever he wants.”

Skylar blinked. “You're not serious.”

“Why not?”

“I don't think you realize how much that'll interrupt your life. Charlie has certain needs that most people can't understand, let alone deal with.” Skylar paused with a curse. Was he trying to push Ward and Charlie together or drive them apart? “I mean–”

“Sky,” Ward interrupted him, his voice gentle but firm. “I can handle it. Okay? Don't worry about me.”

“But–”

“No but s. The only thing you're allowed to do right now is rest. I'm going to handle everything else. Okay?”

Skylar sagged into the seat, feeling both anxious and relieved.

But as they pulled up in front of the Pratts' house, Skylar knew there was no way he could make himself walk through that front door.