15. Tatum

CHAPTER 15

TATUM

I 've been in this miniscule waiting room for the better part of eight hours. It feels like I'm crawling out of my skin. The room we were ushered into is dark with unwelcoming walls. They seem to be constructed of cement, but the cement's been painted black, and there are several places where the paint's chipped away. The dark walls don't hold a candle to the darkness spreading inside me. The longer I sit in this uncomfortable chair, waiting for an update on Abi's condition, the wider that darkness spreads. It twists and turns inside until all I feel is numbness and rage. Rage at Benito Blankenship. Rage at Abi for stealing my fucking heart, only to break it by bleeding out in front of me. Perhaps, most of all, rage at myself. Bitterness and resentment that festers, chipping away at me like the paint that's chipped from these stupid, idiotic concrete walls for having the audacity to fall in love.

His blood dried hours ago, and now it too chips away from my skin, falling to the floor like crimson snowflakes. There's a pile of dust-dry blood flakes littering the floor beneath me. I feel a bit like Jackie O, sitting in the hospital, drenched in my lover's lifeblood. Mom's begged me to wash my hands at least a hundred times. Dad told me if I don't do it myself, he'll do it for me. The Bens have been whispering their worry into each other's ear. Fiona just stares at me with an overwhelming amount of pity. In a bizarre turn of events, the only person who isn't giving me hell is Brody. There have been no threats made on my life. No promises of slit throats or toilet bowl drownings. He's been a lifesaver.

After Abi was shot, it felt as if the world was crumbling around me. Every dream we shared was ripped away like they meant nothing. Like our lives were undeserving, and Benito Blankenship was the one sent to take away this one thing that was never meant for me.

Abi's love.

After the gunshot rang out through the chapel, it took me a moment to realize what had happened. I stared at Abi's lifeless frame for what felt like lifetimes. Feeling numb, I called Brody immediately after it happened. It had to have been over ten minutes since everyone left us at the church, but somehow, he was behind me in what felt like the blink of an eye. He didn't comfort me, not that I expected him to. He left that to Scotty, and as my biffle knelt behind me, holding my shell-shocked body against his chest, I watched Brody come alive. He didn't even take a beat to mourn the potential loss of his best friend. He pulled out his phone, made a call, and then there were others. Faces I've never seen speaking words that sounded muffled. They hovered over Abi, packing his wound and checking his vital signs. A man tried to lift him, but Abi's just so big. It took three of them to lift the man I love and carry him out of sight, out of mind. Rationally, I knew what was happening—they were trying to save his life—but my irrational side won out, and I found myself lunging and kicking and crawling, desperate to get to him. When the church doors shut behind them, it felt like they were also closing a door on a future I never thought possible. Then a pair of big, strong arms lifted me from my crumpled heap and held me close to their chest. When I looked up to find Brody's determined face, I mumbled his name, unable to reconcile the man cradling me in his arms with the beast who's threatened my life daily for six months.

Since then, Brody's been working his fingers to the bone. He's made hushed phone calls and sent a flurry of messages to names I don't know. A few hours after we were escorted into an old, abandoned Walmart building on the outskirts of town, Dad had told a man in a white coat and with an unfriendly expression he thought I might be shutting down. I didn't hear what the other man said in response.

About an hour after we arrived here—wherever the Hell here is, considering when I asked Brody why we were going to an old, abandoned Walmart instead of Tallulah Memorial Hospital, he simply blinked at me and said, "Hitmen don't do hospitals"—a man in a black suit walked in, carrying a limp body. Its hands and feet were bound with zip ties. The head of the body was covered in a black hood, but I didn't need to see his face to know who it was. The moment I spotted the small Hello Kitty tattoo on his wrist, I knew it was Nito.

Brody, who had been sitting at my side the entire time, shot me a stern glare and gave me a clipped nod before standing. He made his way to the man, and as I watched him walk away, it was like I'd been submerged in freezing water. My body came alive, nerve endings firing flickering pain and grief and fear through every inch of me. I stood from the chair and called out, "Brody!"

He jerked his head in my direction, his face serious. "Yeah, queer boy?" The name may seem cruel to others, but it almost felt like an endearment at that point. That's who I am to him. Queer boy. Cumdump queer. Abi's finger-fucking slut.

"Is he dead?" I asked, pointing at Benito's body.

Brody quickly shook his head, saying, "He's still got a little life in him yet." I watched as he used his thumbs to pop each of his knuckles, one by one, his eyes locked on mine like he was trying to read my mind. "Do you want me to kill him?"

I had to pause to let the words sink in, because I wasn't used to the sound of a cooperative tone in his voice. As I sat there mulling over the options, I tried to focus on the big picture. I clung to facts like if I compiled enough of them, it might somehow make this all go away. I thought of the Bens and what Nito put them through. I thought of the look on Abi's face as the life faded from his eyes.

"No," I said, and for some reason, the response didn't surprise Brody. It's like he'd been expecting it all along. Then, I stared down at my bloodied hands. We're supposed to be getting married tomorrow. Abi was going to take my hand and slide a ring on my finger as a constant reminder that I am his and he is mine. Nito took that from me. "Keep him alive. I have plans."

"Plans?"

"Ones that involve power tools and soundproof rooms."

A rare smile stretched across his face. "Well, would you look at that. Queer boy's grown himself some balls." He made his way to me and squeezed my shoulder. "I've got you, little guy."

Ever since the men in suits carried Nito past the double doors—the same doors that are keeping me from Abi, thanks to the stupid fucking keycard security system—Brody's been doting on me, much to my and the rest of our party's surprise. He keeps popping up at random, holding various offerings meant to lift my spirit.

Right now, he's standing in front of me, holding a cup of coffee and a package of peanut butter crackers. His lips are moving, but I can't hear a single word. He's got the hand not holding the coffee directly in front of my face, and he's repeatedly snapping his fingers.

"Huh?" I say, shaking my head in a feeble attempt to find my bearings.

"I said, take the fucking coffee and eat the damn crackers. You've been through hell, and you need nutrients." He shoves the crackers into my bloodstained hands. "Eat every one of them. If I see a single goddamn crumb left, I'll put a bullet in your throat. You fucking hear me, boy?" He doesn't frighten me, because I can finally see behind the mask. I can see the cracks forming in the fa?ade he's built just to keep others out. It's there in the way his eyebrows draw together. The way his body jolts each time the double doors open, and he quickly looks over, holding his breath. He's just as scared as me, and he uses cruelty to hide his fear from us.

Brody's attempt at kindness might be out of character, but Scotty's still his dramatic, annoying self. He's been bugging the fuck out of me ever since we arrived. I know he's trying to lift my spirits by distracting me, but right now, I just want to wallow in my misery. It's a hard goal to accomplish when he's quite literally poking me in the crotch with his finger. When we arrived, he made it a point to share the fact I'm wearing see-through pants to anyone willing to listen. After a few minutes of men and women staring at my dick bulging through my jockstrap, I tucked the cape into my pants, shielding me away. It hasn't stopped Scotty's ridiculous behavior.

He tugs my cape, trying to dislodge it and leave me bare. "Show me your package!" he demands. A ridiculous demand, quite frankly.

"Stop it," I hiss, slapping his hand, but it does nothing to quell my biffle's lifelong goal of making my life Hell. "Why the fuck do you keep blabbering about my bulge?"

"Because ..." He pulls the cape away again and points at my crotch. "I see London, I see France, I see Tatum's underpants!"

I slowly blink at him, trying to get my point across. "Yes, Scotty. You can see my jockstrap. Well done. Do you feel better for pointing it out?"

"No, but I think he does," he says, pointing at a man standing by the coffee station, eye-fucking the shit out of me. I sigh, closing my eyes, as I refuse to entertain this anymore.

There's something warm and wet against my cheek.

I open my eyes and look to my left, surprised to see Scotty giving me a sweet kiss. He takes the tip of my nose between his fingers and gently wiggles it left and right. "He's going to be okay, you know. He loves you too much to let go now. So, whatever nasty thoughts you've got running through your beautiful brain, I want you to tell them to fuck off." He grabs my hand and squeezes fiercely. "You tell them to fuck off, Tater Tot."

Mom and Dad are like islands in a sea of empty waiting room chairs. Dad's sitting ahead of me, Mom's to my right. Fee's got a hardened expression she keeps aiming at everyone who walks by, for reasons I don't quite understand.

Scotty leans against my shoulder and pulls out his phone. I watch as he brings up an airbrush app, opens his gallery, and selects an image of ... "Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't want to see your bare penis, Scotty. Put it away."

Scotty glares at me. "I'm painting away all the imperfections so I can send it to Daddy to give him a cheap thrill. If you don't want to see it, stop looking." His eyes dip up my body, then down. "I'm not the one going around masturbating at random for unsuspecting strangers. Fucking pervert."

"He's doing what now?" Mom asks, her eyes bulging.

Fee places her hand on top of Mom's and smiles. "It's his thing."

"He ..." She looks around the room and leans in, lowering her voice to say, "He exposes himself to strangers?" The look she shoots me is filled with shame. "I know he had his little episode at the diner, but I just chalked it up to youthful ambition." Shaking her head, she makes a tsk-tsk sound. "Oh, Tatum. Where did we go wrong?"

"I'm afraid I have to side with Mom on this one, son," Dad agrees. "Masturbation is a healthy habit, but it's best you don't fall into a depraved downward spiral of sexual deviancy. Someone could shoot you, son. Then where would we be?"

"Probably in this waiting room again," Scotty says cheerfully. "Please don't get shot, Tatum. I'm already bored to tears, and we haven't even been here a whole day. If you end up getting shot, I'm afraid I'm going to have to put another bullet in your head just so we're not stuck watching your mom and Fee eye-fuck each other for eight hours again. I didn't sign up for any of this."

Mom and Fee? Eye-fucking? What the hell is he even talking about? I turn my attention to the eye-fuckers in question. Fee's staring at the floor in front of her, and Mom and Dad are exchanging looks I can't read. Their behavior has been off the entire trip. They're normally cuddle bugs like Abi and me, but I don't think I've seen them even hold hands, much less snuggle.

"What are you talking about?" I ask Scotty. When he doesn't answer, I search my parents' faces for an explanation. Dad looks away, but my mother's eyes flicker between Fee and myself before she finally lets out a sigh that makes it sound like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Tatum, we need to talk?—"

Dad bolts up in his seat, his eyes bulging. "Absolutely not. This isn't the time, and it certainly isn't the place."

"He's going to find out anyway. We can't just keep pretending like everything's peachy keen. It isn't fair to him."

"His fiancé is fighting for his life," Dad hisses. "Our future son-in-law is in limbo right now. Tate doesn't need us making this day even worse."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" I interrupt. "Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Mom sighs. "We can't just keep him in the dark until moving day." She turns her attention back to me, and there's quite a bit of fear in her eyes. Yes, this day has certainly brought about endless terror, but for some reason, I don't think this has to do with Abi. "Tatum?" Mom gives Fee a quick look, waiting for her approving nod before continuing. "Baby, what would you think of us living closer to each other?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she starts, her voice far less confident than before, "I was hoping you might want me around more often. On a permanent basis."

"Permanent basis?" She's speaking gibberish as far as I'm concerned. It's like she's just picking unrelated words and stitching them together for no reason other than confusing her only son. "Just tell me what the hell is happening. I am going through psychological turmoil, right now. This is doing nothing to help."

"Well, I wanted to ask if you'd mind me tagging along when you go back to Washington."

"To live with us?" I let the words linger, just trying to envision how Mom and Dad might fit in with our little found family. The longer I think about it, the less I hate the idea. It would be nice to see Mom and Dad more often. I glance at Dad who's looking everywhere in the room except at me. "Dad? You're moving to Washington? What about your practice?"

"No," he says sadly, setting his magazine on the table beside him. "I'm staying here, son." Why the hell would Mom move without him? They've been married for twenty-six years. I know some couples wind up in separate bedrooms, but separate parts of the country?

"And you'll ... what? Come visit us once or twice a month? I don't see how that's conducive to a healthy marriage."

He shakes his head. "I won't be coming once a month, either."

"You could," Mom quickly interjects. "I don't mind if you tag along. You know that."

"I can't." He sounds so defeated, and, for the life of me, I can't make sense of any of this. "I made my decision, and I'm sticking to it. Lindsay, I can't sit around every day, watching you fall in ..." His words end when he sees my confused face, and I watch as he closes his eyes and sighs. "Tate, come over here." He pats his thigh, and maybe it's just because he's had Benji in his lap for the last few days so he's more comfortable with the action, but the thought of snuggling up to him has my heart thumping faster. Dad's offering what Abi can't give me at the moment. A physical connection. Something tangible to hold on to. I'd like to say my behavior is something I can take pride in later down the line, but it isn't. My actions aren't brave or courageous. They're the act of a scared little boy who needs to be assured. "Come on, buddy. Dad's got you."

I stand up from my seat and shuffle toward Dad. Once I'm in front of him, he holds his arms open, and I happily oblige, falling into his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. It's not the same as when Abi holds me. There are no roaming hands or shaky breaths—and thank the Goddess for that. I mean, my dad's a handsome man, but no. Just no—but it's comforting, nonetheless.

"Kiddo," Dad says, his voice strong and assuring. "Things between your mom and I have been shaky lately. We've been off for a while. After you moved in with the Bens and Austin, I thought we were just going through empty-nest syndrome. We put on a show, but without you there for us to dote on, all the little cracks started to show. Then, you left with Abdulov. You left, and we knew we had to let you go. You got swept away in a whirlwind romance, and we did what we could to support it, but without you there to focus on, we realize somewhere along the way, we lost sense of who we are. Of what we want." When I look in his eyes, I don't see my big protective papa bear. I see a man too scared to own the truth. A flawed, frightened man who doesn't want to hurt his kid any more than he has to.

"Are you getting a divorce?"

Dad sniffs again, probably wanting to look away, but holding strong and looking me in the eye like a man. Just the way he taught me. "We signed the papers a week before you got here," he finally says, and it feels like he's just sucker-punched me. "We wanted to tell you, buddy. I promise, we didn't want to keep it from you; we just didn't want to ruin your big day. You were finally coming home, and you're in love. How could we tell you without ruining everything?"

"It's okay," I say, surprising myself. I give Mom a look, wanting to make sure she's okay. She doesn't look anywhere near okay, but Fee's got an arm around her shoulders, her hand rising and falling against my mom's sleeve. "You don't hate each other, do you? Because I really, really don't want to divide holidays because you can't stand the sight of each other."

"We don't hate each other," he says.

"Then why won't you come, too?" There's a small spark of hope in me at the thought of getting to see both my parents every day at the Winawana Wagon House, and it's all I can think of. If I can just convince Dad to come along for the ride, maybe I can have it all. We're both silent for an uncomfortable beat, neither speaking, barely breathing. "Come with us."

"Tatum?" Mom says, getting my attention. When I look over, she's got her hand locked with Fee's. "I care for your friend, baby."

Suddenly, it hits me. The shared glances. The phone calls. Those random selfies Fee's been sending my mom. My stomach is spinning under my skin, and all I can do is hold on to the edge of the chair. It feels like the entire world's been torn apart, inch by inch. Fiona and my mom? She can't be serious. My mom's not even bi.

"Oh, no," I say, pointing a finger at them. "Absolutely not. I can't fucking deal with this right now." I jump up from the chair, just needing to be away from ... this . "I just can't. Abi is in there, probably dying, and now, we've got some last-minute bi awakening?"

"Cheeky boy—" Fee says, but I cut her off.

"How could you? That's my mom."

She cocks her head to the side, her expression hardened, as she slowly turns her gaze to the double doors keeping Abi hidden from us. She holds her hand to her chest, tapping softly. "Strange things, these hearts of ours. Before you and I met, mine belonged to two men. Then, you and your friend took them from me. A lesser woman might have killed you for that."

"A lesser woman is welcome to try."

The corner of her lip curves upward. "My point is, the heart can't control what it can't control. You fell in love with your Murder Daddy." She turns and smiles affectionately at my mother. "And I think I may have found my Murder Mommy."

I open my mouth to read her to absolute filth—because we are not making Murder Mommy a thing—but stop when the double doors slide open. A man in black scrubs walks our way, but each step he takes seems to take forever. He doesn't really look like a doctor, nor does this place look like a hospital, but he's got blood specks on his cheeks and forehead, so I know he's the man we've been waiting for.

"Tatum?" he says.

I throw my hand in the air, waving like I'm hailing a cab. "That's me." For some reason, the man stands in front of me, and takes my hand in his and squeezes. My heart races, because I've watched a lot of Grey's Anatomy , so I already know the score. If this man had good news to share, he wouldn't need to hold my hand. There would be no hand holding or sympathetic half-smiles. He would just spit the words out.

"I-I'm so sorry, I don't know how to make this any easier. It seems we've lost him."

There's a hand on my shoulder, but it doesn't belong to the man in front of me. Someone gasps, but I don't know who. Footsteps. Apologies. Whimpers. I hear so many things, but I can't make sense of any of them.

"I've got you," Brody's pained voice says, and when I look up, I see he's standing behind me, and the grip he has on my shoulder tightens. Wedged between us, my father gasps when Brody moves even closer. Dad tries to move away, but Brody keeps us welded together.

"Dead?" Fee whispers. "He can't be. It's Kincaid." I look over at her, but her eyes are locked on Brody. "He can't be gone."

"No," the man in scrubs cuts in. I look over in time to catch the color drain from the doctor's face. "That's not what I mean. Ah, Jesus. I'm so sorry, I meant, we've physically lost him. I went to check on him. His bed was empty, and his IV had been ripped out and left behind. "

"Meadows," Brody growls, and his voice sounds more frightening than I've ever heard it. "I swear to God. You had one job. How the fuck do you lose a man as big as Kincaid?"

"Son," Dad says to Brody. "Your penis is touching the back of my head."

Brody scowls at him, and, as if he's wanting to display his dominance, he rolls his hips forward again, making my father squirm.

The doctor—Meadows, apparently—is lifting his hands defensively. "I already told you, I'm not on top of my game today. I was day-drinking when you called. You knew the risks, and you told me to come anyway."

Brody's grip around me tightens. "Yeah, man. I trusted you to operate on him with a buzz. You've done it hundreds of times, you goddamn lush, and you've never had a problem. You pulled a broken-off blade from my back while you were strung out on meth, and I trusted you then, too. I figured all we had to worry about were shaky hands—I didn't think we needed to worry about your ability to keep his ass sedated while he recovers. I swear to God, if he's in a hallway bleeding out, I'm coming for you."

"You can lose that tone," Meadows says, his voice threatening. "I did you a favor today. After the bind you left us in, I shouldn't have even agreed to this, but I did, because you've been my friend for over a decade. I could have let you take him to Tallulah Memorial and try to explain his gunshot wound to the authorities."

Brody glowers at the man, but he doesn't argue back.

"Wait," Scotty says. "What do you mean you could've let us take him to a hospital? What even is this place, if not a hospital?"

Meadows raises an eyebrow. "How many hospitals have you seen built in abandoned buildings?"

Brody sighs. "This is the agency, Freakshow. It's where I worked when we met. Meadows is the best surgeon this side of the border, so I knew it might be our only shot at saving Kincaid's life."

"The people who told you to kill me?" Scotty asks, his voice cracking. "Are they going to try to kill me again?"

"I'd stab them in the fucking cock if they even?—"

"Enough!" Fee shouts, drawing every eye in the room her way. "This doesn't matter. Scotty's tantrums, our geographical location. None of that matters; just Kincaid. We've got to find him."

Meadows nods. "We're working with a skeleton crew tonight. We've been short-staffed for a while, actually. That's why I came out here. We've only got four agents on shift. I was hoping you might help us look for him."

Before the man can even take a breath, I hop out of Dad's lap and nod. "We need to find him. He's all alone, probably scared out of his mind."

"Kincaid?" Meadows says with a laugh. "Scared?"

"He is a sensitive soul," I hiss. "And right now, he's probably curled into a ball, waiting for me to find him."

"Well, that's not the man I remember, but I guess stranger things have happened." Meadows stands and points at the double doors. "Okay, let's get to searching." He pauses when he spots the Bens, studying them, tops to toes. He flicks a finger back and forth between them. "You're cute. You boys looking for a job?"

Bennet and Benji look shell-shocked. They cuddle closer to each other, Benji burying his face in Bennet's neck as he whimpers.

"We're not killers," Bennet says.

Meadows laughs and shakes his head, pointing at the empty reception desk. "We need a receptionist, actually. You'd both look adorable behind the desk."

Benji just whimpers louder as Bennet scoffs at Meadows. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Meadows shrugs. "Well, if you change your mind." He leads us through the doors, which open into a narrow hallway. The walls in here also look to be made of concrete, which I still don't really understand, but that's hardly something I should be focusing on when Abi's life is on the line.

The halls are dark and they break off in inconsistent patterns. We make a left, a right, three more lefts, only to come to the end of a hallway with no means of exit. I watch as Meadows kneels down and reaches for a floorboard. Once he touches the black plank of wood, it lifts on its own like it's been constructed with hydraulics. With the floorboard raised, I can see a small pin pad, each number on the pad glowing with green light. He types in an unnecessarily long number that's at least twenty digits long. There's a clicking sound, then a hiss, and my eyes blow wide as the concrete wall ahead of us lowers into the floor.

Once it's open, we're greeted with what appears to be a hospital waiting room. There's an empty desk, a magazine rack with ... gay porn? Why? Doesn't matter. The room is larger than the one we've been in for the last eight hours. It's bright and airy, unlike the cold room with black walls. Stunning artwork peppers the walls, each piece appearing to have been precisely placed. There's a portrait of a man wearing a black suit, a gun in one hand, a syringe in the other. I'm assuming the drug is the agency's truth serum Abi dosed me with, those first few months.

On the other side of the desk, sliding glass doors line the walls. Past each door is a hospital bed, machines making various noises, and a black chair. The first room on the left must be where Abi was staying, because the bedding is a disheveled mess. A sheet hangs down to the floor, and a bloodstained blanket is crumpled at the foot of the bed.

"Alright," Meadows says, turning to face us. "There aren't many places he could've reached if he stayed on the surface. We can check each hallway, and all the hidden rooms." His eyes focus on Brody, who's standing in front of me, then he points behind us and motions someone forward. Looking over my shoulder, I realize our entire party has tagged along, hoping to help find Daddy. Fee pushes through the crowd until she's standing at Brody's side.

"Where do we start?" she asks.

"I think we should break into groups," Meadows says. "We'll cover more groud, and hopefully we can find him before the painkillers wear off." He flashes a quick smile at Brody. "Then again, if they wear off, we'll hear him screaming from a mile away."

Scotty pushes past me and raises his hand like a child at school. "Why do we need to split up? This is just an old Walmart. It's not like he could have gone far."

Brody snorts a laugh. "Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet."

Meadows nods and places his palm against the wall. Blue light appears in the concrete, and once it fades, the wall in front of us lowers into the ground. Where concrete once stood, there's now a metal gate with what appears to be an elevator behind it. Meadows slides the gate open and steps inside.

"There are five levels. Believe me, we're going to need to split up." Meadows points at Brody, then at Fee. "You're the only ones who know the access codes, so we'll break into three groups. Frost, I want you on level five. I've already got my men on level three, so I'll take the fourth floor." He looks at Fee. "Florentine, you take the first two. Focus on areas he used to visit. He's on a pretty heavy cocktail right now, so he might be looking for familiarity. We need to check every nook and crook."

"Florentine?" Mom asks.

Fee looks over her shoulder and flashes a smile. "My maiden name."

"It's really pretty, Fiona," Mom says. "It suits you."

Fee winks at her. "Maybe one day, it'll suit you too."

Mom blushes, and as they continue giving each other fuck-me eyes, Brody turns around, pointing at me, then Scotty.

"You're with me."

Fee slides her hand into Mom's. "Lindsay is with me." Looking over her shoulder, she adds, "You can come, too, if you want." She's talking to Dad, but he shakes his head.

"Do you mind if we tag along," Dad asks Meadows. As soon as the man nods at Dad, Dad holds his hands out on either side of him. "Boys?"

Behind him, Bennet and Benji shuffle forward, each with worried expressions on their faces. This is a lot for me, and I already knew about Abi's history with the agency. They've been thrust head-first into an underground labyrinth with Goddess knows what inside. Both their hands are trembling as they latch on to my father's. The way he coddles them like they're five years old is a bit much, but I'm really glad they've got someone looking out for them, now that Nito's out of the picture.

"Alright," Meadows says. "Let's roll."