Bad Influence (12 page)

“Got it,” Silver said and took off.

By the time he stopped running, all he knew was he was in a neighborhood where cabs didn’t go. A blow job would have been so much easier.

Chapter Eight

He checked a street sign to get his bearings but was still lost. Worse, stranded and lost. His phone was a burner. No GPS. He had no idea what buses ran twenty-four seven on this side of town. Assuming he could figure out where on the east side he was after his blind sprint away from Marco’s scary older brother, Silver could head back to Midtown and get the Pimlico bus. That ran all night. He’d slept on it once or twice. Walking the ten miles back up to Quinn’s place would take till long past dawn.

Silver’s hand pressed on his phone. When he’d announced he was going out, Eli hadn’t tried to stop him, only said to call if he needed anything.

But Eli didn’t drive. So that meant Quinn would be the one who’d have to come down here. Although it had been Quinn’s idea to make Silver live way the fuck out in Mount Washington, he had come through big time and didn’t deserve a two a.m. call when he had to work the next morning.

For a minute, Silver pictured Gavin rolling up in that sleek night-black car, beckoning him inside. But even if that happened, the reality would be Silver crammed in the back while he listened to Jamie bitch and moan the whole ride.

Not that Silver had Gavin’s number.

Silver had someone else’s though. After dinner, Eli had nagged about calling Zeb. That had been about the tutoring. But if anyone was responsible for Silver needing a ride to Mount Washington instead of being able to head back to his room on Tyson, it was Zeb. If Zeb hadn’t been such a moron last Saturday night, none of this would have happened.

It was a long shot anyway. Zeb wouldn’t even pick up. He slept like the dead. But standing here like an ass wasn’t going to get Silver to a bed anytime soon.

“Hello?” Zeb’s sleep-rough voice curled deep in Silver’s gut. But Zeb sounded alert, and it only took three rings.

“It’s me, Sil—Jordan.”

“Jordan? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Three years ago, Silver would have given anything to hear that much concern in Zeb’s voice. Obviously, Silver wasn’t all right, but what came out was, “Yeah. I’m fine, at the moment.”

“At the moment. What does that mean? Did you get arrested again?”

“No. I wouldn’t have gotten arrested then, if—” Silver swallowed. This had been a bad idea. He didn’t want Zeb to know this Jordan, the one who in less than three hours managed to seriously fuck with a friend’s head, get his life threatened and end up stranded in gang territory at two a.m. “No, I didn’t get arrested.”

“Jordan, you wouldn’t have called unless something had happened.”

Why was it so hard to ask Zeb for this? He owed Silver so much more than a lousy ride. But it wouldn’t come out.

“You know how the other night, before you left, you said…”

“I said I hoped maybe we could be friends again.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t call me at two in the morning to talk about that.”

“No.”

“You’re scared. I can hear it in your voice. What happened?”

Scared? He’d been scared, all the time when he first got to the city. But then it became like white noise, a constant hum, so normal he couldn’t get worked up over it. What was the big deal if some other horrible shit happened?

To be scared now, there had to be something he was afraid of losing. What had he started to give a shit about to make the feeling surge back? He heard the rapid breath in his voice, too, now that Zeb mentioned it.

“My ride got wasted, and I’m stranded in the city.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Silver hadn’t even had to ask. He listened to rustling noises, Zeb getting out of bed, putting on clothes.

“I think I’m in Linwood, maybe Ellwood Park.” Silver had never been on Noble Street before, and he sure as fuck didn’t ever want to be on it again.

“You’re in a park?”

“No. The neighborhood.” Shit. Silver remembered Quinn saying something about Zeb getting lost a lot. “I can help you with directions.”
I hope.

“I’ll be okay if you can give me an address. After, well, after getting lost on Saturday, I decided I needed a GPS.”

An address. Okay. Silver could probably manage to come up with one. “Good. So—” A low-slung car with blacked-out windows slowed, pacing him as he walked. “Shit,” he whispered. “Just a sec.”

He and the car were at an intersection. He crossed behind the car and held his breath as it turned right. As soon as it did, he sprinted off in the other direction, eventually wedging himself in a slot between two garages that opened onto the street. It took some wrestling to get the phone back up to his ear.

“Jordan. Jordan? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

“I’m okay.” And he sort of knew where he was now. The cross street had a familiar name.

In his usual hoodie and jeans, Silver was better at blending in, being just another kid on the street. But over here on the Eastside dressed in his tight party clothes, he looked like a skinny blond white boy from the suburbs trying to buy weed in the hood. And that was trouble.

There was a main drag a few blocks up, bound to be places lit up, maybe something would be open. “Does your GPS do intersections?”

“Let me check.” Zeb was in the car already? Yes. Silver heard the engine, tires humming on pavement. Not only in the car, but driving. Zeb had never moved that fast in his life.

Zeb was back on the line. “It does. I’m headed toward I-83, right?”

“Okay. Put in Pulaski Highway and North Highland Ave. I’m headed there.” Silver peered out through the space toward the street. A car went by, usual speed, nothing that set off alarms. He twisted a little as he prepared to edge back out, scraping an elbow raw on the bricks. It smelled like something had died in this slot, definitely something was peeing here regularly. He waited for Zeb to tell him he was on his way.

“I’ve got it. It says, shit, it’s going to take me at least twenty-five minutes to get there.”

“You swore.” Silver felt about eight years old when the words left his mouth, but he was so shocked he couldn’t stop it. Zeb’s curses had been limited to some
Oh God
’s when he was coming and an occasional
fuck
in reference to the actual activity.

Zeb ignored the idiocy. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“See you then.”

“Jordan, wait. Don’t hang up.”

“Lost already?” Silver tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“No.” A pause and the sound of Zeb swallowing. Then his voice was back, thicker. “I’m scared.”

This time there was no hiding Silver’s frustration, even if Zeb said
hell with it
and went back to bed. “For fuck’s sake, you’re in a moving car. You’ll be fine.”

“No.” Zeb’s voice didn’t carry any answering irritation. Only an emotion strong enough to leave his voice thick, rough. “I’m scared for you. Keep talking.”

The same warmth that had curled around his stomach at the sound of Zeb’s fresh-from-sleep voice spread through Silver’s chest. “You know, talking on the phone while driving is illegal in Maryland.”

Zeb’s laugh almost made Silver forget where he was, trapped with the smells and blood trickling from his elbow.

“Thanks to your friend I’ve got a clean record now. I’ll take the risk.”

Forgetting where he was was dangerous. Silver needed all his attention on his surroundings.

“I don’t have enough minutes. I’ll call when I get to the intersection.” Silver ended the call before he gave in to the temptation to make Zeb laugh again.

Oops. Thanks, by the way,
he mumbled at the dead air before sliding the phone in his pocket and wriggling free.

Silver’s ass had barely landed in the Pontiac’s passenger seat when Zeb blurted, “You’re bleeding. What happened?”

Silver looked down at his elbow. It had slowed to a seep, but yeah, it was a mess. “It’s fine. Scraped it on a wall.” The trip north a couple of blocks had been uneventful. Silver had moved fast and kept his head down, and he’d found an open mini mart in a strip mall.

“There’s a first-aid kit under your seat.”

Silver reached down and found the plastic bin. Homemade and so loaded Silver noticed a suture kit and tourniquet. Zeb hadn’t been so Boy-Scout-prepared back then. He’d been all OCD about keeping track of things in his little notebook, but this had-his-shit-together-in-a-crisis Zeb was a guy Silver had never seen before. Maybe living in Haiti had a bigger effect than he’d thought.

“Thanks.” He gritted his teeth and used an alcohol pad to clean the spot. It wasn’t too bad—until it was—and he hissed.

“We could stop and get some water.”

“Not if you don’t leave this parking lot.”

“Seat belt.”

Silver wanted his answer to sting with sarcasm, but Zeb’s response was so him, a laugh slipped out. “You’ll break the law to talk on the phone, but I have to wear a seat belt?”

“I trust my driving. Not everyone else’s.”

Silver pulled the belt across with a sigh so loud he almost missed Zeb’s soft, “I want you safe.”

There was that word again. How did everyone come to believe they knew what was best for Silver?

“We’re still sitting here,” he pointed out.

“Where am I taking you?”

Was Zeb asking if Silver wanted to come home with him? He had to squeeze the pad hard against his scrape so the pain would shut away the idea of climbing into Zeb’s bed. The most horrible part was realizing the longing wasn’t centered in Silver’s dick, but higher. Something hollow right below his ribs, like the constant gnaw of hunger he remembered from when he’d been living on the street. The thought of being pressed up close to Zeb’s skin, the familiar arms around him, the brush of hair against his neck. The idea hurt worse than when Silver had smelled fried food back then. Because there was no way he was ever going to be able to feed this rumble of want.

“Oh. Back to Quinn’s. I’m still staying with them.”

Zeb nodded and tapped on the screen stuck to the dashboard.

Despite the lack of a question, Silver found himself saying, “I just went out. It wasn’t—I didn’t run away or anything.” He almost bit his lip to avoid the rush of explanations.
I had permission.
He didn’t need permission. He was an adult—had been on his own since seventeen. “I could have called Quinn, but he’s already done so much.”

“He’s a good person. He and Eli both.”

Silver heard an unspoken comparison in Zeb’s words. As if the persons in this car didn’t measure up. Did Zeb expect Silver to gush gratitude about the ride so Zeb could feel like a good person?

“I met Eli a few years ago. He’s really loyal to his friends.”

“I noticed.” Zeb’s dry humor reminded Silver of Jamie’s description of the courthouse lobby.

Silver found himself smiling. “I wouldn’t fuck with him. He fights dirty.”

“Never tell me the odds.” Zeb’s Han Solo quote made the emptiness ache again, this time for the taste of popcorn and the DVD of
The Empire Strikes Back
playing on Zeb’s TV, Silver’s head in Zeb’s lap, Zeb’s fingers playing with Silver’s hair.

“He might be the size of an Ewok, but he’s more like Boba Fett.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Which reminded Silver of Eli’s dogged bounty-hunter intensity. He’d be sure to ask if Silver had said something about tutoring him for the GED.

Silver rubbed his hands along his jeans. “My lawyer”—the word felt weird in his mouth, especially since it was Gavin’s lawyer—“said I should be able to show the judge I’m working to get a GED.”

“You didn’t finish school?” Zeb made it sound like an unheard-of crime.

The tone snapped something inside Silver, and it came pouring out. “For fuck’s sake, don’t you listen? Ever? After you shut the door in my face, I got what cash I could from
friends
, which you obviously weren’t, and took a bus to Baltimore. There wasn’t exactly time while I was homeless to do The Littlest Hustler Goes to School. Though it might have been the title of one of the pornos I did. I can’t keep track of them all.” He clenched his teeth together to stop the words. He hadn’t meant to tell Zeb about it like that. If at all. It didn’t fit the plan. But being around Zeb made it too easy to forget there’d ever been a need to lock himself away.

Silver had lost control of more than his voice. He realized he’d shut his eyes, zeroing in on how much it had hurt. The door slammed in his face. He felt pressure on his body. Imagining himself watching the movie again, he looked down and saw the two of them in a Burger King parking lot, and Silver had wrapped his arms around himself as he curled up against the car door.

When Zeb spoke, it forced away the detachment, dragged Silver back into his body, but the close-up view didn’t help Silver figure out the expression on Zeb’s face as he said, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

At least he sounded like he meant it this time, voice quiet and measured. Then a sharper, “God, I’m so sorry.”

Silver didn’t know whether he should be relieved or disappointed Zeb didn’t make any effort to reach over, offer comfort or apology in a touch.