Bad Influence (17 page)

But that invitation was only extended to an imaginary straight version of his son.

“No, thanks.”

“You could spare a thought for your mother’s health.”

“Her health? There’s nothing wrong with her a few weeks in rehab couldn’t fix.”

In a blur, his father backhanded him across the face.

Silver’s ears rang, and blood filled his mouth. Controlling the urge to spit it back, he swallowed the coppery mess and worked his jaw for a minute, glancing down at the papers that had dropped when his father lashed out. “That’s a new tactic. Watch what I learned in Sunday school.” He turned his other cheek toward his father. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

The old man trembled then shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll just take these, then.” Silver bent and scooped the papers back into the folder.

His father stood silent, fists clearly visible in the pockets of his khakis, weathered cheeks flushed.

“Guess what, Dad?” Silver put as much disgust in that word as he could. “I was a whore. Sold my ass on the street. And I hated myself for it.” His lip was still bleeding, and he wiped it on the back of his hand, almost a smile stretching the hot, swelling skin as he remembered Zeb and his first-aid kit. Ready to drive Silver’s sorry, bleeding self out of danger. “But I’d rather have lived like that then let you try to change me. Or make me ashamed enough to lie.”

Silver strode into the foyer to find his mother coming down the stairs, a tight grip on the railing, her body rigid as she tried to look sober. She’d been faking it so long, she was pretty good at it.

Now she faked a pleasant complaint. “My head is pounding and you’re shouting.”

Silver would have suggested she lay off the Merlot, but he really didn’t care anymore.

“Have a thought for your soul, Jordan.” His father had come up behind him.

“Did you talk to him, Thomas? Honey, we only want you to be with us in Heaven. With Nana and Grandpa and Ginger. You can be. We can fix it.”

Silver would rather take another backhand from his father than this faked softness from his mother. Emotional blackmail only worked if he gave a shit.

“Your church says dogs don’t go to Heaven, remember?” Silver did. Every bit of being twelve and having to put Ginger to sleep, consoling himself with the idea of Ginger running around up there waiting to come bouncing up to meet him when he died. He talked about it so much his parents brought him in to talk to Pastor Stu, who had calmly but emphatically explained animals didn’t have souls and couldn’t go to heaven. Silver had responded that he would rather go to Hell then himself.

Come to think of it, that was how he felt about it if he was going to be stuck with Cheryl and Thomas for eternity too.

Silver opened the door to permanent escape.

“The door is always open if you want to change.” Thomas’s voice was so kind and calm you’d never know he’d just split his son’s lip.

Silver stepped over the threshold. “On this side, it’s closed.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

Chapter Eleven

Zeb’s Pontiac was in front of the next house down. Silver raised the folder to shadow the mark he could feel swelling the right side of his face as he hurried down the walk. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want Zeb to see it. The bleeding had stopped, so Silver didn’t have to worry about his contaminated blood getting anywhere. And being backhanded meant the bruise faced away from Zeb. Maybe it didn’t look as bad as it felt.

“Did you get everything you needed?” Zeb asked as Silver settled himself in the passenger seat.

And then some.
Silver poked with his tongue at the fat part inside his mouth then opened the folder to double-check. The thing that had looked like a form with boxes was his certified birth certificate. Then there was the social security card, and best of all, his license, still valid.

It was totally worth a split lip.

“Yeah. I’m good.” Silver grabbed for the seat belt and latched himself in. In a few minutes, he’d be done with New Freedom for good. Bonus, they’d even be back in plenty of time for Eli’s show opening.

“I’m glad.” Zeb popped open his door. “I’ll only be a few minutes. I’ll leave it running for the a/c.”

Zeb was already at the bottom of the walk before Silver’s brain caught up to what his eyes were telling him. Fuck. What the hell did Zeb want with them?

By the time Silver had wrestled free of the seat belt and shut off the car, Zeb was at the door. Despite a breathless sprint, Silver didn’t make it to the stoop until the show was already in progress.

“—still perverting my son?” His father’s face was pale under the golfing tan, his voice a low, furious whisper, a stabbing finger an inch from Zeb’s chest.

“Using his innocent love of God to lead him into sodomy.” Cheryl clutched the doorjamb and her pearls with equal intensity. Probably so she didn’t face plant on the welcome mat. “I trusted you, a child molester, to shepherd my only son.”

Silver wanted to share the embarrassing absurdity of her posturing with Zeb. But Zeb wasn’t making eye contact. With anyone. Shoulders hunched and head down, he was just taking it.

“Call the police, Cheryl.” Thomas puffed himself up, chest out, head back. “We’ll send this pedophile to jail like we should have then.”

Even then Zeb didn’t say anything.

This might have been a good prank on one of those hidden camera reality shows, but as real life, it sucked.

“You can’t have him arrested. I’m twenty fucking years old.” Silver got in front of Zeb.

“Watch your language in front of your mother.” His father jabbed a hand like a knife against Silver’s chest.

“Or you’ll hit me again? You know what? Call the cops. I’m pressing charges for assault.”

That got Zeb’s attention. An audible intake of breath and a gentle turn of Silver’s head. “Jordan.” Zeb’s whisper sounded pained, like he was the one who’d been hit.

Silver pulled free. “Did it leave a nice mark? That’ll look good in the paper and online, Dr. Barnett. Maybe my impressive representation could hook me up with a personal-injury lawsuit.”

Cheryl’s hand went from her throat to her husband’s shoulder. The squeeze looked painful. Maybe her perfect manicure pierced the skin because Thomas deflated like a popped balloon.

How had these people ever had any power over him? Why had he cared what they thought of him? “And I can’t wait for the trial so everyone in town can hear exactly what filthy sodomizing I did. Every detail of cock-sucking and ass—”

“Enough.” His father pushed Silver into Zeb, and they both fell off the stoop. “Get out. Just get out.”

“No cops?” Silver smiled, flashing his teeth.

Zeb grabbed Silver’s wrist and pulled, but it was over. The door shut, and it was only the two of them trampling the landscaping.

Silver waved at the lady neighbor on the left who was pretending to do something to her dogwood as she eavesdropped.

Zeb reached for Silver’s cheek. “Are you all right?”

“It’s fine.” He knocked the hand away. “I’ve had worse.”

“He’s hit you before? I should have come with you.”

“Because that went so well.” Silver wanted to know why the hell Zeb had bothered with his parents even now, but he wasn’t giving dogwood lady any more free drama. That’s what HBO was for. “Not that I give a shit about any of these assholes, but let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Zeb nodded, lips white and bloodless. A quick tremor echoed up Silver’s arm as he pressed the keys into Zeb’s palm.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” Zeb turned away.

The air in the car was so thick Silver couldn’t find words to fit his questions. Right before they got back on 83, Zeb swung the car off into Polson’s Auto and Tires, bouncing and scraping over the rutted dirt and gravel. No matter how hard Silver stomped there was no brake pedal on his side of the car, but he didn’t stop trying until they jerked to a stop a few feet from the trees bordering the lot.

Zeb shoved open his door and staggered into the brush before hunching over, hands on his thighs. Silver pushed his own door open and followed cautiously. Carsick? But Zeb hadn’t puked. He was only sucking wind.

Silver put a hand on Zeb’s shoulder. The skin shuddered, his whole body vibrating. “Zeb? You okay?”

A long noisy exhale and another deep breath.

Shaking and hot. “Is it malaria, a relapse?” So maybe he’d looked it up, what could happen long-term after the initial infection.

Zeb let out another breath and then stood straight, though he didn’t turn around. Silver felt lame with his hand resting on Zeb’s shoulder, so he yanked it back.

“No. I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. No. This is not fine.”

He knew Zeb. There may have been some changes, but the three years in between now and then couldn’t change knowing the shifting colors of his eyes, the quirks of his smiles, what tension and complete relaxation looked like on every part of his body.

But Silver had never seen Zeb like this. And with Zeb not looking at him, Silver didn’t know what to do.

If Zeb wouldn’t turn around, Silver would go to where his face was. He stepped around him, pants catching on sticks and leaves. He tore free and stood squarely in front of him.

Zeb was rubbing his shoulder and upper arm. Silver hadn’t gripped him hard, hadn’t bled on him. What was that about?

Zeb tried that patient, distant smile. “I’ll be okay in a minute. Sorry,” he said again. “You can go back to the car. I’ll still get us back in time.”

“The fuck you will.”

The smile froze for a second then resumed its curve. “Excuse me?”

“You may not trust other drivers, but I don’t trust you to get me back in one piece right now. Christ, you’re still shaking.”

Zeb gripped his arm more tightly, pain rippling his forehead, making his eyes into slits.

“Did you get hurt when you pulled off the road?”

“No.” Zeb turned like he was going to go back to the car.

Silver got around in front of him to block his path. “What the hell was that all about, you talking to my parents?”

Zeb’s dark gaze lasered in on the place on Silver’s cheek where it felt thick and hot. A shake of Zeb’s head and he started forward.

“What does that mean?” Silver caught Zeb’s wrist.

“It means it’s none of your business, Jordan.”

Silver stared back, digging behind that pleasant mask that Zeb seemed to wear so much more now than he ever used to. The one that made everyone think he was a sanctimonious prig. He’d almost convinced Silver that fun Zeb was gone, except for the drive up in the car. That crooked smile. The slanted humor in his eyes.

Silver wasn’t giving up. He pictured Zeb on the stoop, taking that abuse from his parents, letting them call him names and—

“Holy fuck. You believe it.”

Zeb’s fingers tightened on his arm. “What?”

“You think you deserve it? Is that why you wanted to come? So you could let them nail you to a cross?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

Silver controlled the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay. Then tell me why.”

“I owed them an apology.”

“For what?” Silver couldn’t stop disgust from filling his voice.

The pain on Zeb’s face made Silver furious. He wanted to stomp off to the car, let Zeb roast in his own stupid self-made hell. He couldn’t really buy all that crap.

“You didn’t—pervert me. I came after you. God, I’d have jumped your bones a lot sooner than you let me.”

Zeb shook his head.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re not a pedophile.”

“No?” At last there was that cynical half smile, but it was all wrong.

“No.” Silver put as much force as he could into the word.

Zeb’s hands landed on Silver’s shoulders as if he’d shake him, then slid down in almost a caress before gripping his biceps. His eyes were so dark they could have been black. “I knew you lied about your age. I don’t know when I knew it. I didn’t want to.” Zeb glanced away for a minute. When he looked back, his eyes were wet. “I pretended to believe you, but deep down, I knew. I wanted you so much. God help me. I wanted you anyway. I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted you. Never. And I ruined your life.”

Silver wanted to chase that look off Zeb’s face. Send it somewhere Silver would never have to see it again. The corner of his mouth lifted. “So…I made your dick hard, huh?”

Zeb squeezed once then let him go. “It was wrong.”

“Didn’t feel wrong to me. Or—” The sudden thought made the earth drop away from Silver’s feet. He wished Zeb was still holding on. Because there was this huge ragged hole between what Silver had always thought and what Zeb was saying. And maybe the real reason Zeb wouldn’t help that night was echoing in Silver’s ears. “Or were you only pretending when you said you loved me too?”

“No. I swear to God, no, Jordan. I’d never pretend—about that.”

“So what’s the big deal? You were only what, twenty-two?”

“It was wrong,” Zeb repeated.

“Think about it. Was there ever so much as a single second where it seemed like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing and what I wanted?”