Destiny (Waiting for Forever) (28 page)

I dropped the keys when I hit the button to unlock the truck doors, and it took me a very long minute to find them again in the shadows from the street lamp. I felt edgy, like someone was watching me. Looking around, I didn’t see anyone, but I noticed I’d been feeling like that more and more lately. At the library, at the apartment, on shoots—it always felt like someone was there. I couldn’t stand it.

With the doors finally unlocked and the keys in my hand, I climbed into the huge truck and slammed the door. Locking it quickly, I jammed the keys into the ignition and started it. The rearview mirror bounced as my whole body shook. From fear or withdrawal, I wasn’t sure, but I just wanted to go. Ignoring the little dinging seat-belt alarm, I threw a glance over my shoulder and pulled out of the space onto the deserted street. At nearly one in the morning on a Sunday, the streets were almost empty, and I sped toward the highway.

Once I pulled into the fast lane, I stopped thinking. I didn’t consider being pulled over or blowing a tire at nearly a hundred miles an hour. I just shut down and focused on the road I could see in the glow of the headlights. I didn’t want to consider that I could just pull the wheel hard to the left, and it would all be over. One high-speed, fiery crash for some cokehead with no seat belt and the world would be a better place. Brian could get on with his life. Mr. and Mrs. Mitch Mayfield could stop being horrified by their son. Steven O’Dell could find someone else to beat on.

The lights were on in the apartment when I unlocked the door half an hour later. Steven sat on the black leather couch in front of the skyline view offered by his high-rise apartment. He had a couple of lines of coke cut and ready. When I saw them, my mouth watered.

“Hey,” he said with a glassy smile. Apparently, he’d already done a few himself.

“Hey, sorry, I fell asleep on Alex’s couch,” I explained, kicking off my shoes near the door and trying to gauge his mood. He looked reasonably happy, but I knew the hard way that everything could change in an instant.

“I know. He sent me a text and told me you were on your way,” he replied and gestured toward the lines of white powder on the table. “Come take a few hits with me.” I couldn’t refuse his invitation even if I wanted to, and I certainly didn’t want to. As I came closer, he patted his legs, a clear invitation to sit on his lap on the otherwise empty couch. Screw it, if that’s what I had to do to get a hit, I was okay with that. His legs were warm, and I could feel the heat through my pants as I sat down and he handed me a rolled-up bill. I leaned forward, held it up to my right nostril while plugging the left, and snorted the first line.

The pounding in my ears and chest as my heart began to race wildly always unnerved me a little. I took a deep breath and concentrated on the way my mind started to go numb even while Steven’s hand began to rub my crotch lazily.

Yes, this was exactly where I should be.

Seventeen

T
HE
sand that coated my eyes burned as they opened. Coke on top of the booze the night before had almost cemented them closed. A distant noise somewhere in the room nudged at the edge of my consciousness, and I tried to focus. I rubbed my eyes again and saw Steven putting on his uniform. Damn, we had just gone to bed a few hours ago; I couldn’t believe he was already up. Moaning, I rolled over onto my side and shoved my head under the pillow. The bed beside me dipped and nearly caused me to roll back toward the center as a muscled arm wrapped around my waist.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Steven whispered, ghosting featherlight kisses across my bare shoulder. I relaxed back against him, feeling warm and comfortable.

“Meh,” I croaked back at him and felt his laugh against my neck. While I couldn’t say I enjoyed being with Steven because of the dynamic of our relationship, at times like this it was nice not to be alone anymore.

“What are you up to today?” he asked between kisses to the curve between my neck and shoulder. I had to work for a few seconds to remember what day it was so I could answer.

“Library, laundry, gym—maybe,” I listed into the pillow, not bothering to lift my head.

“I thought we could take a couple of steaks and potatoes to the rooftop terrace and grill them out. Maybe eat and look out over the city,” he said, sounding unsure. I pulled the pillow off my head and rolled onto my back.

“Sure, that sounds good. I can pick up the stuff from the store on the way back from the library.” My mind started working, and I blinked slowly up at him. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven thirty; you can go back to sleep for a while,” he whispered and then leaned in to kiss me.

“You don’t want to do that. I haven’t brushed,” I said quickly, trying to warn him that my mouth tasted like the floor of a cab.

“I don’t care.” His lips captured mine in a short, sweet kiss. Pulling back, he kissed my forehead and whispered, “I’ll see you about five.”

“Have a good day,” I replied, and I meant it. Honestly, the better the day went for him, the better the day would go for me. When he had problems with a tenant or a piece of equipment, he tended to be surly and unreasonable. Keeping him fed, his laundry done, and the apartment clean also went a long way toward keeping me out of the hospital.

“Thanks, babe.” Steven stole one more kiss, climbed off the bed, and left me to my thoughts.

I
DID
sleep for another hour or so before I finally rolled out of bed and stood for nearly an hour under a hot shower trying to feel human again. I made a mental to-do list of the things I needed to accomplish. Mondays were laundry and library days. My shoots were usually scheduled for later in the week, so Mondays were a good day to consistently get things done. Household chores like laundry, cooking, and cleaning fell to me since Steven worked every day. It didn’t matter that I pulled in more money than he did in those two days a week, just that I had more free time. Really, I didn’t mind the work. It kept me busy, and it kept him happy. So, I cleaned the apartment, I did laundry, and I cooked a couple of nights a week. Steven offering to grill meant that he felt bad for hitting me over the weekend and he wanted to make it up to me.

Maybe one day he’d learn that
not
hitting me would be a better way to make amends.

After I showered and shaved, I got dressed and went into the kitchen. The coffee Steven had made before he left still steamed in the pot. I nibbled on a piece of peanut-butter toast while I drank it with lots of cream and sugar. The fifty-dollar bill on the counter reminded me that I needed to pick up the steaks after I went to the library. I pocketed it and decided to get my day started. After throwing on a pair of battered sandals, one of the things Steven had bought me that I truly loved, I headed downstairs.

The walk to the trolley stop took only a few minutes, and then I was on my way to E Street. I loved the library because, even though I read several books a week, there were always more to keep me entertained. The sweet older librarian, who seemed to live at the library, waved to me as I came in. She really was a kind woman and reminded me of Carolyn Schreiber. Sometimes just talking to her reminded me so forcibly of Brian that my chest ached.

“Good morning, young man,” she said with a smile as I approached the desk.

“Morning, ma’am,” I replied with a smile of my own. “Did you happen to get in the new John Marshall novel?” I’d seen a commercial for it on television a few weeks ago and decided to put in an order at the library.

“I did. It came a few days ago, but you didn’t put down a way to contact you on your request.” Her face turned down into a slight frown. “A young man like you doesn’t have an e-mail address in this day and age?”

“I used to, but I’m sure it’s probably been deleted by now. I haven’t logged into it in a couple of years,” I told her with a shrug. It had been a while since I’d even thought about the e-mail account I’d had in high school. It didn’t really seem necessary for me to have one because no one would want to e-mail me. My parents certainly weren’t interested, and I didn’t talk to anyone except Alex. By the time I’d had access to a computer again, I’d already let Brian get on with his life. Constant e-mails from me wouldn’t help. Besides, what would I have said?
Oh hi, Brian, things suck—addicted to drugs, forced into porn. Wish you were here.

“Well, maybe you should open up a new one. At least you’d know when your books came in,” she scolded with amusement before she handed me the novel I’d been waiting for. I’d have it finished in a matter of days, so I took it and went off to find a few more books to borrow.

As I walked through the huge library on my way to the fiction section, I saw the free Internet computers sitting alone and unused. The librarian was right: it would be easier to get notifications about books through e-mail rather than checking the desk every single time I came in. I sat down at one of the computers to my left and brought up an Internet browser. At my parents’ house, I’d had my own computer, presumably to use for school. I never realized how much I took it for granted until I didn’t have one anymore.

After navigating to the site where I’d had the free account, I decided just to check and see if the username I’d once used was available. It wasn’t. That figured. I entered my old e-mail address and the password I always used. I was shocked when it let me in to the e-mail account. Then, I saw there were over a thousand e-mails just sitting in the box. I read through page after page of the return addresses and rolled my eyes at the sheer amount of spam that could actually fit in the inbox. I was about to delete all the messages and empty the inbox when I saw Brian’s name. My heart began to pound as I clicked the return-address column header to reorder the inbox. Half a dozen e-mails from Brian sat in my inbox unread, and they were all from the last six months.

Checking my watch, I saw I was running out of time. Printing them out and taking them home would be suicide, but I still had a day’s worth of laundry and needed to go to the store. The mouse seemed to click on one at random, and the text came up on the screen.

Hey baby,

Happy Thanksgiving, but I can’t imagine it’s terribly happy for you. I spent the day working in Father Matt’s soup kitchen. It breaks my heart to see all of these people with nowhere to go, relying on the generosity of others in order to eat. I can’t stand the idea that it might be you. I’m so scared that I’m never going to be able to find you. I’ve only been here 3 months, but I feel like I’ve made no progress at all.

I love you, and I miss you so much it hurts.

Forever,

Brian

God, it hurt so much, and I wondered if that could still be true. I mean, he’d said it when we were together on set, but at the time I thought maybe it was just the shock of seeing me there. After logging out of the e-mail page, I grabbed my book and went back up to the desk so the librarian could check it out.

“Do you have pay phones here?” I asked her as she scanned the library barcode.

“Yes, they are on the second floor near the back,” she said and handed me the book. I threw it into the messenger bag I’d brought with me and practically ran for the stairs. When I reached the pay phones, I dug into my bag and pulled out the handful of quarters I had brought for laundry. With shaking hands, I put in two quarters and dialed Brian’s number.

“You found me,” an upbeat voice said. The voice sounded like it belonged to an older man, and that threw me for a moment. “Hello?” the voice asked.

“Uhm… hi, is Brian there?” I asked timidly, half expecting him to say there was no Brian there.

“Yep, he’s here. Can I tell him who’s calling?” the man asked, and I froze. I didn’t want to use my real name because I didn’t want anyone to know that I’d called.

“Sure, tell him it’s Dylan,” I said cautiously. Brian would know, and hopefully there wasn’t anyone else from the studio to overhear.

“Dylan, right,” he said, and for some reason he sounded skeptical, but I heard him yell for Brian anyway. He didn’t use my name, just told him he had a phone call.

“Is it my mom? I swear my phone is charged!” I heard Brian’s voice in the background telling the man, and I had to laugh. It sounded so classically like Brian that I wanted to cry.

“Close the door,” the man said in a low voice, and then, “It’s Jamie. I’m going to step out for a while. Just close my office door when you’re done, okay?”

“Sure, Leo… uhm… thanks,” Brian said, his voice sounding nervous, but louder like he’d gotten closer to the phone. It was another few seconds before he finally answered.

“Hello?” he asked tentatively, and I hesitated. Talking to him and giving him false hope were things I’d tried to avoid. After reading that e-mail, however, I just wanted to hear his voice.