Page 19

Jonah

They took the commuter train toward Naperville out of Union Station. Liam paid for both tickets.

Jonah assumed he had opted for public transportation to save money on fuel, but Liam told him he just preferred the train. He said that it made him feel like he was part of the city instead of just someone who happened to live in the margins of one. Though, he assured Jonah he would be driving him back to Chicago at the end of the night. He didn’t want to risk a faulty train schedule making him late.

Liam brought the most recent of Jonah’s borrowed books for the journey, the post-it note still poking out from where he had left off the week before. Jonah held it in his lap, unopened, watching out the window as the city fell away behind them.

He wasn’t running away, he had to remind himself with each breath that the distance allowed him. This wasn’t freedom. Not beyond the scope of a single night .

Liam seemed just as entranced by the sights, though surely it was a route he was familiar with to the point of boredom by now. They sat across from each other, in seats that faced inward. With Liam distracted, Jonah allowed himself to stare. He watched Liam, the way he leaned his head against the window, the way he seemed comfortable in this space in a way he so rarely did.

Unbidden, he imagined Liam in a few years’ time, riding the subway in New York. What would he look like then? The same? Would he have grown out the bronze scruff stubbled along his jaw? Would there be a stronger sense of self-assurance in his eyes, in the way he carried himself? Would he, by then, no longer hold himself like he was taking up too much space in the world?

Jonah thought the answer was yes. That someone as fundamentally good as Liam only needed time to see it for himself.

The image made him smile, but there was a trickle of melancholy that snuck in behind it. The idea of Liam existing in a future that Jonah had no part of sat heavy in his chest. He always knew that was the plan, that it would be naive to expect anything different, but it was harder thinking about it in such concrete terms. Liam getting into art school. Liam saving up the money to move. Liam moving on, forging a future and leaving Jonah stagnant and stale, a distant memory in the past. Just part of his story; a series of Friday nights strung together during one strange autumn, and the boy he left there in the end .

Where would Jonah be then, at that point in the not-so-far-off future?

He decided he didn’t want to know.

“Hey.” The toe of Liam’s shoe knocked against his, bringing him back to the moment. “You okay?”

Jonah nodded, soothed by his concern and only a little unnerved by his ability to read him. For now, it was a reminder that they were both still here, together, and that they still had time. However much of it was left.

The ride wasn’t long, an hour and fifteen minutes from station to station, but Jonah found himself mourning the loss as they stepped out onto the platform. Liam was right: the train was nice.

Liam had parked his car near the station, so it was waiting for them when they arrived.

Predictably, his top priority was making sure Jonah was fed. They stopped at a drive-in restaurant, where servers on roller skates brought burgers and fries directly to the car. Liam kept the heat running while they ate, the radio providing them with the backdrop of soft Christmas music that played on every station.

They drove around for a while after that, aimless and relaxed. Liam pointed out landmarks from his life along the way: the fence that he’d crashed his car into a month after getting his license, the movie theater where he’d kissed a girl for the first (and last) time, the mall where he had learned, loudly and publicly, that Santa was just a man in a fake beard. Jonah hung on every word, endlessly charmed by his ability to tell a story.

Liam was a good driver. It was almost too true to character, in the most endearing way, how he followed the rules to a T.

“What?” he asked when Jonah’s laugh slipped out.

“Nothing.” Jonah was inexplicably unable to keep the smile off his face. “You’re just very... you.”

“Oh, great.”

“That’s far from a bad thing,” Jonah said.

Liam shot him a sidelong glance, as if searching for a punchline that wasn’t coming. “Thanks,” he finally said, looking back toward the road.

They pulled to a stop outside of a children’s playground. Even in the dark, Jonah could see the pristine condition in which everything was kept. Fresh, shiny coats of paint covered every piece of equipment. He had understood from the moment the train pulled into town that Liam’s hometown was a wealthy one, but this was a stark reminder of their differences in upbringings.

“When I was seventeen,” Liam began, pointing to a white fence along the back wall of the playground, “I won an art contest through the city, and I was selected to paint a mural there. I was so excited. I mean, at the time, it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I never really talked much about my art, outside of the few classes I had in school, so I thought... This is my chance. Finally, people will see that I’m not just the weird kid who follows Ben Baker and Nathan Scott around like a puppy. That I can actually do stuff, too.

“It was summer break. I spent every single day on it, staying past dark with a portable light I brought from home. The city supplied the paint, but I went out and spent my allowance on special brushes so I could make it just how I wanted it to look. I mean, if it was going to be a permanent fixture in the neighborhood, I had to make it good. I put everything I had into that mural.”

He paused, and Jonah felt a tight knot forming in his stomach.

“On the last day,” Liam continued, “I showed up to add the finishing touches, and the whole thing had been covered. Dried, splattered eggs. Buckets of paint that had just been thrown over it. And, because teenagers can never be creative, a few predictable words spray painted on. It wasn’t the first time I’d been on the receiving end of that kind of insult, but it was certainly the most public.”

“Liam. . .”

“Obviously, as you can see, they had to scrap the whole project; they hired people to paint over it the next day.” He gestured weakly to the white fence with a laugh. “They offered me the chance to start over if I wanted to, but I knew it would just happen again. I figured I’d save everyone the trouble. I didn’t realize how much it would affect me, but after that I sort of...” Liam shrugged, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “I just kind of lost all motivation. For anything. It was bad timing, because it was my junior year, when I was supposed to be putting together a portfolio for art school and getting a head start on applications and college tours, but I just... couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to look at any of it. I started missing shifts at work and skipping school to just lie in bed all day. My parents were angry, but I think, more than that, they were worried. And honestly, they had every right to be. I had all but given up.”

Jonah didn’t know what to say. He only knew that he wanted to erase that look from Liam’s face and never see it there again.

“Anyway,” Liam said after a moment. “That’s how I got where I am. I might have been in New York by now, actually doing something with my life, but instead I let a rough patch at seventeen throw my whole life off track.”

On that point, at least, Jonah could relate.

“Those kids are going to regret that,” Jonah said with conviction. “When you’re a big-shot artist in New York City, and they’re still just the losers who never left.”

Liam quirked a smile. “You have a lot of faith in this uphill battle of mine.”

“That’s a faith I can get behind,” he said. Then, “I’m sorry. I’m sure your mural was beautiful.”

Liam stared at the fence, as if he could still see the remnants of the art. “You know,” he said after a moment. “It was.”

Jonah followed his gaze, then let it slide over to the swing set, chewing on the idea that had occurred to him when they first pulled up. Desperate to ease the weight that had settled over Liam, he said, “Do you want to swing?”

He turned back to Jonah, blinking. “It’s cold.”

“We have coats,” Jonah pointed out. For a moment he thought Liam would turn him down, but then he killed the ignition, reaching for the door handle.

“Fuck it. Let’s swing.”

Liam wasn’t wrong about it being cold. The chains on the swings were like blocks of ice under their palms, but they tugged their coat sleeves down and made it work. Jonah couldn’t bring himself to care about the temperatures, not when there was the promise of a warm car after, and a smile back on Liam’s face.

They settled into a mutual silence, falling in and out of sync as they swung. Only when the wind from his own momentum pulled cold tears from the corners of his eyes did Jonah kick to a stop. Liam followed his cue, but they didn’t leave. They floated for a while, bumping side to side on their swings with their toes planted on the rubber asphalt.

“I know what it’s like,” Jonah said, breaking the silence. “Feeling like an outsider in the place you grew up. Not exactly the same circumstances, but I know these places aren’t always kind to people like us. It was the same for me in Indiana.”

Liam’s eyes fell on him. “Indiana,” he repeated. “Is that where you’re from?”

Jonah nodded. “It was a little different for me. I wasn’t out for most of my life there. Not...” He pressed his lips together, grinding his teeth. “Not until the end. I knew how it would be received.”

Liam was careful with his approach, as if sensing how precarious a line he was walking. “You don’t say much about your home life,” he said.

“My parents,” Jonah began, then had to stop to swallow around a lump in his throat. “It’s not easy to talk about.”

“You don’t have to,” Liam said softly.

Jonah knew that. Liam had made it clear countless times before, never pushing, never pressuring, always letting things drop when Jonah clammed up. He thought that was exactly why he felt the resistance falling away now.

“They caught me with a boy from my soccer team,” he said, laying the words bare before he could second-guess them. “It was my senior year, months away from graduation. And it was... It was just a kiss.” He swallowed, breaking off into a whisper. “We were just kissing.”

He closed his eyes, and he could picture it so clearly: the back of his father’s hand across his cheek, his mother’s streaked mascara, a folded brochure slid across the table to him. It’s a really great program, Jonah. These people can really help you. Don’t worry about the cost, it’s already taken care of. No, Jonah, it isn’t up for debate.

“My father never shied away from corporal punishment,” he said. “‘Spare the rod, spoil the child,’ and all that. But when he hit me that time, I felt the difference. I knew it was personal. He wasn’t hitting me to correct my behavior; he hit me because he hated the person I had just shown him that I was.”

Jonah glanced up to find Liam watching him with such intense horror that he had to look away.

“They didn’t even look at me for a week,” he continued. “They didn’t speak to me. My mom cried all the time. I could tell my siblings were scared. I don’t think they understood what was going on. I felt like I had destroyed my whole family.

“They came to me a couple weeks later with an ultimatum. Our pastor was sitting at the kitchen table with some packet about a camp for boys like me . The church was willing to help foot the bill. I was turning eighteen in a few weeks. I told them they couldn’t force me to go.” He swallowed. “They told me it was that or nothing. It was the condition I had to meet to live under their roof, to have access to any of my college savings. But I couldn’t...”

Jonah resented the burn of oncoming tears. He had promised himself a long time ago he wouldn’t shed any more tears for his parents.

“Do you know how many times I’ve wondered what would have happened if I’d just stayed and stuck it out?” Jonah asked, turning back to Liam, who seemed to be holding back tears of his own. “A few months of enduring their bullshit camp, and I could have built a different life. I could have lied, I could have been smart about it. But they had me cornered, and I was so angry, and I was so sure I was doing the right thing by running away. I had a couple thousand saved up from summer jobs, and I thought it would be enough... I didn’t know...”

“How could you have known?” Liam whispered.

“I couldn’t have,” Jonah agreed. “I was just some sheltered kid from the country, out on the streets with no one to turn to. Of course I fell blindly to the first person who showed me sympathy.”

Liam went still beside him. “Was that—? I mean, the man who...?”

“No,” Jonah said. “There was someone else, before.” His bravery withered as he approached this gap in his history, but he pushed forward. “His name was Dominic. I had only been in Chicago a couple of months when we met. I thought...” He took a deep breath and watched it mist around him on the exhale. “He was the first person I ever thought I loved.”

“How did you meet?” He could tell Liam wanted to ask more but was choosing wisely.

“He was on a smoke break at the time I happened to be getting mugged.” Jonah offered him a wry smile. “I’d already blown through my savings by that point and was sleeping on the streets when I couldn’t get a bed at a shelter. He found me that night and took me in. It was just supposed to be long enough to get me cleaned up, but it turned into weeks. He kept asking me to stay, and I did.”

Sometimes it was hard to believe that time in his life existed at all, that it wasn’t some strange dream. Looking back, the details were already fickle in his memory. Had it been four roommates or five? What color were the sheets on Dominic’s mattress on the floor? Was it cigarette smoke or marijuana that always left the shared bathroom slightly hazy? Had he ever really loved Jonah at all?

“Things got intense between us,” Jonah continued. “I had never had that kind of freedom before. I was still so angry at everything behind me, and he was so nice to me when he didn’t have to be, so I gave everything to that relationship. It was all I had. If he offered me a drink, I took it. Drugs, whatever. I wanted him to keep wanting me.” He squeezed the swing’s chains, letting the rigid metal bite into his palms. “When he told me I could have sex for money, it wasn’t something I had ever really thought about. But it was hard to say no when he had done so much for me, and I had no way of paying him back. So I did it. And kept doing it.”

“Was he taking the money?” Liam asked.

“No,” Jonah said quickly, too defensive. “It wasn’t like that. Most of the money went toward rent and food, which was fair since I was staying with him. I got caught, though,” Jonah said. “I wasn’t being careful enough, I guess, because I was arrested. I don’t...” He stopped and looked up at Liam. “I still don’t want to get into the details. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just—”

“Jonah, it’s okay.” Almost hesitantly, Liam uncurled one hand from his swing and held it out between them. Jonah took it, squeezing tightly.

“Dominic is the one who introduced me to the person I work for now,” he said before he could back down. “It got me out of a bad situation and put me in a worse one, but I have to believe that Dominic thought he was doing the right thing at the time. I guess I’ll never know for sure.” At Liam’s questioning look, he said, “By the time I was released, he was gone. His phone was deactivated. His room at the apartment was cleared out. It was as if he’d never existed.”

“It sounds like a guilty conscience,” Liam said with more heat than Jonah expected.

“I know,” Jonah said. “But I still want to believe some part of it was real for him.”

Liam nodded again, though not without some hesitation that time. “It makes more sense, now,” he said after another lapse in silence. “Having the context of why you’re so against going to the police. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Jonah said.

“You know this doesn’t make me feel differently about you, right? The knowing?” Liam said.

Jonah pushed his toes into the asphalt, knocking his swing against Liam’s. “I think that speaks more to your character than mine.”

Liam grabbed Jonah’s chain before he could swing away, keeping him close. “No,” he said. There was an intensity in his gaze that Jonah couldn’t look away from. “What you did in the past does not make you deserving of what’s happening to you now. You were only trying to survive.”

Jonah was unmoored by the sudden closeness, their foggy breath mixing in the scant distance between them. It would have made him retreat if it were anyone but Liam, but it wasn’t anyone else. It was him, and Jonah didn’t want to pull away.

“Maybe you’re too forgiving of me,” Jonah said.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

I could kiss him right now. The thought landed soft and sure, like a snowflake on the tip of his tongue, melting into him on contact. I want to kiss him.

But he was frozen in place, too afraid of closing the gap, and Liam, because he was Liam, took that hesitation at face value. He was the first to back away, releasing his hold on Jonah’s swing.

“It’s cold,” he said. “Your nose is turning red.”

He didn’t point out that every inch of Liam’s exposed skin was wind-bitten pink. “Where should we go?” Jonah asked.

“I have somewhere in mind.”

The diner where Liam worked was open twenty-four hours. It was just after one in the morning when they arrived.

It was mostly dead at the late hour, so they didn’t have to feel bad about taking up residence to warm up with refills of coffee (for Jonah) and hot chocolate (for Liam).

Jonah had spent so much time wondering what Liam’s life looked like outside the confines of their isolated Friday nights. He had wondered about this place in particular, after enjoying the takeout boxes Liam brought with him, smelling the remnants of fried food that clung to his skin and his hair, and catching glimpses of his uniform poking out from his backpack. It was almost surreal to be inside of it now, like he had been transported into a world from a book he’d once read.

The place was quaint, with checkered floors and vinyl booths. Music floated in from an actual, functioning jukebox in the corner. It was the kind of vintage that wasn’t engineered to fit a trend; it was just old , as evidenced by the cracks in the tile, the wood-paneled walls, and a waitress who looked like she had been built into the place with the beams. Liam called her Darla, and she ruffled his hair like she was genuinely happy to see him there on his night off. Jonah liked her immediately.

The Christmas decorations, which surely hadn’t seen an update since the 1980s, added to the idyllic charm. Strings of rainbow lights stretched around the interior perimeter, accented with gaudy ropes of red and green tinsel.

Under the table, their shoes knocked against each other every few minutes, a byproduct of Liam’s long legs, which he apologized for repeatedly. Jonah should have told him there was a comfort in the small moments of contact, but he kept that to himself.

There was a dreamlike quality to the scene. Jonah couldn’t shake the thought that he had been shrunken down and transported into a snow-globe, encased behind glass as a picture-perfect snapshot, far from the realities outside. He never wanted to leave. He knew the night would end, that the glass would crack when morning came and send him spilling out into the world, but he wouldn’t think of that now.

Jonah had switched to decaf after his first cup, and his eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

“Tired?” Liam asked, catching him mid-yawn.

Jonah shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Liam smiled, seeing right through it. “It’s okay if you are. It’s been a long day, and it’s late.”

A glance at the clock told him it was past two in the morning. The tables around them had steadily cleared out over the course of an hour. The only people who filed in this point were the post-bar crowd, stumbling in after last call in search of something greasy.

“I was wondering,” Liam started, his hands fidgeting on the table, “if you might want to go back to my place? Just to get a few hours of sleep,” he added quickly.

Jonah blinked at him. “You... want to take me to your house?”

“Technically, it’s my parents’ house,” he said. “And not that they would mind if I brought a friend over anyway, but they’ll be dead asleep by now.” He must have read Jonah’s silence as a rejection, because he followed up with, “We don’t have to, if that makes you uncomfortable. We can always catch a few hours in the car instead.”

“It’s not that,” Jonah was quick to assure him. But then, what was it? The fear that this excursion into Liam’s personal life was an invasion, leaving tainted footprints in his wake? The guilt of leaving his mark on his world, when Jonah couldn’t really be a part of it? That was hardly something to bring up over coffee. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Liam tilted his head, as if it never occurred to him to be anything but. “Of course. I even cleaned in anticipation of company.”

Of course he had.

“Okay,” Jonah agreed.

The bell on the diner’s front door, accompanied by the commotion of drunken chatter, signified the entry of a new group, fresh from the bars. Liam and Jonah were in a corner booth, secluded enough to reduce them to background noise, but when Liam glanced over Jonah’s shoulder, he went rigid.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Jonah had his back to the door. When he tried to turn to find the source of Liam’s distress, a hand tapped frantically against his. “No, no, don’t look,” Liam whispered, ducking his head low. His agitation put Jonah on edge.

“Who is it?” Jonah asked. “What’s wrong?”

“We should go.” He was already pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet, tucking the corner beneath his empty mug.

“Is everything okay?” Jonah asked, sliding out of the booth at his cue.

“Yeah, sorry. Just...a confrontation I’m really not looking to have tonight. ”

They made it to the exit just after the hostess led the group to their table. Jonah kept his head down, resisting the urge to seek out whatever threat had Liam so shaken.

They were one foot out the door when a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Cassidy!”

They stopped. Liam cursed under his breath, and Jonah suddenly understood why.

Because he recognized that voice, too.