Page 14 of Burning Demons (Burning Torments #1)

Chapter 14

Tate

We didn’t get to head back out to the pool all week because of rain. As pale as I was, I didn’t mind cloudy days, but by Saturday morning, I was sick of them. I woke to the bright rays of the sun and rushed out back for a cigarette.

Wren’s room was empty, Winnie was nowhere in sight, so I waved at Dad as he ducked inside the garage, then sat on the back porch steps for a leisurely smoke.

The first week of school hadn’t been too bad. Percy was hands down the most interesting person in all my classes. Dylan thought we were good friends now and tried to talk to me whenever we crossed paths. I didn’t mind him so much. All I had to do was give him a few encouraging grunts early in the conversation, and he entertained himself for the rest of it.

Each day after school, we headed home, and as soon as Wren started his cello practice, I moved my homework to his desk. I had become really good at hearing the differences in his playing. Some pieces he knew well and played around with, like increasing or decreasing the tempo. Other pieces that were probably for school, I could practically hear his boredom in the music. Then there were the few he never finished, the ones that usually left him cursing. I hadn’t figured out what got him pissed with those since it all sounded good to me.

I had only been in Alabama for a month, but in some ways, it felt much longer. A soul-deep pull had sprung inside me and forced me toward Wren. Like hooks buried deep, I couldn’t stop from turning his way, seeking his gaze, or straining to hear his voice. Passion? I couldn’t think of a better word for it. I had a passion for all things Wren, and it grew the more I learned.

I hadn’t figured out my country boy completely, though. That night in the pool had been going well, but I didn’t know what stopped him, what spooked him. All signs pointed to our mutual interest, and maybe he was just as hesitant as I was sometimes. Was it hormones? Was it real? Did we risk our parents finding out and losing their shit? Or the town finding out and all of us losing something?

During my second cigarette, Wren came huffing and puffing around the side of the house, then lay out flat under the shade from the table umbrella.

“You just wake up?” I said to tease him.

He took a few breaths, then laughed, or tried as he fought for air. “Shut up, lazy ass,” he finally said.

“Is it lazy or smart? I’m not the one acting like he’s dying from a little run.”

“Ten miles, City Boy. How many New York blocks is that?”

“Eh, two hundred.”

“Yeah, so not a little run, fucker.” He turned his head, squinted at me, then grinned. “Is that breakfast?” He nodded at what I assumed was the cigarette hanging from my lips.

“So what if it is?”

He sighed, then sprang to his feet. “Be ready at eleven. I’m taking you somewhere.”

“Oh? Another pig slaughter?”

“Nope.” He trudged up the steps, brushing my side with his sweaty leg as he did. Purely intentional, I was sure. “Even better.”

At eleven, I dutifully waited on the porch until Wren stepped outside smelling like soap and dressed in a white T-shirt, khaki cutoffs, and the Adidas slides he favored.

He looked me up and down. “You don’t own many shorts, do you?”

“Took you this long to figure that out? I’m impressed.” I followed him to his truck. “Why? Does this location you’re taking me to require something fancy?” I stopped. “Wait. We aren’t going fishing again, are we?”

“Nope.”

We hopped in, but I did so without his enthusiasm.

Wren started the truck, and then he turned, placing an arm along the back of the seat to watch where he was going as he backed down the driveway. “You look good in those jeans,” he mumbled to the window behind our heads.

I had on one of my favorite pairs with all the artful rips of well-worn-in jeans without the years of working to get them that way. I dropped my chin, not quite sure what to do with the comment. Franklin had only ever assessed me, not complimented me. A flutter in my chest stole my breath for a few seconds, but Wren didn’t say more. I relaxed into the seat and stared out the window.

Since I didn’t drive myself, I didn’t know the town well at all. The trip to school and to the grocery store was about all I remembered, the details enough to find my own way if I ever needed to. Today, Wren took us along all these new winding roads that kept me confused. How big was this place? We never crossed a landmark I recognized.

Wren waved at a cop car as we passed it, then pulled over at a gas station pump.

“You thirsty?” he asked.

“Sure. Water?”

Wren stomped on the parking brake that was an extra pedal on the floor in this antique and smirked. “Just water?”

I chuckled. “Orange juice and champagne?”

He only smiled in answer, then got out. With the truck not in motion, it was too hot to sit in the cab, so I got out with him and leaned against the door while he pumped gas.

He toed the back tire, pink tinting his cheeks for some reason, then asked, “Ever had boiled peanuts?”

“Bold peanuts?” I repeated what I thought I heard.

“Boiled, like, in water.”

“Oh. You’re saying boiled .”

“Yeah. Boiled peanuts.”

I snickered. “No. I’ve never had bold peanuts, Country Boy.”

The pump stopped, and Wren replaced the handle. “I’ll be back,” he said, then crossed over to the store.

I headed to the shade of a tree and smoked. A couple of minutes later, he came out with a brown sack tucked against his chest by one arm, two small cardboard boxes in one hand, and was using his teeth to dig a Twizzler out of a bag in his other hand. I took a quick second to finish the last drag and admired his body, highlighted by the sun. His calves were big and tanned. When his arms moved, the lines under his T-shirt showed he rarely went without it. I supposed no one cared about a farmer’s tan down here.

We got back in the truck. Wren handed me a bottle of water, then one of the boxes and the open bag of Twizzlers.

“No champagne?” I asked, not that I expected any.

“Nah.”

“What is this?” I asked as I opened the box. “Pizza? From a gas station?”

“It’s good.”

I closed the lid and sat it on the seat between us with everything else.

He didn’t say anything more as he pulled into traffic. Not long after, he turned down an unmarked road that hadn’t been paved in a while. It was rough and loud. The grass and weeds were encroaching on the asphalt. After another turn, he came to a stop in an empty parking lot.

The place was deserted. A yellow metal building sat off in the distance. Brown streaks ran from the roof and down the sides. It was fenced off, but some of it had fallen and was never repaired.

“What is this place? You going to kill me out here?” I joked, but it had that feel to it. Perfect horror flick location like the butcher shop. The South was kind of scary.

“Don’t be stupid. I’d hide your body in a swamp before I’d do it here.”

“Great. The swamp next on this tour?”

“Nah.” Wren opened his little box and bit off half the greasy pizza in one go. “Eat, Tate.”

I eyed the pepperoni-topped slice swimming in golden oil. “I’m not sure I want to.”

Wren chuckled. “It’s safe, I swear.”

I cautiously took a bite, then another. I hadn’t had breakfast, which might have had something to do with it, but it was actually okay. Wren finished it off for me when I sat down the half-eaten slice, then started in on the bag of peanuts.

“Here.” He handed me a few and showed me how to easily pop them open.

“Salty.” Much better than the pizza. “These are good.”

Wren chuckled. “Yeah.” He finished off the few in his hand, dropped the shells outside the window, and grabbed the brown bag. “Bring the Twizzlers.”

I followed Wren as he walked toward a few concrete picnic tables under a huge tree. The sun had bleached away any painted lines that might have been on the parking lot. Huge cracks had man-eating-sized weeds sprouting through them.

Wren’s T-shirt was already a bit sheer from sweat. He had those sexy traps going for him, and I gazed down to his narrow waist and cute-as-fuck ass bubbling up the back pockets of his shorts.

“Lots of people come out here to chill,” he said.

He took a seat on the table, feet on the bench, then pulled out two Cokes. I had never drunk soda much before moving here. I didn’t want to get in the habit.

“Those for you?” I asked and sat down on the other side of the brown bag.

“One is, and one is for you.” Wren pulled out a glass jar about a quarter full of something clear. “You’ll want more than water to chase this down.”

“What is that?”

He unscrewed the cap and held it out to me. I took it and sniffed.

“Oh, shit. That’s strong.” I coughed from the smell alone, and the insides of my nose burned.

Wren laughed. “Moonshine.”

“Get the fuck out.”

He took the jar back with a devious grin. Wren kept his eyes on me as he took a gulp until he couldn’t anymore and shut them tightly, his expression betraying how much it burned going down.

He handed the moonshine to me and reached for a Coke. “Welcome to the South, City Boy.”

The plastic cap cracked with a hiss as he opened it and chased the burn. The alcohol had to have seared his throat, even though he took it like a champ, but I was about to find out.

“Trying to get me drunk?” I asked, then tipped the jar to my mouth.

Holy shit! I coughed several times and heaved in a breath. The fucker laughed beside me as he handed me the other Coke.

“They just sell that shit anywhere around here?” I asked when I could speak again.

“No. You gotta know where and who. I’ve lived here all my life.” He held the jar a little higher. “This is Pete’s Special. His momma owns that gas station, and he was working today.”

“Pete’s a genius.”

Wren laughed and grabbed a Twizzler.

“Think he’d sell me cigarettes?” I still had some from the cartons I had bought before leaving New York, but those wouldn’t last until I could legally buy them.

Wren shrugged. “You should quit the habit anyway.”

“It’s the least of my concerns right now,” I mumbled.

He considered me for a moment. Just when I thought he’d pry for more information, he said, “I’ll ask Pete next time I see him.”

Thankful for the pass, I changed the subject to be sure we stayed off me and my bad habits. “So this is what you do down here. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He nodded. “Some days. Kids come out here a lot during the summer. Now that school’s back in, I figured it’d be empty.”

Wren took another drink from the jar while I pulled out my cigarettes. Smoking and drinking went together like champagne and strawberries.

He handed it back, and I took a generous sip, mind already buzzing. We stayed quiet for a few minutes as we traded off the Twizzlers and peanuts between us.

“You leave a lot of friends up there?” he asked without meeting my eyes.

“No.” I had left them a long time ago. My life had never been conducive to friends. The adults around me had only thrown me into situations with other adults. Social events, charity balls, that sort of thing. My old school had kids from high-profile families as well, and they would’ve understood. But I had never wanted to explain anything to do with my relationship with Mother or Franklin.

“Girlfriend?” he added.

Ahhhh, so this was where he wanted to go with it. I didn’t figure we needed labels by this juncture. Our flirting was well and truly past the point of was it or wasn’t it.

I faced him and waited for his gaze to lift from the oh-so-interesting Coke bottle to me. “I’m gay,” I said, leaving no room to misinterpret that.

“You leave a boyfriend, then?”

Well, shit. I hadn’t expected him to ask. I ducked my head for a second, then lifted it. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I had not pursued Franklin. And I still wasn’t sure how to categorize the relationship other than over.

“I broke it off before moving here.” For my side of it anyway, and that was as much of the truth as I would give. Franklin hadn’t stopped texting me. I got at least two a week. Maybe I hadn’t told him to leave me alone; ghosting him should be seen as the same thing.

“You got a girlfriend?” I asked, turning it back on him.

He shook his head.

“Boyfriend?”

“No!” Wren snapped too quickly. “No. No one. I’m—”

“You’re?” I prompted when he didn’t continue. If he was about to say he wasn’t gay, then I was about to call so much bullshit.

“I’m, uh.” He took another drink of liquid courage, then squinted his eyes shut as he exhaled. “I’m a virgin.”

Oh. That wasn’t where I saw this going.

“I’ve never kissed anyone or done anything.”

I took the jar back for my own hit of bravery. “Just so I’m clear, you are into guys, right?”

Wren’s head shot up, and he dropped his jaw. “Yeah, I mean, fuck. Did my dick not clue you in to that?”

I stared.

He stared.

Then we both snickered.

“Uh, okay, yeah, I got that message,” I said.

“Jesus,” he whispered and took another sip. “I’ve never actually said that to anyone.”

“Technically, you didn’t say it now.”

“Oh my God,” he huffed. “You’re an annoying asshole, and I’m gay, Tate. There. Happy?”

“Very.”

He took another drink from the jar. “Are you, uh, I mean, with a boyfriend, I reckon you’re not inexperienced like me.”

I shook my head and kept my voice low. “I’m not a virgin.” That fact had never hurt so much in my life.

He nodded and drank again without passing it first.

“You going to be able to drive?” I asked.

“Nah. You care?”

I forced a chuckle. “Nope, not at the moment.”

He handed me the jar and dropped his gaze to my mouth as I took another drink from it. To be fair, I had been doing the same to him.

We sat in silence for a while and finished off the moonshine. If it weren’t for the grease and salt, along with the Coke and Twizzlers, I would probably have thrown up. Instead, I had a good, solid buzz going.

At some point, the wind picked up and made it considerably cooler.

“That feels nice.” I had lain back on the table. My feet were still on the bench, and my hands were behind my head.

“It’s gonna rain soon.”

“Yeah? How do you know? Something they teach country boys?”

In a deliciously slow flex of muscle, Wren lowered himself until he stretched out beside me.

“See the leaves? The wind catches them and turns them upside down. You can tell it’s going to storm like that.”

“Should we go?” Getting caught in a storm had always been a dangerous prospect, so said Mother anyway. She probably had been referring to messing up her hair.

“You want to?”

“Nah.” I copied the word he used often, which made him snort. “Did you used to play football?”

“Huh? Since when are you into talkin’ sports?” Wren asked.

“I’m not, but Dylan mentioned you used to play. He’s in a few of my classes.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, I played. Down here, it’s all about football.”

“Why’d you stop?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t for me, I suppose. I like watching, don’t get me wrong. When I got a little older, it just seemed like a chore to get out there and play. I never minded doing physical activities in PE, but I’m not into it like Dylan or Alex.”

“You should definitely go the professional cello route after graduation.”

He had talent. I didn’t know much about music, but even I could see that. In band, the director gave him more attention, and at first, I thought it was because the teacher figured Wren needed it. That wasn’t it all. Wren was innately talented. He gave Wren that extra attention because out of any of them, Wren was the most likely to do something with it after school ended.

“Maybe, but I’ll need something to pay the bills first.”

I chuckled. “They pay cello players. You know that, right?”

“Must be some snooty shit they do in New York.” He cocked his head and winked.

I rolled my eyes. “It surprises me this state even exists.”

“Hey, we might wear Wranglers and cowboy boots to every occasion, but no one has more football national championship titles. If you don’t count Yale, and no one does.”

“Yeah, but not your team.”

“Shut the fuck up. We’re talking about the state.” I laughed again, and he grumbled, “How did you know that?”

“Dylan. I think he’s incapable of having a discussion about any other subject.”

“Dylan. Right.”

I nudged his hip. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Hmph,” he grunted.

Ten minutes later, it started pouring. Neither of us moved. Under the tree, we got hit with less of it, but the harder it got, the faster we were soaked.

“Why’s it so cold?” I asked. The natural blast in the face cooled my buzz, but I liked it.

“Because you’ve been sweating your balls off. Never been caught in the rain?”

We were practically yelling over the noise of it. Thunder rumbled overhead, and for a moment, I worried about the lightning. Wren seemed very unconcerned, so I tried to toughen up.

“No, actually. We have modern conveniences up north, like umbrellas and buildings. Rain is for heathens.”

“Sounds boring.”

I turned to face him with a smile, and his was already spread wide. “It really was.”

Wren tilted his head back. “They use to make dog food here, Parlo Manufactory or something. It smelled so bad the town voted to make them move.”

I mirrored him and checked out the building from upside down. “Creepy.”

“Kinda. We threw a Halloween party in there. Not that we were allowed to. It just happened. It’s a bunch of old, rusted-out equipment that was probably too heavy and worthless to take.”

We lay on our backs again. The rain poured on, the lightning crackled, and the thunder boomed. During one particularly loud rumble, I grabbed Wren’s arm. He laughed at me, of course, so I shoved him off with a mumbled “Asshole.”

The storm ran its course and dwindled to a nice cooling shower. Wren was quiet for so long I wondered if he had fallen asleep. When he finally spoke, it jolted me enough to believe I might have fallen asleep.

“The Wolf Pack was calling me World War.” I glanced his way just as he slid a fingertip down the scar on his cheek. “Because of the scar.”

“Sienna told me.”

He nodded and stared at the tree limbs over our heads. “We were coming back from Birmingham one night. Momma and Daddy had taken me to this junior musical competition. I hadn’t placed high enough for the second day of it, so we were heading home pretty late.”

He sighed before going on, and I held my breath. I had never asked Dad to fill me in, figuring if Wren wanted me to know, he’d tell me.

“I don’t remember much of the accident, but this semi got cut off and caused a huge pileup. We were right next to him. There were, like, ten cars all smushed together. It took them a while to get us out. Daddy died on impact, they said. A metal piece from the frame cut my face. I had glass stuck in my back and chest. And—”

I turned in his direction when he stopped. Wren wasn’t crying or anything, just staring straight up. He must’ve been buzzing pretty solid because I would never have thought he would tell me all that, but he never finished. Wren swallowed, his throat working hard over the movement.

“I’m sorry, Big Country.”

Wren snorted, almost smiled, then shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Still, though. Life sucks.”

“Yeah. Well, I can’t change how people see me. It’s taken a long time, but I’m not as sensitive as I used to be about it. Believe it or not. Still, I hate those guys. They started that shit in ninth grade and never stopped.”

“Bullies.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not the same, but I lost my grandmother when I was seven. She raised me until then.” Wren shuffled onto his side to face me as I went on. “I’d met my actual mother, of course, but I didn’t really understand her role in my life. Then my grandmother got sick, cancer, and when she died, I had to live with this woman who hated me more than she liked me.”

“Your momma hates you?”

I chuckled. “It’s funny hearing you call her ‘momma’ when I’ve always referred to her as Mother . She hates it when I call her that.” I shrugged. “Which is why I do it.”

Wren laughed softly.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her sober. She drinks and pops pills. All things considered acceptable in her social circles. She told me once that I was the reason her first marriage ended.”

“She said that?”

“Yeah, but I think she hated me before then. She never said as much, but I’m pretty sure that was why she reached out to my dad when she did. I think for a while, she might have intended for me to go live with him.” And I would’ve been much better off if I had.

“Why didn’t you?”

“She met a man, her second husband, and I think he liked that she was supposedly all maternal and shit. That didn’t last long. Probably because he realized she wasn’t at all. Then she met this last one.” No more. I couldn’t say one more word.

“Dad and I talked some, and I visited with him a few times.” I lifted my face to see his and grinned. “I saw the back side of you in one of their wedding pictures.”

Wren huffed. “Yeah, well …” He didn’t finish the thought, but I already knew. Wren hated being seen. “Sam’s a great man.”

“He is. Yeah, I know that. We’re getting there. Closer, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He fell to his back and wiped his face with both hands. “Well, shit, I guess we’ve both been fucked up along the way.”

A slow smile curled my lips as his words sank deeper. Our stories weren’t the same, but it was something we had in common. Pain. Confusion. Shame. Probably not the building blocks of easy relationships, but who needed easy?

Telling Wren about Franklin sat on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. I needed clarity about it in my own mind before I tried to explain it to anyone. And maybe there were parts of me too ashamed to admit how much I’d given in to. How much I’d been betrayed, blindsided, maybe even used or abused. I had been young when it started, and I was sure someone would find fault with that, but I never fought against Franklin. I knew what we were doing, and I never told him to stop for fear he might actually do just that. Stop caring. Stop showing me I mattered.

I shut my eyes tightly as the back-and-forth waged louder and louder with screams and accusations. Since that overheard conversation, every interaction for the past four years or more had been on repeat. My mind’s own opinionated voices cut and diced at every gesture, every phrase. What had he really meant all those times he said this? Was that his motivation when he did that? I couldn’t shut them up long enough to think properly.

“Do they hurt? The scars,” I blurted. Franklin had never hurt me, never left scars on my skin, but the ones on my soul still bled. I blinked away the tears quickly before he opened his eyes and caught me.

“Hurts to look at.”

I turned to my back and gazed at the clouds through the branches. The rain had turned into a soft sprinkle. The sun wasn’t back yet, but it already felt warmer.

“You’re wrong, Wren.”

After a long pause, he said, “I like it when you use my name.”

I turned my head once again. His faced me, and I reached for his hand on the table between us. I hooked my pinky over his, and then he hooked a finger over mine until all of them were slotted together.

“Wren,” I whispered.

His slow smile bloomed into the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.