Page 33 of His Country

“Your parents?”

Ethan’s lips quirked. “My dad chose self-preservation a long time ago and always agrees with my mother and my mom said, and I quote, ‘as long as one of you little assholes gives me grandkids, I don’t care who you’re bumping uglies with.’” He raised his voice in what Aiden hoped was a terrible impression of his mother’s voice. “I figured one of my brothers can take that bullet.”

Shaking his head, Aiden looked at him from the corner of his eye. “So you don’t want kids?”

Ethan grinned toothily. “Maybe when I’m all grown up.”

Aiden laughed at that; his head tossed back so far his hat slipped off. Ethan took the opportunity to bend forward and bite his neck, just under his ear. Aiden writhed, swatting back at Ethan because the assholeknewhe was ticklish there.

The assault on his neck continued until Ethan had Aiden flat on his back. Cold fingers found their way under all his layers and began tickling his ribs. Shrieking between bouts of laughter, he desperately tried to knock Ethan off, but he was pinned under his weight. His back hurt by the time the fingers, now warmed, stopped their brutal assault.

Catching his breath, Aiden opened his eyes to find Ethan looking down at him with a strange look on his face. His eyes were dark as they scanned his face, looking for something that had his mouth parted in a surprised gape.

Then he was kissing him. Hands wrapping around him to tug him close, mumbling something that sounded likefreckles. Aiden parted his knees so Ethan could fall between them, their chests flush. It felt so comforting to be under his weight, held together so he couldn’t shake apart.

When they kissed like this, Aiden didn’t panic. He couldn’t feel the incoming guilt or shame. There was no fire and brimstone. He isn’t smote where he stands. No echo of love the sinner hate the sin.

Because kissing Ethan doesn’t feel like a sin. It feels like going to church every Sunday. Waking up to the early morning light of a settled Sunday. Fresh coffee in the pot and a quick bite to eat as they rush out the door because they’re always late. Picking at the wrinkles in his nice dress shirt while his mother complains that he needs a haircut. It feels like walking into church, with the dust motes swirling in the colored light from the stained-glass windows and the musty smell of a hymnal never opened. It feels like tradition. Like safety.

It feels like the preacher telling him he is loved. That he is unequivocally understood because he was made the way he was supposed to be. That there is something out there beyond the dust on his boots and the bills in the mailbox.

It feels like hope. The fresh sigh of relief when he says his final amen. Like the moment he steps out of church there’s a new beginning. A new week. Another chance for things to go right.

Kissing Ethan feels like acceptance.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aiden eased the truck through the gate. It hung off it’s hinges, lopsided. The corner was half buried in the dirt, weeds clinging to the metal like a trellis. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here, but he knew the gate had been working then.

The drive was just tire tracks through the grass, and he followed them along fences held together with old nails and bailing twine. Not that their integrity mattered anymore—they’d sold the animals. Who knew the fences would last longer than they did?

There was a house and a barn, but driving through the property felt a lot more like visiting a graveyard than someone’s home. The garden along the porch had been left to grow wild and the front door was held open by a box. Out back a swing set sat rusted, the breeze kicking the lone swing back and forth.

Frank said the Hollis’ hadn’t even had time to put the place for sale before developers swooped in. They gave them a deal they couldn’t refuse. Soon these fields would house condos. Perfect rows of identical homes would stand where fields once grew wild.

Aiden didn’t see anyone, which was fine. He was just picking up a stock trailer Frank had bought off the family when theywere liquidating their assets. Said they’d probably move closer to Mrs. Hollis’ family near Topeka. Into a suburb.

As he backed the truck up to the trailer, he wondered if the change would kill Mr. Hollis like it did his dad.

Once the gooseneck was centered over the ball in the bed of the truck, he lowered a window for Sugar and moved to the back. Pulling out the crank he began lowering the trailer onto the ball. Once it was on, he climbed into the bed and locked it in place.

He looked up as he fastened the chains to see a boy sitting on the back porch, a ratchet clutched in his fist. As the kid stared off into the distance, he played with it, twisting it so he could hear the ratcheting sound.

There was something uncomfortably familiar about the look on his face. That defeated gaze of a kid who knew he was about to lose everything he’d ever known. Aiden had seen that look in his reflection more times than he could count. He’d been older when they lost their farm, but the look was the same.

Hopeless and lost.

And maybe this kid would be ok. He’d find friends and realize that moving away from the farm wasn’t so bad. His dad might be stronger than Aiden’s. Accept that they lost the farm but adapt for his family. His mom will find happiness doing whatever it is she couldn’t do when she lived out in the middle of nowhere.

But he shouldn’t have to. And if he did, it shouldn’t be because the county raised taxes so high people couldn’t pay them. Or insurance agencies dropped coverage people neededfor their loans.

Fight for the kids who were just like you.

Ethan’s words whispered at the back of his mind clear as he’d heard them the first time all those months ago. When he’d sucked the splinter from his palm and made him think beyond his own two feet.

He’d told him no and he’d meant it, but if he climbed down from this truck and walked over there, would he be able to look this kid in the eye? Or any of the kids like him? The families who were losing their way of life, helpless to the whims of people whose faces they’d never seen. Just their names typed on the bottom of a form letter.

But if Aiden stood up at that town hall meeting, looked those bastards in the eye and told his story, could he make a difference? He didn’t think so. Ethan did, though. He believed that Aiden had something to say, and after years of silence, of feeling beaten down by a system that was too big to comprehend, he was being given a chance to fight.