Page 14

Mason

Something’s wrong. I don’t know what’s wrong or even how I know something’s wrong, but I can’t shake the feeling.

The sense is so strong that I start getting a stress itch in my arm. An angry red line appears on my right bicep, its shape twisting and curling in on itself. Fuck, do I have ringworm or something?

I don’t even make it to the coffee shop for work. My gut screams at me that I can’t leave, that I have to go back home.

So I do, and the devastation in my heart when I get there shatters me.

Whoever came to my house didn’t bother closing the door after they busted the lock. It hangs open, gently batting against the jam in the light fall breeze. The scene chills me to the bone as I realize that the vandal didn’t pick an empty house.

Jax is in there. Alone. As a pumpkin.

I don’t have any weapons on me, but I stuff my keyring in my palm with the keys jutting out from between my fingers, curling my hand into a fist. As long as the scumbag who broke in doesn’t have a gun, I should have a chance to stop them before they find and hurt Jax.

Creeping through the open front door, I stalk through my house in search of the intruder, in search of Jax.

My heart falls into an endless abyss as I come up empty on both.

Whoever broke in took Jax. My kitchen table is as bare as always, no pumpkin boyfriend, who I know I left there not even an hour ago. He couldn’t have wandered away.

The wind through the door catches a piece of paper on the floor, and I bend to pick it up. It’s a business card. Who leaves their fucking business card at a crime scene? I squint at the tiny gold lettering on the orange background, then I cringe as realization hits.

A crotchety old man might leave his business card at the scene, an old man with a family curse and an attitude problem.

Oh, Jax. What’s Robert going to do with you? I can only pray he won’t hurt Jax, but I can’t guarantee that. I mean, he took Jax away from somewhere warm and safe. Who does that to their own grandkid?

Calm down, Mason. Jax isn’t a kid anymore.

He’s … Fuck, I don’t think I even know how old he is!

There’s no doubt he’s an adult—you don’t get fucking built like that when you’re under eighteen—but I don’t know his actual age.

I feel like an asshole of a boyfriend for that.

We haven’t had a ton of time together where we were both human, but I should’ve asked what his birthday was.

Well, Robert’s about to find out what a mistake he made. I’m about to go to Gallagher’s Farm and steal my man back, no matter what it takes.

I leave again in such a rush that I don’t even close my front door behind me. I don’t waste a second, not even taking the time to change out of my coffee shop polo shirt. I need to find Jax and bring him home with me, where he belongs.

My anxiety grows the longer the car drive takes.

Halloween traffic is thick today, despite the early hour, and I have to take care to dodge kids in costumes riding their bikes to school, parties, wherever they’re going dressed like little demons and clowns.

Each red light, each traffic jam, each little hiccup in my journey sends a fresh pool of worry to sit in my stomach.

I’m gonna need some antacid when I get Jax back.

Finally, after what feels like forever but was probably only about twenty minutes, I pull up to the curb in front of Gallagher’s Pumpkin Farm. I don’t bother with the parking lot, don’t even bother to cut the engine.

Robert’s lucky I put the damn thing in park.

I rush through the crowded throng of patrons in search of the perfect pumpkin for the festivities, elbowing my way past middle-aged witches and dodging pint-sized Pokémon with a singular goal: That perfect pumpkin, the gourd I’d recognize anywhere, sitting on a grandiose display at Robert’s back.

To my relief, there’s no evidence that Robert carved into Jax.

He’s decorated my man in gaudy puff paint that’s already starting to peel off in places, but nothing looks cut or carved.

The crooked, hastily drawn Jack-O-Lantern grins at me from across the way, and bits of sequin glitter in the early morning sun.

Robert may be a decent pumpkin salesman, but the dude cannot decorate one to save his miserable life.

He’s ruined Jax’s perfect appearance with all the glue and paint and …

Did he seriously glue fucking pumpkin leaves to Jax’s pumpkin non-crotch?

I can’t believe it. Robert is certifiably insane. I have to rescue Jax from this delusional bastard.

Robert spots me a few seconds before I reach Jax, and he spins around to grab my boyfriend off the display. I leap over the counter and land next to the old man, lunging for the pumpkin in his arms.

“Fucking give him to me, Robert!” I shout, grabbing Jax and getting smeared with wet puff paint and smelly glue in the process.

“Get off me, ya brute!” He latches onto Jax with an iron grip, and we start a violent tug-of-war in front of everyone. “It’s my feckin’ pumpkin, and I’ll do what I want wi’ it!”

I could almost laugh at being called a brute. Pansy, fag, fairy, twink, I’ve heard a slew of insults slung at me in my day, but brute? Never.

“He’s more than just a fucking pumpkin, and if you’re too blind to see that, then you don’t deserve him!” My face burns with anger as I try to wrench Jax out of Robert’s hands. Just a little more …

Robert plays dirty, though, and his knee connects with my crotch with bruising force. I gasp for air as my world shrinks to a concentrated zone of pure pain.

“Stop,” I wheeze. “Please, Robert. Don’t hurt him.”

The old man scoffs and jabs an elbow in my ribs, knocking even more air from my already strained lungs. “Can’t hurt ‘im anymore. He ain’t a ‘im anymore, anyway. Weren’t much of a man to begin with. Ain’t nothing left now.”

Shouts and gasps erupt from the crowd as our fight draws more and more attention. I can only imagine what it must look like.

His words spark a fresh fire inside me. Nobody talks about Jax like that, grandfather or not! I redouble my efforts to get Jax free as Robert tries another dirty trick by biting at my ear. Jerk.

“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!” I shout as loud as my pained lungs will let me. “And I love him!”

My words echo as Robert lets go, shock forming his wrinkled mouth into a wide O. Because I was pulling backwards so hard, my momentum carries me back away from Robert …

… And my arms lose their grip on Jax.

I freeze for just a fraction of a second, but it’s a fraction of a second too long.

Jax starts to fall to the ground.

Time moves agonizingly slow. I scramble to regain my grip on Jax, but I can’t seem to get my arms to move right. Why can’t I just grab him?

As his pumpkin form nears the ground, a bright light envelops him. I have to cover my eyes to protect them, and my heart sinks into a deep abyss as I fall to my knees next to the carnage I can’t bear to see.

I failed. I didn’t save him from Robert, didn’t keep him safe from harm, and now he’s …

“Mason?”

My eyes fly open at the familiar voice, at the deep rumble of my name on Jax’s tongue.

Jax’s human tongue!

He’s covered in paint, glitter, and glue, but he’s alive–he didn’t burst into a million pumpkin bits when he hit the ground.

I didn’t kill him.

With all personal, professional, and public protocol already thrown out the window in my fight with Robert, I tackle Jax right where he lies and throw my arms around him, sobbing like a maniac.

Puff paint further stains my shirt and smears my face as I bury it in Jax’s chest. Plastic rattles as he shifts position to return my desperate hug, and it takes me a second to realize that the sound is from the copious pumpkin leaves Robert glued to his …

Oh. That’s gonna hurt to take off later.

“Jax! Jax, I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I realized you were gone. I’m so sorry.” I babble nonstop as I hold him so tight I wonder if they’ll have to peel me off of him like the leaves.

“Shh, Mason, shh. It’s okay. You saved me, baby. Stop apologizing.”

“But I dropped you! I—"

His kiss ends my lament, and it makes everything right with the world.

“You saved me,” he reiterates when we come up for air, cupping my cheeks in his palms. “Do you understand that? I would have been a pumpkin forever … or however long I managed to last off the vine.”

The look of utter adoration is enough to melt me.

When he says, “I love you, Mason,” in that hushed, reverent tone, I’m surprised I don’t literally melt.

Nothing else matters. No one else matters. Just the two of us, tangled on the ground and covered in puff paint and glitter.