Page 83

Colin

O ne month later

“I don’t want you to stay.”

Colin glanced up from the box he was tearing tape from to the phone he had propped up across from him. Jay’s earnest face looked back at him from the screen, his expression something dangerously close to a pout.

Colin sighed. “I know, short stack. I don’t really want to stay either.” He opened the box to find it full of comics—that explained the weight of it—as well as a few of his spare drawing pads.

He’d asked Jay to send him more of his belongings to tide him over for the foreseeable future.

He’d packed hastily last month, filling a duffle bag as best as he could with some number of clothes and toiletries, but he hadn’t thought beyond the bare minimum.

He’d been in a panic, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. Had he really been supposed to think about practicalities?

Jay’s version of “necessities” was interesting to see though. Like the giant knit blanket taking up an entire box, one Colin couldn’t hope to make use of midsummer in Tucson. But then again, Jay wouldn’t feel the heat like Colin did.

“I don’t understand,” Jay said, his voice dangerously close to a whine. “You said he was better now.”

“He’s getting better,” Colin corrected. “He’s out of the rehab facility and working regularly with physical therapy. He’s hoping to switch from his walker to his cane soon.”

It had been one of the worst moments of Colin’s life, the phone call telling him his father had suffered a stroke, that he was in the hospital for they didn’t know how long, working to get they didn’t know how much function back.

His whole right side had been paralyzed at first, and Colin had seen in his father’s eyes how much he’d feared it would stay that way.

It had been humbling beyond belief, to see that kind of terror in someone he loved.

“Then why aren’t you coming back? ”

“Because I worry,” Colin explained, shoving the box back with the others he’d opened.

He didn’t have it in him to unpack it just yet.

“There’s increased risk of another event in the early days.

He doesn’t have anyone else. Plus, he’s still weaker on one side.

My lease in Hyde Park is only month-to-month. I can come back, just not now.”

“But Alicia will be manager then!” Jay practically wailed. “What about your career?”

Colin paused to turn and stare at Jay’s face on his phone again. “I’m sorry…you think working at Death by Coffee is my career ?”

“You’re such a good manager,” Jay told him, his gray eyes shining with sincerity.

Colin really wasn’t, was the thing. He spent most of his time drawing in the back, when he didn’t have to be on the register.

He was short with customers and surly with staff.

Alicia was probably throwing a rager that very moment to celebrate his continued departure.

But all that would mean nothing to Jay. Colin sighed.

“There’s a lot of coffee shops in Tucson. My ‘career’ will be fine.”

When Jay looked no less distraught, Colin grabbed his phone, holding it close to his face to meet Jay’s concerned gray eyes. “Jay. Short stack. My dude. My dad needs me right now.”

Jay spent a few more seconds staring at him plaintively, then sighed loudly before shoving what looked like a handful of Skittles into his mouth. “I know,” he said after chewing, his voice small. “I’m sorry. I’m being very selfish.”

It was kind of touching, actually. Selfish wasn’t a word Colin would usually ascribe to Jay, the most effortlessly kind person Colin had ever met. Maybe Jay really did miss him, then.

“It’s just—” Jay bit at his lip, clearly still battling his emotions. “You’re my best friend.”

That stopped Colin short, something warm filling his chest. “Um. I am?” He’d known Jay was his best friend, but with how popular the little vampire was, he hadn’t thought it was mutual.

“Yes!” Jay said emphatically. “You and Soren and Danny and Alexei. Oh! And Izzy—”

Ah, there it was.

“Izzy, as in, Jamie’s little sister? The thirteen-year-old?”

“Yes. We FaceTime.”

Colin bit back a smile. “So many best friends. How do you find the time?”

Jay waved airily, his fist clutching another handful of Skittles. “I need very little sleep. You know this.”

“Of course.”

Colin didn’t sleep much either, but it wasn’t because he didn’t need it.

He just sort of… couldn’t …a lot of the time.

Not since middle school. And he wasn’t a vampire like some people he knew, so he didn’t exactly bounce back the next day, full of energy.

His brain was usually foggy, and his body fatigued easily (not that he was the pinnacle of manly strength to begin with), and the insomnia would probably shorten his life span in the end.

So bully for human weakness, he supposed.

“We’ll keep FaceTiming too,” he promised.

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Jay looked skeptical, cocking his head like a little sugar-addicted bird. “You don’t always answer when I call though.”

“Well, sometimes you call me five minutes after we’ve just spoken.”

“That’s five extra minutes to remember something I wanted to tell you.”

That almost drew a laugh out of Colin. He was going to miss Jay, and he didn’t have a lot of people he could say that about.

He’d liked the little weirdo from the moment he’d met him.

Most people put on a front, either to impress others or to protect themselves or to have some sort of sense of control over their interactions.

Colin couldn’t even blame them for it—he was the same way.

But that didn’t keep it from being tedious and predictable.

But Jay didn’t put up that wall. He was just himself. And who he was happened to be kind and enthusiastic and better than most other people around them. His one big secret—his vampirism—he’d spilled to Colin within a few weeks of knowing him.

But Colin couldn’t go back just yet. Yes, things were better. Thanks to a neighbor being over for coffee at the time, his dad had gotten incredibly speedy intervention. Combined with great medical staff and a huge helping of luck, and a month later he’d gotten back most of his original function.

And yes, they’d caught the irregular heartbeat that had caused the clots that had moved to his brain in the first place, and he was on blood thinners now…

but it was still new and terrifying, and Colin wasn’t going to be an entire state away if anything happened again while his dad was still recovering.

He was staying in Tucson.

He’d come back home.

If only home wasn’t such an absolute shithole.

Not his dad’s actual house. It was homey as ever, the same single story they’d lived in ever since Colin’s mom had passed away in middle school.

And Tucson itself was pretty okay as a city, he had to admit (sometimes, with great reluctance, when absolutely pressed).

There was the appropriate number of weirdos and actual community-focused activism and a decent music scene and all the other stuff Hyde Park was missing.

It wasn’t Tucson’s fault it was the host of all Colin’s worst memories.

But opening the back door to the July sun had him remembering one of the key reasons he’d left.

This heat. This goddamn, motherfucking heat .

Just the feel of it on his skin had Colin wanting to pack up all those newly opened boxes into his car and speed off back to the mountains. But he’d survived eighteen years of it; he was sure he could survive one or two— God, please not two —more.

He spotted his dad immediately, sitting in one of the patio chairs tucked into the shade, as if that could ameliorate the triple-digit temperatures currently plaguing them.

It was still a punch to the gut, the way he now looked twenty years older than the last time Colin had visited Tucson, the time before the stroke.

His dad had always been strong, built tougher than Colin, despite their other physical similarities.

His dad shouldn’t be allowed to look anything less than formidable.

But it was worlds away from how frail he’d looked in that hospital bed—his skin ashen, his eyes dulled, only half his face capable of changing expression—so Colin supposed he should be grateful.

“Hey, Pop.”

His dad twisted in his chair to give him a slight, lopsided frown. “You better not have been unpacking those boxes.”

“Just giving them a look-through.”

They had a stare-off, then. Normally Colin could keep it up forever, but his long avoidance of desert temperatures had him at a slight disadvantage. He was pretty sure sweat was going to be dripping into his eyes at any second.

Luckily his dad took pity on him, grabbing at his walker and rising from the chair before turning in a neat circle to face the back door. “You never could take the heat,” he said over his shoulder. “Come in for some water before you faint on my patio.”

Colin followed his dad into the house, closing his eyes briefly in gratitude for the cool burst of air-conditioning. They made their way into the kitchen, an outdated specimen his dad was always threatening to remodel and never had.

His dad shuffled to the refrigerator. “You want water or juice?”

Colin couldn’t remember the last time his answer had been juice. He’d probably been, what, nine years old? But his dad always asked. “Water’s fine.”

They sat at the table, sipping at their water, the silence pregnant with words unsaid. Colin’s dad clearly had something on his mind, but it never worked well to push him. He’d say what he wanted to say when he wanted to say it.

His dad grabbed his free hand, ignoring Colin’s flinch at the unexpected contact. “It’s been good to have you here, bubba.”

Colin raised a pierced brow. “Not too good, clearly, if you don’t want me unpacking.”

His dad shook his head slightly. “I’m fine, you know.”

“I know.” Colin sipped at his water again. He could wait his dad out, until he got whatever this was off his chest. He was in no hurry. He had nowhere to be, did he?

He didn’t have to wait long. His dad squeezed his hand. “You’ve been happy in Hyde Park.”

Colin shrugged a shoulder. “Happy enough, I guess.”

“And I’m fi—”

Colin cut him off. He could be patient, yes, but he wasn’t going to listen to any more fines . “You had a stroke, Pop. You’re still healing. You don’t need to tell me you’re fine.”

His dad stared him down again. His eyes looked tired, although they were the same deep, warm brown as ever.

Colin had gotten his mother’s eyes, the kind that couldn’t decide if they were blue or green from one day to the next.

Everything else had been his dad. They had the same wiry frame, although his dad’s belly had that little pooch that age gave men of their build.

The same light-brown hair, when Colin’s wasn’t covered with hair dye.

The same stubbornness too.

Another hand squeeze. “I love you, bubba. I’m proud of you. Your mom would be proud of you.”

Colin drained the last of his water and set down his glass, unsure what to do with this little emotional side street. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the words, but he knew they were meant to soften the blow of whatever was coming next. “Okay,” he said blankly.

“But you can’t keep staying here.” His dad held up a hand when Colin opened his mouth to protest. “You can stay in Tucson, obviously. I get that I’m not winning that argument. But you’re not living with me anymore.”

Colin rubbed at his face with his free hand. “Seriously?”

“There will be a time in the future, maybe much sooner than we’d thought, where I’ll need you to take care of me like that.

But it’s not now. I have a nurse that comes by daily.

And Molly next door has come by at least that often, pretending she needs a cup of sugar, just to keep an eye on me.

How many cakes does that woman expect me to believe she’s baking?

” He fixed Colin with an uncharacteristically stern look.

“You haven’t so much as left this house beyond grocery shopping this entire month.

You haven’t checked in with any of your old friends.

I’m not going to let you use me as an excuse to withdraw from life completely.

You’ll find a place, preferably with roommates. Ones your age. I can pay.”

“ I can pay. Jesus.” Colin fiddled with his bracelets as he took all that in.

So he’d been a bit of a hermit this past month—so what?

There were people in this town he didn’t want to see.

He didn’t think he was using this dad as an excuse to isolate completely, but who the fuck really knew.

He’d never been very good at figuring out what direction he was facing when it came to his life, either his past, present, or future.

For as long as he could remember, he’d felt like he was waiting for something. Something…more.

But more never came, did it? He’d thought he’d caught a glimpse of it, those days when Jay used to feed on him. He’d had a taste of something that felt larger than life. But it hadn’t lasted long. Had been snatched away like everything else good in this world.

And it wasn’t like he could even articulate what “more” was. He’d never been able to.

He tapped his fingers on the kitchen table, cocking his head at his dad. “Hey. Did you know vampires are real?”

His dad broke into a sincere grin then, the lopsided nature of which twisted Colin’s gut only a little. “I’ve missed you, bubba.”

It was Colin’s turn to grab his dad’s hand. “I’m going to be coming by every day.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Am I allowed to stay the night, or should I plan on sleeping in my car?”

His dad rolled his eyes, the grin still on his lips. “You can stay. But no unpacking those boxes.”

Colin rose to follow orders, pausing when his dad didn’t let go of his hand, keeping him in place. He pointed his chin at Colin’s hair. “I like the blue, by the way. I never got a chance to tell you. Very hip. Very cool.”

Oh God. This dork.

A surge of love ran through Colin, strong enough to make his answering smile quiver. He’d missed his dad too.

“Every single day,” Colin promised.