You're Always in the Last Place You Look (34 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I knocked softly on the door and Ruger exploded into full voice. Quickly opening the door, I shushed him. “You forget my truck, you dope.”

“It’s okay, I’m up,” Zane called, and I followed his voice to the kitchen.

“Is Smitty napping?” I asked, entering the kitchen and not finding him there.

Zane shook his head once. “Breanne came and picked him up a few minutes ago.”

He was sitting with his foot perched on the edge of his seat, dressed in bright purple tie-dye sleep pants and a red long sleeved tee. His attire drew my attention first, having never seen him in such bold colors, then my eyes clasped on the box of smokes he was flipping around, continuing on to the three pills on the table and the untouched glass of milk. The trail my eyes followed finally brought me to his face, a face marred with lines of incertitude.

“I woke up and you were gone. I wasn’t sure if you were coming back or not. So I’ve been sitting here waiting, afraid to move, afraid to think, afraid I might change the outcome somehow. I know that’s stupid, but I just felt if I did anything...butterfly effect I guess.” He tossed the cigarettes to the center of the table. “I don’t know why I bought them. I haven’t had a smoke since I went in.” Leaning back, he ran his hands up his face and across the top of his head, clasping them around the back of his neck. His eyes remained downcast, hidden beneath his short inky lashes.

“What did you mean earlier when you said you left believing, and returned knowing?”

“I left thinking I was doing the right thing, believing I didn’t need anyone and that you were better off without me.” He looked up then, his blue eyes so deep and troubled I knew I’d drown in them if I let myself. I took a mental step back, closing him off instead. “But you were right,” he said with quiet reverence.

“About what?” Pulling out a chair, I sat across from him, needing the space of the table between us so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him, comfort him, or, if I were being honest, forgive him too soon. Ruger plopped down next to me and slouched against my calf, laying his head in my lap. I began absently petting him.

Zane smiled and shook his head, a glimmer lighting his eyes. “I can’t believe that. Smitty told me about you rescuing him...” The smile faded. “But then you were always rescuing me, weren’t you?”

“I cared about you, that’s what people do when they care about someone.” I gave Ruger one last stroke before pointing to his bed in the far corner. With a grumble he ambled over and lay down.

Zane’s eyes darkened as he bowed his head. “You once said; you’re always in the last place you look. When I left I believed I belonged in Chicago, that my home would always be Chicago. I couldn’t...” he looked up again, his expression dire. “What kind of future could we have here? I thought I could be selfish, leave, forget ever being here. Forget you. But everything backfired on me. Nothing went right...” Crossing his arms over his chest he let out a cynical snort. He was shielding himself, yet the pain was there in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

Leaning my elbows onto the table, I asked, “Why’d you come back?” I hoped I knew the answer, but I needed him to say it, admit it to me and himself.

His eyes closed. “That should be obvious.”

I slammed a hand down on the table causing Zane to flinch, his eyes opening wide. “It’s not to me!” I slouched back in my chair, rubbing a weary hand across my forehead. “Damn it, Zane. You think you’re the only one hurting? You left me without even a note, a call, not even a fucking text. Do you know how that made me feel? The first person I ever loved rejected me. I wasn’t even worth a goodbye...” My hand shook, clamping down over my eyes as the verity of that statement hit home. I supposed letting anger be my guard hadn’t helped me see that too clearly. It was there now though, washing over me in hot waves of anguish.

“I wrote a note—about fifty of them actually. But nothing I wrote seemed right. I couldn’t find the right words, and I knew if you asked me to stay, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.” His voice became disconnected and solemn. “I had to go though. I never had a chance to say goodbye, Gabe. I needed to do that.”

I let my hand fall, and stared at the green faux marble tabletop for a second or two. “I would have gone with you, you know,” I said, hating that my voice came out weak, pitiful, hurt.

Bringing his feet onto the chair, he hugged his knees. “But what if I had stayed, you would have stayed too, and all boxed in you would have withered there. I couldn’t have handled seeing that, knowing I was the reason. I went through a lot of pain in order to find the truth, Gabe. To realize I no longer belonged in Chicago, that the only person I cared about, the only place I wanted to be, I had left behind.” His head canted, his eyes growing earnest. “It wasn’t the easiest way to learn a lesson, but had I done it any other way I’m not sure I would have understood how much I...I wanted to live.” His face crumpled, fighting some emotion he didn’t want to share. He itched his arm absently, then bowed his head. “It took almost dying again for me to realize that.”

My eyes narrowed, zeroing in until Zane was the only thing I could see, and he wasn’t looking at me. “What...is that? I don’t...What do you mean
again
?” I stammered, then waited, concentrating on the side of Zane’s face, the wrinkled brow, his frown, noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His hand wrapped the nape of his neck, covering part of the bandage along the crook. “What happened to your neck, Zane?” I swear the corner of his mouth quirked before he straightened his face and shook his head.

“This is self-inflicted.” He snorted softly. “I guess the other is too.” He swiveled and slid his feet back onto the floor, leaning his elbows on the table. “I, um, discovered I’m a horrid loner.” He picked at some lump, probably old jelly, on the table, seeming to be thinking what to say.

“Just tell me what happened...” I urged gently, knowing how fast he could shut down if he chose to.

He nodded, his shoulders tense and face tight. “I went up and cleaned out the cabin first, so Robert could put it on the market, then I stopped at the bridge to say my goodbyes. I didn’t want to go to the cemetery, you know? Their bodies might be there, but if we have souls then the bridge was where I would find them...where they might hear me. Anyway, I got caught in a rain storm, so by the time I reached my friend Cory’s place, all I wanted was a shower, a bed, and to be left alone. But before he even opened the door I could tell he was having a party. Then when he did open the door, I knew he had forgotten all about me coming. He stared at me like he didn’t even know who I was. Come to find out, he had rented the room he had promised me, and it was his new roommates welcoming party I had barged in on. He
graciously
offered up the couch, and I was so worn out I figured I could roll with it.

“But everything was catching up with me, and a few drinks later, I was folded into the corner of the couch completely unaware I was jerking like a spaz, and talking to myself. The crying probably didn’t help my case either.” Zane’s lips thinned, his forehead wrinkling as he shook his head. “Cory kicked me out, told me I was scaring everyone, and not to come back until I could act normal. I grabbed a bottle off the counter and left, figuring I’d stew in the truck for the night, and have it out with him in the morning.” He paused, fingering the three pills on the table.

I didn’t miss how steady his hand was. He’d obviously come to terms with what had happened. However I seemed to be having a problem with it. My hands shook. I just wanted to beat the living shit out of everyone that had been at that party, but none more than Cory. The asshole was no friend. He had to have known what Zane had been through. How could he treat him like that?

“He’s not worth whatever you’re thinking,” Zane said around the rim of his glass of milk.

I unclenched my hands, not sure when I had balled them up. “Trust me, he is.”

Zane’s face soured, but I think it was over the probably now warm milk. He glugged it all down and set the glass on the table, then belched. “Sorry...” His brow furled, a look of dreadful anticipation halted on his face. The same one he made right before throwing up when he had had the flu.

“Have you eaten anything?” It was obvious to me that somewhere through all this he had lost his enormous appetite, so I had to assume he hadn’t eaten much if anything.

“Sort of. I had a piece of bologna and some cheese. I’m okay.” He belched again then relaxed into a deep breath.

Once I was sure he wasn’t going to be sick, I asked, “What happened after you left Cory’s place?”

He blanched and I knew it wasn’t because of his stomach. “I drove to the house. I barely recognized it. The assholes had changed it so much.” Gulping, he rubbed his face. “To say I didn’t take the changes well. I ended up banging on the door, demanding to know where my dad’s carvings were, what the fuck happened to the landscaping...,” Zane swiped away the dampness slowly building in his eyes, “They called the cops even though I still owned the house. If the pig had searched my truck I would have been arrested instead of ending up in a hospital. I had an open container, my switchblade, pills. I’ve often wondered if they ever figured it out. That the manic trespasser was the same kid they found later that night. But he didn’t search my truck. Instead he let me go after explaining tenant rights. I guess I had no rights even though I had a contract stating they weren’t allowed to alter anything. It had become just a house. All parts of us had been hauled away, and wiped clean. My home, it was gone.

“I don’t know why I ended up in Boystown. It wasn’t as if I could get into the bars. I guess because it was familiar. I’d spent a lot of my youth just hanging on the streets, and around The Center, and I knew I wouldn’t be bothered there. I parked in the lane behind one of the clubs, drank and caught a bit of the more sensual side of Lake View. I’d been missing you since I left, but how much really hit me then.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Watching guys screw in an alley made you miss me?”

Zane blushed beneath a look of surprise. I smirked, not as naive as he thought me to be. Wanting to see where Zane had run to, knowing nothing about Chicago, I had stumbled upon several sites outlining Lake View, Chicago’s gay community, and the adjacent, not to mention legendary, Boystown. One page had been pretty explicit, catching some of the more tender—and often time’s lurid—moments that happened at, and around some of the clubs.

Zane smiled, just a small one, yet it was real. “There were these two boys, a little younger than us, and they were just walking around, a little awestruck I think, holding hands and stealing kisses in the shadows, not understanding no one would give them a second glance there.” The smile slipped, his voice growing solemn as he continued. “They reminded me of us in the beginning, and I began to feel the regret, the true sorrow of my actions. The tears finally came then, hot and heavy, blurring the boys out. I drank the bottle of rum dry watching them, and others. By the time the alcohol finally hit me I was a wreck, completely exhausted, and I basically passed out.

“I woke to a cop dragging me out of the cab. He’d smashed the side window to get to me.” A look of dazed confusion overcame him. “I couldn’t even remember cutting, I must have done it while I was drinking and feeling sorry for myself.” His jaw tensed and his eyes flitted to Ruger snoring on his bed. “The cut up my forearm was deep, and moving me started it bleeding again. By the time the ambulance made it there I was pretty much gone. Somehow they managed to bring me back though...Anyway they considered it a suicide attempt, and I don’t know, maybe in the back of my mind it had been.”

“Jesus, Zane,” I said on a harsh sigh. No pressure. Oh no, just because he’d tried to kill himself over leaving me, because I wasn’t there, because no one was there to stop him. Dropping my head into my hands another ragged sigh escaped. He bowed his head, trying to disappear into his hunched shoulders, seemingly and suitably chastised.

I raised my head, and his eyes met mine. I could see the confusion, the distress, the pain and embarrassment of what he had done swimming in their blue depths. I laid my hands flat on the table, and sighed again. Unwilling to berate him and make him feel worse than he already did, I chose my words carefully.

“Thankfully you lived, and I’m really glad you did—but, what else happened to warrant such a long stay at the mental hospital? I mean, isn’t it usually only three days for a suicide attempt?”

He cocked his head towards his shoulder as he nodded. Probably surprised I knew that. “It is, but Robert, my dad’s closest friend and the attorney in control of the estate, forced an addendum based on the mental stability clause in the will. He remanded a six week stay with daily therapy sessions. At that point I didn’t care what happened to me and agreed. But a few days later I was going crazy and couldn’t have cared less about the inheritance. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t hold food down, everything hurt, every joint, every muscle, and my head wouldn’t stop reeling. All I wanted was to come back here, back
home
, and beg you to forgive me. But they wouldn’t listen. What was done was done, and without you, I couldn’t...” His face scrunched up as he fought the urge to cry, his fingers pressing into his eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me?” To me, his attorney had been a Godsend, doing what he felt best. Had I been forced into a similar situation, I was sure I would have done the same thing. But even though he had to stay, he could have called me. I wouldn’t have judged him. And maybe I could have helped, offered my support—maybe even began to forgive him.