Bad Boy Blues(51)

It’s Zach. He has them in his grip and I go to protest but he slides them all in the rack, shuts the door and hits start, whirring the magic appliance to life.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him.

He shrugs, his jaw clamped. “It’s nothing.”

“Um, and thanks for talking to Art,” I begin. “About everything. I just… I’ve tried to teach him a few things myself. And Doris, she talked to the teachers about the bullying and it was okay for a while. But no one can watch these kids 24/7. So, I’m sure he appreciates that.”

He traces my face with his gaze before stopping at my parted lips for a beat. Lifting his eyes, he says, “If the kid needs to learn, he should go right to the source, shouldn’t he?”

I go to say something but Zach doesn’t wait. He spins on his heels and walks away, only to come to a halt by the island.

Giving me his profile, he says, “You should eat something, too.”

Again, he doesn’t wait for my acknowledgement. He takes off but I’m not ready for him to leave yet so I follow him out of the kitchen.

But Art beats me and insists that Zach stay some more to watch a movie with us. God, I love that little guy.

I’m not even going to lie and say that I know what’s happening on the screen. I don’t. I’m more interested in how Art seems to lean toward Zach with every passing scene and how Zach throws his arm on the back of the couch as if to remind Art that he’s there to catch him if Art ever tips over in his excitement.

Doris texts saying that she’ll be a little later than usual and that she’d be grateful if I’d put Art to sleep. She’ll come get him after work.

I agree. Art’s stayed overnight in my room before so it’s not an issue at all.

I’m tucking Art into bed when he says, “Can Zach read me the story tonight?”

I freeze.

It’s like all of these feelings inside of me that were churning and expanding and ballooning, all of them come to a sudden halt, pressing against my chest in a painful way.

“Please?” Art says again, turning on his side and cupping his hands under his cheek. “It would be so much fun.”

I’m so rattled that I don’t know what to say. Or how to say it.

I can feel Zach, again, standing at the threshold. As if this is a different world from his and he’s not allowed to enter.

I cover Art up with the blanket and decide to make an excuse. “Uh, you know, Art, Zach –”

“Not tonight, buddy.” Zach’s voice cuts me off.

“Why not?” Art’s face is about to crumple and that pain in my chest intensifies.

For Zach.

“Because I gotta go.”

“Oh.” Then he beams sleepily at Zach. “Next time, maybe?”

“Yeah.” Zach clears his throat. “Next time.”

He’s lying; I know that. I can feel it. In fact, I think he’s been evading, lying, avoiding this thing for a very long time. Probably all his life.

A second later, I hear him leave. Third time this evening and all I can think is not yet. He can’t leave yet.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell Art, who looks kinda surprised at Zach’s abrupt departure.

I rush to the dresser, pick up the first book I see, and all but throw it at Art. “Read this until I come back.”

I run out of the room and find Zach at the door. “Wait!”

Zach stops before slowly turning around and facing me.

It’s a little scary to say the things I want to say to him when he looks like that. By that, I mean his usual self. Arrogant, cruel and like he wants to crush me with his bare hands.

“Oh!” I jump in my spot. “I’ve got something for you.”

I run into the kitchen and with shaking hands, I open one of the drawers and retrieve what I want to give him. When I turn around, he’s right there. In my personal space, trapping me between him and the counter.

This is the closest he’s been to me tonight. But he’s not close enough.

Not like he was last night.

I extend my arm toward him. “Here. I bought this for you.”

He doesn’t even look at what I’m offering him. “You bought something for me.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“A few days ago.”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

I glance down at my hand. “You can look for yourself.”

“I want you to tell me.”

Keeping my head down, I set my offering on the counter and fold my hands in front of me. “Chewing tablets.” I stare at my bare feet and his booted ones.

“Chewing tablets.”

His boots are big, large. I wiggle my toes. They feel small and vulnerable against his boulder-sized shoes.

I feel small and vulnerable.

“Yeah. Tobacco chewing tablets. I stole your pack and so I kinda wanted to replace it. But then I remembered that I’m against smoking. So I bought these. It’s supposed to help you with the cravings.”

I’m still looking at the floor, fiddling with the hem of my loose, off-the-shoulder t-shirt, tucking the strands of my hair behind my ear.

“Are you saying you bought me these because you wanted to make my life easier?”