Looking for Trouble(10)

“Dylan. My name is Dylan, and no, fuck you! You ran after me, I’m going to finish. You don’t know what it’s like to watch that person get sick, to see someone you love fade away more and more each day, to hold them and take care of them and know that you’re going to fail in this as well and that no matter what you do they’re going to die.”

Each of his words squeezed Clay’s heart, ripped it from his chest. Gordon was there, freeze frames in his mind, stealing his breath. The kid was wrong. Clay did know what that part felt like. He didn’t know what it was like to watch someone die that way, but he understood the end result all too well.

“This is the one fucking thing I didn’t want to screw up, the one thing I was going to get right for him, but what did I do? Drove his car across the country and into the ground, right before I tried to fuck his ex-best friend… Jesus.” Dylan grabbed his hair, fisted the strands between his fingers and screamed, “Fuck!” at the top of his lungs. He threw his hands up, then let them fall against his sides. “I just wanted to do this for him. He’s dead, I know that. He’ll never know, but I just… I didn’t want to screw this up. I wanted to do this for my dad.”

It was as if his legs gave out on him then. Dylan fell, just crumpled to the gravel, his body heaving as a loud sob tore from the back of his throat. “He’s gone…fucking gone…gone…” he said over and over.

Clay didn’t recall acknowledging what he was doing, didn’t know if he’d actually made the decision or if his body had just taken over. He closed the distance between them, lowered himself to the ground, and wrapped his arms around Dylan. “Shh. It’s okay.”

“Get off.” Dylan tried to shove at Clay. He loosened his hold so Dylan knew Clay wouldn’t force anything on him, but he didn’t let go completely and didn’t pull away. He felt like Dylan’s tears were his own, as if they were sharing them because of what they had both lost.

Clay knew what it was like to lose the most important person in the world to you. He knew what it was like to feel as if you’d let people down because he’d felt it with Mike…with April, with Renée, and in some ways even with Gordon.

Dylan clutched the front of Clay’s shirt, and for a moment he thought the boy was going to push him away, only he didn’t. Dylan pulled him closer, held on, and continued to cry.

Clay wondered if maybe this was the only time he’d cried since he lost his father. What about friends? Lovers? Hell, his mother? Who did Dylan have, and why did he feel as if he’d let Mike down so much?

A car drove by, slowing. A man rolled the window down and asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, he’s not feeling too well. I’m going to take him home.” Clay waved him off, and the car pulled away. “Here, come on. I got you. Let me take you back to your motel,” he told Dylan. He couldn’t want anyone to see him like this. Clay knew he wouldn’t.

“I’m fine,” Dylan replied, but his body said differently. He leaned into Clay, still held his shirt tight in his grip.

“No, you’re not, and that’s okay.” Clay stood, lifting the smaller man in his arms. Dylan twined his fingers around Clay’s neck.

“I’m sorry. God, what’s wrong with me?”

He needed someone, needed someone in ways Clay likely did too, only he wouldn’t be as brave as Dylan was right then. He would never be able to let go the way Dylan was. He held it in, used his body for sex when he needed physical contact, and that was the extent of it.

Except for right now…for this.

But this was for Dylan, not himself.

Clay carried Dylan to his truck and set him in the passenger seat. More tears ran down his face, as if they were racing, as Dylan let himself cry more.

“You’ll be good, kid.” He patted Dylan’s head. What the fuck was wrong with him? He had no fucking clue why he was treating Dylan this way, and the truth was, Clay didn’t know if he would be fine. How could he? Most of the time he didn’t feel fine himself.

He walked around to the driver’s side, his heart in his throat as he did so. Dylan’s words were there, this painful echo in his head, twining with Dylan’s connection to Mike, Clay’s past with the man, and his issues outside of that.

When he got into the truck and saw Dylan again, there was what almost felt like a hint of envy sparking inside him, which was crazy to even think. The man was devastated at the loss of his father. How could Clay envy him?

Because he’s letting go. Because he’s letting it out.

“Where are you staying?”

Dylan told him.

The drive to the motel was quiet, the only sounds the rumble of Clay’s truck and the soft sobs coming from Dylan.

Clay got out of the car, walked to the passenger door, and opened it.

“What room?” he asked, strangely wondering if Dylan had felt his breath against his forehead.

“I can get myself in fine. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough for one night.” Dylan climbed out of the truck, and Clay closed the door behind him. He didn’t know why, but he followed Dylan as he went to room number three.

The door stuck as Dylan tried to open it. This definitely wasn’t the nicest motel in Bailey Springs. Not that there was a whole lot of them to choose from, but Dylan was staying in the oldest.