Chasing Forever Read online

  Brian checked inside his closet; his suits and shirts had been shoved aside, but none were missing. Frowning, he counted his shoes. All there. He checked the bathroom next, but couldn’t figure out any whats or whys.

  Anger giving way to concern, uncertainty fizzing beneath, he stepped back into the upstairs hallway. “Josh? You here?”

  Silenced answered. Had Josh gone out? He hadn’t said he might. And where would a fourteen-year-old go at midnight, anyway?

  He has all your cash and your cards.

  Pulling out his cell phone, Brian brought up his banking app and logged in. He could see a list of transactions that day. The grocery store. The bookstore. Transactions from earlier in the week: Clothing for Josh. Shoes for Josh.

  A creeping sensation inched over the back of Brian’s scalp. He returned to his bedroom and checked the closet again—focusing on the space between the disturbed suits and shirts. His gym bag was missing.

  Josh had . . . left?

  The next emotion to hit Brian made no sense: loss. He felt as though he’d failed a test. Tucking his phone into his pocket, Brian jogged back downstairs, pausing long enough to exchange his jacket for a heavier coat and hat, then headed outside.

  Okay, if he was fourteen and had a bag of clothes and a pocket full of cash and cards, where would he go?

  Brian checked King Street in both directions and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back toward the Green. On a warm day, some of the town’s nonresident population used the benches for a nap. But it was after midnight and cold. There were a few places in Morristown that provided overnight shelter, but they all locked their doors at ten. And why would Josh leave Brian’s house for a shelter on New Year’s Eve? Why not wait for morning, and then go?

  Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Brian walked back toward the center of town. Would Josh have gone home? If so, why take his new stuff? Maybe Ellen didn’t buy him much. He pulled out his phone again and dialed Ellen’s number. His call went to voice mail.

  “Josh ran off tonight. I don’t know where he is. Listen, he’s recovering from a cold and shouldn’t be out in this weather. If he turns up at your place, will you text me? I need two words: he’s here. You don’t need to talk to me. Just text me.” He took a breath. “Have you listened to any of my messages? Do you even use this phone?” She must. The voice mail was still set up, so someone was paying the bill. “Text me, okay?”

  He texted Josh next, at his old number and the new one they’d set up yesterday.

  No answer.

  Pocketing his phone, Brian checked where he was and took a right on South Park before stopping in front of Family Promise. As he’d known it would be, the big house was quiet and dark. Closed for the night. They might have had a party of their own inside, but now, this far after midnight, everyone was sleeping because who knew where they’d be tomorrow?

  A sound caught his attention, and Brian turned southeast again, feeling as though he were in a dream. It was the train. The quiet shriek of its wheels attenuated by the distance and the cold. Even though it was louder at his place, he’d become used to the sound.

  Josh had said he’d arrived by train. Would he try to leave the same way? How late did the trains run on New Year’s Eve?

  Though it was probably useless, Brian broke into a careful run. He was only a few blocks from the station. He should have gone there first. But if Josh had left his place early, then he’d already be gone.

  Don’t be gone. Don’t be gone!

  Brian ran down Morris Street, past the supermarket they’d been at only a few hours earlier, across the parking lot, and into the station. The train was gone. He’d heard it leave, heading toward Dover. Unless Josh planned to run away to the country, he wouldn’t have been on it. How often did the trains run back to the city at night, though?

  His shoes were not made for running and his shins ached by the time he reached the platform. The half-light was ghostly, old-style lanterns buzzing beneath larger, overhead lights that fell in regular spots along the length of the tracks.

  “Josh?”

  Brian strode from one end of the platform to the other. No figures huddled on the benches, and why would they? It was cold. He went back to the main building. The ticket office was closed. No surprises there, and according to the schedule, no trains ran back to the city after midnight. Last one had been at ten thirty. They kept running out to Dover until nearly two in the morning, though. He scanned the platform again, then tried the door to the commuter lounge. It opened with a soft creak and the scent of concrete dust, old wood, and disinfectant.

  A shapeless bundle covered one of the benches at the back, the only clue to its identity a tuft of blue hair sticking out of the top.

  Brian’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he dug it out, waking the screen. He had a text. Three words.

  He’s not here.

  “No kidding.” Brian kicked the bench in front of him and swore again as his toes cracked inside his black leather dress shoe. “Goddamn it!” He danced on one foot, hissing, and thought about throwing his phone. Again. Ellen wouldn’t feel the crash, though. Instead, he tucked it inside his pocket and kicked the bench with the side of his sore foot, taking satisfaction in the loud thwack and the shock of pain rolling through his toes. In fact, he was having so much fun (not) that it took him a while to notice that the bundle had moved, a blue head emerging, blue eyes opening wide.

  Brian limped toward his nephew. “What the actual fuck, Josh? I’ve been all over Morristown looking for you. Why are you here? You could have left anytime this week. Why tonight?”

  Because he’d gone out?

  He’d been out nearly every night this week.

  “I couldn’t pay my tab.” Brian’s hands flailed upward, following some weird urge to get all explain-y. “I actually thought you might have burned the house down. I was worried. You don’t get to worry me, okay? Or take my stuff. Just what the fuck?”

  Josh answered with a deep, hollow cough.

  “Did you even pack the medicine I bought you?”

  Josh shook his head, but coughed again, and damn, he was pale. And shivering. And sweaty.

  “Shit.” Brian got down on one knee, hissing as his sore toes protested, and put a palm to Josh’s damp forehead. “How long have you been here?”

  “I was going to catch the ten thirty train.”

  “Well, you missed it.”

  Josh coughed and shivered.

  “Goddamn it. You were nearly better, Josh. How could you do this?”

  No answer.

  “C’mon, you need another hot shower and bed.”

  “I want to go home.”

  Fuck. Half-standing, Brian swung his ass sideways and slid onto the bench next to Josh. “I can . . .” He shook his head, pushed his hands through his hair, and glanced at his nephew. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  Josh managed an eye roll before he had to lean forward and cough again. “You made it pretty clear you don’t want me around.”

  Not having a wall close enough to hit his head against, Brian mentally slapped himself. “Listen, I’ve been checking out options for you, but it’s hard over the holidays . . .”

  “Then I’ll go home.”

  Brian winced. “And live in the shed?”

  “Maybe she’ll let me in if I’m sick.”

  A burn crept up the back of Brian’s sinuses. “I . . .” Should he lie? Would it be kinder to lie? He pulled out his phone. “I don’t think so.”

  Josh stared at him, eyes still wide and a lot red. He wasn’t well enough to be out in the cold.

  “Maybe we should wait until we get back to my place.”

  The kid didn’t move.

  Brian accessed his call log. He showed the screen to Josh, scrolling through the twenty-some calls he’d made to Ellen since Christmas Eve. “That’s how many times I’ve called your mom. I got a text back tonight. One.
To tell me you weren’t there.”

  “You called her?”

  “I was worried when I couldn’t find you.” Irritated, angry, seriously pissed off. “I needed to know you were somewhere safe.”

  “Like you care.”

  “Josh, I’m forty-eight. I’ve never been with someone who was interested in having kids and never figured it was something I wanted for myself. I’m not warm and fuzzy. I’m sometimes not very nice. I told you I was an asshole. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.” He paused to let that sink in for a second before delivering the bad news. “I really don’t think your mom does. I don’t know what her deal is.” Yes, you do. “But I do think going back there is a bad idea.”

  Coughing, Josh frowned down at his hands.

  “Come home with me.”

  Josh shook his head, but Brian could see his resistance was crumbling.

  “You can stay as long as you want. I’ll stop looking for another place. You can stay either until we work something out with your mom or . . . until whenever.” Brian drew in a not-so-deep and somewhat shaky breath. “You’re family, okay? Probably the only family that wants anything to do with me. So, let’s stick together. See how it goes.”

  “You sure?” The hope in Josh’s eyes was painful.

  Brian nodded. “But there’ll be rules.”

  “Like what?”

  “No stealing my stuff. You need something, you ask for it.”

  Josh nodded.

  “And school. You need to go to school.”

  Not a suggestion met with excitement. Then again, who would be excited about school? Professors might be.

  Warmth briefly tickled Brian’s cheeks. He felt the touch of an all-too-brief kiss against his lips. Reluctantly, he shoved the memory aside.

  “And I need to know where you are. I’m not going to put you under house arrest, but if you disappear on me again, shit will come down, okay?”

  That apparently warranted a cough. A deep, dragging sound that rocked Josh’s thin frame. But he didn’t say no.

  Brian stood and held out a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and warmed up.”

  Josh hesitated before standing, and the hand he slid inside Brian’s was too warm and too cold at the same time. Brian nearly pulled him into a hug. Instead, he picked up Josh’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. “How long did it take you to find the station?”

  Josh shot him a quizzical frown. “It’s at the end of your street.”

  Brian’s smile felt weak. “See, you’re settling in already.”

  “Mal, there you are. Come in, have a seat.” Rachel stood up behind her desk, gesturing toward the small arrangement on the other side of the office, the cozy circle she kept for the students she counseled.

  Mal knew, firsthand, that his students preferred to sit on the other side of the desk from her. They found the “cozy circle” intimidating—as though they were expected to divulge all their secrets.

  Rachel was a smart woman.

  Mal leaned his crutches against the wall and hobbled over to the circle.

  “How’re the legs holding up?” Rachel asked.

  “Just.” Mal answered with a grimace that tried to be a grin.

  It was his second week back at work. The first had been exhausting and exhilarating as he’d pushed himself to limits he hadn’t outside of physical therapy. The long halls were less daunting this week, but his whole body ached with the effort of keeping pace with his students. Today he’d reluctantly brought both crutches, knowing he’d need them by the afternoon.

  He got himself settled and stretched both legs out with a relieved sigh. “I should be back to one crutch next week. Under my own power the week after.” God willing.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Rachel said.

  Mal forced his instinctive bristle to retreat. If there was one thing he’d become good at over the past several months—aside from using crutches in ice and snow—it was forcing himself not to react to people who meant well, even when they didn’t know what they were talking about.

  “So, I’m guessing you know why I wanted this meeting?” Rachel continued.

  “If it’s to talk about the fact I won’t be coaching the track team this semester, save your breath. I knew that coming back. I can hardly walk.”

  Rachel smiled. “I’m not your guidance counselor, but I am your sister-in-law. We can talk about it if you want.”

  “I don’t want.” Talking about it would only remind him of what he was missing out on.

  Having to give up football had always stung less when he ran. Then running had become his thing. Jogging at first, to simply feel physical again. Then competing. Running faster and farther. Training for marathons. They’d asked if he’d like to coach football when he came back to Morristown High. He’d asked for the track team. Mal wasn’t ready to dwell on what losing another direction meant, yet.

  “I wanted to talk about the Gay Straight Alliance,” Rachel said.

  Mal leaned forward in his seat. “How so? You aren’t going to cut funding for the club, are you?” It was vital, especially now.

  “We’re not cutting it. You know the club has always had the school’s full support.”

  He let out a breath. “Then what’s the issue?”

  “I want you to lead it.”

  “But it’s Cheryl’s thing. She started it.”

  “Cheryl’s leaving us next week. Moving out of state.”

  “Huh.” Why hadn’t she said anything? Then again, when would she have? Mal hadn’t extended his crutch practice far beyond his classroom at lunchtime. Still, she could have called. “I don’t know, Rach. I’m not a group leader. I’m always happy to help out, but I’m not sure I’m the right one to lead a group. Some of the kids need a lot of guidance. Someone to look up to. Someone who has fought the good fight and won.”

  “Someone like you, you mean.”

  “What? No. I’ve had it easy. My parents have always loved me, so I’ve never really had to think about my sexuality.” The falseness of that statement swirled around his gut even as it left his lips. He did think about it. Often. The current political climate made sure of that. But he’d never been in a position where he had to fight for something he wanted—not really. His life might have been very different if he’d continued to play football, but Mal had always assumed he’d find a way around whatever stood in his path. That was what a wide receiver did, after all.

  While he asked himself why he didn’t remember that fact more often—like when he was asking his cat to cheer him up, Rachel demonstrated that she felt differently.

  “Mal, you know I tell it like I see it, and I’m telling you that you are an asset to this school. We love having you here. You’re every principal’s dream. Returning sports hero, and a good teacher who is well-liked by his students. You’ve always been open about who you are in a manner that’s perceived as healthy. The students and staff respect you. Sure, we’ve had the odd parent who has other opinions, but you’ve always had the support of this administration because you’re good at what you do.”

  “And I don’t make waves.”

  “If you had a sideline as Miss Bacon, things might be different.”

  “You’re not going to tell me—”

  “You know I’m an advocate and an ally. Before that, I’m your friend, our relationship to Donny aside. And I’m asking if you’ll consider heading up the GSA club. We need it, especially now. Our young people need you. And, with coaching being out of the question at the moment, you’ll have the time.”

  Thanks for the reminder. But what else was he going to do—stand on the sidelines and tell the kids to keep running?

  Mal blew out a sigh. “I don’t know. I always kinda liked that our GSA was led by a straight white married lady. It felt safe. I think the parents and kids felt safe. It’s one thing for them to support gay rights, but to picture their kids alone in a classroom with a gay man—a lot of them aren’t going to like it.”

  “The cl
ub isn’t for parents, it’s for the teens. These are kids who are already out there having conversations about identity and sexuality. They’re already having sex, Mal. And you know some of them are being bullied and abused. Disrespected. Not treated well at home. They need this club. The straight kids need this club too.”

  Mal closed his eyes over a slow exhale. He had other reasons for not doing this, his being gay still chief among them. But Rachel was right. “Okay, I’ll do it. But I want an assistant. Another teacher or parent in the room with me. I don’t want any possibility of inappropriate rumors. I like being here as much as you like having me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Ask your students too. In the group. One might have a parent who’d like to be more involved.”

  Mal nodded. “Does the club still meet on Mondays?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s today.” Giving him no time to panic.

  “Yes.”

  “You couldn’t have asked me last week?”

  Rachel smiled. “I was busy. New Year, new semester. You know how it is.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Her smile widened. “You’re going to be great.”

  Shaking his head, Mal got ready to stand. “Next time, give me a chance to think things over.”

  “You spend altogether too much time thinking, Mal. Anyway, Cheryl will be there this afternoon, so you only have to introduce yourself and observe.” Rachel squeezed his shoulder. “This is going to be good for you. You’ll see.”

  “Heh.”

  Mal crutched slowly back to his classroom. He had a PT session scheduled for later that afternoon but wasn’t all that sure he was going to make it. His legs already ached. His shoulders hurt. A steady throb poked the back of his skull, and his mind was tired. And he was pretty sure he was going to fail the kids in the GSA. He loved that the school had a club—and had had one for years. But all he knew about being gay was . . . that he was gay.

  Things might have been different if he hadn’t wrecked his shoulder in college. He’d been aware, even before then, that he was attracted to guys. It had made being an athlete interesting and being on the football team difficult at times. He’d been able to keep a lid on his sexuality, though. Had been so focused on his career, so into the game, he hadn’t cared. He’d served the game first, himself second.