Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
He imagined waking up every morning and driving to Matheson’s Hardware. Helping customers find the right size bolt or the correct grain of sandpaper. Coming home after work to this isolated little house. Slowly working off the debt he’d accrued to Charlie from all the materials and hours needed to fix this place up. Falling asleep alone, listening to sounds of bats and squirrels or whateverthefuck critters he hadn’t been able to identify in the dark.
“Fuck.”
He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until Flannel Jacket Kid nodded and said, “Yeah, get out while you can. Where’re you from, anyway?”
“Seattle.”
“Cool,” all three of them chorused.
They stood in awkward silence for a minute, then Bandana Kid asked, “Are you about to do construction now?”
“Huh? Oh, nah. I just...” Rye searched for a reason why he should be here with no tools, then shrugged. “I didn’t want to go back to the place I’m staying.”
The three nodded in perfect understanding.
“You staying with your friend?”
“Uh, yeah. I dunno. We don’t know each other that well so it’s a little awkward.”
That sounded better than I’m really attracted to him but he’s a freakishly responsible martyr who insists on doing things like cosigning loans for me rather than jumping my bones.
They nodded again.
“Awkward home shit is the worst,” said Greasy Hair Kid.
They all nodded together and Rye was reminded so much of himself at their age: desperate for someplace to be where no one would judge him, make him feel bad for just being who he was, assume the worst of him. If he’d had such a place, he would’ve guarded it with everything in him. And clearly they had too, if they’d been spending time here since Granger died in October.
“You can hang here with us if you want,” Bandana Kid said.
Rye was genuinely tempted. For the first time since he arrived in Garnet Run he didn’t feel on guard. Didn’t feel like at any moment someone was going to take him by the scruff of his neck and escort him to the state line.
Well, except...there had been those few times with Charlie. Those companionable silences while they drank their coffee in the morning before work. Or the way they’d looked up at each other and grinned at the same moment over the cats’ shenanigans.
“Um, thanks, but I guess I should get back,” Rye said. “Make dinner or...something.”
They nodded sympathetically.
“You gonna stick around for a bit?”
They nodded.
“If it’s okay?”
“Yeah. Just be careful. Don’t die in there,” Rye said, and sketched a wave behind his back as he walked to his car. He shivered at the chill in the air as the sun set and turned back around. “And don’t burn down my house!” he added.
He got three thumbs-ups in response and left feeling confident the house would still be there when he returned.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlie
When Charlie got home after doing inventory, he smelled something delicious and heard something loud. Ordinarily he’d stand under a hot shower before he did anything else, to try and forestall the ache in his back, but he was drawn into the kitchen where he found Rye dancing and singing along to the blaring music he was playing, while maneuvering two pans on the stovetop.
“Hey!” he yelled. “I’m home.”
Rye jumped like a startled cat and clutched his heart as he sagged against the counter.
“Jesus fucking Christ, don’t scare me like that!”
“Jesus Christ himself could sneak up on you with your music that loud and you wouldn’t even notice.”
Rye made a face Charlie was learning meant he was both amused and irritated at his own amusement because he didn’t like what had been said. Charlie chose to focus on the amused part.
“What is that, anyway?”
“Riven.”
Charlie shrugged and Rye smirked.
“Why am I completely unsurprised that you’ve never heard of one of the most famous rock bands of the last ten years.”
Charlie shrugged again. Rye was right. Probably Jack knew the band, but Charlie’d never been very good at keeping up with popular culture, even when he was younger. It had simply never mattered much to him.
“What’re you making? Smells good.”
“Sesame peanut noodles and a mango avocado salad. I hope you like stuff spicy.”
Charlie wasn’t sure about that. The only spicy thing he could remember eating was a mistakenly selected flavor of beef jerky on a construction site years before.
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” he said. “Do I have time to take a shower?”
“Yeah I still have to fry the tofu.”
“Tofu.”
Rye rolled his eyes. “Go shower.”
* * *
Charlie emerged from a shower as hot as he could stand it feeling refreshed and starving. His stomach growled at the bowl of glistening noodles, veggies, and what he assumed was tofu, on the table.
“What is tofu?” he asked as Rye set a bowl of fragrant mango salad on the table and sat down next to him.
“Oh my god, seriously? It’s bean curd.”