Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 140629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Oh. So it was this stage of a drunken night.
Caspian headed toward the highway and placed his hand on Gunner’s sweaty fingers. “You’re not stupid. You just didn’t study accounting. And by the time I need to start working, we might as well be back to normal. So don’t worry.”
A part of him dimmed at the thought of going back to life as he remembered it, but maybe it would not be the same? Maybe this experience changed him forever? It certainly affected the way he saw his body, as if he’d been wearing distorted glasses and the swap allowed him to see things clearly.
And then there was Gunner. Gunner Russo. The man he’d envied in some ways but loathed in others. In his head, he’d always framed Gunner as this confident meathead with an I-don’t-give-a-fuck tattoo on his face. What he’d found was a man lost in his sexuality, regretting the ink he’d gotten while on drugs, and saddled with debt he couldn’t handle.
Whether they were to swap or not, Caspian wanted to sort out as many of those problems for Gunner as he could and leave him in improved circumstances. While Gunner might not realize it, he’d already shown Caspian that his body hadn’t been what held him back.
And if they couldn’t swap… well, they’d make it work. Caspian knew Dad wanted to pay him generously enough to afford a modest living for two, and if Gunner agreed to that scenario, Caspian could do the accounting for him. They’d work it out one way or another.
Gunner looked like the cutest little peach when he fell asleep with his lips half open. They’d need to have the your-body-can’t-take-as-much-alcohol talk, but that could wait until morning. For now, Caspian wanted to tuck Gunner into bed and kiss his sweaty forehead, wishing him an awakening without headaches and nausea.
But as Caspian approached his house on autopilot, he realized he couldn’t just drop Gunner off at the doorstep like a booze-infused gift basket. He’d need to face his parents. Worse yet, Caspian had driven here in the Southfield, and since he didn’t want to keep this one-of-a-kind car overnight anywhere that wasn’t safe, he begrudgingly stopped right in front of the garage. He’d get back to the trailer park. Somehow. Eventually.
The lights downstairs were still on, and he didn’t need to check Gunner’s phone to know it was full of messages and missed phone calls. He scooted down to pull the limp body out of the cab and froze when the door opened behind him.
He knew he’d have to meet his parents tonight but wasn’t prepared for it yet.
Dad’s face stilled in mortification. “Who are you?” he choked out, hovering his foot in the air mid-step, likely assessing how fast he could call the police.
Caspian shouldn’t have felt hurt, because Dad didn’t know it was him, but the judgmental stare still stabbed him deeply. And what pained him even more was that he’d also been insensitive and judgmental of people in different circumstances, lacking the insight that it wasn’t easy to pull yourself by the bootstraps if your bootstraps were torn from wear. He still cringed at the memory of expressing joy over the death of several people, just because he considered them social vermin. He used to be too free with his tongue in high school, calling others trailer trash, and the cruel things he’d said about Gunner’s dad had been such an afterthought he’d forgotten all about it.
Maybe he wasn’t as good of a person as he’d thought himself to be.
He rose, holding Gunner to his chest. “Mr. Brady? I went to the same school as Caspian.”
Dad blinked as Gunner mumbled something and drooled a little on Caspian’s shoulder.
“What—what happened?” Dad asked and finally made the step he’d intended to. “Is he okay?”
Caspian approached him, hunching over to seem that bit smaller. His dad was as short as he used to be, and he knew how intimidating someone like the current him was, even if one ignored the face tattoo. “He overdid it with alcohol. Better make sure there’s aspirin and water on his side table.”
“What’s your name again? Caspian, can you walk?” Dad asked, and when he was close enough, Caspian helped Gunner stand. His legs were wobbly, but he managed to stay upright with Dad’s help.
“I’m sorry,” Gunner mumbled.
“Is he back? He better be fine tomorrow!” Mom yelled from the house but stilled just like Dad had the moment she peeked out.
Caspian missed her. He’d looked forward to a day in her company, having cake and lunch between shopping, but she no longer recognized him as her son.
“Good evening. I drove Caspian here,” he said, gesturing at the car before stepping forward to offer his hand. “Gunner Russo.”
His only saving grace was that he’d never told his parents about the bullying, too ashamed to involve them.