Page 43 of No Rhyme or Riesling

He pulled up his driveway, still debating a couple of options, trying to decide the best course of action. The first thing he'd have to do was put his wine collection somewhere Adam couldn't reach. He definitely didn't need the boy drinking more. But Adam also needed some kind of lesson. Maybe he could accomplish both at once.

John pulled into the garage, eyeing an old, locking file cabinet next to the washer. It even still had the little key hanging in the lock, though there had never been a need to use it. John had picked up the cabinet for free at a neighbor's garage sale andused it as a place to set the laundry basket while he was sorting dirty clothes into the machine. But the drawers also held the few things one would normally see scattered about a garage amongst piles of clutter: a small toolbox, laundry supplies, gardening gloves, old rags and towels. He visualized all the contents, mentally planning how to cram everything together so it would leave room for all his wine bottles. It should be enough.

He shut off the truck's engine, pressed the button to close the garage door, then eyed Adam as he removed his seatbelt. “Come on.”

John got out of the truck and walked around to Adam's side, but the boy hadn't moved, so he yanked the door open, threw off Adam's seatbelt, and dragged the boy out. He had to steady Adam on his feet before steering him towards the kitchen door.

Adam didn't make a sound in protest.

John pushed Adam inside, stopped them both there so he could get their shoes off, then led the boy into the bathroom. “Strip,” he ordered.

Adam finally showed a sign of life. “What?”

“You smell like you haven't showered in days,” John pointed out. He saw Adam wince as a guilty look flashed across the boy's face. “And the alcohol isn't helping. Strip.”

Adam squirmed. “John–”

John dropped down to one knee, grabbed Adam's leg, and lifted it so he could whip off the boy's sock. He did the same with the other foot, then ripped open Adam's pants and yanked them down his legs. John did the same with the boy's underwear before turning Adam around so the boy's back was to him. “Arms up.”

Adam tensed and sucked in a breath. “John–”

John yanked Adam's arms straight up in the air and grabbed the hem of the boy's shirt before Adam managed to struggle. But as soon as the shirt was off, leaving Adam in nothing buthis chest binder, Adam's arms came down, slamming across his chest as his shoulders rounded, his body hunched over.

Adam sobbed, finally showing something other than that empty, robotic lifelessness that he'd sunk into in the truck.

John didn't even bother ordering Adam to put his arms up again. Instead, he grabbed the hem of the binder and started pulling. Adam tried to squirm away from him, but John was stronger. He yanked the small garment off and flung it aside, then let go of Adam so the boy could cover himself with his arms again.

“Get in,” John ordered, pushing Adam towards the shower.

Adam stepped inside on shaky legs, choking on sobs and keeping himself turned away so John wouldn't see his chest.

John reached into the shower and cranked on the water.

Adam screamed as the icy cold blast hit him square in the back.

John winced, hating to cause his boy any suffering, but Adam needed to learn that actions had consequences. And if a cold shower was the worst consequence of his drinking, so be it. Far better than a drunken car accident.

He yanked the curtain shut between them, then called through it, “Get cleaned up. I'll be back in a minute to check on you.”

With that, John left the bathroom and headed straight for the kitchen. He checked the refrigerator first, but there was only that one bottle of chardonnay that Adam had nearly finished several days ago. John hated to throw it out, but he did anyway, dumping the last few mouthfuls down the sink and tossing the bottle into the recycling bin.

Then he went to his wine bar and carefully started gathering his reds, cradling a few bottles at a time as he carried them out to the garage. John set the bottles on the file cabinet and opened the drawers, moving the contents within until there was enoughempty space. He carefully arranged the rags and towels, then lay the bottles down on top of them. Once all the bottles were safely stashed, John closed the drawer, locked it, and pulled out the key so he could attach it to the chain that held his others.

He stepped back inside and felt a painful tug in his chest at the sight of his empty wine bar. The whole thing looked so useless now. So void of purpose. His skin itched all over, having things where they didn't belong.

But it was for the best. He couldn't risk Adam hurting himself even more.

John went back to the bathroom and called through the curtain, “Adam?”

Adam's teeth chattered as he replied, “A-Almost done.”

John carefully peeked around the curtain as he reached in to feel the water. Adam had turned the temperature up, but not much. The boy shivered as he stood with his back to the spray, letting it rinse the soap from his hair. John stepped back with a sigh. At least Adam was doing as he was told.

When Adam finally shut off the water, John grabbed a towel and held it out, wrapping it around the boy the second the curtain opened. He helped Adam step out of the tub, turned him around, and dried him off, watching the boy stand there and shiver the whole time. Then he told Adam to wait while he went to his room and dug out a clean shirt for Adam to wear. He pulled it over Adam's head, the shirt hanging to mid-thigh so it covered his nakedness, then took Adam's hand and led him to the bedroom. John tucked Adam into bed and sat there until the boy stopped shivering, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion.

“Go to sleep,” John murmured. “And when you wake up, we're gonna talk.”

Adam winced, but the reaction was weak. A moment later, he was out.

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