Page 15 of Fear
Tobias obeyed, like he always did. Jake just had to say a word, and Tobias would be moving, halfway there, no hesitation unless what Jake had asked him to do was so far out of his range of experience that he couldn’t even conceive of the order applying to him. Like when he told Tobias to take an extra helping for himself.
Jake wanted Tobias to feel comfortable close to him, wanted him to know that Jake wouldn’t push him away. But when they got inside the apartment—Tobias following Jake silently, setting his share of the bags on the counter of their too-small kitchen and then just standing there, hands, eyes, and posture empty of any purpose or emotion—Jake couldn’t watch Tobias anymore, see him waiting for Jake to tell him what else to do. Because he would, Jake was realizing. Tobias would stand and wait and wait until hunger and thirst overcame him or Jake told him to move.
There was no way that one Jake Hawthorne, hunter and good-as-orphan, should have that much control over another person’s life.
“Tobias, you look wiped,” Jake said, which was true. “Why don’t you go relax, lie down for a while? I can handle putting these away.”
Tobias blinked once, as though he hadn’t heard or didn’t understand, then slowly took a step back, never raising his eyes. “O-okay, Jake.”
Jake waited until Tobias disappeared into his room—he didn’t wait for the click, Tobias always left his door slightly ajar; maybe he felt claustrophobic or worried about being locked in—before exhaling, dropping his elbows to the counter and pushing his hands through his hair. He held that position for a full minute before moving to unpack the groceries.
Tobias slept for the next four hours. Jake kept himself busy with things other than glancing at his watch: checking the wards he’d put down in front of the doors and windows, turning on the TV—volume on low—and watching a couple ’80s films. For a while he kept himself from peering through the crack into Tobias’s room to make sure he was okay—he could not start hovering, or he might lose his mind completely—but after the third hour, he muted the TV and leaned against the wall next to the door, just to see if he could hear Tobias breathing. He could—barely audible, but enough. And it wasn’t that crazy for Tobias to be so tired after the day he’d had (the one Jake had put him through).
It was almost seven p.m. when Jake decided to see if Tobias wanted any dinner. He pushed open the door but hesitated a long moment before moving to sit on the bed, where Tobias slept half-curled on his side, hands pressed between his thighs.
“Hey, Toby.” Jake dropped his hand lightly to Tobias’s back and tried to focus on something other than how easily he could trace Tobias’s shoulder blades and spine through his T-shirt. His warmth, maybe, and the slow steadiness of his breathing, deep in sleep.
It took a few minutes of touching him and saying his name before he began to come out of it, moving sluggishly. “Jake?” he whispered, the uncertainty so palpable that Jake had to swallow.
“Yeah, it’s just me. You’re here in Boulder, in our . . . our apartment.”
Tobias curled a little tighter, closer to Jake’s leg, yet still without touching him.
Jake moved his fingers through Tobias’s hair, feeling a disquiet he couldn’t explain. “You hungry? I was going to let you keep sleeping, but I didn’t know if you wanted to have dinner before it’s time for breakfast.”
“Did I sleep too long?”
“No, no. It’s cool. You were wiped, like, run-over-by-the-Titanic wiped, you needed it. Wanna get up for a bite?” He knew he was pushing, but it was important as hell to him that Tobias not miss any meals. He wanted to show Tobias that he was in a different world now. Really, Jake suspected he wouldn’t feel completely at ease until Tobias’s face lost some of the sharp angles of taut skin over bone, until he seemed less like he could be folded away in a duffel or broken by a glancing blow. “I know I mentioned burgers earlier but, well. I’ve got a lasagna in the oven, should be done soon.”
Tobias shifted slightly, and Jake stilled his hand before moving it away. Maybe he should stop petting Tobias, give him a little breathing space. “Okay,” Tobias said at last, and he sat up so groggily that Jake reached for his shoulders to steady him.
“You feeling okay, dude?”
Tobias nodded, head falling forward to his chest, then rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.
“All right,” Jake said, and he got up before he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for another second. Tobias had been through enough today without getting manhandled into another embrace he wouldn’t know how to deal with. “I’ll see if I can get garlic toast going without setting anything on fire.”
Tobias didn’t look much more awake when he emerged from his room, but he sat at the table with Jake and ate his share of the lasagna. They were silent, and it wasn’t a great silence, but it didn’t seem like Tobias was going to collapse again or anything, at least. After they put the food away and the dishes in the sink, Jake thought briefly of suggesting a game of cards or that they watch a little TV or talk or something, but Tobias looked exhausted, and he himself felt . . . just bled out. No activity he could think of would actually help either of them feel otherwise right now.
“I’m beat, man,” he said at last. “You chill going to sleep again?”
“Yeah, Jake.” Tobias got up quietly, went back to his room, and for all intents and purposes crashed, even though he had already slept for at least four hours that day. Jake went to his big master bedroom alone.
THE NEXT MORNING, THEY had Cheerios. Jake kept meaning to try out his frying pan now that he had eggs and cheese and butter—he knew he could handle mixing up scrambled eggs, maybe throw it on some toast to get Tobias more carbs—but he’d taken one look at Tobias’s hunched shoulders, the way he twisted his hands, and any energy he had for turning on the stove and cooking something drained out of him. He got out two bowls, the cereal box, and milk.
Tobias stayed huddled at the breakfast table, leaning toward the wall, head bowed over his bowl. At least he didn’t look for a signal now before picking up his spoon. That was already better.
But it was still hard to feel good about anything when the grocery store debacle remained vivid. He didn’t know how Tobias felt about it or how he could rebuild the thin threads of trust between them—trust he had never earned—or how he could keep his word and protect Tobias when Jake didn’t know half of what Tobias needed to be protected from. Jake couldn’t even summon the energy this morning to try a conversation, not when he could see all too easily how that would go down: Tobias flinching, dropping his spoon, trying and failing to keep his eyes on Jake’s. No matter what Jake said, Tobias probably wouldn’t understand, he would only get upset and anxious, and Jake wouldn’t know where to begin explaining.
So yeah, small talk didn’t sound that appealing.
He had to, though. Yesterday had changed his plans, but there were still things they couldn’t put off. Like how Jake didn’t have many more clothes to loan Tobias. Sure, they had a new supply of detergent and their own washer (plus a dryer that didn’t look like it might light his jeans on fire), but that wasn’t going to fly. Tobias needed his own clothes.
Solving that problem was, of course, not so easy.
Jake waited until their bowls were nearly empty before he made himself speak. “So—”
Sure enough, Tobias started and glanced up for a second before looking back down to his bowl, shoulders visibly tauter.
