Page 17 of Fear
The guy had scrammed, Tobias hadn’t noticed, they had made a clean escape, and life was good again, except for the whole Jake-afraid-of-cooking thing. Their first night at a diner had gone okay.
Tobias looked up, like a rabbit hearing a sound in the woods. “O-out? If . . . you want.” His hands found and tightened around each other. “I c-could . . . whatever you want, Jake.”
Tobias looked nervous but determined, the same look he had had before the thrift shop, with just a little more confidence this time. It seemed like they were both getting better at all of this, and while part of Jake thought it’s about damn time, the rest of him was just grateful.
“Yeah, we can go, take a ride around Boulder, see what places might have good grub. It’ll be fun.” Jake grinned. If it was a little forced, he hoped Tobias didn’t notice.
It wasn’t like going out didn’t have precedent. They’d eaten at the diner that first night and Tobias had been . . . well, he hadn’t exactly been chatting up the waitress, but he had done really well (compared to everything since), and they had sat together, and the look on Tobias’s face when he bit into his cheeseburger for the first time . . .
That decided it for Jake. Tobias deserved food that would put that look on his face, experiences that wouldn’t leave him lost and broken, and Jake wasn’t sure that he could produce that from the kitchen.
“Let’s go. Put on your coat—it might be chilly out there.” Jake strode to the hall closet, got out the lighter of Tobias’s two new coats and his own, and then they stepped out into the evening air. It wasn’t really that cold, but Jake didn’t want to see Tobias shiver. Or let himself use the excuse of sharing body heat to get more into Toby’s space than he probably wanted. Not that he was likely to tell Jake off, so. No.
They both relaxed when they were settled into the car. For Jake—now as always—the Eldorado was home, all the more so with Tobias in the seat beside him, and the car seemed to have a de-stressing effect on Tobias. He actually gave Jake a real smile when the engine started up, and then leaned back into the seat, eyes closing, breathing deeply.
This will be good, Jake thought as he reversed out of the parking lot. Things were definitely getting better.
He decided not to go to an actual bar. For one thing, all that alcohol would be more tempting than was wise when he had to watch out for the dumbasses and predators. Not so much for himself—he could handle himself in any kind of fight a civvie wanted to bring—but there was Tobias to think of now.
For another thing, Tobias didn’t look legal. Even if his age and his unhealthy bony frame didn’t set off alarms, it would attract the wrong sorts of people. The sorts of people that Jake would rather stab than let anywhere near Tobias.
Jake, of course, had had a fake ID since he was sixteen. It was pretty good, thanks to a pal of Roger’s, but for the first couple of years, some bartenders wouldn’t buy it. He hadn’t had trouble in a while, though. Twenty might as well be twenty-one.
They ended up at a Mexican restaurant about ten minutes away from their apartment. Jake didn’t really want to go that far, and Three Amigos looked okay, though he never had much faith in any Mexican joint above the New Mexico border. Most of them wouldn’t know how to make decent mole sauce if it was their only way to appease a culebrón who’d gotten a taste for Latin food.
Despite his intentions leaving the apartment, Jake slung his arm over Tobias’s shoulders as they walked toward the door, and he was rewarded by the way Tobias pressed back into his side. The early summer evening was still awash in warm sunlight, but it was cooling down quickly. Jake was glad he’d gotten Tobias to wear his jacket.
The restaurant was what Jake had hoped for: not too noisy or busy on a Thursday night, but enough chatter that he and Tobias wouldn’t be easily overheard. Tobias seemed okay walking inside, though he studied his shoes as they waited to be seated.
The red and green bunting across the ceiling looked cheap but cheerful, and one wall had a decent mural of a pastoral landscape with señoritas flaring their white skirts mid-dance. The mariachi band playing over the speakers was one that Jake half-recognized from his last time in Ciudad Juarez. That had been a couple of years ago – the last trip he’d taken with his dad south of the border, he suddenly remembered. He and Leon had gone on the track of a Chupacabra that turned out to be an ornery goat. Then they’d found a cheap place outside the city and decided to stay for a week, drinking and playing poker with the locals.
For as long as Jake could remember, Leon’s pervasive obsession had kept them on the road with endless hunts, rotating hotels and shitty monthly rentals that looked the same no matter where they went. But for a minute, the Hawthornes’ lives had been quiet, easy.
Jake couldn’t have imagined then that in less than eighteen months, he and Leon would have the fight to end all fights. That that night would be the last time he and Leon ever spoke.
“I would rather see you dead than welcoming a fucking monster into your life.”
Jake forcibly shoved the memory back. He was with Tobias now—Tobias who was alive, safe, and not being fucking tortured anymore—and that was all that mattered. He’d make the same trade every single day if he had to. Leon could go to hell for all Jake cared. Maybe he was there already.
When they got to their booth, Jake let Tobias get in first so he could slide in after him, providing a buffer from the world. See, Jake could learn.
A curly-haired white kid with a University of Boulder T-shirt under his brightly patterned apron appeared, notepad in hand. "Hey, welcome to Three Amigos. I’m Steve. Anything to drink?”
Jake bumped Tobias’s shoulder with his own. Tobias looked up, nervous, his hand clenching Jake’s under the table. Jake smiled at him to show he was proud that Tobias was looking up, but he didn’t try to make him choose anything. Jake would ask him someday what he wanted to eat (maybe the same day Jake had the courage to actually cook something), but for tonight it was enough that Tobias was there with him, holding his hand.
“I’ll have a Corona, and a Coke for him,” Jake said. “And we’ll have two beef enchilada plates.” He could’ve ordered in Spanish, but he doubted Steve had taken more than a couple of years of high-school Spanish.
Steve made a couple of scratches on his notepad. “Gotcha. Anything else?” He glanced at Tobias and then back to Jake, clearly dismissing him, which made Jake simultaneously relieved—Tobias didn’t need more stress right now—and pissed.
“Yeah, bring us some queso and guac.”
As Steve walked away, Jake nudged Tobias’s shoulder again. “Just wait, something here is gonna blow your mind. Maybe the queso, if it’s any good. Hopefully they don’t put any dry-ass beef in the enchiladas. But if they at least get enough sauce and cheese on them, that’ll be a decent start for your first taste of Mexican. Someday I’ll take you to this family restaurant in Las Cruces that makes fajitas so far outta this world they’d make ’em on the moon.”
Toby smiled back at him, even if it was a little shaky.
Steve returned with the queso and guacamole. At the first bite of warm melted cheese, Tobias’s eyes went wide with incredulous delight that made Jake grin like a loon. He didn’t even mind that the guacamole was bland as hell.
As they emptied the basket of tortilla chips, Jake looked for Steve to get a refill. Out of habit, he assessed the bar for threats. He’d scanned the room as he’d walked in, but as his focus was getting Tobias safely to a booth and settled and protected, he hadn’t really taken a good look around.
