Page 27 of Bobby Green
Bobby swallowed and shrugged. Something about the question was unutterably lonely. “Just started,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
Reg nodded and closed those soul-magnet eyes. “Smart boys do.”
Bobby shut the door and walked around to the front and got in. “So, what have you figured out?” he asked, unwilling to acknowledge that Reg wasn’t as smart as he was. There was just something so fundamentally decent about Reg. Bobby wanted that to be a real thing, not just the consolation prize for being human.
“I’m not smart,” Reg said, completely without self-consciousness. “I gave up on being smart in the third grade.”
“Yeah? What happened in the third grade?” Bobby started the truck and piloted toward the nest of apartments on Hurley. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t a rent-by-the-hour hotel room either, and he’d put down money that his roommates at least knewofReg.
“Took a test to see if I’d be put in the dumb class or the smart class. I wanted to be in the smart class, so I copied off the smartest guy I knew.”
“That’s good strategy,” Bobby conceded. Not exactly honest, but he remembered placement tests. There was a fair amount of pressure there, and third-graders were damned amoral.
Reg laughed shortly. “I picked the wrong kid. I mean, he was smart—damned smart. But he was… what’s that word? The one where you fuck up your letters and words and which order they go in?”
Oh Jesus. “Dyslexic?”
“Yup.” Reg chuckled. “I got put in theultra-dumb class. But it was okay. I was, like, their star player, you know?”
Bobby’s stomach churned. “But you’re not ultra-dumb.”
“Sure I am. Ask anybody.” Reg yawned and curled up a little tighter on Bobby’s seat. “I just left my sister alone again,” he mumbled. “How stupid is that?”
He was asleep before Bobby could find the words to tell him that it sounded damned smart tohim.
REG SLEPTfor three hours before Lance got home with the antibiotics. Bobby had been right. Skylar and Rick were off shift, and they set Reg up on one of the regular beds, out of the main traffic room, before Bobby even asked them for a pillow. Bobby sat at the foot of the bed, reading a paperback that had been making the rounds of the roommates. This one was by Melinda Leigh and featured a mystery and a boy and a girl who were going to get together. Bobby was a fan, even though he wondered if they had any of these where the boy got together with another boy.
Every now and then Reg would shiver hard or moan in his sleep, and Bobby would make sure he had ibuprofen or water—or a steady arm when Reg had to take a leak.
Skylar sacrificed some of his beloved fruits and veggies to make Reg a vitamin juice, and Rick pulled out some ice packs that he rested on Reg’s pulse points on top of the covers. Reg thanked them—half-conscious, he thanked them—but it wasn’t until Lance got there that Bobby realized how much pain he was really in.
“You didn’t take off his jacket?” Lance demanded, charging into the quiet bedroom with almost obscene hurry.
“He was cold,” Bobby said, surprised. “Why? What’s under the jacket?”
Lance snarled quietly to himself and helped Reg up. “Reg, I’m sorry,” he muttered, sliding the battered leather bomber jacket off his shoulders. “I fucked up. Chase did his thing, and I just totally forgot.”
Reg grunted. “Not your fault. Everybody’s been sort of off their game,” he said, and Bobby held back a gasp.
Underneath the battered leather bomber jacket, Bobby could see a wound—a massive, pus-runny, untended wound.
“Wait,” he said as Lance pulled at the hem of Reg’s none-too-clean T-shirt. “You just… justlefthim like that? Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”
“No hospitals,” Reg whimpered, grabbing Lance by the shirt. “You promised, Lance—you promised me—”
“I know, Digger. I promised,” Lance said soothingly. “But I’m going to need Bobby’s help here, okay? We need to irrigate the wound and take out the stitches and pump you full of antibiotics. I’m sorry I didn’t remember, but man, you can’t go back to that house again, not like this.”
Reg shook his head, in tears. “But I left her sleeping, Lance. I’ve got to go back and make her take her pills again.”
Lance grimaced. “Digger, look at yourself. You’re a mess. Don’t you think it’s time to let someone else take over there?”
Reg just cried harder, and Bobby couldn’t stand it. He sat next to him and wrapped his arm around Reg’s waist for comfort. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’ll go over. Me and Lance’ll go take care of her.”
Lance shot him a killing look, and Bobby glared back. Lance had promised to take care ofReg, and even though Bobby knew how hard he’d been working—school, counseling the guys, asking all the questions so Chase’s boyfriend wouldn’t lose his fucking mind—he was still pissed. Chase Summers, whom Bobby hadn’t met, had the whole world hanging on his every breath, but Reg—Digger—who seemed to be the genuinely nicest guy Bobbyhadmet, had needed someone and nobody had showed.
Bobby didn’t want him left alone.
“Will you?” Reg begged him. “Lance, you know her. She’ll listen to you. Please?” Bobby had brought in a roll of toilet paper to serve as tissues, and he ripped off some squares and cleaned up the tears and had Reg blow.
