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The guys surrounding Brady loosened their aggressive stances. They must’ve heard the truth in his story.
He forged on. “I met my ex at a place called The Edge. He liked younger guys, and I liked his apartment. And, honestly, for a long time, he treated me better than anyone else ever had. As long as he could run the show. But he broke me down a hundred ways over the years. For a long time, I only existed as someone who belonged to him.”
“But you got out.” Marshall now leaned against the table. The others, even Brady, had dropped into the chairs.
“He—after a while it took more and more to…rev him up.” What Robby wouldn’t give for a bottle of water right now. His mouth had dried up so much, his tongue felt heavy and thick. “We’d double up with another couple. Sometimes, he’d trade me off. Other times, well, I guess the last thing was finally too much. I took the little bit of fun-money I’d managed to save and used every cent to rent a dirt-cheap studio apartment. Slept on the floor. Took cold showers because I couldn’t afford electricity and I ate at the soup kitchen. Then I found a job.”
And he still thanked God for it every day. For the job and for Xander Karras, who took a chance on a broken kid with no experience, no high school diploma, and no idea how to take care of himself. “It took a long time to build something for myself. To buy myself a bed. A pot to cook in. A towel. I went to N.A. Eventually, I got my GED. I got raises here and there. One day I made a friend. Then I made another one. Then I met Sara, who led me here.”
“How did you end up at Nitro? The night I saw you there.” The first words from Brady, spoken in a soft, breathy voice.
Heat creeped up the back of his neck. “When I was younger, Nitro was just a club. It didn’t have a VIP room. I went there the night you saw me because…I was lonely. Looking for someone—anyone—who might want me for a little while.”
Marshall nodded in understanding.
“Anyway, I saw a friend from the old days. He brought me to the back, and I swear it wasn’t what I was looking for.” He leveled his gaze at Brady. “You didn’t see me hook up with anyone because all I did was drink, which I really shouldn’t have been doing either. When I looked around and saw what was going on there, I got the hell out.”
Robby felt lightheaded, and the cotton of his shirt stuck to his back. He’d never shared so much about himself in front of people in his life.
“Don’t let this lot drive you away. It takes us all a while to warm up to new people.” Sara sauntered over barefoot in an African-print sarong-style dress. No telling how much of his sob story she’d heard.
“You think I’d miss the chance to see you again?” Robby caught sight of a mini-fridge against the wall. “There wouldn’t be any water in there by any chance?”
Instead of answering, Paul ambled over and supplied one. The first gulp helped a little, but it took almost the whole bottle to quench the thirst his storytelling inspired.
Thomas had been right in a way; it was easier to talk about the hard stuff with strangers. Especially other people who might have lived through similar experiences. It wasn’t completely unlike sharing the low points people talked about in N.A. People with the same struggles were less likely to judge you for yours. And even if they did, it would hurt less than it would from someone you loved.
Easier. But still not easy.
When he set the bottle down, the anger and fear from the guys around him had dialed down to a quiet curiosity. The best he could hope for today was a fragile acceptance, and if he could achieve that, it would be a victory.
“I’ll leave if you still want me to go, guys. But I’d like to stay. Support you. Help if I can. Be your friend if you want. I can’t do much with art.” He waved at Brady’s work still splashed across the table. “But I can march with you. I can listen to you. Help you get your GED or get a job. I don’t want anyone to feel as trapped and alone as I was.”
No one rushed to answer, which didn’t surprise him. In the end, Brady tipped his head, brown bangs sliding over his eyes. “You can stay.”
Relief and triumph zinged through his veins. It had been one thing when the center had just been a vague idea he’d latched onto, something to give him purpose. But now he’d seen their faces. Felt the bravado and mistrust curated by who knew what kind of treatment by other people. Now, his acceptance here mattered on an entirely new level.
He already had an idea on how he could help. “Hey, Paul. How much do you know about the empty space for rent next door?”
Chapter
EIGHTEEN
Matt
Patty seemed to thaw a little more every time Matt saw her these days. Today, she was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Her skin was clear of makeup and so healthy, it almost glowed.
And she hummed as she packed Jimmy’s diaper bag.
His eyes widened and he almost choked when her hum turned into full-fledged singing.
Or it did for a moment or two…until she set down the jar of mashed potatoes on the counter with a thud. “Stop gaping, or you’re gonna catch flies with your open mouth. You got a problem with Lauryn Hill?”
He shook his head, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Not at all. My mom loves that song.”
“Where do you think I learned it?” She scooped the jar back off the laminate and into the bag with the rest of Jimmy’s stuff: his favorite crackers, some star-shaped pasta. All stuff Matt had at home, but he wouldn’t interrupt and risk ruining her good mood.
“If it’s not the song—and Iknowit’s not my singing—what are you gawking at me for?” She carried the bag over and held it out to him. “Do I look bad or something?”
