Clang (18 page)

“Nnnh,” Chase moaned quietly when Jackson's lips caressed his. Their bodies melted together in mutual pleasure.

Finally, Jackson pulled back for breath. “Christ, Chase. 69ing is supposed to be awkward, not the hottest thing I've ever done.”

Chase pulled back and laughed loudly, his cheeks still flushed with pleasure.

Jackson let his hand run down Chase's chest, his fingers tracing his tattoo across his pec and then his bare stomach. He touched Chase's smooth, colorful arms as Chase rested against him.

Jackson pressed his face into Chase's neck and murmured, “We gotta shower before you get to work.”

“Oh, don't remind me of work,” Chase mumbled. “I was just planning round two.”

Jackson chuckled deeply and ran his hand down Chase's back to cup that cute little ass. “It'll give you more time to daydream about next time.”

“Mm. Perfect.” Chase finally peeled himself away from Jackson, reaching out to pull Jackson to his feet as well. They headed for the master bedroom shower.

Jackson's mind turned slowly over everything. There was the barbecue this weekend where he had to play nicely with the neighbors. Chase's ongoing situation where he couldn't just beat the crap out of his shitty uncle sucked, too. There was a lot to think about the fine balance they were walking between unhealthy habits and a possible new future...

Perhaps it was just the hormones flooding his whole body, but warmth burned in his bones long before he stepped into the shower. It was a glow of satisfaction; nothing bothered him so long as Chase was squeezing into his shower stall alongside him. Chase was still joking and flirting until Jackson's cheeks hurt from smiling.

This hadn't been a mistake at all.

Morning shift week always sucked, but the first few mornings went surprisingly well. Chase still had that edge of tension every time the shop door rattled. He also knew he had the upper ground while he was at his own workplace.

On Wednesday, just before lunchtime, something prickled along the back of his neck. He jerked his head up sharply from his phone and pocketed it on instinct.

It wasn't a customer approaching the door, though. He'd know that silhouette anywhere.

The door rattled as Jerry entered. They locked eyes. Chase shuddered with anticipation as the words dripped from Jerry's lips.

“There you are.”

Despite the shiver that ran down his spine, Chase stood tall this time. If his hands shook, his clenched fists hid it. “It's not hide and seek. I just don't want you talking to me.”

“But
I'm
not done talking to you, young man.”

He was eight again and he'd been caught taking the Lord's name in vain. Jerry was making him read Bible verses until his mouth was parched and he begged Father Williams for forgiveness.

He was thirteen and he'd been caught watching Matthew get changed at summer camp. Jerry was taking him behind the shed to slap him until he begged God for forgiveness.

He was reeling from coming out to his family. Jerry had taken him outside, reassuring his parents that he'd “deal with the situation” while wearing
that
look...

No. He wasn't.

“I don't care if you're not done,” Chase snapped. “You don't own me anymore, and you never did.”

“Where's the Charlie boy we once knew?” Chase wasn't fooled by the cadence of Jerry's voice for a second. He knew what his uncle was capable of, and it wasn't happening again.

He was alone in the shop. Floyd wasn't due to join him until three, and Jackson was at work. It was just him and Jerry.

“We miss you. Luke misses you especially. He gave me a letter for you.”

Jerry started to approach, but Chase held out a hand to make him stop. When Jerry did, Chase stood a little straighter. The gesture had worked.

“Drop it there. I'll pick it up later.”

Jerry sneered, and
there
was that ugly mask he'd worn that day while kicking the gay out of Chase. Chase sneered right back in recognition.

Jerry's hand crumpled around the page, crushing it into a tight ball in his hand. He didn't look away for a second, letting Chase know that this was punishment. As always, Luke was his trump card – the ace he had up his sleeve to make Chase come crawling back.

This time, Chase wasn't rooted to the spot. In fact, he wanted to come around the counter and
punch
him. How dare he destroy his little brother's letter after trying to claim that he cared about him? It was fucking transparent now.

“It makes me sick that you keep trying to use Luke and Buddy to manipulate me,” Chase snapped. He lowered his voice to make sure Jerry had to strain to hear him. “I love him a lot, and I hope things go well for him, if that's even possible. And I'll try to help him out of there, too, when he's eighteen and I can talk to him again.”

“You think we're just going to let you go, son?”

“I'm not your son,” Chase spat out. “And yeah, you
will
leave me alone. I work with a lot of needles, and at home, I've got more medieval sharp things around.”

“What?”

Chase's hands shook, but he pulled himself away from the counter as if to step around it. “I'll defend myself this time, however I have to.” Chase smiled bitterly and jutted his chin out. He knew what would fuck with Jerry's head. “Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

For the first time in his memory, Jerry looked unnerved enough to take a step back. Just one, but it was enough to bolster Chase's confidence. His hands still shook, but his heart burned.

“How dare you?” Jerry whispered.

Do not fear those who kill the body but are unable to kill the soul; but rather fear him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.
Another quote from that same chapter filled Chase's mind. A Biblical verse was the last thing he'd expected to give him a sense of utter calm, but Chase wasn't questioning it.

The fear quelled away to nothing, that left space for a shudder of rage to course through Chase. He wasn't frozen now; he was white-hot in anger. He
was
the metal freshly drawn from Jackson's forge.

“You're going to hell,” Jerry breathed out, his voice a taunt and a threat, not a warning.

Rather than dread and anguish, Chase just felt bitter satisfaction. “Good. All the best people will be there, and hopefully you won't be. Or, if God is good, you will be. I can't
wait
to see you there.”

Jerry's eyes narrowed in that hideous anger. Chase stood tall as he walked out from around the counter, his fists near his sides. “Get out. Don't ever,
ever
approach or communicate or talk to me again. The same goes for my parents so long as they blindly swallow what they're told. Tell Luke and Buddy I love them, if you have any shred of conscience left. And get... the
fuck
... out of Fredericton.”

Jerry hauled back and Chase tensed. Rather than a fist, a wad of paper – Luke's letter – hit Chase's chest and bounced to the ground. Chase stood firm and didn't flinch.

He could never remember Jerry being the first to back down. Ever. And the way Jerry watched him... He saw him as a man now, not a kid in need of taming.

“You uttered a threat. I'll call the cops on you.”

“Fine,” Chase told him. “But not the ones here, because you're on your way out of town, right?” he taunted. “I don't care if you get the whole Ontario RCMP out looking for me, 'cause I'm not going back there for love nor money. I don't have anything there for me.”

“Your family--”

“I don't have one,” Chase told him, his voice harsher. Jerry recoiled again, and Chase jutted his chin out. “Now leave.”

There were a few long seconds of silence. Jerry stepped back and gripped the door handle. “You can't take this back. Even if you repent, you will never be welcome on the MacLeod doorstep again, Charles.”

“Good,” Chase told him, and he meant it. He might be shaking, his stomach might be sick from anxiety, but
he was free
. “Because I'm not a MacLeod, or a Charles, anymore. And I'm a better man for it, and a thousand times happier. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting better.”

And it was true. Chase's chest swelled with pride in himself, for the first time he could remember. He
was
getting better. He was slowly working on it. And even drunk as a skunk, high off the music, fucking strangers in their backseats, he'd been far happier than he ever had been back there.

“Goodbye.” Jerry's voice was empty as he turned his back and yanked open the shop door.

Chase kept his fists ready, just in case this was a feint, but there was a finality to Jerry's voice. There was a complete shutdown in emotion and recognition that he'd never heard before. It was like Jerry was talking to a stranger, not his own nephew. “Goodbye.”

Jerry strode down the street without a backwards glance.

For a long minute, Chase just stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

All it had taken, all this time, was to threaten his uncle with a sword? Finally, he started to laugh at that bizarre fact – at how over-the-top it was, how fucking
weird
his life was. He sank into a waiting area chair, still laughing so hard he doubled over on his knees, tears stinging his eyes.

A sword. A fuckin' sword. He'd threatened to fuckin'
stab
his
uncle
with a medieval weapon he'd promised Jackson not to use! One he didn't even
own
yet – that wasn't even
forged
yet! And tattoo machine needles!

The hysterical laughter he couldn't stop was the kind came with utter, absolute closure, with emotion he hardly knew how to process. He latched onto the weirdest thing he could think of – that goddamn sword – and laughed until he cried.

It took Chase a few minutes before he could breathe again, still doubled over on his knees.

“He who has lost his life for my sake will find it.” He licked his lips as he straightened up, then tried to dismiss the verses from his head.

Finally, his eyes were drawn to the wad of paper on the floor. He forced himself to get up and scoop up the paper, then walked over to the counter to smooth it out.

It wasn't a letter at all, but a crayon drawing, slightly better than stick figures but not advanced yet. One man had too-long arms and legs and colorful scrawls across them. The other figure next to him was shorter and had curly black hair – just like Luke always drew himself. They both smiled.

Chase's eyes were drawn to the background, and their family church standing in the background. The cross on the roof overshadowed the rest of the drawing.

“Oh, Luke,” he murmured, rubbing a thumb along the lines. “Church isn't the only road to salvation.” His brother was young; he had years to learn that. Chase prayed he'd be able to find some way to help him along in the next eight years, before he was free from their family.

Chase bit his lip hard and folded the page, tucking it into his pocket. He could see customers approaching from across the street, and he had to be normal. Somewhat normal, at least. At least he wasn't distraught like he'd once thought he would be in this moment.

He was just... empty.

If this was a victory, why did it feel so much like losing?

***

By the time the customers were gone, Chase's heart rate had steadied and he felt almost dizzy. The stress of the last few days was gone. Instead of relief, it left him feeling anxious. It was like he needed something to worry about instead.

He pulled out his phone to send Jackson a text.

Jerry came in & I talked to him. He should leave me alone now.

Jackson's response came before he could even put his phone away.

I'll pick you up after work. 5?

Chase smiled to himself. Jackson was worried for his safety, but he didn't have to be. Chase had this weird feeling that... that was it. Jerry had never sounded that final.

Yep 5. OK.

He went to tuck his phone away again and his finger brushed a sharp corner in his pocket. When he pulled out the business card, his eyebrows raised.

He needed to do laundry. But more than that, this must have been the pair of jeans he was wearing the day Alex had come in to confess what he'd done.

And suddenly, Chase had an idea what he could do for him.

Alex picked up right away. “Hello?”

“This is Chase. About that favor...”

Alex rustled in the background and then paid attention. “Yes?”

“My uncle, Jerry MacLeod, came to find me. Make sure he's left town for good, and that nobody else is coming.”

“Okay, I can do that.” Alex was already typing in the background. “Er, Chase?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for letting me help out. I... This is the least I can do.”

“I'm not here to appease your conscience,” Chase muttered. It was more grumpy than truly bitter. Alex
had
been doing his job; it was just kind of an asshole job. “Just tell me if they're gone for good.”

“I'll come see you this weekend – sooner if I find out that they're around.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Chase tucked his phone and the business card in his pocket next to the drawing and leaned heavily on the counter. It was odd not to have that fear in the back of his mind – the sickening worry that
someone
would come for him someday. Jerry was gone, Will wasn't the stalking type, and the rest of his family sounded like they were gone now, too.

He had nothing to run from. All he could do was move forward.

Maybe he'd go out for supper with Jackson tonight and treat
him
this time. Chase smiled, nibbling his thumbnail absently. Jackson might like that. Either way, he'd make Jackson let him pay. It was really the least he could do.