Page 33 of The Boy from Half Moon

Josiah clung to me while he wept. My eyes moved across his pale body, down the open row, and along the bales of hay. The loft held many bad memories for me, usually causing nightmares for several nights. This was how I must have looked so many times. I prayed he was here because of something different from my experiences.

I shuddered at the disturbing scene. “Why are you up here?” I questioned, sliding to my right and moving his face from my chest. “Look at me, Josiah.”

He lifted his face to me. Besides red and puffy eyes, one of his cheeks was swollen. He noticed me focusing on the cheek. “I fell,” he said, touching his cheek.

I couldn’t help myself and ran the back of my hand over his injury. “What’d you fall against?” I asked, suspecting he was lying. “This lump is hard.”

“I misjudged the ladder. I’m fine now.”

“You sure?” I asked, standing and holding my hands out for him to stand. “What about the ropes?” Josiah wouldn’t budge, ignoring my outstretched hands. My eyes narrowed as I studied him.

“I… was playing… I mean, swinging, and I fell,” he mumbled, tears developing again. He wrapped his arms around himself defensively, protecting his small chest.

“I thought it was the ladder,” I pressed. He gazed up at me. “Your pants were down, Josiah.”

“So?” he muttered, tugging at his waistband as he tried to secure his belt. “I crashed is all, trying to lift some bales.”

“You sure about that?” I asked. “You best not lie to me.” I extended my hands again. “You need to get to supper before you’re missed.”

“I… I… can’t,” he whispered.

“You can’t stand, or you can’t eat? Which is it?” I asked, uneasiness creeping down my spine.

Josiah adjusted how he was sitting, his face registering discomfort as he moved. He lifted his face to me. “It hurts, Luke,” he whispered. “Real bad.”

I knelt again, gently pressing his cheek. “Does it hurt when I do this?” He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again when he tried to answer and failed. He shook his head no. “Where does it hurt, then?” I asked.

His eyes fully released as he began sobbing uncontrollably. He put his arms around my neck, like a child would, as if he needed me to lift him from the floor, so I did. He yipped in pain, clinging to me like his life depended on it.

“Please don’t tell,” he said into my ear. “Please, please, please,” he begged.

I positioned Josiah to where I’d been standing and looked to where he’d been sitting. My heart seized as terror ripped through my being. The loft’s floor had blood on its wooden surface.

“Wha…” I began, unable to speak as the realization of his injury became clear. I moved him away from me, my hands on his shoulders, and carefully spun him around. His jeans were now bloody. Moving him around to face me again, I asked him a direct question. “Who did this to you?”

He shook his head slowly, back and forth, repeatedly. Terror in his eyes.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Tate

Hiding in a parking lot, in a bright-red Porsche in a town of mostly 4x4 trucks, wasn’t an easy thing to do. I reclined my seat and continued watching Ranch Furniture from across the street. Summer’s longer days weren’t helping my cause. I checked my watch. Five-thirty. Just like the last time I’d been there with Tyler.

I spotted three identically dressed adult men, one appearing younger, leaving in an older-model Ford pickup. I waited to see if anyone else was in the quiet store. Their parking lot was empty other than another older truck, this one a Chevy, parked alongside the metal exterior of the building. Thinking the truck was Luke’s transportation, I was pleased. At least he was old enough to drive.

“Jesus, Tate,” I muttered to myself. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I sank lower in the seat when another car pulled into a spot four spaces away. “You’re just going to walk right in and say hello, acting like nothing happened two weeks ago?”

I had zero business being here, considering how the last visit had turned out, but I genuinely needed furniture, and from what I’d noted on two previous trips there, their style was exactly what I was looking for. And, of course, I was desperate to see Luke. I was no better than Tyler, but at least Tyler had made it quite clear what he was after concerning Luke.

Goods from Ranch Furniture were entirely handmade, and that appealed to me. Being handcrafted assured the buyer that no two pieces were the same. The wood had a rough-hewn state to it. Imperfections in the wood weren’t hidden to achieve a flawless look, like the big players in the furniture business did. Instead, the craftsmanship seemed to thrive, leaving the wood in its original state; knots, scratches, and all.

I’d seen a unique coffee table that resembled an old mining cart one might see on a rail system in the mines. Rusted steel wheels, with heavy metal brackets on the corner edges, looked clunky and heavy. Just the rustic look I craved for my loft.

They also had a long dining room table that would seat eight to ten people. The tabletop had resin poured over it to a thickness of two inches, the deep scarring of the wood visible beneath. I imagined eight mismatched chairs sitting around the table, adding to the old-world farmhouse chic I was going for.

The final piece I coveted was an oversized, free-standing kitchen cabinet, built with distressed wood, possibly repurposed from a tear-down barn. The cabinet was a minimum of eight to nine feet tall, and quite wide. I had the space in my open kitchen to pull the mammoth piece off.

Feeling like an idiot, or stalker, as I hid out across the street, I put my big boy pants on and started my car. I decided to park like the customer I was, right in their parking lot. I’d apologize again for my last visit if need be. Or maybe I’d ignore the last visit and simply shop like I’d attempted to do twice previously.

My heart seized when I spotted Luke sweeping the floors inside the store. He was so boyish, yet ruggedly handsome. The word big truly came to mind whenever I saw him. I wasn’t a small man, but Luke was just built bigger in every single category of male bodies. Broad chest, big shoulders, and a narrower waist, with thick thighs, and an ass that deserved its own zip code.

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