Page 25 of Blown

Early’s eyes widened a little. “You’re broke, aren’t you. You’re marrying Rafe for his money because you need him to support you financially.”

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” Jake lied, pushing back from the desk and standing. “I make plenty of money. In fact, just last week, I sold a piece worth five thousand dollars.”

His hands started to shake, so he pushed one through his hair to hide his nerves.

“Do you want a tea?” he asked, leaving the back part of the office for the small kitchen area. “I need a tea. I’ll gladly make you one. How much cream and how many sugars do you like? I love the fact that you guys use sugar cubes instead of packets of sugar or just sugar out of a bowl. One sugar cube is the perfect amount for tea, if you ask me.”

He needed to stop talking. That was as much a part of his compulsive behavior as the lying, but it was equally hard to stop. It gave him away every time.

“You’re broke,” Early said, standing in the doorway separating the front and back parts of the office and crossing their arms. “Does Rafe know?”

“Yeah, he knows,” Jake said, moving frantically and not looking at them.

“Jake.”

Jake glanced up at them.

“Rafe knows, doesn’t he?” they asked more seriously.

Jake blew out a breath. “We haven’t talked about it in dollars and cents, but he knows I’m broke. I don’t have a ton of lingering debt, though. Just the one credit card, and he knows about that.”

Early pressed their lips together and stared at Jake like they didn’t know whether Jake was a friend or a timebomb that would go off and destroy the whole family.

“You know, I think I’ll leave the rest of the visa application for later,” Jake said, abandoning his tea preparations and stepping away from the counter. “I’m allowed to be here for a hundred and eighty days before I have to get some other kind of visa. I’ve still got loads of time before any of this has to be sorted out.”

“Jake,” Early said, still disapproving.

“It’ll be fine,” Jake said, raising his hands as he backed toward the office door. “You’ll see. Everything will work itself out in due time.”

He turned to go, nearly careening straight into Rebecca as she returned from whatever errand she’d been running.

“Whoo! Where’s the fire?” Rebecca asked as Jake pushed past her.

Jake didn’t stick around to tell her. Early would fill her in on all the gory details, probably telling her exactly what they thought of him in the process. Jake didn’t need to be there for that.

Air. He needed air. He needed to get away from judgment and disappointment. He needed to boost himself, in the eyes of others, but especially with himself.

As he crossed Hawthorne House’s front hall and burst out into the warm summer morning, he could feel the house’s past as a school. He could hear the echoes of teachers telling him he was failing and needed to apply himself more, his parents screaming at him for being a waste of their time and a faggot on top of that. He felt a lifetime of never quite measuring up andconstantly having to rely on his wits to stop himself from being beat down nipping at his heels.

He ran to the only place he thought he might be able to find help, Rafe’s hot shop. Unluckily for him, Rafe was in the middle of a class when he got there.

“That’s it, John. Keep the pressure steady and consistent,” Rafe instructed two of his students as they pulled cane in the long, empty side of the shop floor. “The key to making perfect cane is to be calm and steady, and to work with the glass’s molten consistency as it cools.”

“Like this?” the high school kid on one end of the cane pull asked.

His face lit up when Rafe said, “Yes, just like that. Good job.”

What Jake wouldn’t have given to have his parents and teachers praise him for doing something right just once.

“Pulling cane,” he said, striding in to join the class and stand by Rafe’s side. “My favorite.”

Rafe sent him a quick, sideways grin that had “we got each other off and I want to bang your brains out as soon as possible” written all over it.

“Good morning, Mr. Mathers,” he said instead, hinting to his class that Jake was someone to be respected.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne,” Jake said in reply, like he was one of Rafe’s adoring pupils. “Can I join the class?”

Rafe hesitated. His warm smile turned confused for a second before he said, “Sure. Go right ahead.”

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