Page 2 of Freedom
~*~
They’d settled cautiouslyinto the new nightly motel routine without any horrific scenes like the very first night Jake had brought Tobias out of Freak Camp, when Toby had expected Jake to just take him then and there. Jake tried hard never to think of that night, though sometimes he had breath-stealing moments of panic when he glimpsed Tobias standing outside the motel bathroom—but he was never frozen there, instead moving to sit cross-legged on his bed, peering with cautious interest at whatever TV channel Jake had found.
Mostly it was the Weather Channel, but once, Jake had stumbled on a Spanish telenovela. He’d rarely had cable growing up, but Telemundo was usually reliable. With his and his dad’s trips to Mexico and time spent in the Southwest, Jake had managed to keep up a decent level of Spanish.
As nervous as he was about exposing Tobias to new triggers, Jake couldn’t hold back his glee recognizing some old favorite actors, and before he knew it, he’d launched into explaining the never-ending sagas and drama. Tobias seemed genuinely interested (Jake was pretty sure—Toby often looked absorbed by whatever nonsense Jake rambled on about), and it was a bonus that Jake could edit or leave out any details he liked from the stories.
That was the good part of their evenings.
The bad part came a couple of hours after they’d shut the lights off.
The first time, Jake hadn’t understood what he was hearing—was there a drunk asshole hollering outside? A whining dog?—but then it became all too certain that that was Toby making those noises, whimpers and sobs and muffled pleas.
Jake slapped his lamp switch, scrambling to sit up, and a moment later he was next to Tobias on the other bed. “Toby—” He hesitated with his hand over Toby’s shoulder, but Toby didn’t seem to hear him. He let out a wrenching sob, face buried in his pillow.
This had happened in Boulder a few times, and Jake felt as helpless as ever. The book Roger had sent him on dealing with PTSD had offered a few tips about nightmares but ultimately concluded that the decision to wake someone up from a nightmare was case-specific.
So Jake repeated Toby’s name, finally daring to rub his shoulder, and Toby emerged from the nightmare. He caught hold of the edge of Jake’s pajama shirt and didn’t seem inclined to let go, even when he was fully awake, so Jake sat down next to him, leaning against the headboard. He gently wrapped his hand around Toby’s, not trying to loosen his grip.
Toby didn’t speak, and Jake didn’t ask. He pressed his forehead against Jake’s thigh, and slowly his breathing evened out again.
After an hour or so, Jake fell asleep sitting up. He woke the next morning to find Toby sitting up in bed next to him, looking a little horrified.
Jake rubbed his eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I—” Toby bit his lip. “I woke you up last night.”
“Nah. You were having a nightmare.” Yawning, Jake stretched and winced at the crick in his neck. “Not your fault, so don’t apologize.”
Toby still looked pained. “I wish you didn’t have to—”
“Dude, I didn’t have to do anything. I wanted to help, you know, just like back in Boulder. And it helped, right? Or am I wrong?”
Slowly, Toby shook his head. “It did.”
“Good. That’s what counts. We can get some extra shut-eye tonight.” He yawned again. “Or maybe a nap after breakfast. Okay staying here another day? I’ll see if we can book another night.”
They followed through on that plan, both sleeping more solidly until just after noon. Toby read for a while as Jake watched TV with the volume low before going for a run, and they went out for dinner at the same diner as the night before.
When they got back and were getting ready for bed, Jake paused as he sat on the side of his bed, facing Toby’s. It was a struggle to put into words what he’d been wanting to say all day, to make the offer he wanted without Toby interpreting it as an order, and without Jake wanting to crawl under the bed for a week from sheer embarrassment.
“Look, you know I don’t want to pressure you to do anything. But if it helps—you can come sit by me, you know. Whenever you want, even if it’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to crowd your space.”
Toby paused as he set his book on the nightstand, his brow furrowing as he looked at Jake. “You... don’t mind?”
“No way.” Jake patted the space next to him, and Toby slowly came over, taking a cautious seat next to him. He didn’t relax, though, and Jake slipped an arm around his too-bony back, tugging him closer.
Toby swallowed, his body still tense. “How long—how long is this okay?”
Jake had to laugh a little, tipping his head back. “Dude, you can stay here all night if you want. If it helps.”
“You don’t mind?” Toby repeated cautiously.
“I really don’t.” Jake bit back the next admission, then made himself reconsider. This was Toby, for whom he’d already given up damn near everything without regret. Toby was the one who—for every day of his sixteen years, as far back as he could remember—had been through hells Jake couldn’t imagine. Hells holding true monsters, even if they were one hundred percent certified human. They had carved permanent imprints on his skin, more numerous than Jake could ever bear to count. If Jake couldn’t be totally honest with him, what was he even doing?
“Do you remember the night on the sofa, after we’d been to the library?” A soft smile lit up Toby’s face, and Jake laughed a little and squeezed his side. “That couch wasn’t exactly built for two guys, but it was one of the better nights of sleep I had in a while. I don’t mind if you want—I mean, maybe it could help us both, we can sorta test it out—” Jake winced, resisting the urge to bury his reddening face in his hand. “Look. I’m just trying to say—you can stay here through the night. If you want. That’d be okay with me.”
Toby’s hazel eyes were wide, trained on him with almost unnerving intensity. Jake didn’t let himself look away.
