Page 45 of Freedom
Finally, Jake got up and dragged himself down the stairs.
What he found at the kitchen table was about the most reassuring thing he could find, given the circumstances. Roger with a plate of leftovers, a half-empty bottle of Jack, and two glasses waiting for him.
“How is he?” he asked when Jake strode to the table.
Jake downed half a glass before answering. “Not great, but... breathing.”
Jake ate, and after he was done, Roger refilled his whiskey glass.
They drank with silent intentness for about ten minutes, Jake grateful for a silence not filled with Tobias’s soundless sobbing, until Roger sighed, walked to the sink, and filled his mug with water.
Jake hoped that wasn’t a sign that he was getting cut off from the whiskey. The world was blurring a little around the edges, but not nearly enough.
Roger sat back down. “That happen often?”
Jake sagged into his chair. “No. I mean, yeah, it’s happened, but not for a while, and it hasn’t been that bad since... We were doing okay, Roger, seriously, I’m not lying to you, don’t think... I don’t even fucking know, but he was doing fucking great—”
“Until you brought him to a hunter’s home.”
Jake swore. Low and under his breath as though Toby could hear him, like he thought Roger would care. “It doesn’t make sense. I mean, he knows you’re cool, you signed the papers, I’ve talked about you and made it damn clear you wouldn’t hurt him. And it still doesn’t make a difference, like he can’t trust me—”
“Moron, look at me.”
Jake raised his head without meaning to. That was the voice Roger had used on his—on Leon more than once, and on Jake when he was being a complete idiot kid, and on civilians when they had to listen or else get their faces eaten by whatever monster was bumping around in the dark. So Jake looked, and he almost wanted to cringe away from the sympathy and understanding on Roger’s face. “You got him out. That would make you better for him even if you hadn’t been visiting him for ten damn years and treating him like a person, and you’ve got to know you’re probably one of the only people who ever did.”
“And that’s so fucking wrong, Roger, because Toby—”
“I’m not saying it’s right, and I fucking agree it is wrong, but it is what it is. And at this point you gotta look at what you’ve got to work with and not at what you want, and then you gotta figure out what your options are. You saved that kid’s life, Jake, and I’m proud you did, but you gotta face the fact that you might not be able to fix him. That boy’s been screwed so hard in the noggin that no matter what you want for him and what you do for him, he’s not gonna change in a day or even a year. He may not... he may never be a normal kid, or comfortable around people, or God knows what because let’s face it, there’s a lot of shit in his past he’s never gonna shake off. We ain’t had it easy, Jake, but that kid has had it a heck of a lot worse.”
“I’ve seen his scars, Roger, it’s not like I don’t fucking know that.” Jake picked up the bottle for a refill.
“Yeah, well, sometimes you don’t act like it. You’ve got to keep that shit he went through in mind, and you have to figure out what the best thing you can do for him is, realistically speaking.” Roger stopped and took a drink, and when he continued, his words were slow, deliberate, like he was reading an unfamiliar incantation. “And I may not know much, but I know that being here ain’t doing him any favors.”
Jake looked back up, something heavy dropping in his chest. “What’re you saying?”
“You said he was better before you got here, and I can’t judge that because to put it plainly, he’s screwed in the head around me. I think you should go.”
It was suddenly hard to keep his hand even while pouring the whiskey. Thankfully there wasn’t a lot of whiskey in there to spill. “You’re kicking us out?” He hated how his voice squeaked at the end, how he sounded like he was five years old. But if Roger was saying what he thought (get the hell out and don’t come back), then Jake didn’t really know what he was going to do. First D—Leon, now Roger, and fuck, Jake didn’t have anyone else who would so much as let him crash on their couch, much less try to help. No one.
Roger’s eyes were serious, worried; even as Jake’s stomach dropped, it was almost reassuring that he looked as miserable and at the end of his rope as Jake felt. “I’m not saying don’t darken my doorstep. This ain’t even about you or that kid shaking apart in my guest room. But it’s been less than two days and you’re run ragged, my blood pressure feels like a pack of hellhounds are chasing me, and he’s... well, this ain’t exactly a soothing environment for anyone.”
“Don’t talk shit, Roger, this is about the most soothing fucking place I’ve—” Jake cut himself off. Because yeah, Roger’s salvage yard was home to him, always one of the most reliable safe houses Leon had hit if a hunt went wrong and they needed to lick their wounds, but Tobias hadn’t been there for that. Tobias didn’t know the Roger who had chased his father out the door with a shotgun pointed at his head and had let him back the very next week when he had a concussion. He hadn’t known the Roger who had played catch with him, told him to treat girls right, and watered down Leon’s whiskey when he went off the rails. All Tobias knew, and all Tobias could see, was the hunter—and that fucking hurt, but it was true.
“This is the only place I can fucking trust,” he said instead. “I ain’t got anywhere else. You know that.”
Roger nodded, his face shadowed with an even mix of sympathy and fatigue. He hadn’t looked that tired when they’d driven into his yard yesterday. Jake reached for the bottle again and realized that it was empty.
Roger followed his gaze. “You’d better switch to water if you’re heading out tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jake pushed away from the table, standing up. He swayed a bit, but the world wasn’t a complete blur. He could probably still shoot straight, and the stairs wouldn’t be any kind of fucking issue. No way.
The shadow of a smile on Roger’s face was enough. Not the best, but enough. “Need help getting upstairs?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Jake turned away, hoping absently that Tobias was still asleep but not betting on it, then turned back. “Roger, thanks for everything. And sorry.”
Roger shrugged. “Don’t apologize, son. You’ll be back.”
“Yeah.” Jake let himself smile. He didn’t think it looked that good. “Sure.”
