Page 11 of Fortress
“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, we’re okay. It’s okay. We’re safe, you got us out. We’re going to be okay, Jake.”
That was the fucking last straw. ThatToby—his Toby, who had suffered months and years in that fucking hellhole, torture and shit he couldn’t even imagine even in the nightmares that tried some nights to show him what a bastard Jake Hawthorne was, hunting and whoring and fucking around before eventryingto get Toby out—was comforting him because Jake’s fucking father would kill them both if he saw them. Not just Jake (he could fucking well understand sometimes that he fucked up, maybe that he deserved a hell of a lot more shit than had come to him), but Toby, whom Jake didn’t deserve to begin with and had done fuck all to deserve that kind of death.
He might have tried to say something—he didn’t know what, Toby’s name at least—but all that came out was a choked grunt, and he twisted so he could wrap his arms around Toby, pulling him close, and closer, and tight as he could get. It wasn’twordsto tell him that Jake never deserved to have him, that Toby deserved someone without a fuckton of failures and a psycho father to boot, but Jake wasn’t capable of anything else.
It was a mark of the progress they’d made that even though there was nothing gentle about the embrace—Jake was fuckingclinging, and he would be ashamed of that later, when he felt like his world wasn’t going to fall apart with a shotgun blast—Toby didn’t tense up, only shifted enough to wiggle his own arms out to hold him, tight, in turn.
Jake pressed his face against Toby’s head, breathing in the smell of his hair—even the little hairs tickling his chin areminder that Toby washere, not back in Freak Camp or lost or bleeding out in a parking lot—and maybe rubbing the dampness (fucking sweat or rain or some shit) from his cheeks. Then he kissed Toby’s temple, long and hard. And he said it, because if they were both going to die tomorrow, or someday soon, Jake had to know that Tobyknew, because he was the best thing in Jake’s life. And just because Jake couldn’t fucking take care of him, keep him safe like he should, didn’t make it any less true.
“I love you.”
Toby froze—he didn’t stiffen, just stopped the slow motions of his hands over Jake’s back with a hitch in his breath—then he pressed close again, turning his head to nuzzle at Jake’s neck, and Jake sighed, closing his eyes. Okay. That was okay. He hadn’t expected Toby to respond. He knew Toby wanted to stay with him, and, yeah, maybe because Toby didn’t know anything better, but now he knew he was loved. That shabby truth was the best Jake had to give him.
They kept driving, though Jake eventually dropped the Eldorado’s speed down to his usual ten over. They skipped dinner—there were PowerBars in the back seat for Toby if he needed anything, and Jake couldn’t think about pulling over for some grub, not that close to the threat—and didn’t stop until they were two states away and two hours shy of midnight.
The motel they stopped at was plain but serviceable, on the edge of a town with maybe eight hundred souls. He stopped in front long enough to get a room, then drove the Eldorado around to park in the back before they walked with the bags to their room. It had a view of the parking lot’s entrance and a quick escape to their getaway.
Toby didn’t ask why they’d parked in the back, just as he hadn’t questioned why Jake had yanked them out of the middle of a hunt. Jake wished he could feel flattered that Toby trusted him that much, but he was afraid it was just another symptom of the mindfuck he’d received in camp. That didn’t stop him from taking Toby’s hand in the parking lot and not letting go until he had shut and bolted their door.
Locks thrown, curtains closed—except for a lean slip of space where hopefully they would be able to see Leon before he saw them—and bags in the corner, Jake fell backward onto the single big bed, arm crossed over his eyes. After a moment of silence, he heard Toby shuffling around. Lifting his arm an inch, he saw Toby laying a thin line of salt before the windows and door. Jake had thought he was burned out today, as far as emotions went, but that made his chest ache enough that he re-covered his eyes and swallowed convulsively.
He listened to Toby unzipping a bag in the bathroom—probably laying out their toiletries like a surgeon’s tools, toothbrushes and paste in neat parallel lines on the left, combs and razors on the right—and a moment later, the bed dipped beside him. Slowly, as though he still thought Jake would bolt from any sudden movements, Toby stretched out next to him. He tucked his head onto Jake’s shoulder and rested his hand, ever so lightly, over Jake’s heart.
“We’re okay,” he whispered, as he had hours earlier. “You and me. We can—we take care of each other.”
Jake ran his fingers over the back of Toby’s head. Toby shivered slightly, and Jake dropped his hand to cover Toby’s over his chest. He could almost believe that. It was easy to forget sometimes, the way Toby flinched away from radio ads and clueless civilian conversation, that he had a reservoir of strength that Jake couldn’t tap and shouldn’t underestimate. Hecould almost believe that together, they were a match for Leon Hawthorne.
Rubbing his thumb back and forth slowly across Toby’s hand, he answered not because he believed it, but because the words were something they both needed to hear. “Yeah, Toby. We will.”
Toby shifted, and Jake thought he felt Toby’s lips press through his shirt. Then he said, very soft: “What about—the case? Who’s going to take care of the... the artifact? Or ghost? I th-think from the r-research it was an artifact, or a s-set of them. Who’s going to s-stop it now?”
Jake exhaled. Of the two of them, Toby was always the better, the morehumanand compassionate.He hadn’t forgotten. “You’re right.” Jake sat up, reluctantly slipping out from under Toby’s arm. Toby watched him, tense and worried, as Jake dug for the phone in his jacket.
Jake stopped before the door, resting a hand against the door frame. He should leave, he really should, so Toby wouldn’t have to worry so much, so he wouldn’t hear, so that Jake could break down if he had to without the person he cared about most in the world watching. But in the end, he couldn’t.
Outside, he wouldn’t be able to see the road or Toby. He’d be too exposed.
So he tucked himself instead by the sink, where he could see every corner of the room. It didn’t matter if he knew that the position wouldn’t save him or Toby. He was doing what he could now to hold back the fear, keep the jitters where they belonged.
Maybe this was what Toby felt like all the time, so fuckingafraidof his past coming back to lay hands on him.
He punched the speed dial for Roger’s and held the phone tight to his ear, tight enough that it hurt, and tried to breathe.
“Harper Salvage, need junk, we’ve got it by the trunkful.”
Jake cleared his throat. “Hey, Rog.”
“Kid. How’s the leg treating you?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, we’re fine. Listen, I need you to pass the word for someone to pick up a hunt in South Boston, Virginia. It looks like some kind of haunted object or ghost-related death-curse thing, so there might be an artifact bounty. It’s definitely a repeating pattern, and the last two deaths were within the last month, so someone had better jump on it. We didn’t get much done, but I can tell you which witnesses you don’t need to hit up.”
“Okay,” Roger said slowly. “I got the info. But that begs the question, why aren’t you boys wrapping it up?”
Jake pressed his lips in a line, unable to keep his shoulders from hunching. “We had to clear out.”
“O–kay.” There was a pause, and Jake could hear Roger’s breathing, could almost hear him thinking.Then, “How’s Tobias doing?”
Jake rubbed his face. “He’s good. Really, really good, he’s doing—great. No, seriously, this isn’t about him, Roger, this has nothing to do with him.”
