Page 27 of Fortress
“Out?” Jake chomped down the last strip of bacon. “Didn’t know I was going out tonight.”
“Of course you are.” Toby made a slight face, as though Jake was being ridiculous on purpose.”According to all my sources, twenty-first birthdays are a very big deal, traditionally celebrated by copious amounts of alcohol and other forms of debauchery.”
Jake laughed—the kid was just so matter-of-fact about it—and Toby relaxed into a grin. “It’s true,and you shouldn’t miss out. You only turn twenty-one once, you know.”
“Well, that depends on the date on the IDs.” Jake smirked.
But Toby pressed on, delivering his opinions on twenty-first birthdays with the same earnestness he brought to hunt research and high school precalculus. “I figured I could bring a book and stay in the car, or hang out inside the bar if you want, and I’ll be your designated driver at the end of the night. Or the morning. Whenever you’re done.”
Jake rolled his eyes.”Toby, you’re not my chauffeur. I’m not stashing you in the car or at a back table while I get wasted.If I’m going out for my twenty-first, we’re going together.”
Toby shifted his weight on the bed. “But if I’m there...” He took a deep breath. “It’s also traditional to get l-laid on a twenty-first birthday, and—if you want to reconsider the P-PG rule. I-I’d be okay with that,” he said, very quietly, and looking straight into Jake’s eyes. “We could, tonight. I’d like that, with you.”
Jake’s stomach flipped on too much eggs and oatmeal, and he sucked in a steadying breath as he reached for Toby’s arm.”Toby, I’m not—we’re not there yet.”And you’re not handing me your body as a fucking birthday present.
Toby’s eyes dropped, his mouth pressed in a thin line. “Then I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding someone who would love a chance to—to go to b-bed with you.”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t—wait,what? Toby—”
“This is yourtwenty-firstbirthday, Jake,” Toby said with finality.”You’re supposed to get—l-laid. I know that. If you won’t sleep with me, you should find someone else.”
Jake blinked, opened his mouth to reply, closed it, opened it again to take a couple rapid, irregular breaths. “Toby... I... That’s not gonna happen. Can we drop this now and just finish our fuck—our breakfast? It’s really fucking good.”
“It would be—” Something in Jake’s face or tone (yeah, maybe he was talking a little faster than he usually did or something) stopped him. Toby ducked his head and saidinstead, “I’m glad you like it,” before turning his attention to finishing his half of the food.
Through the day, Jake tried to focus on the food, Toby’s smile, their drive through the mountains to catch a view, the burgers and Cokes they got for lunch at a greasy spoon they’d found just after Christmas, and it worked, it all worked, it was a fucking wonderful day. But every now and then, when he caught the profile of Toby’s smile, when he found himself looking at Toby’s fingers just brushing his thigh as he smoothed a paper napkin out across his lap, he could hear Toby saying those words.
We could do it tonight. I’d like that with you.
The kicker wasn’t even the words, though Jake couldn’t shake those out of his head. It was the way he’d said it, the calm sincerity on his face as he sat on the fucking bed with him and offered... everything. Fuck, for all Jake knew, if he’d said “okay” right then, if he’d accepted Toby’s offer with the same stupidity that he’d had six months ago, then Toby would have laid back right then and...
Fuck. No, he couldn’t. Jake’s brain knew better. The big brain, at least. For all they had learned about each other over these months, Jake knew they still had disastrously different definitions of “okay” for that step.
The rest of Jake’s body, though. Couldn’t let it go, couldn’t come down from the surge of hormones from the minute Toby had—offeredhimself as Jake’s goddamn twenty-first birthday present.
Jake could make it good for Toby. He would take it oh-so-slow, make Toby smile, breathless and gasping all the way through. It would be so fucking good for both of them. Sweet and perfect and everything that Jake could imagine, and Toby had actually said that he would be ready, willing to try and wanting,tonight.
When the fantasies threatened to distract him from whatever Toby was saying to him, Jake had to clear his head any way he could, because none of that was happening. Not tonight, not anytime soon. That was just the way it was, the way it fucking had to be, because they weren’t there yet. He just had to stop thinking about it.
At one point, he managed maybe ten minutes. Tops.
Chapter Six
Rushing into the emergency room, all Jake knew was a blur of motion, shouting, and Tobias’s too-cold fingers in his hand. People were asking him questions, crowding too close, and his shoulder throbbed where the troll had clipped him, but none of that mattered.
He almost went for his knife when someone grabbed at his shoulder to try to pull him away from Tobias (thank fuck the grip was still tight and Tobias hadn’t let go, and Jake didnotthink about rigor, about all the things natural and supernatural that could freeze fingers in their last grip,fuck, he wasn’t fucking thinking it). Then someone snapped in his face, and he found himself back in a world that was made up of more (threats, allies, obstacles) than Tobias.
“You need to let him go,” the doctor barked. He was an older man with thinning hair and the ability to stare down a Hawthorne without blinking. “We need to get him into surgery.” His expression softened briefly, and he added, “You need to let us do our jobs.”
Jake stared at him, then took a shaky breath and nodded.
It was harder than it should have been to pry his fingers open, and thank God that wasn’t just him. Tobias’s fingers clenched convulsively on his before he could disentangle them, before he could brush a hand over Tobias’s blood-smeared face and let the doctor pull him away.
The doctor turned back, all business and orders, and Jake just stood there, dumb, coming about as close to prayer as he’d gotten since waiting all those months ago to see if the stupidfucking papers he’d signed would get Tobias out of Freak Camp. He shifted his weight and resisted the urge to keep a hand on his knife as they pulled the gurney back toward surgery.
One of the nurses reached forward with a pair of scissors, cutting open Tobias’s mud-covered shirt, baring his mangled collarbone and the rough scarring around his throat.
She stared for a long moment with the scraps hanging from her hand. Then she said, loud enough for everyone around to hear, “Oh, fuck, I think it’s a freak.”
