Page 7 of Submit
Chapter Four
Hank blinked and appeared startled when he saw Larry standing on the other side of the door.
“Hi?” Larry didn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but he was a mess and didn’t know where else to go.
“Jesus, Larry, are you okay?” Hank reached for him and before Larry knew it, he was being hugged.
It was just the sort of comfort Larry had needed and hadn’t known ituntil that moment.
“What’s wrong?” Hank whispered. “Larry, did something happen?”
Larry was falling apart and he didn’t know why. “N-nothing.” He couldn’t manage anything else when his mind was muddied with thoughts and memories and fear—and pain.
“Hey, what’s going—oh, shit. What can we do to help?” Thomas’ voice conveyed his concern, which only made Larry sob harder.
“I don’t know. I don’tknow what’s wrong,” Hank replied, cupping the back of Larry’s head and rubbing it.
“N-nothing,” Larry tried again, andoh God!His nose was running. He was going to get gross stuff on Hank’s shirt.
Larry sniffed. Then Thomas was there, offering him tissues.
Somehow, Larry managed to get his shit together enough to grab the tissues and use them. His vision was blurred with tears and it was easierto just close his eyes. A small part of him felt like a child, hoping he’d be invisible if he couldn’t see anyone else.
But his shame, his breakdown, was there for Hank and Thomas to witness no matter how much Larry might wish otherwise.
“Come on, sit down with me and tell me what’s wrong,” Hank urged. “Or don’t. You can just…just do what you’re doing.”
Larry sob-laughed at that. “L-losingmy s-shit?”
Hank had maneuvered them to the couch. “If that’s what it takes to make you feel better, yeah, that, too.” He sat and Larry plopped down with him, still held tight in Hank’s arms.
“I’m going to let you two talk, or not, but if you need me—either of you,” Thomas clarified, “I’ll be in the den watching the game.”
Larry had interrupted Thomas’ football game, not that Thomas seemedirritated. Larry would have to apologize later.
“Do you want to talk?” Hank asked, still stroking Larry’s hair.
Larry shrugged and blew his nose. He crumpled the tissues up into a tight ball and tried to take a steady breath.
“You aren’t physically hurt, right?” Hank prodded. “I won’t bug you, but I need to make sure that, physically, you’re okay.”
“M’fine,” Larry muttered, forcing himselfto open his eyes. He kept taking slow, deep breaths, ignoring the hitches here and there as he did so.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing then,” Hank said.
Larry groaned. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing besides embarrassing himself.
Boys don’t cry. Men don’t cry. Such stupid things to teach guys.
Larry could count on one hand the times he remembered crying, and all those times hadbeen at the conversion camp his parents had sent him to.
“Crying is bad for guys,” Larry rasped, quoting Mr. Redd, who’d been in charge of the Strong Boys camp. “I don’t believe that.”
“Oh, good, because I was about to have to snap your head off,” Hank teased, his smile belying the threat. “I cry. Men die younger than women because of the whole not-crying thing, maybe.”
Larry bobbed his head.“Yeah. Yeah, I was—” He hated remembering those months. “When I was sixteen, my dad caught me getting fucked by Roy Allen. It was…bad.”
“Shit,” Hank said. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
