Page 51 of Wristlocked
“Where are we going?” Gale finally asks after I exit at Decatur and start winding my way through the dark industrial area. “Looking for a place to dump my body?”
I shift my gaze to find him watching me, a wry twist to his usual smirk.
“Not tonight,” I say. “I wouldn’t do that to Gia.”
He nods like he gets that I’m not here for him and goes back to staring out the window. I tear my eyes away from the fists clenched on his thighs. This whole thing is stirring up all kinds of shit I’d rather stay buried, but he’s in the thick of his own version, and unwilling empathy niggles at my chest. “It’s a junkie hangout called the Foxhole.” I force my own hands to relax on the wheel. “I had a…friend who used to score there.”
“A friend, huh? He must have had a pretty good dick to drag you down to this part of town.”
And there goes the empathy.
“Gia was dating someone.” I bite my lip, willing my mouth to stop talking. He gives me a knowing look anyway.What is it about this guy that has me handing over truths like they’re safe with him? “And I met Caleb at the gym,” I add. “He was an after-school program kid.”
“Iwas an after-school program kid.” The edge in his voice has me glancing over, chastened.
“I didn’t mean—” I scrub a hand through my hair, fumbling for an apology, but he shrugs it off.
“So was Jamie.”
“Your brother did circus too? Straps?”
“We had a foster mom for a while who had a soft spot for broken boys and all things circus.” He lets me digest that piece of information. Apparently, it’s a night for shared confessions.
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.” He shrugs again. “Jamie was nine. He mostly dicked around.”
“You obviously took it seriously.”
He’sgood, for starting so late. I was eight when I started in social circus. By twelve, I was training five days a week with a real coach.
“It was a revelation,” he says, with that note of reverence we all get when we talk about how we fell into this art. “Something to channel all the fucked-up rage and hostility that leaked between my bones and spilled out of my mouth during those days.”
“Those days?” I mutter. He catches it with a quirk of his lips.
“You have no idea, pretty boy. And finding something that hurt in a way that felt like my choice? I ate that shit up. Puberty was dumping testosterone into my muscles, and no one could touch me.”
“Modest as ever, I see.” But I’m fighting a smile. I remember that time—when it felt like every day I grew stronger, faster, my body racing to catch up with my ambition. His eyes drop to my mouth, then flick to hold my gaze.
“Two years in, another kid showed up with actual talent. I broke his wrist behind the dumpster in the parking lot and threatened worse if he ratted me out.”
Jesus. I shift my eyes back to the road.
“That was you channeling your rage into circus?”
“I never pretended to be healthy.”
“Healthier than your brother, though,” I say, and marvel that the itch of my own scars can make breaking bones sound less fucked up than snorting Oxy. Gale grunts and leans his head against the window, the golden halo of his hair reflecting the halogen flicker of the streetlights.
“His name was Caleb?” he asks, changing the subject. Or maybe not.
“Still is, as far as I know.”
He raises his eyebrows at my tone but doesn’t argue.
“You gonna tell me his story?”
I sigh. When I met Caleb, he was just another stupid teenager with way too much energy, bouncing around the gym. He flirtedshamelessly with everyone—guys, girls, and even the coaches twice his age. At first, I ignored him, wrapped up in Gia like always, but when she began dating Parker and fell off the radar, I started paying attention.
