brother wasn't a fucking fag,” he said, his own voice shaking.
Jeff closed his eyes and swallowed. “Your brother was one of the best men I've ever known. Can I read my letter now?”
Unsatisfied but obviously unable to come up with another retort, the kid let go of the letter and shoveled in another bite of fried steak, potatoes, and gravy.
There were only two tables left in the diner after the rush, one of them belonging to Jeff's friends and the other belonging to Jeff. Collin didn't feel self-conscious in the least about watching Jeff read the letter in his shaking hands, because everybody in the restaurant was watching him read the letter, even the kid, who, as Jeff started to wipe his eyes unobtrusively with the backs of his hands, actually stopped eating.
“Oh God,” he said when he got to the end. “Oh Kevin… Jesus. No….” Suddenly he looked up at Lucas, his face twisted with pain.
“Did you know?” he asked, and Lucas looked away.
“I guessed,” he said. “I… awww… fuckitall….” Suddenly Lucas was wiping his eyes too. “Goddammit, Kevin. Godfuckingdammit!”
“Is it true?” Martin asked, and he looked from one man to the other. “Did my brother kill himself? Did you give him AIDS, you assfucker, so he had to kill himself?”
The kid came out of his seat and across the table, and Collin acted on instinct, grabbing him around the middle and crashing to the ground in a full tackle. The kid's chair went shooting across the room into Lucas, and there was a sudden silence after the clatter, broken by the kid shouting, “Get off me, motherfucker, just get the fuck off me !” He swung his elbow back and it connected solidly with Collin's nose, and for a moment, all Collin could focus on were stars and stars and the fact that, oh fuck , he was pouring blood down his shirt.
Collin stood quickly, holding his head back and looking from the corner of his eye for a napkin dispenser, and the kid scrambled up in a tangle of knees and elbows and reached in to help. Collin held out a hand and called, “Mo—mmmm! We neeb cween-ub oub hewr, stat!”
He heard his mother shout, and then the kid looked around at all of the stunned faces, Jeff's included.
Collin knew the exact moment the kid decided to flee—Collin had probably had the same expression on his own face when he couldn't face the mess he'd made too.
“Awwww, fuck this shit!” And Martin was gone, crashing out into the concrete-colored afternoon, leaving complete chaos in his wake. For a moment, the door swung open, and they could hear him pounding down the pavement in his Converse sneakers, dodging out of the way of cars as they came.
“I'll get him!” Lucas called, and Kimmy was out the door behind him.
Crick said, “Aww, fuck—someone's got to tell law enforcement he hasn't done anything. In this town they'll have his ass just for being black!” And then he and Mikhail went sprinting out the door, leaving their knitting behind them.
Jeff stood for a second and watched the herd of people disappear in search of one lost, confused kid, and then cocked his head a little as Collin staunched the blood from his nose. Calmly and collectedly, Jeff pulled a pair of purple steri-gloves from his back pocket—or out of his ass, for all Collin knew—and grabbed another handful of napkins and the pitcher of ice water from the other vacant table. Before Collin knew it, the sweetheart of his big-alpha dreams was telling him very competently to tilt his head and sit down, dammit, sit down!
Collin's mother came bustling in with a mop and a pair of rubber gloves that were standard practice when cleaning and gave a little tsk .
“It's not his fault,” Jeff said with a hard swallow. “He was trying to keep the peace.” Jeff sent him a rather huffy eye-roll, though. “I can take a punch, Collin. I may be flaming, but I'm not fragile!” He pronounced it “frag aisle! ” with a little trill on the end, and Collin wished his nose would stop bleeding
Jeff closed his eyes and swallowed. “Your brother was one of the best men I've ever known. Can I read my letter now?”
Unsatisfied but obviously unable to come up with another retort, the kid let go of the letter and shoveled in another bite of fried steak, potatoes, and gravy.
There were only two tables left in the diner after the rush, one of them belonging to Jeff's friends and the other belonging to Jeff. Collin didn't feel self-conscious in the least about watching Jeff read the letter in his shaking hands, because everybody in the restaurant was watching him read the letter, even the kid, who, as Jeff started to wipe his eyes unobtrusively with the backs of his hands, actually stopped eating.
“Oh God,” he said when he got to the end. “Oh Kevin… Jesus. No….” Suddenly he looked up at Lucas, his face twisted with pain.
“Did you know?” he asked, and Lucas looked away.
“I guessed,” he said. “I… awww… fuckitall….” Suddenly Lucas was wiping his eyes too. “Goddammit, Kevin. Godfuckingdammit!”
“Is it true?” Martin asked, and he looked from one man to the other. “Did my brother kill himself? Did you give him AIDS, you assfucker, so he had to kill himself?”
The kid came out of his seat and across the table, and Collin acted on instinct, grabbing him around the middle and crashing to the ground in a full tackle. The kid's chair went shooting across the room into Lucas, and there was a sudden silence after the clatter, broken by the kid shouting, “Get off me, motherfucker, just get the fuck off me !” He swung his elbow back and it connected solidly with Collin's nose, and for a moment, all Collin could focus on were stars and stars and the fact that, oh fuck , he was pouring blood down his shirt.
Collin stood quickly, holding his head back and looking from the corner of his eye for a napkin dispenser, and the kid scrambled up in a tangle of knees and elbows and reached in to help. Collin held out a hand and called, “Mo—mmmm! We neeb cween-ub oub hewr, stat!”
He heard his mother shout, and then the kid looked around at all of the stunned faces, Jeff's included.
Collin knew the exact moment the kid decided to flee—Collin had probably had the same expression on his own face when he couldn't face the mess he'd made too.
“Awwww, fuck this shit!” And Martin was gone, crashing out into the concrete-colored afternoon, leaving complete chaos in his wake. For a moment, the door swung open, and they could hear him pounding down the pavement in his Converse sneakers, dodging out of the way of cars as they came.
“I'll get him!” Lucas called, and Kimmy was out the door behind him.
Crick said, “Aww, fuck—someone's got to tell law enforcement he hasn't done anything. In this town they'll have his ass just for being black!” And then he and Mikhail went sprinting out the door, leaving their knitting behind them.
Jeff stood for a second and watched the herd of people disappear in search of one lost, confused kid, and then cocked his head a little as Collin staunched the blood from his nose. Calmly and collectedly, Jeff pulled a pair of purple steri-gloves from his back pocket—or out of his ass, for all Collin knew—and grabbed another handful of napkins and the pitcher of ice water from the other vacant table. Before Collin knew it, the sweetheart of his big-alpha dreams was telling him very competently to tilt his head and sit down, dammit, sit down!
Collin's mother came bustling in with a mop and a pair of rubber gloves that were standard practice when cleaning and gave a little tsk .
“It's not his fault,” Jeff said with a hard swallow. “He was trying to keep the peace.” Jeff sent him a rather huffy eye-roll, though. “I can take a punch, Collin. I may be flaming, but I'm not fragile!” He pronounced it “frag aisle! ” with a little trill on the end, and Collin wished his nose would stop bleeding
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