“Oh, god, Reed, I’m sorry. He hit you?” Dylan asks. He’s gone pale. I know I’m probably stressing him out, but if I want a real chance with him, he needs to know this about me.
“Jesus, Reed, I’m so sorry, I’m… god, I don’t know what to say,” Dylan says, squeezing my hand again. “That must have been awful.”
I shrug. “It’s shitty, but millions of people had traumatic childhoods. I dealt with it by using drugs for a while, but I learned other ways to handle it while I was in rehab. Sometimes it’s hard to fight off the bad memories though, especially around the holidays.”
“I understand,” Dylan says softly, his thumb rubbing over my knuckle. “When did they tell you to leave?”
“I was seventeen when they kicked me out. My father went through my schoolbag one night, and there was a notebook in there I’d been using as a journal.” I shrug. “Everything was pretty much there in black and white. I’m gay, and I had crushes and dreams and fantasies about other boys.”
Dylan shakes his head. “Motherfucker,” he mutters so low under his breath I almost don’t catch it.
I stand up from the kitchen chair and step close to him, placing one hand on each side of his face, tipping it up to meet my mouth in a kiss.
“It’s okay, Dylan. It was a long time ago. I’m okay, really. But they’re not part of my life. I haven’t had to think about those people for a long time now.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Dylan says. “I wish it never happened to you, but I’m happy you trust me enough to share it.”
“Thank you for listening,” I say. For some stupid reason, I had never anticipated that he might ask me to his family Thanksgiving. It’s only natural they would get together—they all seem to like each other and actually want to celebrate things, unlike my fucked-up family.
Dylan smiles back at me, and my decision is made. “I’d be honored to go with you to your family Thanksgiving. It will be fine.”
The flash of happiness in Dylan’s eyes is impossible to miss. “I would love for you to come with me,” he says.
Chapter 20
DYLAN
Thenextcoupleofdays are incredible. Reed has the week off, and stuff at HDH is extra light due to the holiday, so we’ve spent the whole week together.
The night before Thanksgiving, we share some nerdy bonding over a documentary on a new NASA telescope I’ve been dying to see. I’m blown away by Reed’s willingness and desire to learn anything new. He’s interested in learning about everything from astronomy to horse care to construction, and I love his insatiable curiosity.
After our NASA documentary is over, we sit on the couch together, two of the dogs snuggled in beside us and the third one, Alexis, on a dog bed at our feet.
We chat about everything and nothing. Politics and science and books. I share what it was like growing up with autism, and he tells me what his college years were like once he got his life back on track. But I’m still curious about how Reed ended up an addict when he’s so bright and confident and just… together.
“Reed, can I ask you about what happened after you left home? Where did you go, how did you survive? I can’t imagine being on my own at such a young age.”
He scratches David’s big dog head as it rests on his lap. “Of course, yeah. I don’t mind talking about it. It’s easier than talking about my childhood.” He smiles a little wistfully, and I reach out to take his hand.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you should have,” he interrupts. “I want you to know this stuff.” He grins as he leans over to kiss my cheek.
“So after I left home in Arizona, I went to LA. I had enough saved to take the bus, and when I got there, I lived in a hostel for a bit, and then I found some friends with couches I could surf on. I met my friend Case at a party one night when he was looking for a roommate. We hit it off, and even though I didn’t have a job yet, he asked me to move in. Turns out his family is quite wealthy, and he was looking for company more than help with the rent.”
Reed pauses and takes a sip of his beer before continuing.
“We lived together for a few months, and it was great. One night, we went to a party out in the Valley. I drove his car since I wasn’t going to drink; I was getting over a bad case of food poisoning. On our way home from this party, another car crossed the center line on a winding road through the Hollywood Hills and hit us.”
“Oh, my god,” I gasp, clutching at his hand.
“The cops told me if I had reacted a split second later, we would have both been killed. As it was, Case was hurt badly enough that he needed to move back to Pasadena to be with his family. So, within a couple of months, I needed a new place to live. But I had no job, so I couldn’t pay rent, and any money I did have was going to buy Vicodin, which is what the doctors gave me to deal with pain from my injuries.”
“But how did you go from just taking pain pills to living on the street?” I still can’t figure out how that happened.
“The same way millions of other people ended up addicted to opioids and living on the street. The doctor eventually wouldn’t write me any more prescriptions, but by that point, I needed the pills to function, so I found another way to get them. And they were pricey.” Reed smiles ruefully.
“Ohh,” I whisper. “God, Reed, I’m so sorry you had to deal with all that.”