Colt and Ash's Spring Break 4

“The beach,” Colt said. 

Ash opened his mouth. 

“I know, bruh,” Colt said, “but she’s right. If we stay on the street, we’re out where anybody can see us.” 

With a grimace, Ash nodded, and he closed his mouth again. 

They followed the road, though, for a few blocks until they reached a Valero. There, on a dirty stretch of asphalt behind the convenience store, Colt popped the girl’s shoulder back into place. She screamed, and her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t pass out. He helped her lean against the stained cinderblock wall. 

Ash came back a few minutes later with one of those little bottles of Tylenol, the kind that costs ten dollars and has six pills inside it. Not that Ash ever had to worry about money. In his other hand, he carried three Cokes by their tops. 

The girl only sipped at hers, barely enough to swallow the Tylenol, but Colt took a deep drink. And then another. After practice, sometimes he felt like this. Like he’d sweated out everything. Tonight, he’d run—what? Twenty yards, tops? Thirty? 

“How’s your arm?” Ash asked. 

“Fine.” But the girl got to her feet awkwardly, careful of the injured shoulder and using her good hand to balance against the wall. “Let’s go.” 

Without looking back to see if they were following, she started toward the water. 

“She’s scared,” Ash said. 

“She’s a bitch,” Colt said. “She didn’t even say thank you.” 

Ash chafed his arms. He hesitated, and Colt braced himself for what was coming next. “Bruh, we should call your dads.” 

Colt was shaking his head before Ash even finished. 

“This is serious—” Ash said. 

“I know,” Colt said. “But what’s going to happen? If we tell J-H, he’s going to say we need to call the police. You saw how she freaked out.” 

“Right, but—” 

“And do you want to tell Pops about this?” 

There wasn’t a lot of light in the alley, but Ash lost some color. “I mean, you could tell him. He doesn’t get mad at you.” 

That was funny, since pretty much all Pops did these days was get mad at Colt. “We’re just walking with her on the beach,” Colt said. “And it’s not like they texted or called or anything.” 

Unhappiness deepened the shadows around Ash’s eyes. 

“It’s okay, babe,” Colt said and kissed him. “It’s, like, an adventure.” 

Ash smoothed Colt’s tank against his chest with one hand. Everything in Colt started to move, spin, shift. “You were really brave.” 

“You were brave,” Colt whispered. “You got us out of there.” 

Ash gave a sour little laugh. “Bruh, I froze.” 

Slowly, Colt tucked a loose strand of Ash’s hair behind his ears. He let his hands settle, so he was holding Ash’s face, cupping his cheeks. He looked Ash in the eye. 

It’s like you’re the first person who ever saw me. Ash had told him that once. The real me. 

“You got us out of there,” Colt said again. “Shit got real, and you did good.” 

Ash smiled. A little one, somewhere between pleased and worried. He tilted his head into Colt’s hand, leaning into the touch. He was just such a dork sometimes, and Colt wanted to run his thumbs over the freckles on his cheeks. 

South of the bar, the beach was deserted again. A few people walked here and there—an old guy in one of those big, floppy hats; a woman with two small children playing in the surf; a group of teenagers, guys and girls, laughing and splashing and chasing each other in the water. They had a football that flashed with a red light, and the guys kept tackling each other and falling into the incoming waves. The breeze cooled the sweat on the back of Colt’s neck, and the soft, in-and-out roar of the water muffled the laughter and voices. 

Ash, of course, set a pace so they caught up with the girl, and then he started talking to her. Nothing big. Just small stuff, chatting, even though the girl didn’t really answer. The thing about Ash was that he was kind of like J-H. People liked him. He could talk to anybody. Everybody thought he was their friend. Which was why, Colt guessed in hindsight, Ash had been the one who had broken the ice with him. When Colt had been the new kid. When he’d been strange and different and—and outside. Even though he was still strange and different and outside.  

Except Ash was here too, now. Outside. He was Colt’s boyfriend. He’d come out. All his old friends were in Gulf Shores in a house that Marlo’s dad had rented, and instead, Ash was here, with Colt, just the two of them. Was that fair to Ash? Was that what you did to someone you loved—made them give up all their friends? Ash never complained. And most of the guys at school were still nice to him. But it was different. And it could never go back. 

“Why do you give a fuck?” the girl was saying. 

“I’m just asking,” Ash said. “I’m Ash. This is Colt.” 

The wind whipped the girl’s hair around her face. She gathered it absently with one hand, not quite looking at them. 

“We saved your life,” Colt said. 

The girl glared at him. Then she said, “Biz.” 

“Cool,” Ash said. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Why is that guy after you?” Colt asked. 

Biz faced forward again. “None of your fucking business.” 

“Yeah, it is, actually. We’re the ones who saved your ass.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m fine now, so fuck off.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Like, seriously?” 

“Bruh,” Ash said. 

“No. Fuck that fucking shit. That guy would have killed you, and you’re not even grateful.” 

The girl whirled toward him. “I said fuck off!” 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me—” Colt began. 

“Bruh,” Ash said again, and this time, it was so firm that the word made it through to Colt. Ash met his gaze and said, “Just relax, okay?”  

And then Ash gave him a little tilt of his head, and Colt, after staring at his boyfriend for a moment, snapped his mouth shut and fell back a few paces. Ash and Biz moved ahead, Ash being sweet, as always, his words calm, soothing, kind. 

If she raised her voice to him. 

If she ran her mouth at him. 

If she touched him. 

But she didn’t. She stalked along the wet sand, hidden in the hoodie. If she said anything to Ash, Colt couldn’t hear it. 

Snippets floated back to him, though, from Ash’s stream of words. 

“—protective—cares about people—always trying to help—he ran away from home, that’s how we met—one of the kindest people I know, once you get to know him—”  

The sun was going down fast now, the beach disappearing into shadow. Ahead of them, a couple of twentysomethings were playing fetch with a dog, and a middle-aged man in a hat was warming up on an accordion. Someone—a tourist, probably—had left a blanket weighted down with buckets of sand, like they were staking their claim to this little stretch of beach. 

Kind? Not really. Trying to help? Maybe. Cares? Just, like, a normal amount. Protective of Ash, sure, because he had to be. Ash was so…good. Ash didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of things. Didn’t know how the world really was. Didn’t know what people could do to each other. Yeah, some bad stuff had happened to Ash in the last year. Shitheads at school. And then that psycho bitch who had kidnapped him. But Ash had grown up with parents who loved him, with a big brother who never did anything wrong, with food on the table and a warm bed. Ash had never wedged the door shut with a few shitty Legos he’d stolen from the library. So, yeah. Protective. Because the world was out there, and it was always trying to get in. 

The rumble of an engine made Colt glance back. At first, it was just a shape against the last light of the day. And then his brain put two and two together: a four-wheeler. It was running dark, which was strange—the beach wasn’t crowded, but there were still people out here. It wasn’t safe to drive without headlights. Hell, for that matter, it wasn’t safe to be driving on the beach at all—that had to be illegal, didn’t it? 

Between one moment and the next, nothing changed. It wasn’t like something happened. Nobody said anything. Nobody told him. 

But it was like Pops and J-H always talked about: sometimes you knew, even if you didn’t know why. 

Colt sprinted forward. Ash glanced over his shoulder, but before he could say anything, Colt said, “He’s coming. Somebody’s coming.” 

Biz froze. 

Ash’s next step faltered. 

“Give me your hoodie,” Colt said. Biz didn’t move, so he said, “Now! Ash, take your tank off and go play with that dog.” 

“Bruh—” 

“Go!” 

Ash gave him a bewildered look, but he started to pull at his tank. Colt gave him a shove to get him moving. Biz unzipped the hoodie, but she struggled to work it over her injured shoulder. 

“I got it, I got it,” Colt said, easing the hoodie down her arm. “Quick.” 

He pushed her toward the abandoned blanket, and as they stumbled up the beach, he pulled on her hoodie. It had a sharp, metallic smell that made him wrinkle his nose. The good thing was that it was oversized for her, which meant it came close to fitting Colt. He yanked the hood up as they reached the blanket, and then he began kicking over the buckets of sand. He pulled the blanket up, wrapped it around Biz’s shoulders, and drew the corner of it over her head. 

“Don’t fucking bite me,” he said as he stepped in. 

But Biz must have figured it out by then because she let him slide his arms around her, and she tucked her head into his chest. 

The sound of the four-wheeler grew louder and louder. Closer, the engine made this high, puttering noise like the weedwhacker made when J-H was really going at it. Colt bit his lip to keep down a wave of nervous laughter. The sound grew louder. Right behind them. The tires spit up sand, and it stung the backs of Colt’s legs. 

Colt closed his eyes. You were supposed to keep your eyes open, but that was a little kid thing: you close your eyes when you want the bad things to go away. We’re two people. Two. And you’re looking for three. Two normal people cuddling on the beach while the sun goes down. There’s no girl with a black hoodie. There’s no boy in a tank. And then, because J-H was such a nerd sometimes, and it was like that old movie: These aren’t the teens you’re looking for. 

The four-wheeler moved on. That whining, puttering noise faded into the distance. 

Biz stepped back, breaking the circle of his arms. She let the blanket fall. Her hair was mussed, and she brushed some of it out of her eyes. The T-shirt she wore had a stain on the side. The low light made it look almost black. It was still wet. 

When he pulled his gaze to her face, she was looking at him. She’d seen him notice. She knew that he knew. 

Colt unzipped the hoodie and slid out of it. 

“His name’s Taylor. Tay.” Her voice was flat. This was an offer. She was trying to make him a deal. “I stole a lot of shit for him. And then I stole a lot of shit from him.” 

Colt nodded. He helped her slide her arm into the hoodie, and then she took over, pulling it on and zipping it up. 

“We’ll get you to the station,” Colt said. 

What he didn’t say was After that, you’re on your own. 

But he didn’t have to. She knew.  

Ash ran up, tank clutched in one hand, skin pebbled with the cold. He kept shooting glances in the direction the four-wheeler had gone. “Was that—did he—”  

“I think we’re good,” Colt said. 

Biz gave a nod. 

“Holy shit,” Ash said and let out an empty, nervous laugh. “Holy shit!” 

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Ash pulled on his tank. His hand found Colt’s, and he held on tight. The sun dropped below the water, and then it was dark—but not dark dark. There was light from the city. And light on the water. Gray light, with a shine that wasn’t bright, if that made any sense. The wind blew stronger, sending the sand skittering, needling bare skin. A horn blared nearby. 

And then Biz pointed with her good arm, and Colt realized they were looking at the back of the transfer station. It was a rectangular building with pale stucco walls and the flicker of fluorescents on the other side of the windows. Ash’s hand tightened—excitement, relief, the fact that they were almost out of this fucking mess. Colt squeezed back. 

They started up the path that led away from the beach and toward the street. Then Biz stopped. She drew back into a thicker patch of shadow, staring. 

“What—” Colt began. 

She hissed, and Colt shut his mouth. 

And then the man up the path moved. Where the path passed between the transfer station and the building next to it, the darkness was almost complete. The man was invisible until he shifted and the movement gave him away.  

Biz let out another sound—frustration, this time. Maybe despair. 

On the street, a silver sedan rolled slowly past the path.  

“That’s Josie,” Biz whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t freak out on me. Don’t freak, Josie. For fuck’s sake, do not freak out now.” 

Ash gave Colt’s hand a little shake. “We could go. They won't be looking for two guys, and then we can talk to her friend.” 

“No.” Biz shook her head. “You don’t know Josie. I’m late, which means she’s about to flip her shit. If two strangers walk up to the car, she’ll run, and I don’t have anybody else.” She considered the path again. “It’s just one guy.” She wet her lips. “We don’t even know if he’s working for Tay; it might just be a tourist. What if you kept him busy while I got to the car?” 

What will the boys do now? Leave Biz behind and try to get to Josie on their own? Or try to distract the man on the path so Biz can sneak by?