Bad Influence (15 page)

Zeb sat up, confusion drawing his brows together, chasing the gold from his eyes. “But you were great with the kids at Sunday school.”

“I was trying to impress you.”

“It worked.” Zeb swallowed, but his eyes held Silver’s. That color, the darkest one, brown with a hint of green. Either Zeb was turned on or really pissed off. From the way he was leaning forward across the table, Silver was going with choice A, circling it and putting it on his answer sheet.

“Jordan—”

Silver’s phone went off. He thought about ignoring it, but Zeb was already back on the other side of the table, a nonspecific smile on his face, nodding like the phone ringing was something he’d personally arranged at that moment.

Silver glanced at the number. “It’s the lawyer guy. I have to take it.” But if it was bad news, he didn’t want to have to worry about what his face looked like in front of Zeb. “’Scuse me.” Silver pushed away from the table.

Based on the disapproving looks from the librarians, Silver decided he’d better take it all the way outside. They got through the greetings right as Silver hit the outside wall of heat.

“Silver, I’m afraid there’s been a slight hitch in acquiring the identification documents from your parents.”

Big fucking surprise.
“But we can still get my birth certificate from the county where I was born, right?”

“Ah. Apparently the Monongalia County Clerk is on a fishing trip and will not return until Wednesday.”

Silver heard the rustle of paper and the tap of a keyboard, pictured the flash of gold from the cufflinks under the expensive suit jacket.

There was irritation in the polished-sounding voice. “And Monongalia County has yet to join even the twentieth century. No one else is empowered to authenticate the document.”

Without his birth certificate, he had no proof he was now using his legal name. He couldn’t register to take the GED, or open a bank account. All the things the lawyer said they’d need to show the judge. And the court date was only two weeks away. He was seriously screwed. Again.

“Is there any other way to get my birth certificate?”

“There is a potential remedy. I realize it’s a less-than-desirable outcome, but I spoke with your father’s attorney. He says your father will release the documents only to you, in person.”

“Can he do that?”

“I’m afraid he can. They are in his possession. Even if we could legally compel him to provide them, that would take additional time.”

“Right.” Which left him with saying,
Fuck you, Thomas Barnett,
and probably going to jail, or finding a way to haul ass up to New Freedom. Once he had the papers, he could still tell him to fuck off in person. He did some quick calculating. He could take the bus on his day off, assuming Thomas would give him an appointment. He started walking back into the library. The librarians could just chill, he needed a bus schedule. “I can make it up on Thursday.”

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I have more information.”

Silver yanked the 83 commuter bus schedule out of the rack and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Now he’d probably miss Eli’s opening. Not that Silver really gave a shit about the art, but it was a big deal to Eli, and Silver owed him. A lot more than just showing up at a gallery.

He flopped back down in his chair and yanked the book as close as he could, propping up his forehead on his fists to hide his face as he tried to make the marks on the page turn into words. They didn’t, so he dug his knuckles into his closed eyes until he saw bright patches of purple and blue against the black.

The touch was so light, he thought it had to be a brush of air at first. A stroke through his hair. But then there was another, tingling his scalp. Then firmer. A caress. Comfort.

Zeb was petting his hair in the middle of the library?

Silver sat up. “Don’t go losing your job.”

Zeb yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned. “Bad news?”

“Wow. You must be psychic or something. I guess we don’t have much time left. I gotta catch the bus.” He shoved the book into his backpack.

Zeb put his hand over Silver’s on top of the canvas. “Jordan. Are you going back to jail?”

Silver glanced down at Zeb’s hand, and he pulled it back. “Not yet.”

“You don’t have to leave now. I’ll drive you in.”

“I’m not exactly in the mood to concentrate on anything.”

“I’ll still drive you.”

Silver didn’t care about the lame plan to get his revenge anymore. It felt like nothing he did mattered. Everything he’d been through and he still wound up being jerked around by his father. Right now all he wanted was to get away from the other half of why he’d sworn he’d never go anywhere near New Freedom again.

“Why?” he demanded. “You think a couple of rides and some GED tutoring will make up for everything?”

Zeb looked at Silver with an infuriating calm. “I think we both know there’s nothing I can do that will ever make up for what happened.”

Damn right. “So what the fuck difference does it make if I take the bus?”

“Because it’s ninety-four outside, my car has air conditioning and I hope you’ll tell me what happened.”

Silver would have sworn when he left the library he was headed across the street to the bus stop, but he found himself next to the passenger door of Zeb’s Pontiac. His Chucks were sticking to the blacktop.

After Zeb popped the locks, Silver slung himself in and waited for the even greater blast of heat in the car to blow out of the open windows as the a/c took over. It wasn’t until the second light that Zeb said, “Watch your fingers,” and rolled up the windows. “How’s your elbow, by the way?”

Silver glanced down as if he could see it through the black sleeve of his work shirt and the gauze he carefully taped down after his shower.

“It’s okay.”

He dug the tie out of his backpack and put it over his head. The air felt good, and he leaned his face into it, let it lift his hair. Which reminded him of Zeb playing with his hair in the library. He sat back. Zeb not asking him about the phone call was just as annoying as if he’d nagged.

And more effective.

“I need to have proof of my legal name before my court date. We’re having trouble getting my birth certificate from the county where I was born, and my father will only hand over the official copy and my social security card if I show up in person.”

Zeb nodded, but Silver saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. It had to be scorching his palms. Silver couldn’t even rest his forearm against the door panel.

“When is your next day off?”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to do it. One night in jail was enough.”
I hope.

“When?”

Okay. Nagging was definitely more annoying. “Thursday. That okay with you?”

That shut him up for awhile.

“You’ll have to make a left up here on West Mulberry,” Silver pointed out.

Traffic on Mulberry was stuck at every light. Silver wanted to get out and push the car. Pedestrians cut in front of them, ignoring the crosswalks—which was pretty much what Silver did all the time but trapped in the car with Zeb with what felt like all their baggage plus Silver’s parents watching from the backseat, it was enough to make him want to scream.

“I’ll get out at the next light. Charles Street is one-way in the wrong direction.”

“I’ll take a personal day and drive you up Thursday,” Zeb said as if Silver hadn’t told him how desperate he was to not be in this car anymore.

“You need more get-out-of-hell free points? How about this? I forgive you. There. It’s all fine. I’m sure Jesus is fine with it too.” Silver reached for the door. Which was locked. He forced down a sharp breath. Zeb hadn’t done it on purpose; Silver had heard the doors lock automatically as they left the library lot. But it took his last bit of self-control not to start kicking at it to make it open. He’d think after surviving that night in jail, he’d be over that locked-in panic attack. Every locked door wasn’t the one on the Reflection Room at Path to Glory.

“I want to do it.” Zeb pulled the car over into a spot right under a
No Stopping or Standing Tow Zone
sign. For a guy who used to be so intent about doing the right thing, he sure bent a lot of laws.

“You don’t have to do it.”

Zeb released the door lock. “Actually, I think I do.”

Silver climbed out. “I told you, I don’t need you to.”

Zeb’s voice was calm, but there was a determination in it that made the hair on the back of Silver’s neck stand up.

“I didn’t say I was doing it for you.”

Chapter Ten

Whatever the fuck Zeb had meant by “not doing it for you”, the only reason Silver dropped his ass into the passenger seat of Zeb’s Pontiac two days later was because of Eli, and Silver said that immediately.

“I don’t know what you plan to get out of the trip, but whatever it is, we need to be on our way back by five thirty.”

Thomas Barnett had dictated a four-thirty appointment. Silver owed it to Eli to be at that opening. Not only was Eli the reason Silver got to walk around free in a space bigger than a jail cell, he couldn’t stand to imagine the sad puppy eyes if he missed it.

“Understood. My business won’t take long.”

“Why are we leaving so early then?” Silver dragged the seat belt across to the buckle.

“I didn’t think you’d want to risk being late.”

It was true Silver hated to give Thomas any reason to go back on the deal, but not having a car didn’t mean he was also lacking a brain. “I don’t.” And because Zeb had spoken in that irritatingly reasonable teacher voice he’d been using lately, Silver tacked on, “But don’t think because you’re helping me with the GED you need to plan out the rest of my business. I’ve been living on my own for years.”
Thanks to three of the people whose faces I have to see today.
Shoving the seat back as far as it would go, he slipped off his Chucks and put his bare feet up on the dash, knees bent close to his face.

As the GPS dictated their trip to I-83, Zeb said in a voice about as full of life as the computer’s, “Have I mentioned that I don’t trust other people’s driving?”

“Yup. Wearing my seat belt.”

“Have you considered what could happen if we were in an accident?”

Silver glanced around at the cars and trucks whizzing by as they squeezed into the early rush-hour traffic on the interstate and shrugged. “Probably get creamed. And not in the fun way,” he added with a leer.

“Riding with your legs like that is more dangerous.”

“Oh, I seem to remember you liking a ride with my legs up around my shoulders once or twice—or was that around your shoulders?” Silver turned to see how Zeb took that.

Instead of the flush of heat and gulping swallow Silver had been counting on, he found a jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle jumped in a spasmodic tic.

“You won’t be up to your usual running away if both your legs end up amputated.”

Silver stared down at his knees. “I’d have crawled. To get away from that camp. To stay me.” He glared back at Zeb. “And who the fuck are you to talk about running? Haiti, seriously?”

“I called.”

“Yeah, on my eighteenth birthday.” Silver rolled his eyes.

“No. I tried calling a few days after you showed up that night. When I couldn’t reach you that way, I checked some of the places I thought you might be.”

Silver had already been on his way to Baltimore. Not that it would have fixed anything, but he was curious. Zeb sounded like that had meant something to him. Tipping his head to get more than a side view, he asked, “How hard did you look?”

Zeb glanced over then back at the road before he let out a long breath, blunt fingers stretching and then re-gripping the steering wheel. “I’d had to resign. I got to keep my teaching certification because they didn’t press charges. But only because I met their requirements. Ten years in prison is a long time, Jordan.”

If Zeb had lived long enough to serve it. Silver pictured him trying to calmly intervene in a knife fight. The theater in his head expanded to IMAX size in time for him to watch the blade go into Zeb’s gut, perfectly capturing both the spread of dark blood on prison orange and the pained confusion on Zeb’s face. The a/c blasting in the car was suddenly a little too effective as the hair all over Silver’s body stood on end.

“Actually, it wouldn’t have been that long,” Zeb said dryly. “Sex offenders don’t have a long lifespan in prison.”

Zeb’s wry sense of humor had popped up at some of the weirdest times and had always been something Silver loved about him. But with that scene playing out in his head, he couldn’t laugh. And he couldn’t control a shiver.

Zeb reached out and turned down the a/c. “I’m not trying to boss you around. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Everybody hurts.”

Zeb sighed. “Michael Stipe aside, it doesn’t mean I can’t care about you.”

In his best Alec Guinness imitation, Silver intoned, “You cannot escape your destiny.”

Zeb gave him a wry smile. “Thanks for the insight, Obi-Wan, but I was talking about your feet on the dashboard.”