The Coil (24 page)

Making it to the first flight of stairs, his clumsy feet tripped over themselves. He reached desperately for the railing as he flailed and stumbled down the first few steps. It wasn’t until he’d reached the bottom of the second set of steps that his knees gave out and he crumpled, sliding down against the wall, his arm wrapped around his stomach as he gasped for breath between hiccups of fear.

After taking a minute to collect himself, he carried on down the last flight of stairs and walked unsteadily toward the front entrance. He wiped at his face to make sure it was dry, and reached into his pocket for his phone.

He didn’t care about having to explain to Simon where he was and what he was doing there. He just needed to speak to him, have him come get him and take him away. His hands noticeably shook as he scrolled down his contacts for Simon’s number. Hitting the green button and putting the phone to his ear, he pushed the entrance door open and walked slowly down the sidewalk.

“Please pick up, Simon, please….”

H
IS
phone vibrated on the counter, but after checking it wasn’t Sarah and seeing that it was Mattie, he decided to let it go to voice mail. It wasn’t every day that his mother was sitting in his kitchen, offering to mend fences and build bridges. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he poured two more lattes—the first untouched and now stone cold. Mattie was probably checking that he was okay. It felt good to have someone checking up on him. He’d make sure to call him back as soon as his mother left.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“No, I’ll call him back later.” He almost winced when he realized what he’d said. He glanced cautiously over at his mother, bracing for whatever her reaction may be.

“So… is—is that the young man you were in a relationship with a few years ago?”

There was some mild discomfort but no look of outright disgust. “Tim? No, we parted ways a while back.” He set a mug in front of his mother and sat opposite her, blowing over the rim of his own.

“Oh?” she asked hesitantly.

Simon couldn’t help but snort. “You’re seriously asking me about my love life?”

His mother actually smiled, and it was a good, familiar smile he recognized from years ago before everything went so wrong. “No, I suppose it’s a bit soon for that.”

He studied her a moment and then shrugged with a small sigh. “Tim didn’t want to be a father, and to be fair, it was sort of thrust upon him.”

His mother nodded slowly. “So, you wanted different things?”

He nodded in response. “Pretty much. I was set on being a family man. I swear.” He smiled. “Not even a month old and Jamie
owned
me, heart and soul. There just wasn’t room or time for the kind of life Tim and I shared beforehand.”

“So you chose Jamie over your, um….”

He nodded, almost enjoying her discomfort. “Boyfriend. And no, choice had nothing to do with it. If he didn’t want to be a part of Jamie’s life, then there’s no being a part of mine. They go hand in hand. He’s my
son
.”

He was surprised to see his mother actually tear up, and when he asked what was wrong, she waved him away and covered her mouth. She reached for her mug again and let out a short breath, smiling still. “I love hearing you talk like that. You sound so proud of him.”

“I
am
proud of him, Mother.”

“Please go back to calling me Mom. I miss that.”

He swallowed hard.

“Am I allowed to ask if there’s someone new in your life, or is that…?” She trailed off with a nervous hand gesture.

“Well, that depends on whether you really want to know, and how you’re going to react. I’m telling you now; I’m not going to stand for—”

“Simon,” she interrupted with a rueful smile. “You can answer yes or no. In all honestly, I’m not ready for details.” Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s not to say that you can’t talk about—about any, um, significant other you might have, if you want to. I told you I’m determined to be the mother you deserve. I’m going to get over any—”

“Oh good God, stop waffling.” He laughed, and felt a flush of genuine warmth when she waved him away with a laugh and reached for her mug again. It almost felt like everything could be right with them once more, and he knew that if his sister were able to see them now, she’d be smiling from ear to ear. Still, a small part of him held back. It felt good to be talking to his mother—to have that feeling of a mother looking at you with some sort of ownership in their eyes. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d missed her, and wasn’t quite ready to have Mattie enter the delicate mixture. Whether he was protecting his relationship with Mattie, or himself, he didn’t want to examine too closely. Time for a change of subject.

“So… Jamie.” He’d brought the large scrapbook of photos and drawings by Jamie he kept in his office, and they’d spent a good half hour warming up to the subject of them meeting while they played catch-up with Jamie’s every mannerism and achievement. “You want to be a part of his life,” he stated flatly. He watched her put down her mug and swallow hard.

“If you’re willing, but I want you to understand that I recognize that you are his father, and I will abide by any rules you want to put in place concerning him.”

Something in his chest slowly loosened its grip, and he was able to breathe a little easier. As much of a breakthrough that evening had been so far, he couldn’t trust her completely, not yet and not by a long shot. But he knew now that he at least wanted to.

“I think, perhaps to begin with at least… a telephone call?” He felt guilty when her face fell in clear disappointment, but she was quick to agree, nodding away.

“Absolutely. Get him used to my voice first, right?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” He frowned.

“I understand, Simon. I know I frightened him terribly when I tried to hug him. To be honest, I can’t believe I showed such a lapse in judgment. For all the research in infant autism I read, you’d think—”

“Wait a second. You—you read about that sort of thing?”

She suddenly looked nervous. “Well, there was a time when I was adamant on—on taking him from you, wasn’t there?”

The look on her face could be described as nothing other than shame. She wasn’t to know, however, that he appreciated hearing the truth. It went a long way to building a little trust between them.

“And then, of course, I just hoped to be a part of his life, so… yes, I read quite a bit about the subject. Though I can’t imagine it compares much to actually raising a child with autism. So… we go at your speed here. Whatever you think is right.”

A snide part of him wanted to point out that she’d probably say anything to get him to trust her again, but he could only read sincerity in her expression, and there had been a time when he’d trusted her implicitly. He dared hope to feel that way again.

He nodded. “Maybe a phone call a few times a week. He likes using the phone. It makes him feel grown up.”

She was beaming. “I can’t wait, I really can’t. Thank you.”

“And uh… well.” He cleared his throat. “Depending on how that goes, his birthday is coming up real soon, as you know, and I was thinking of throwing him a small birthday party.” He almost smiled at the hope he could see building in her face. “Perhaps you could drop by early and help us blow up some of the balloons?”

“Oh, Simon!” She laughed, standing and rounding the table to hug him. He couldn’t help but laugh himself. Christ, it felt good to finally, or at least
begin
to, forgive. “I could bake the cake! What’s his favorite flavor? Lemon? Chocolate? I bet it’s fudge, isn’t it? You always loved fudge.”

He hugged her for a moment and then gently held her back. He didn’t want them getting ahead of themselves. “Remember, it all depends on Jamie. If I don’t think he’s ready for someone new….” He shook his head apologetically, but she was already nodding along.

“Then I will be perfectly content to sing him happy birthday over the telephone.”

He sighed quietly in relief. “All right. All right, good.” He nodded. “So….” He smiled. He’d quite enjoyed playing catch up with regards to Jamie and carrying on like a proud father, despite his clock-watching. He’d have to pick up Jamie soon, and he wanted to return Mattie’s call. He wanted to tell him all about it. “What else do you want to know?”

She bit her lip, something he wasn’t accustomed to seeing her do. “Everything, absolutely everything. But….”

“But?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Where the hell had that “but” come from?

“I’d like… tell me about you?”

“Me?” he asked softly.

“I want to hear everything. Have you travelled much? Is spaghetti Bolognese still your favorite food?” She smiled, shrugging slightly. “What are reading lately? What are you
writing
lately?”

He felt blindsided, and not just a little bit emotional. “You want to talk about my writing?” Why the last surprised him the most, he didn’t know.

“Well, of course, silly. I’ve read all of your books. When’s the next one out? Oh! You can autograph the ones I have at home!”

He smiled sadly. He never expected to have this back, and it was throwing him a little. He glanced back at her when her small hand covered his own, larger one. Her eyes were glassy.

“This is something I should have told you years ago. I am, and always have been, blindingly proud of you, Simon. You are incredibly talented.”

He swallowed hard. “Thanks, Mom.”

She patted his hand and then sat back and picked up her mug. “Come on. I want to hear absolutely everything.”

He smiled, feeling oddly nervous. “Well, I’ve just started a new manuscript….”

T
HE
rain had gone a small ways to washing the scent of beer from Mattie’s hair, but he still felt fucking filthy. What had happened in that guy’s apartment could have been so much worse. All sorts of fucked-up scenarios were now going through his head.

He sniffed and shivered as a droplet of rain dripped from his hair and trailed down his neck and the back of his shirt. What was he doing with his life? What the
fuck
? He thought he’d hit rock bottom before—he’d been wrong.
This
was rock bottom.

For some reason, he didn’t want to go home. He needed company. He pulled his phone out of his pocket again to check for any messages from Simon. Nothing. He wasn’t mad. He knew it was an important evening for Simon. Still. He felt so fucking raw, so alone, and Simon was the only person who could probably make him feel better right now. Though, thinking on it, perhaps it was best Simon hadn’t answered his phone. He was calmer now and didn’t like the idea of telling Simon where he’d been.

One positive thing had come out of this. He was done with hooking. Fucking draw a line through him, stick a fork in him,
done
. He’d told himself such things before, but there was no way in hell he was ever putting himself in that situation again. He was just going to have to tighten his belt and hang on until he got his GED and could apply for a better-paying job.

And he wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to let on to Simon that he was calling it a day with hooking. It wasn’t that he wanted to make him jealous; it was something more important than that. He needed Simon to ask him to stop. He needed to know he was important enough to become a fixture in this man’s life. And nothing would smack more of commitment and feeling needed than Simon wanting him all to himself. Perhaps Simon’d catch on when he noticed how much weight he was losing from lack of
food
. Nah, he was being stupid. It would never get that far. Ty would never let it get that far, and he was pretty sure that Simon would eventually broach that uncomfortable subject of money if he noticed how bad things were getting for him.

And if he had to swallow his pride and ask for a handout? Then so be it. Simon knew he wasn’t with him for the money, and Ty would be relieved as fuck. Ty. That’s where he was headed right now, Ty’s place. He needed some food in his stomach, a friend to talk to, and—he wasn’t too proud to admit it—he needed a fucking hug. The worst night of his life, and his lover wasn’t answering the phone. He needed a friend. Now if he could only stop sniveling….

Raising a hand, he knocked at Ty’s front door. He quickly wiped at his cheeks, hoping any residual dampness could be blamed on the rain. But when Ty opened the door, and his usual friendly smile of greeting slowly slipped away to be replaced by a look of concern, a sound frighteningly close to that of a hiccup escaped his throat.

“Fuck, Mattie, what the
hell
…?” Ty stepped forward, out of the doorway and into the rain. Following Ty’s gaze, he hadn’t even realized he was still guarding his stomach with his arm. His voice was unsteady and sounded thick with impending tears when he spoke.

“Can I get that ten bucks?”

Chapter Seven

H
EAVEN
.

That’s what this was. For the first time in a long time, his life, in all aspects, was coming together. The words were flowing freely with his new manuscript. He no longer procrastinated and dreaded the blinking curser of an open Word document. Now? He whipped out his notes, got himself settled with a coffee, and poured his every experience, fear, and triumph into his manuscript. If ever he began to worry about his new venture and felt tempted to return to what felt safe, he kept one thing in mind, one fantasy: he pictured Jamie reading his book ten years down the line. And with that one image, that one goal, Simon threw himself into writing what he hoped was a manuscript that would justify the struggles any parent raising an autistic child faced on a daily basis. He tried valiantly to put into words how much he treasured and adored his son, hoping that one day Jamie would read it and know just how much his father loved him.