batshit.”
That was it. Ian hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, but now he realized that was what was missing. Normally Matt’s parents stuck closer to their son than his own shadow. He glanced around, surprised.
“I ditched ‘em,” Matt confirmed, correctly interpreting the look. “I bet they’re in full panic mode by now. Probably convinced I fell out of my chair and can’t get up, or some shit. Like I’m totally helpless without them.” He worked his knuckles again, cracking them loudly—a habit Ian was coming to understand was used to soothe his nerves. Everything about the kid was twitchy. “I’m seventeen. What do they think? They’re going to follow me everywhere I go for the rest of my life?”
“Maybe they just care about—”
“Screw that. I mean, I get that, but the worst thing that could happen to me already has. It’s too late. Hello! Look, everybody! I’m the freak in a wheelchair! Yeah, I made a stupid mistake. But that doesn’t mean I have to be the freak in the wheelchair whose parents follow him everywhere he goes.” Matt worked his jaw, his youthful face—not even a hint of a whisker yet—contorted with bitterness. “I’m seventeen . Seven-fucking-teen.”
Ian waited a beat, considering his response. There didn’t seem to be a good one. Telling the kid he wasn’t a freak, while true, would only come off as patronizing. He was similarly out of his depth when it came to rationalizing Matt’s parents’ behavior. Convincing the teen that his parents clung to him so closely because they really cared was so outside his realm of experience he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. So he veered the conversation in an entirely different direction.
“You ditched them, huh? What’d you do—outrun ‘em?”
Shocked surprise flitted across Matt’s face, then he gave a rough laugh. He tossed back his hair and smiled. “Very funny. Screw you, too.”
The teen’s emotional peaks and valleys reminded Ian of a rollercoaster. Would Preston be like that one day? God, he hoped not. He was already exhausted, and they’d spent less than five minutes talking.
“Hey. Watch this.” Moving abruptly, Matt drew his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and lightly chucked it on the ground. The pit bull dove for it, clamped his strong jaws around the instrument, and then gently dropped it in Matt’s lap. “Cool, huh? Joe sent my parents into town to run an errand. They need to find me a new phone case. Preferably one that’s slobber-proof.”
As he spoke, he used his jeans to wipe the drool from his phone. He reached into the nylon bag affixed to the arm of his chair and fed the dog a few treats, praising and stroking him as he did. “Good boy,” he said. “Good Get It.”
“What are you calling him?” Ian asked.
Matt tossed the last treat in the air, smiling as the dog snatched it up. Then he grimaced and fanned the air in front of his face. “He should be Hal, as in Halitosis.” He shrugged. “Joe said I could change his name, but it had to be something related to music, and something that sounded like Billy, so I wouldn’t confuse him.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah. So I’m going with Beastie, as in the Beastie Boys. Now their music totally kicks ass. Plus, the name suits him. Isn’t that right, Beastie?” A mischievous light entered Matt’s eyes. He paused, glancing at Ian. “Want to see his latest trick?”
“Sure.”
Matt leaned forward and made a looping motion with his index finger. “Hey, Beastie, Show Off Your Balls.” The dog obediently went into a Down, rolled onto his back and rocked back and forth for a moment, then sprang back up and waited for his treat. Matt obligingly provided a few more kibble bits, and then grinned up at Ian. “It’s supposed to be Roll Over, but what can I say, the guy’s got a set.”
“Good to see you’re using your time here productively.”
“Joe doesn’t mind, as long as we’re working. He’s actually pretty
That was it. Ian hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, but now he realized that was what was missing. Normally Matt’s parents stuck closer to their son than his own shadow. He glanced around, surprised.
“I ditched ‘em,” Matt confirmed, correctly interpreting the look. “I bet they’re in full panic mode by now. Probably convinced I fell out of my chair and can’t get up, or some shit. Like I’m totally helpless without them.” He worked his knuckles again, cracking them loudly—a habit Ian was coming to understand was used to soothe his nerves. Everything about the kid was twitchy. “I’m seventeen. What do they think? They’re going to follow me everywhere I go for the rest of my life?”
“Maybe they just care about—”
“Screw that. I mean, I get that, but the worst thing that could happen to me already has. It’s too late. Hello! Look, everybody! I’m the freak in a wheelchair! Yeah, I made a stupid mistake. But that doesn’t mean I have to be the freak in the wheelchair whose parents follow him everywhere he goes.” Matt worked his jaw, his youthful face—not even a hint of a whisker yet—contorted with bitterness. “I’m seventeen . Seven-fucking-teen.”
Ian waited a beat, considering his response. There didn’t seem to be a good one. Telling the kid he wasn’t a freak, while true, would only come off as patronizing. He was similarly out of his depth when it came to rationalizing Matt’s parents’ behavior. Convincing the teen that his parents clung to him so closely because they really cared was so outside his realm of experience he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. So he veered the conversation in an entirely different direction.
“You ditched them, huh? What’d you do—outrun ‘em?”
Shocked surprise flitted across Matt’s face, then he gave a rough laugh. He tossed back his hair and smiled. “Very funny. Screw you, too.”
The teen’s emotional peaks and valleys reminded Ian of a rollercoaster. Would Preston be like that one day? God, he hoped not. He was already exhausted, and they’d spent less than five minutes talking.
“Hey. Watch this.” Moving abruptly, Matt drew his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and lightly chucked it on the ground. The pit bull dove for it, clamped his strong jaws around the instrument, and then gently dropped it in Matt’s lap. “Cool, huh? Joe sent my parents into town to run an errand. They need to find me a new phone case. Preferably one that’s slobber-proof.”
As he spoke, he used his jeans to wipe the drool from his phone. He reached into the nylon bag affixed to the arm of his chair and fed the dog a few treats, praising and stroking him as he did. “Good boy,” he said. “Good Get It.”
“What are you calling him?” Ian asked.
Matt tossed the last treat in the air, smiling as the dog snatched it up. Then he grimaced and fanned the air in front of his face. “He should be Hal, as in Halitosis.” He shrugged. “Joe said I could change his name, but it had to be something related to music, and something that sounded like Billy, so I wouldn’t confuse him.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah. So I’m going with Beastie, as in the Beastie Boys. Now their music totally kicks ass. Plus, the name suits him. Isn’t that right, Beastie?” A mischievous light entered Matt’s eyes. He paused, glancing at Ian. “Want to see his latest trick?”
“Sure.”
Matt leaned forward and made a looping motion with his index finger. “Hey, Beastie, Show Off Your Balls.” The dog obediently went into a Down, rolled onto his back and rocked back and forth for a moment, then sprang back up and waited for his treat. Matt obligingly provided a few more kibble bits, and then grinned up at Ian. “It’s supposed to be Roll Over, but what can I say, the guy’s got a set.”
“Good to see you’re using your time here productively.”
“Joe doesn’t mind, as long as we’re working. He’s actually pretty
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