Chapter 2

JACK ENDED UP SENDING BUCK TO THE NURSE’S OFFICE BEFORE MEETING WITH his pa. It wasn’t hard to find her, after all, most of the staff had seen the bashing; it’d happened right in front of the glass doors. They’d stood by and let it happen, unable to stop Jack even if they’d wanted to, which they didn’t. Jack was fair in how he meted out justice. His pa was the sheriff, and Jack only did what his pa told him to. The nurse asked no questions as she helped Buck up and over to her office.

Jack caught his breath in the meantime, fixing his hat back on. His gaze fell on Russell, devoid of either hatred or compassion, a perfectly indifferent glance. Even though he took no joy from hurting others, it also didn’t affect him; this was just the way these things were handled. It was what his pa had taught him to do. He flexed his right hand as if his split knuckles were nothing more than a mere annoyance. Buck’s blood was smeared all over them, mixing with his own. Instead of wiping it off, he let it cake and flake off his skin. The sight made Russell sick.

Since no one was riding with Uncle John today, Jack called shotgun. He didn’t need to actually say it, of course; the passenger seat had always belonged to him. And when he was behind the wheel, the passenger seat belonged to Russell. Everything had its place. Everyone had their place. Buck seemed to have forgotten that today.

Uncle John gave the two boys a puzzling glance before asking after Buck. The name alone cooled Russell’s blood, and as Jack plainly explained what had happened, he brought Russell back to that moment, watching helplessly. He’d never forget how Buck had sounded while choking on his own blood. Vomit threatened to pool in his mouth. How does it taste?

Uncle John’s strongest reaction was surprise. “Buck Allen? Oh, not him. He’s so… Well, he’s a man. A real man, I thought. Just look at the size a him, a damn bull.”

“I know.” Jack sounded just as cool and collected as his pa. “He surprised me too, but I’ve handled it now, so there ain’t nothing ta worry about. I suppose… he won’t be riding with us for a while.”

Uncle John scratched the scruff on his chin. That was his tell, letting Russell know that his mind was busy. It felt, sometimes, that he was several moves ahead in a game of chess that Russell wasn’t even allowed to watch. He knew how everything in Arma worked, but he’d never explained the extent of anything that he did. “I don’t suppose he’ll be joining us at all anymore, Jack. On account of his lifestyle.”

Jack scoffed. “What I taught him wasn’t good for nothing, pa. You can have my word. Whatever he thought he was, he ain’t no more.”

Uncle John smiled; Russell saw the indicative wrinkles in the corners of his eyes through the rearview mirror. “Atta boy. You keep an eye on him, though. Ya never know.”

Jack shook his head. Russell didn’t have to see his face to know that he was rolling his eyes.

“I mean it, Jack.”

“Oh, I hear ya.”

A violent tremor overtook Russell for the fraction of a second. His first thought, upon hearing that exchange, was that Buck ought to learn how to hide better. He knew, however, that Buck wouldn’t. His pride wouldn’t let him. Nausea nearly forced Russell to empty his stomach all over the back seat. He tried very hard not to think of what would happen once Jack realized his lesson hadn’t worked.

The rest of that day was difficult to live through. Bouts of nausea kept bringing him back to the bashing and vice versa. He relived it a million times in the span of only a few hours. Jack’s voice rang in his ear over and over, demanding that Buck walked back on what he’d said, and when he didn’t, blood had gushed thicker. Russell had never heard such pitiful whimpers come out of someone as big as Buck. It’d hurt to hear them, imprinted in his brain. He wished he could’ve stopped it. Jack had mercifully allowed his inaction, not forcing him to join in, or his house of cards would’ve crumbled right there. Buck was his friend, he’d told Jack, his best excuse. Despite how much they fought. Jack knew that, of course. They only fought because they cared for each other. Russell wasn’t sure that he believed that but he’d decided against antagonizing Jack any further, lest he be the one down on the ground next.

The worst part of that day was when Ms. Lola called. Uncle John and the two boys were just about finishing up downtown. Whenever he picked them up, they went on patrol with him. Jack and Russell were very large for their age, and because of that, they were able to help during non-violent calls. Since those were the most common type, they got to help a lot. They were fun too, neighbors complaining about each other, couples fighting, weirdos acting out. Usually, Uncle John asked everyone involved a few questions, and already aware of who they were and their history with the law, he acted accordingly. Drunk folks sobered up in jail, husbands were told to control their wives and weirdos were taken to the hospital. A little shoving was common practice, just to remind them of who was in charge, and if they reacted, then Jack and Russell were allowed to join in.

Ms. Lola’s call didn’t come through the dispatcher; she called Uncle John’s personal number. He took one glance at the screen, swiped a thumb across it and brought his phone to his ear. The streets were just starting to fill up as folks left work. “Ms. Lola Bunny,” he joked. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The two boys kept quiet. Russell could hear her very faintly, a high-pitched tone that only told him she was a woman. He didn’t know Ms. Lola’s voice so well as to be able to recognize it on its own. She sounded desperate. Remembering the state Jack had left Buck in, his heart sank.

“Well, your boy was saying some pretty silly things,” Uncle John continued. "Jack was just doing his best to slap some sense into him, is all. Y’all oughta go to church more, Ms. Lola. You don’t want your boy forgetting what family means.” He cruised down the street, and finding a place to park, languidly pulled over. The truck was still running, parking brake on. “I know that. I just think he’s letting the Devil speak ta him. We can only see evil if we know what ta look for. Father Lawrence can teach him that.”

The ice cream parlor they’d stopped in front of belonged to one of Uncle John’s relatives. That could be said about half the town. Jack had his window down, forearm resting on the door despite the biting chill. The bill of his trucker hat poked out as he inspected the sidewalk. Russell watched him through the side mirror.

“Ms. Lola,” Uncle John sighed. His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d appreciate it if ya didn’t speak of Father Lawrence in that manner. Those are some serious allegations, and baseless too, mind you. I’ve seen to them myself. He is a man of God and an important member of our community.”

It was only when Birdie Davenport came out to greet them that Russell realized Jack had been staking her out. She must have noticed him too. Her hair was up in a bun, an apron over the front of her body. Russell didn’t remember she worked for Jack’s family. “Howdy, Jack.” She smiled. The blush that crept across her nose was as red as her lips.

“Howdy, Miss Birdie. How are ya?”

Miss Birdie, as if she were a proper lady. Russell rolled his eyes.

“Mighty fine, thank you. Can I get y’all anything?”

“You’re far too kind, but we ain’t staying. Pa’s on the phone.”

“Oh, right!” She leaned down to peer into the truck. Russell saw Jack’s gaze promptly fall on her cleavage. His stomach churned. “Well, howdy, Russ.”

“Howdy you.”

“Are ya busy this weekend, Miss Birdie?” Jack asked, looking her in the eye.

“Depends. I close this Saturday.”

“You close at five?”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well… it’s college night at the Corral. It opens at eight.”

The blush on her cheeks worsened somehow. She looked like a stop light. “Why, ain’t that something.”

“It sure is.”

“Miss Birdie Davenport,” Uncle John called, putting his phone away. His right hand brought the parking brake back down. “It was lovely seeing ya.”

“You too, Sheriff.” She glanced at Jack again. “Text me.” Those last two words were only mouthed at him, not spoken.

Jack nodded, smiling. The sight burned Russell into cinders.

Worse than being forced to watch them flirt was seeing how pleased Jack was afterwards, wearing that smile all the way back home. His pa only teased him a little bit, aware that his son had run laps in this town without committing to anyone. Jack had told Russell it was only because he hadn’t met the right girl yet, but Russell had come to the conclusion that he was just scared of relationships, which was fine. It meant he never let them get to his head. That was how Russell preferred it too.

Jack and his family lived at the Reed farm. It was forty minutes away, isolated by its own expanse, a hub of sorts where everyone involved with the Reed family found themselves at one point or another. Business was very often done at Jack’s dining table. Russell, in particular, was here a lot. Jack’s parents considered Russell one of their own, so he could come and go as he pleased. This was his second home. Unlike Jack’s other cousins, Russell had his own room here, which he hardly ever used, preferring to spend all his time either outside or in Jack’s room.

Jack’s mom was Aunt Marge, Russell’s pa’s sister. Her maiden name was Marge Russell. That meant Jack was Russell’s most distant blood relative. That was always weird to think about, considering how close they were, but it explained why they looked nothing alike. Russell was half Mexican, Jack wasn’t. Aunt Marge was just another drop in the Reed bucket. Almost half this town was related to them in some way, and yet, Jack somehow managed to keep meeting girls that weren’t. It was a miracle.

“Birdie Davenport,” Russell mused. He lay on Jack’s bed, watching him get ready for his date, already in his nice pair of jeans and cowboy boots. A half empty bottle of beer rested on Russell’s chest. “Her again.”

“Your point?” Jack shot him a sharp look through the mirror. His hands fixed the collar of his shirt, nearly buttoned all the way.

Russell flashed him a brief frown. “You don’t usually go for seconds. Running out of options?”

“She’s a fine girl, Russ. And I’ve gone for seconds many times. You oughta pay more attention.”

“To your sex life?” Russell made a face. “Now, why would I do that?”

“You tell me. You seem awful interested in it as is.” Finishing up the last buttons, Jack turned around and held out his arms. “Well?”

“Handsome as always,” Russell absently mumbled. His mind wasn’t really present, sort of stuck on Birdie and the flirting from a couple of days ago, as well as the subsequent flirting that he knew would take place tonight. The alcohol in his stomach numbed any reaction he might have to that. He finished his beer off before sitting up. “Well, run along, then.”

“Oh, you’re coming with me.”

Russell shook his head. “I ain’t really in the mood ta watch you and Birdie flirt all night, but thanks for the invitation.”

“Mim Baker’s going too,” Jack practically sing-songed. The corners of his lips curled into a smirk.

“Mim Baker,” Russell echoed. That name sounded familiar. He ran a hand through his hair before fixing his hat on. Ah, he remembered it now. “Cowgirl Mim Baker.” Jack had taken her virginity in the state park last year, reverse cowgirl style.

Jack laughed. “Yup, that’s the one.”

Russell stopped at the door. His right hand swirled his empty bottle around. “I’ll tell you what, Jack… I’d rather watch you and Birdie go at it than fuck Mim Baker.”

Jack’s roaring laughter snapped Russell back to reality. “Well, Heavens to Betsy, Russ. Just put your damn boots on and come along now.”

“What? This ain’t good enough for ya?” Russell indicated his day-old outfit.

“Not to Mim Baker, it ain’t.”

“Oh, to hell with Mim Baker.”

Jack dragged him out by the nape of his neck. “You’ll thank me later.”

Russell didn’t. He never had. Every time he’d let Jack drag him to a bar, he’d ended up sitting in a corner and getting wasted by himself. Tonight was no different. Mim Baker really was there, but she wasn’t his type and he clearly wasn’t hers either. Her type was Jack. Everyone’s type was Jack. Russell saw her skulking around, watching Jack from the corner of her eyes. A number of his past mistakes did that, sometimes for months and months, waiting for a chance at relevance again. Her friends were doing the same thing. If Birdie Davenport really went off with Jack tonight, then she’d be friendless for the foreseeable future. None of the girls in their school had been friends since Jack had started picking them apart.

When Russell’s gaze fell on Ms. Lola behind the bar, the bashing came rushing back to him. His pulse broke through the numbness. He walked over without thinking and leaned both forearms onto the counter. She noticed him right away. Her fiery red hair was up in a ponytail, dark eyes outlined in black. She looked so much like Buck that Russell felt himself getting emotional.

“Ms. Lola…” he choked out.

She crossed her arms. “I can see you’re already three sheets to the wind, mister. I ain’t giving you nothing but water.”

“No, I know. That ain’t it. I…” What did he even want to say? “Buck,” he blurted out. “How’s Bucky Barnes?”

Her shoulders drooped, features softening. “He’s doing godawful,” she admitted, “but he’s finally home and that’s a blessing.”

Russell’s eyes watered. “Figures,” he whispered. “I—I’m…”

“Save it.” She reached under the bar, and taking out a water, slid it over to him. “Go home, Ernie.”

He stared at the bottle. “I wish it didn’t hafta be this way. I wish I could’ve…”

“I wish things were different too, but folks ain’t gonna change. At least, not overnight. What Beau’s looking for is a miracle. That John Reed…” She shook her head. “Well, he’s a tough nut ta crack. I’ll tell ya that much.”

“Bucky’s…” Russell promptly lost his train of thought. “That’s how I feel about Buck sometimes. I wish he hadn’t said nothing. He should’ve kept his damn mouth shut, like anyone would. His ego… He’s on some app—did you know that? That’s how Jason and Caleb found him.”

“Jason Morris?” She scowled, glancing off in thought.

“That’s right. What about him?”

Her gaze found him again, and in a moment, her scowl was gone. She waved. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m probably confused.”

“Well, did ya know about that app?”

“I did. Beau doesn’t keep nothing from me.”

“Oh. Well, ain’t that nice.” It took him a second to understand what that meant. “Wait, so you ain’t upset with him? You knew?”

“Why would I be upset with him? He ain’t done nothing wrong. It is my understanding that Jason Morris and… Caleb Fawks?”

“Caleb Fawks.” Russell nodded.

“It is my understanding that those boys disclosed Beau’s personal information to the rest a the school. If it weren’t for them, none a this would’ve happened.” She paused. “Jason Morris.” Her tone was pensive. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I reckon he’s possessed,” Russell argued. “That’s the only way ta explain it, ‘cause… Well, nothing about him screams sissy. He’s big and strong and he likes ta fight. He’s manly. He—he oughta have the false idol inside him or something. There ain’t no other way ta explain it. He—he needs God, Ms. Lola.”

She stared at him.

“He needs—!” His voice caught. “He needs salvation!”

Her eyes hardened. “Will that be all, Ernie?”

The passion that shook him died. A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to swallow. “I suppose,” he told her. “There ain’t nothing to be done, is there?”

“No, there ain’t.”

A breath left his throat. His head hung forward, arms folding below it. The helplessness of Buck’s situation put the entire world over his shoulders. He suffocated, sick to his stomach. Hot tears welled in his eyes.

“Should I get Jack?” Ms. Lola asked.

Russell shook his head. He just needed a minute. A sob came out when he tried to tell her that.

“Ernie? How much did ya have?”

He quickly straightened back up and wiped his face with both hands, sniffling. “I’m fine,” he told her. “I’m fine. Don’t tell Jack.”

Worry pinched her eyebrows together. “Alright, darling.”

His body was too small to house the whole of him, constricted to an awkward shape. There was so much he wanted to say. It was easier not to feel anything at all. That way, he could wear his body comfortably, forgetting that he was too much, that that extra part of him existed. He wished he could cut it out, even if it bled forever. He just wanted to go about life as lightly as everybody else seemed to.

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