Chapter 3

TIME STOPPED WHEN HE SAW BUCK. THERE HAD BEEN RUMORS THAT HE’D BE returning to school soon, although no one knew exactly when. He’d been in the hospital for two days, apparently. All the hearsay came from the fact that no one had visited him, so they couldn’t be sure. Everyone’s parents had heard of what had happened by now, and after two heated PTA meetings, they’d only allowed their kids to continue going to school with him because they trusted that Jack had handled it. Uncle John trusted him and the city of Arma trusted Uncle John.

Buck’s gaze was sharp enough to cut, fixed squarely on Jack. Cold hatred emanated from him. His hair was freshly styled, short ginger stubble on his jaw. Large black bruises covered the left side of his face, stitches on his eyebrow, a bandage over the bridge of his nose. He carried himself with just as much poise as before, standing tall while approaching Jack. They were almost the same height. That one inch that separated them was the bane of Jack’s existence; he’d complained endlessly about it, as if Buck wasn’t allowed to be taller than him. As if no one was. They had just about the same body type too, only Buck was heavier and Jack was stronger, as it should be. Russell guessed that no one was allowed to be stronger than Jack either.

The entire school gawked at Buck, forming a small crowd around him. Jack’s relaxed posture was fabricated, showing the crowd that he didn’t feel threatened. He welcomed Buck with a toothy grin, too sharp. That was his more playful side, which laughed off any bad blood and made friends with his enemies, all the while pretending he didn’t still hate them. Normally, Russell would’ve enjoyed it. He would’ve put on his most menacing smile and laughed right alongside him, but this wasn’t one of those times. Keeping his composure was difficult enough near Buck as he struggled not to burst into tears.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Welcome back, Bucko.”

“Did ya miss me?” Buck’s voice was completely devoid of emotion despite his little joke. There was no light in his eyes either, dead inside.

“All three days you were gone.” Jack grinned.

Buck wore a matching grin so convincing that, for a moment, Russell almost thought everything had returned to normal. Then he remembered Buck had been gone for four days, not three.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Russell blurted out. “I missed ya.”

“Ya did?” Buck raised his good eyebrow. His surprise seemed genuine.

“A course.” Russell gave his shoulder a playful punch. “You’re my favorite cocksucker.”

Jack’s laughter was music to his ears.

Buck just scoffed, grimacing a bit. Everything about him was hard and joyless. While he still wasn’t denying the allegations, he no longer openly admitted to them. So, it seemed that Jack’s lesson truly had worked. Russell secretly admired Buck for his resilience, not letting Jack bully him back into the closet; the bashing had just taught him not to talk about it anymore, which anyone with half a brain would’ve advised him to do. Buck only learned the lessons he wanted to learn. He had selective hearing and a warped understanding of the world. Sometimes, it felt that that was the only way to truly thrive in it. Living was easy; anyone could do it, but Buck was going somewhere. He was clever and strong, Jack’s only real rival since Russell was content with second place. He enjoyed its proximity to first place, always beside it. There was no one without the other.

Things were awkward now, even if Jack pretended that they weren’t. He spoke to Buck as if nothing had happened, receiving no response in return. Buck didn’t play around anymore, closed off and quiet. It was bizarre to see him this way, the self-proclaimed clown of the group. Whenever he glanced at Jack, his eyes shot daggers, teeth just short of grinding. Russell could’ve cut the tension between them with a knife.

Buck was picked on all day. While he’d never been an easy target, students felt emboldened knowing they wouldn’t get in trouble for ganging up on him. After all, he deserved it. Wasn’t this what happened to people like him? He fought back to the best of his ability, but it was obvious that he hadn’t made a full recovery just yet. Jack had nearly done him in last week. Even Jack’s cousins, who were several years younger than Buck, managed to bring him down with relative ease. It was hard to watch.

The gears in Russell’s head began to turn. There must be a way to fix this. Jack tried, albeit in his own way: mostly disinterested and not meaning it at all. He made a few attempts to lighten the mood and get Buck talking again, but didn’t really circle back once they’d failed. His response was to shrug his shoulders, as if to show that he’d exhausted all his possibilities when he’d barely even tried, and move along. It was clearly up to Russell to find a way out of this, which was a bad call, considering he was the terser one of the three. Jack was the brains and the brawns; Russell was just here.

His attempt, while less effective, had more heart. He began by awkwardly elbowing Buck on the side and telling him bad jokes, hoping to improve his mood. The problem was, of course, that he didn’t know any jokes. He couldn’t even ask Jack for help, because Buck was the one who ever told any. Russell was alone in this one. He eventually found himself researching and memorizing jokes just to have something to say at lunch, or they’d spend another day in long stretches of awkward silences broken only by Jack’s one-sided commentary specifically addressed to Russell. He tried not to engage out of respect for Buck, funneling his attention over to him instead. It was painfully uncomfortable, but not permanent.

As time went on, Buck slowly mellowed, Russell’s jokes marginally improved, and shy little smiles began to curl Buck’s lips. At long last, Russell had succeeded.

Their fighting didn’t end there; it’d merely gone on hiatus. Once Buck was back to his annoying old self, it was impossible to ignore his provocations. Since he only received mild reactions out of Jack now, he focused his efforts on Russell instead, who’d become completely harmless. He could no longer fight Buck and mean it, not when he could still see the bruises on his face and the scar on his eyebrow. Jack had only narrowly missed his eye with the toe of his boot. He could’ve kicked the socket in. That was all Russell could think about whenever he stared at Buck for a little too long, lingering on the green speckles that adorned his inner irises. The mental image of Jack stepping onto Buck’s face hurt him. He’d never forget the imprint that the sole of Jack’s boot had left over Buck’s mouth. How does it taste?

His hands no longer left any marks on Buck’s skin when they fought, allowing the evidence of Jack’s lesson to gradually disappear. It surprised him to see Buck play along, not pushing him to the limit for once, not trying to get a real reaction out of him. Suddenly, they had an unspoken agreement not to hurt each other, which Buck honored all on his own. Why? Something flickered inside Russell. He was starting to enjoy this. It was the only physical contact he ever got, and as time went on, he’d started looking forward to it. He studied Buck and how his body moved, how much it could take, what kind of reaction he could expect out of Buck depending on what he did. He had these fights down to a science in no time. It was empowering to know that he was choosing to give Buck a good time while being perfectly capable of showing him the exact opposite.

Their playfulness soon bled into their everyday lives, no longer restricted to their play fights. Buck started it, poking and shoving with no intention of escalating things. He just wanted Russell’s attention, bothering him for fun, now in a way that didn’t actually bother him at all. That was when Russell realized that that was what Buck had meant to do all along. Since Russell’s genuine anger also provided Buck with the entertainment that he craved, he’d never had any reason to find different ways around it. He was trying to annoy Russell just a little, and if he happened to actually get under Russell’s skin, it was just as well. It was on Russell to measure his responses accordingly.

Jack had no issue with any of this. Unable to tell their fake fights from their real ones, he didn’t even realize that anything had changed; all he noticed was that they were fighting a lot more now, which he was fine with. It reminded Buck of the social order, that he was at the bottom of the food-chain, constantly picked apart by the second-in-command. That wasn’t how Russell saw it, though, and he doubted it was what Buck had been getting out of this either. It felt, to Russell, that they were actually just entertaining each other, but he understood how their constant fighting came across. It looked like he was beating the hell out of Buck every single day. Witnessing that, the other students at their school stopped picking on him, probably satisfied with his never-ending torment.

The fact that Buck’s enjoyment of this might be directly linked to his lifestyle never once left Russell’s mind. Every time their play fights got a little too rough, he wondered if Buck’s blood was flowing in a certain direction. While that line of thinking was difficult to avoid, it was very easy to end; he just had to act as violently as possible, conditioning his brain to switch from sultry to animalistic whenever he got too excited. It worked surprisingly well. On the flip side, whenever one of his hands slipped into his boxers late at night, he began to think back to how violent he’d been to Buck earlier that same day and inadvertently got off to it. The violence was fine; it was Buck that bothered him. He’d rather not think of him during those intimate moments, but that seemingly couldn’t be helped; he had conditioned himself to do the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to accomplish.

It’d gotten significantly warmer in the three months that had taken Buck to fully recover from the bashing. The end of May allowed Jack, Russell and Buck to hang out on Jack’s porch late in the afternoon with no jackets on and no sweat on their brows either, a dry heat that only lasted as long as the sun was in the sky. The moment it set, the air quickly grew chilly again.

“Choke him,” Jack suggested. His words slurred a bit, the result of a six pack on an empty stomach. There weren’t any strong emotions in his voice, a bored tone that just wanted something to happen.

Buck had started it, as always, and now, he and Russell rolled around Jack’s front porch while he watched from a rocking chair. Russell complied without much thought, locking his fingers around Buck’s throat. Except that, just as he made to squeeze, his own hands stopped him. Shock washed over him, widening his eyes for the briefest of moments as he realized what he was about to do. He hadn’t even questioned it, blindingly following Jack’s every command.

Buck noticed his hesitation; braced for impact, nothing had happened. His eyebrows twitched quizzically. If Russell didn’t do it, Jack would know, so he pretended to squeeze, faking effort. Buck caught on and faked a grimace. He pretended to struggle under Russell, but his acting skills were very poor. Russell hoped that the alcohol content in Jack’s blood made this look just convincing enough to pass, when to him, it really didn’t. He quickly grew embarrassed by his own inability to hurt Buck even a little.

“Punch him,” Jack ordered next.

Relief rushed a breath into Russell’s lungs, because he knew how to fake that. They’d been throwing fake punches since Buck’s return. Buck easily blocked his punch, and in a moment, they were back to their practiced game. It was a decent performance by now, entertaining enough to keep Jack’s attention as the sun lowered in the sky. Sweat dripped from Buck’s jaw onto Russell’s face, now on top of him, taking turns. It’d never really occurred to Russell that this was a sport.

“Ease off, Russ. Don’t kill him.”

Russell pulled back, allowing Buck to nearly jab him in the face. He fought Buck’s onslaught with aching muscles. They rolled around some more, his favorite part, grabbing and hauling Buck off him. Even though his body screamed for rest, he was too stubborn to stop. If it were up to him, they’d do this all day. The burden of ending their sessions always fell on Buck, who’d grown able to go on for longer as his body had recovered. The only marks left on him now were the occasional grip from their rougher plays, which he didn’t seem to mind. Russell also harbored some, but his darker skin covered them up more.

Buck went limp underneath him at one point, Russell’s signal to stop, so he did. He got up on both knees, watching Buck pant beneath him. His face was flushed red, hair in complete disarray, shirt crumpled up and riding up his stomach. Russell only stared for a second before getting up and offering him a hand.

“Russ.” His name sounded contemplative in Jack’s voice. “You don’t hate Buck, do ya?”

Russell shook his head. The sun hadn’t set yet, casting long shadows across the Reed farm. Two trucks were parked in the carport and three more down the dirt road. Everyone was home. Russell sat down on the bench by Jack’s rocking chair and grabbed a beer. Buck joined him.

“Y’all…” Jack trailed off. He stared beyond the porch, at his vast front yard.

“What is it, Jack?” Russell asked.

Buck elbowed him on the side, nodding at Jack’s obvious inebriation. While it wasn’t uncommon for him to enter these thoughtful moods, the sentimentality was new. He was usually a lot more unfeeling than this, cold and calculating.

Russell made a face. “Jack?” he tried again.

Jack sucked in his teeth. “I graduate in two weeks.”

“Right.”

“Congratulations again.” Buck didn’t mean that. He couldn’t have sounded more ironic if he’d tried to. Movement in his direction pulled Russell’s attention to the pack of cigarettes that he’d fished out of his pocket. He stuck one between his lips and lit it.

“Y’all know I’ve been waiting my whole life for this,” Jack continued. “Ta join the force and finally be somebody, but lately, I’ve…” He faltered. One of his hands came up to nervously fix his hat back in place, as if it wasn’t already on properly. “Well, I suppose I’ve finally realized what it means ta graduate first.”

Russell’s throat closed. He knew where Jack was getting at, that graduating first meant spending a year away from Russell, and to a lesser extent, also away from Buck. Big changes were coming. They would no longer carpool to school, have lunch together or see each other between classes. Russell hoped that, at the very least, they’d still be able to go on patrol after class.

“It means you’re old,” Buck deadpanned.

“No, idiot.” Jack turned to look at them. Concern brought the slightest crease to his brow. “Are y’all gonna kill each other while I’m gone?”

Buck and Russell quickly reassured him that they wouldn’t.

“The world ain’t gonna end just ‘cause you’re not watching,” Buck added.

“I’ll be there, Jack. I’ll keep watch for ya.”

“Why, thanks, Russ.”

That was the only time he’d ever seen Jack so emotional. It was all too easy to forget that he was human when he was so good at projecting confidence. Russell wished he could touch him, that he could take his hand and remind him that he wasn’t doing this alone. Instead, he opened his beer and drank it.

Jack eventually changed the subject, but his shoulders were still tense and his gaze almost never met the other two, cast beyond the porch. Muffled conversations inside the house grew louder as the evening approached. It wouldn’t be long until dinner was ready. “Are ya staying, Russ?”

“Sure, Jack.”

“I ain’t,” Buck declared, as if he’d been invited. He got up and turned to face Jack. “You’re not fixing ta carry me, are ya?”

“Naw, Bucky.” Jack fished his key fob from a pocket and handed it to Russell. There was no need to ask him, but still his eyebrows twisted, pleading without words. Russell made sure to touch the palm of his hand while taking it. “Thanks, Russ.”

Jack’s truck was only a few feet away, one of the two in the carport. Russell had driven it a hundred times before. It took very little adjusting for him to turn over the engine and start backing out. His gaze promptly fell on Jack, watching from the rocking chair with both arms crossed over his chest. A warm feeling filled Russell up inside. Sufficiently backed onto the dirt road, he turned and drove off.

Even though Buck had cracked a window, cigarette smoke still filled the cabin. Russell didn’t mind it, and he wouldn’t tell Jack either. He’d been to Buck’s address so many times that he didn’t need to ask for directions, muscle memory taking over. It was statistically impossible to get lost in Arma.

“Not gonna lie, Russ, I’m kinda looking forward ta seeing Jack gone.”

That comment didn’t sit right with him. He scowled. “How come?”

“I just—I don’t think I’ll ever be okay around him again.”

And just like that, the indignation that once quickened Russell’s pulse turned into a sharp pang. He glanced at Buck only to find him looking out his window. Their gazes didn’t meet. “It’s been three months, Bucky.”

Buck shook his head. “That don’t mean nothing to me. I still hate him like it was yesterday.”

The mere mention of the bashing was enough to make Russell sick. He swallowed dry, unsure what to say.

Buck turned back around, gaze dropping just before the windshield. “I like ya, though.” He shrugged. “That’s the only reason I’m sticking around y’all. It’s just hard ta see him every day and like, not jump him, ya know?”

“What do ya mean, sticking around? Where would ya go?”

“Nowhere. I just mean I probably wouldn’t be talking to y’all no more. Jack sure ain’t giving me no reason to.”

“Oh.”

Buck tossed his cigarette butt out the window. “Two more weeks, then.”

Unable to speak or even breathe, Russell kept quiet. The silence stretched as they approached Buck’s house. It was very similar to his own, even though their parents were on completely different tax brackets. Ms. Lola’s red sedan and Buck’s black truck were both parked in the carport. Russell pulled up to the curb.

“Thanks for the ride.” Buck hopped out.

Just before he closed the door, Russell called his name. He paused, peering back into the cabin. The sunset cast a red glow over his face, burning his hair brighter. Buck was a shape that Russell would know with his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry,” Russell choked out. “I’m sorry I let him do that to ya.”

“Yeah, well. We both know it ain’t your fault.”

“We can hang out without him,” he barreled on. “I don’t—I didn’t mean ta make ya be near him every day. I didn’t know. I mean, I should’ve known. I should’ve guessed. It’s—it’s pretty darn obvious.”

“I’d like that.” Buck smiled, tentative and small and the most genuine Russell had ever seen him. They’d never been so honest with each other before.

“Okay, we could—we’re going on patrol tomorrow, right? We could hang out after.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Words kept pouring out of his mouth, things he’d meant to say since Buck’s hospitalization. Now that the dam had broken, he couldn’t stop the barrage of emotions that kept pouring out of him. “And that you quit all that crazy talk, which you shouldn’t have started with anyway. I don’t care what Jason and Caleb had on you; no one knew and you could’ve denied it and we would all have believed you. None a that needed ta happen. You could’ve just shut up and gone to church and been okay, but you just had ta open your goddamn mouth. That was a lesson you could’ve avoided. I was tryna tell you that, and I know that you know, but you chose ta be stupid anyway. You—!” His hands squeezed the steering wheel. “You oughta start using your head, Buck! Do ya know… how lucky you are ta be alive? Jack…” He choked. “Jack could’ve killed ya.”

Buck’s eyes dulled as he went on. Any trace of joy was wiped from his face. “What happened was bound ta happen no matter what. If Jack wanted ta kill me, I’d be dead. There ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

“Shut up,” Russell breathed. A tremor shook his body as he fought back tears. “It ain’t all hopeless. If you’re good and careful, you’ll be fine. You know that. You’re being good and careful right now.”

“That ain’t the point. Whatever Jack says, goes. If he decides ta kill me tomorrow, then that’s when I die. What I do don’t matter.”

“It ain’t that simple, Buck. Jack don’t make the rules. He’s in charge of us ‘cause his pa said so. He ain’t going around doing whatever he pleases.”

“Yeah, he kinda is, and everybody’s okay with that. That’s my point. He’s favored and… it just ain’t fair, but whatever. It is what it is.”

“He ain’t favored.”

“Bullshit. You’re favored too. The rules are different for y’all, and if you disagree, then you’re just plain stupid.” Buck took a step back. “Night, Russ.”

“Buck.”

His name kept Buck from closing the door in his face.

“Just… be smarter about this, will ya?”

Buck finally slammed the door shut. As he began the path up the driveway, Russell noticed Ms. Lola pull back the curtain and glance out the window. She must’ve noticed Jack’s truck, parked but still on for a suspiciously long time. Buck waved at his ma on the way in. It was too far for her to know that it was Russell behind the wheel. Had they taken a little longer to say goodbye, she would definitely have come out to investigate. Would she have been surprised to learn that Russell was the one threatening her son this time? He was just so frustrated. Buck knew better, but he’d tempted fate anyway. He’d forced Russell to learn the answer to a question he’d never wanted to ask, because he already knew what the answer would be. Now, he couldn’t even pretend that there was any hope for him at all. That realization hurt more than anything Jack had ever done.

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