The Way Things Are (5 page)

Malcolm stared at the man for a long moment but said nothing.

“So do you have any more questions, or can I go? I’m really late for something.”

“We’ve already notified your son’s probation officer that you’re assisting us in this investigation, so they’re going to give him breakfast and keep him in a holding cell until you’re done here. He’s in the Youth Services Center, right across the parking lot.”

Kowalski stared between Malcolm and the redhead. “Your son? What did he do?”

“Graffiti,” Connelly answered automatically.

“Have you already talked with them?” Malcolm asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Don’t have to. I know my son. It’s always graffiti.”

Chapter 3

G
ETTING
OUT
of the detention center was a long process, and getting through the Youth Services Center took even longer. He had to show his ID four times, wait for forty minutes in a series of uncomfortable plastic chairs, go through two metal detectors, and surrender his keys, the Gerber multitool he hated to be without, and his flashlight and sunglasses. The zippers on his jacket pockets set off the metal detectors again, but after letting a guard poke through all the pockets, the jacket was begrudgingly handed back after he went through one more search with a handheld metal detector. All that was just to get into the lobby.

Despite the delays and the discomfort, the King County Youth Services Center felt almost comfortable after sitting in an interview room for four hours in the regular detention center.

Inside, an old detention officer had him sign a dozen forms and signed a form promising to take Jay directly to his hearing. “The Youth Court is right on the other side of the building, but you got to go out and around,” the officer assured him. “Intake JPC has already been in to assess him, and his regular JPC has been in once already, so the court will be ready to go.”

“JPC?” asked Patrick, watching as another guard walked Jay over from a holding cell.

The guard shrugged. “Juvenile Probation Counselor. Since our focus is more on intervention options than just compliance with sentencing, they don’t call them probation officers. There might already be a child welfare caseworker over there too.”

“The hearing is at noon? Why would a caseworker be over there?”

“Well, sir, most folks don’t leave their kids sitting here for nearly fifteen hours.”

“Fifteen hours?” Patrick cocked an eyebrow at the guard. That meant that Jay had been arrested just after Patrick had left for work, after he’d left Jay at the kitchen table finishing dinner, with instructions to wash the dishes, directions to his new school, and lunch money for the following day. Patrick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to keep from cursing out loud.

“Yes, sir. He was brought in around seven thirty last night.”

“Seven thirty? Did he have to be booked in before he was allowed to call me?”

“He had to be persuaded to call you.” The guard set his hands on his hips and grinned. “He’s more afraid of you than he is of any of us. Personally, I take that as a good sign. Sign here for his property too.” The officer set a gray plastic bin on the table. It held Jay’s sneakers, socks, jacket, and the lunch money. If he’d been arrested at dinnertime, he probably hadn’t slept. And thanks to his own stupid urge to be a hero, it was almost lunchtime and they had to go to a hearing instead of getting food.

Patrick signed where he was told. Jay, keeping his head down, padded barefoot around the table. He didn’t look up when Patrick tossed his socks and shoes to the ground by his feet. Aside from being too damn skinny, the kid looked like a miniature version of Patrick. Red Scottish hair, green-and-gold hazel eyes, and a pale complexion dotted with freckles. He’d been an adorable child, but now he was stuck in that awkward teenage phase where he was growing taller but not yet filling out through the shoulders. The kid’s brain still hadn’t figured out what to do with the longer limbs it suddenly had to control. Patrick knew he’d grow out of it, all Connelly men did, but in the meantime, Jay was doomed to be a lanky, clumsy teen.

“When was the last time you ate?” Patrick asked.

“They brought me eggs,” Jay said, hopping on one foot, trying not to fall down as he pulled his shoes on. Patrick grabbed Jay by the shoulder and held him steady. The boy’s entire body slumped, nearly going limp in Patrick’s hand. Jay wasn’t just hungry and ashamed, Patrick realized, he was exhausted.

“Look at me right now, boy.”

Jay reluctantly lifted his gaze and stared up at Patrick for a moment. The skin around his eyes was sunken and dark, and his eyes themselves were blood shot. Jay hadn’t sneaked out to start painting more graffiti. If Patrick had to guess, based on the way Jay kept swaying and the circles under his eyes, he’d gone at least two nights without sleep. “You being up and dressed at six o’clock two mornings ago was too good to be true, wasn’t it?”

Jay lowered his head again.

“Do I want to know how many nights you’ve snuck out? How long it’s been since you slept?”

Jay shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come on. We’ve got to get to your hearing, then we’re going to go home and talk about this.”

Jay groaned and dropped his chin all the way to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Put your jacket on,” Patrick growled.

Patrick half dragged Jay around the building, following the detention officer’s directions to the youth court and juvenile probation office. Most of the first floor was filled with small courtrooms. The hallways were lined with old wooden benches, and every one of them was packed. Three hours and one “no contest” plea later, they had a court order for six weeks of supervised probation, restitution, and ten hours of community service, preferably to be spent cleaning up graffiti. Patrick knew better than to argue with the judge on any of it, but he would try to persuade the kid’s PO to assign something else for community service.

In any other kid, cleaning up the mess left by other graffiti artists would be effective, but Patrick knew from experience it just inspired Jay to do it again. Something about washing away tags and creating a blank wall didn’t seem like punishment for Jay, but just a bit of effort to make a clean canvas. Sometimes the wall would stay blank for a few days, sometimes even for a few months, but eventually a painting straight from Jay’s sketchbooks would fill the void. Ironically, those few places where Jay’s spray-painted attempts at art survived were always graffiti-free after that. Sometimes he would get caught, but most of the time nothing ever came of it. Patrick had to wonder just how many more walls were out there, covered in Jay’s work, that he and the police would never find.

It was almost dinnertime when Patrick finally herded Jay out of the building. He fumbled with his cell phone, bringing up his best friend Corbin’s phone number.

“Where’s the truck?” Jay asked, scanning the parking lot.

“I left it at work.”

“Huh? Why? And who’re you calling?”

“Your godfather. Now go sit on that bench before you fall over.”

“Pat!” Corbin answered on the third ring, his normally flamboyant voice panicked. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“What’s wrong, Corbin?”

“I just saw that shit on the news. What a way to end your first week on the job! You weren’t involved with any of it, were you?”

“What? What stuff on the news?”

“You….” Loud club music exploded over the phone line. It died again a moment later. “Sorry, the DJ is doing sound checks, I had to slip out the back. Anyway, the news! Were you involved?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Patrick admitted. “I’ve spent the last six hours walking Jay through a youth court hearing, and the four hours before that sitting in jail. It’s been a really, really long night, and my truck is still at work. I was hoping I’d catch you early enough that you could come give me and Jay a lift?”

“Jail? Holy fucking shit, Pat! What happened?

“I got into a fight.”

“A fight?” Corbin laughed. “I can’t wait to hear about it! But, Pat, we open in less than an hour, and I’m short a bartender and two bouncers tonight. On a fucking Friday night too. I can call one of my sisters and see if they can pick you up? I bet one of them could watch Jay tonight too if you’re awake enough to come in.”

Patrick groaned. The extra money he’d been able to pick up filling in for Corbin’s unreliable bouncers had helped out a lot over the last two weeks, making it possible for him and Jay to keep living off of pizza instead of ramen noodles. All of their bills were paid, but after they’d moved across the country and he’d shelled out money for a decent apartment downtown, Patrick’s account balance was now hovering near single digits. He didn’t even have enough money to get them a cab home. “I’ll come in. I can be awake. Don’t worry about calling your sisters, though. We can catch the train. Or something.”

“I promise, none of them are going to hit on you. They got over that years ago.” Corbin Hollis was the youngest of five, and he was the only boy in his family. Patrick, being an only child and the son of parents who were always either working or drunk, had spent more time in the Hollis house as a child than he ever had in his own. Corbin’s dad, Jeremy, had taught them how to box as teenagers, and in the hormone-driven confusion of puberty, it was out-and-proud Corbin he’d gone to for advice about his own sexuality. Unfortunately, the Hollis girls had taken Patrick’s coming out as some kind of personal challenge and had spent the rest of high school flirting with him.

“I prefer the train,” Patrick said.

“You sure? I can call my dad, if that’d be better?”

“No,” Patrick said. “Hell, Jay’s been riding the damn train for the last week trying to find his way around. Between that and the bus, we’ll get home. What time do you need me to come in?”

“As soon as possible! I’ve only got David on tonight and he’s not really a people person, you know? And if you get here quick, I can introduce you to somebody.”

“I don’t want you to try and hook me up with anybody.”

“Not just anybody. The driver for my beer distributor is hot, and he’s a pretty cool guy, and I think you two would be cute together.”

“Please don’t, Corbin. Not now.”

“Oh, fine. Whenever you can get here, then.”

“I don’t know when, but I’ll be there,” Patrick promised. He ended the call and plopped down on the utilitarian bench beside Jay. “Uncle Corbin’s going to let me pick up a shift at his place tonight. So what am I going to do with you?” Patrick asked, not really expecting an answer.

Beside him, Jay mumbled something.

“What?”

“Am I grounded?” Jay asked.

Patrick scoffed. “You bet your ass you’re grounded. Two weeks. I catch you sneaking in or out, and I’m taking your sketchbooks away.”

Jay stared at him, wide-eyed and suddenly alert. “My sketchbooks? But you always take away video games first.”

Patrick nodded slowly. “Your sketchbooks. All of them. You’re going to take the cordless phone into your room at night, and when I call, you’re going to answer it. I’m going to call at random, and I might just call all night long. If you aren’t there to answer the phone, I’ll throw the sketchbooks in the trash.”

Jay shivered and pulled his knees up to his chest, folding his arms and hiding his face for a moment. Patrick felt like an asshole, but over the last two years, he hadn’t found any other way to get through to Jay.

“You know what those mean to me.”

“I do.” Patrick nodded gravely, setting his hand on Jay’s shoulder. “I also know this was supposed to be your fresh start. Is there any other way I can make sure you’re home at night? Even if I could afford a babysitter right now, I think you’re a bit old for one. Although I’m sure one of Uncle Corbin’s sisters would be willing.”

“I’m almost fifteen, Pop. I’m going to be old enough to drive and get a job in another year. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah?” Patrick zipped his jacket shut and leaned back, hoping the city bus was still running. “Prove it.”

A blue-and-white car with emergency lights on the top, a King County logo on the side, and the word “PROBATION” stenciled onto the side pulled up beside them. The passenger side window rolled down and the driver leaned across the seat.

“Mr. Connelly? And Mr. Connelly?”

Patrick gasped at the sound of that voice. It was deep, masculine, and perfect. It seemed to vibrate on some top-secret harmonic that ricocheted through his entire body, jolting his cock to life in an instant. Whoever he was, whatever the hell he was saying, he had the sexiest voice Patrick had ever heard. With tanned skin, thick brown hair, and dark, almost gray-blue eyes, the man in the car was gorgeous.

Patrick didn’t mean to stare, but the man sat still, staring right back with a detached, beautiful smile. Even as Patrick’s own treacherous body began to respond to the sight, growing hard and anxious, Patrick knew he had to do something. He crossed his legs, hoping Jay wouldn’t notice how uncomfortable he’d just become. “Yeah, what do you want?”

The man’s smile twitched and vanished, his eyes narrowed. His expression shifted from friendly to hard and professional in an instant. “Mr. Connelly, I’m Ken. I’m your son’s juvenile probation counselor. I understand that you ran into some trouble when you were on your way here this morning, so I thought I’d give you guys a ride. Hop in.”