Trust the Connection (A Peachtree Place Story) - eBook

CHAPTER ONE

“Our son is a goddamn f—!”

Evan Harris cringed and clapped his hands over his ears to block out the horrible things his father was saying about him. He’d known it was coming but just hearing that word made him a little sick.

The minute he’d come home from work, his father had begun calling him every horrible name in existence. He’d screamed at Lavinia, Evan’s mother, insisting Evan needed to get out of their house. She’d put up some half-hearted attempts at defending him, then resorted to crying and caving into his demands. Her reaction hadn’t stopped Jimmie Harris’ tirade, so Evan locked himself in his room and began to pack.

He’d put in headphones to block his father’s voice for a while, but not being able to hear made him paranoid, wondering if his father would break through the door. The man was drunk and angry enough to do it. Evan felt safer being able to hear what was going on, even if the awful words made his stomach churn.

He lowered his shaking hands and shoved another pair of jeans into his backpack.

“I want him outta here!” his father screamed. In the background, Evan’s mother sobbed. But she didn’t fight him. She never did. “I won’t have filth in my house.”

Filth meaning … him.

Evan’s stomach dropped, and a sudden burst of terror-filled adrenaline rushed through him. He needed to leave, had to get out of there. Now. Wiping away tears, he grabbed a gym bag from his closet and snatched wildly at things, stuffing them into the bags as fast as he could. He didn’t have much: a few articles of clothing, an old, beat-up laptop, and a few personal mementos. He stared at the suits hanging in the closet and suddenly realized he had nothing—no job, no home, no family. He had no friends and nowhere to go.

He paused, hand on the sleeve of a somber black suit. He did have one friend. Russ.

His hands shook as he dug his phone out of his pocket and tried to pull up Russ’s name on his pathetically small list of contacts. Slippery with sweat, his fingers hit the wrong buttons half a dozen times before he finally managed to select his name and dial. The phone rang once, twice, three, four times … until Evan began to doubt he’d answer. Just when Evan was about to give up, he heard Russ’s voice on the other end.

“Hey, Evan. Sorry, I was in the shower.” He heard soft laughter from the background and Russ shushing someone—presumably his boyfriend, Stephen. “You okay?”

Oh, God, what if Evan had interrupted something private? He flushed and almost hung up.

“Evan?” Russ sounded worried. “Shit, are you okay? If you don’t answer, I’m going to assume the worst and call the police.”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, voice shaking as much as his hands had been. “I mean, not fine, really, but I’m not hurt or anything.”

“Shit. Tell me what’s going on. You don’t sound good.”

“I—I don’t know what to do, Russ.” He closed his eyes, humiliated that he was so weak, so helpless. “My dad … he knows, and he won’t stop yelling. I got fired, and he’s kicking me out of the house. I don’t have anywhere to go, I’m homeless and jobless, and I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know what to do.” Evan’s voice rose, pinched and tight with fear, bordering on hysteria.

“Pack your stuff and get out,” Russ said, tone firm. “Does your car belong to you? Is the title and registration in your name?”

“Y-yes.”

“Once you’re packed, drive straight to Atlanta.”

“But I—I don’t have anywhere to stay. I have a little bit of money saved, but it won’t last long if I have to pay for a hotel.”

“You’ll stay with us.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Evan said weakly.

“Let us help you, Evan.”

“Stephen won’t care?” God, Stephen intimidated the hell out of him.

Although muffled, he heard Russ speak. “Evan needs our help and a place to stay. You okay with him crashing on our couch?”

Without a second’s hesitation, Evan heard Stephen say, “Absolutely.”

“You heard that?” Russ asked.

Evan nodded before he realized Russ couldn’t see him. Stupid. “Y-yeah.”

“Pack your bags and get out of the house. Once you’re sure you’re safe, text me to let me know, then drive straight to Atlanta. I’ll send you our address, okay?”

“Okay.”

Russ’s voice softened. “It’ll be all right, Evan. You’re not alone.”

Evan hung up without responding, too overwhelmed to speak without dissolving into tears. The words echoed in his head as he packed his suits, knowing he might need them if he got a job interview. Oh, God, the thought of trying to find a job and a place to live in a new city was overwhelming. Panic rose inside him again.

Russ’s words were a lifeline as Evan took one last look around his bedroom. The faded, peeling wallpaper, the old, lumpy mattress, the cheap dresser … he wouldn’t miss any of it.

Carrying the bags filled with his few possessions, he cautiously opened the door. The television blared in the background, probably one of the shows his dad watched that told him it wasn’t his fault he was unemployed and broke. The shows horrified Evan, but Jimmie Harris liked to hear that someone else was to blame.

Evan’s mom was gone—probably fled to the bedroom to cry. As usual. And his dad … Evan stared in disgust. Apparently, Jimmie’s tirade was over since he was currently slumped on the sofa with a beer can resting on his beer gut. The house had been nice once. Before the booze. They’d never had a lot of money, but when Evan was a kid, his father had worked a decent job at a factory before it closed. He’d always been a jerk—picking on everything Evan and his mother did—but, at least, he’d provided for them.

Now, their sole income came from his mom’s job as a clerk at the pharmacy in downtown Putnam, but they only gave her part-time hours. Well, that and Evan’s paycheck. He hadn’t minded paying rent to live in his parents’ house, but his father pissed it all away on booze and online poker.

“What’re you staring at?” his father mumbled, scowling at Evan, who jumped, blinking in surprise.

“N-nothing.”

“I want you out of this house, you little faggot. You hear me?” Jimmie staggered to his feet and Evan took a step back, fear making his gut clench. He tried to grip the bags tighter, but his palms were sweaty and the straps slid through his clenched fists.

“I’m leaving,” Evan muttered through gritted teeth.

“I always knew there was somethin’ wrong with you, boy. When—when I heard you were … you were a fucking queer, I knew I had to do what’s right for this family,” his father slurred. “I let you live here when I didn’t have to, and this is how you repay me?”

Jimmie Harris continued to rant as Evan walked out the door, slamming it behind him. He never made noise, never spoke back, never did anything to attract attention. But now he turned and faced the house with the faded siding and roof in need of repair. The place where he’d felt ignored—when he was lucky—and humiliated when he was not. He wouldn’t miss it. As scared as he was at the thought of being totally alone, a small part of him was glad he was leaving.
“I hate you,” he shouted. “I hate this fucking town. I’m done with Putnam.”

***

Evan spent the first half hour of the drive shaking and feeling sick to his stomach. When it felt like his body couldn’t take another second of the anxiety, he just felt tired. Tired, scared, and wishing he’d never met Michael Wheeler. Stupid, stupid, Evan lectured himself. The one time you stop being careful, this is what happens. You lose everything.

Six months ago, Michael had taken over as a representative for a casket company Evan’s former employer, Lambert Funeral Home, worked with. The reps updated their casket displays, replaced the glossy brochures, and showed Uncle Waylon the latest and greatest in “new casket technology.” Evan found the whole process of embalming a corpse, then upselling grief-stricken people hermetically sealed caskets completely off-putting, but his uncle lapped up the sales talk from the reps. Then again, making the maximum profit was always his goal.

The one exception was Michael, whom Evan’s uncle took an immediate disliking to. Said there was something about Michael that made him uncomfortable and forced Evan to deal with him for everything except the actual sales. Michael was nice, though, closer to Evan’s age with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t gorgeous or anything—not like Russ—but he had a great smile. At first, Evan thought he was being friendly. Hell, all the reps had been friendly to Evan, hoping to suck up to get Waylon’s favor, only none of them knew his Uncle Waylon and Aunt Myrna didn’t like Evan much. They tolerated him because he was the only one in the family to take over the funeral home someday. Evan was the closest they’d come to an heir. Better than nothing.

But Evan thought that maybe Michael wasn’t sucking up to win his uncle’s favor. Michael seemed sincere, but it turned out it wasn’t friendship he wanted. After the umpteenth time Michael touched Evan’s upper arm and let his hand linger a little too long, after standing too close, laughing at Evan’s lame jokes a little too hard, it finally occurred to Evan that Michael was flirting with him. No one had ever flirted with Evan. Skinny, pasty-skinned losers like him didn’t get flirted with. They got ignored.

At first, Michael flirting with him was flattering. The attention went right to his head, but it scared him too. What if his uncle saw and figured it out? What if he realized Evan was like “those faggots” he made fun of so much. The things he’d said about Russ and Stephen made Evan sick. Evan’s one half-hearted attempt to stick up for them didn’t accomplish anything except making his uncle and aunt stare at him suspiciously.

His aunt Myrna was worse than his uncle, but she’d always hated Evan. Evan’s mother, Lavinia, was her much younger sister, and she’d never forgiven Lavinia for ruining the good family name by getting knocked up at seventeen and having to marry trailer trash Jimmie Harris.

They’d never liked Evan’s father, but they tolerated him as long as he had the position at the factory and did a halfway-decent job of providing for his family. But once he lost the job and began drinking, they ignored Evan’s parents completely.

Evan sighed and stretched, his butt starting to go numb. He glanced at the GPS on his phone. He was a little over halfway there with more than an hour and a half to drive yet. More time to regret allowing himself to get distracted by Michael. He’d always been so careful not to get caught, never to attract attention, but today, he’d been careless.

Evan’s eyes stung from the memory, and he blinked, struggling to focus on the road ahead of him.

The job at his uncle’s funeral home hadn’t been glamorous, but he did okay. He’d saved a little money in the hopes he might get out of Putnam and go to school someday. He had a plan he’d been working toward, and now, he’d fucked it up completely. A few minutes of feeling normal, feeling wanted, weren’t worth it. Now, everything was ruined. No cute guy, no job, no home … His throat spasmed, and he didn’t know if he was going to cry or throw up. Maybe both.

He clutched the wheel tighter and stared at the dark highway unwinding before him, taking him to Atlanta. To stay with some guys he barely knew. Terrifying.

This ebook contains scenes involving PTSD, depression, self-loathing and body image issues due to a car crash, ableist language, and parental abuse/abandonment/alcoholism.

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