Something Like Spring (7 page)

* * * * *

“There was nothing funny about it!” Caesar complained as they pulled into the driveway.

“They made papier-mâché brains and hid explosives inside them,” Jason said with a grin. “It didn’t even make sense. Zombies must be able to smell when brains are fake.”

“Well, that’s why they hid them inside the shop mannequins.” Caesar shuddered and put the car in park. “Definitely not a funny film.”

But Caesar had laughed a lot. They both had, mostly at the bad acting or the snarky lines Jason kept adding to the end of dialogue. A Sunday afternoon horror movie wasn’t on most people’s agenda, so the theater had been mostly empty. They’d had a good time, even if Caesar had tensed up whenever a zombie appeared on screen.

“Speaking of monsters,” Caesar said. He fetched his phone from the back seat and turned it on. “Twenty-six text messages, two voicemails.”

“Must be nice to be so popular.”

“They’re all from the same person.”

“Oh.” Jason thought of dark corkscrew hair. “Steph?”

Caesar glanced away from the phone momentarily, eyeing him before answering. “Yeah. Things have been pretty crazy with her lately.”

Jason swallowed. “Crazy hot, or crazy crazy?”

“Crazy crazy. She and I dated on and off for years. It never works out, so we decided to do the whole best-friends-with-benefits deal. You know what I mean?”

Jason nodded numbly.

“Now she’s even more into me. The casual thing was her idea, but I think she still takes our relationship seriously.”

“But technically she’s not your girlfriend?”

Caesar shook his head, distracted by the phone again. Jason watched the amber eyes dart around the screen, brow furrowing at what was displayed there. Jason felt like grabbing the phone and throwing it out the window so it couldn’t ruin the day they’d had together. Finally Caesar sighed, shoved the phone in his pocket, and opened the car door. “Come on. It’s almost dinner time.”

“I’m still full from lunch.”

“Yeah, me too, but we still have to make an appearance.” Caesar led the way to the front door. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” he moaned. “I’m coming to your room if I have a nightmare.”

Jason smiled at the idea. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll protect you from a zombie invasion.”

“They’d hear you coming a mile away. I didn’t want to say anything, but what’s with the shoes?”

Jason blushed. He’d been squeaking around the mall the whole day. Every single step was a noisy reminder of the stupid sneakers. “Hey, I worked hard for these. They’re my chore reward. I wanted a pair of lime-green Converse, but— Uh…”

“My mom,” Caesar said, shaking his head. “Maybe you can try oiling them or something.”

“Like cooking oil? I’ll take them to Burger King and have them dipped in the deep fat fryer.”

Caesar guffawed on their way into the house, which might have been what attracted Mrs. Hubbard’s attention. She met them in the living room, eyes wide in shock. Mr. Hubbard was right behind her.

“Where have you been?” she asked, addressing Jason directly.

“We just went—”

“You said you would be here,” Mrs. Hubbard interrupted. “We returned home from church to find an empty house. Just imagine how that made us feel.”

“Relax,” Caesar said, clapping a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “He was out with me. I was bonding with my new little brother.”

“I’m not your brother,” Jason snapped before he could help himself. He hated the idea. Caesar wasn’t family. He wasn’t blood.

“Oh-kay,” Caesar said with a grin. “Obviously we still have a lot more bonding to do.”

Mr. Hubbard ignored him. “Jason, you did say you would be here.”

“I’m sorry,” he managed. “I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“Well…” Mr. Hubbard looked to his wife, who pressed her lips together and shook her head.

What did they want him to do, fall to his knees and beg? Jason wanted to tell them where they could shove it, maybe knock a lamp off the stupid end table just to see them flinch in fear. But in the corner of his eye, he could see the concern on Caesar’s face, feel the hand tighten on his shoulder.

“I was bored and made him tag along,” Caesar said. “You guys always want me to spend more time with the family.”

Mrs. Hubbard turned her attention to her son, lips tightening. “Next time leave a note,” she said. “Come on. You can help set the table.”

Jason was sure that last request referred only to him, but Caesar stayed with him all the way until dinner was served. Shortly after all were seated, Caesar’s phone rumbled and the texting began anew. This time Caesar occasionally looked up, eyes darting in Jason’s direction as if to make sure he was okay. Only when the meal was over did he disappear upstairs.

Jason, as much as he was beginning to despise his new caregivers, made sure to help clear the table and do the dishes. He sat in the family room and watched television with them too, just to show he could be part of the herd. For the first time in many years, he didn’t want to lose his foster placement. Jason laughed along to a lame sitcom, realizing that if he wanted more days like today, he’d have to try harder to become a Hubbard.

* * * * *

Jason’s dreams were filled with blinding sunshine. The sound of a child’s laughter echoed in the distance, a woman’s voice calling out. When he was dragged back to the waking world, he found the opposite. The room was dark, the carefree laughter replaced by a terse whisper.

“Hey!”

Jason’s face contorted as he took a sharp breath that felt like his first. As he rolled over, that breath caught in his throat. Caesar sat on the edge of the bed, white bandana gone now and his hair a mess. That wasn’t all. The hoodie and tank top were gone too. The street light outside illuminated chest hair, dark nipples, and the gentle curve of pectoral muscles. Desire rose in Jason like a hungry beast, but he pushed it back down and looked up into tropical eyes.

“I had a nightmare,” Caesar whispered. “I told you that movie was a bad idea!”

“Okay,” Jason said, trying to figure out what to do. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Shouldn’t you be waking up your mom for this?”

“I just need company until the adrenaline goes away. You know what it’s like.”

Jason yawned. “I had a dream about an elephant on a beach once,” he said. “Scared the hell out of me. No idea why.”

“Adrenaline,” Caesar repeated. “Come hang out in my room?”

Jason felt a familiar mix of excitement and dread. “Okay.”

Caesar stood, waiting for him to get out of bed. Jason did some quick equations in his head to help the swelling between his legs die down before he stood. He strategically kept his back to Caesar as he pulled on his jeans, so he wouldn’t just be in a shirt and pajama bottoms.

“Hey, bring your guitar!”

“Huh? It’ll wake up the house.”

Caesar waited at the door. “So play quietly!”

Jason grabbed the instrument from the closet and followed Caesar down the hall, which was even darker, but he could still see the strong lines of his neck, the jutting shoulder blades, the narrow waist. Caesar had a nice build. Not football player, by any means. He wasn’t a beefy guy, but he wasn’t skinny either. Somewhere in the middle, like Jason himself, except with real muscle.

When the door to Caesar’s room opened, light flooded the hallway. Jason noticed Caesar’s charcoal-colored boxers as he squinted against the brightness, but soon his attention turned to the room itself. He could see why Caesar considered his room to be bare, since this one was bursting with personality. A king-size bed sat in the middle, dark brown sheets and comforter in a rumpled tangle, but even its bulk didn’t monopolize the room’s space, which felt larger thanks to the vaulted ceilings. In one corner hung a yellow flag with a black two-headed eagle. Posters decorated the walls, a few of girls, some hip-hop themed, and one of Jimi Hendrix that likely had more to do with what he was smoking than his music. On the far side of the room was a loveseat stained by too much snacking, probably while playing the game console that sat on the floor in front of a widescreen television. Next to this, a door revealed bathroom mirrors beyond.

“Jesus!” Jason said, forgetting to whisper. “You’re really slumming it here, aren’t you? No wonder you keep coming to my room.”

“Yeah, it’s a complete dump,” Caesar said, standing by the door he had just closed. He wasn’t bothering to whisper either. “Like I said, you’re always welcome in here.”

Jason spun around once more, noticing the car magazines on the side table, the sideways pillow in bed that Caesar might have been cuddling with, and the clothes he’d worn that day piled together on the carpet. Jason’s instinct was to sit on the bed, since most people didn’t have a couch in their bedroom, but instead he just stood there holding his guitar.

“What’s with the flag?” Jason asked, nodding to the corner.

“Ah, that’s the flag of the Holy Roman Empire. You know… Caesar? Roman Empire? A gift from my father, or a reminder of what I’m supposed to inherit. Thing is, in Julius Caesar’s day, they didn’t carry flags. They used standards, like a golden eagle on top of a pole that would be carried into battle. Not to mention that the emperors of the Holy Roman Empire weren’t known as Caesars.”

Jason stared at him dumbfounded. “You’re really into history, huh?”

“Told you I study my ass off. And no, I’m not into history.” Caesar flopped onto the bed. Propped up on his elbows, his bare legs hung off the edge. Jason averted his eyes.

“I guess when you’re named something like that,” he said, “you pay more attention.”

“Which is probably why you like those horrible Friday the 13
^th
movies.”

Jason grinned. “Are you saying my mother named me after a murderer?”

“No. Hey…”

Jason was forced to look back. Caesar scooted further onto the bed, back against the headboard, and patted the space next to him. Jason, throat feeling tight, leaned his guitar against the wall. When he climbed onto the bed, he made sure there was distance between them.

“I was thinking about your mom,” Caesar said. “You were how old when it all happened?”

“Seven,” Jason answered.

“That’s almost nine years ago. A lot can change. Maybe she’s not with that guy anymore, you know? When’s the last time you had contact with her?”

Jason looked sidelong at him, sexual thoughts dissipating from his mind. Caesar’s eyes were wide with concern, maybe even hope. Jason struggled to understand why he would care, why it mattered if there was any chance of being reunited with his mother. He also found himself wanting to reward that hope with a positive answer, to give Caesar the happy ending he desired. But he couldn’t.

“She died. When I was twelve.”

“What?” Caesar looked shocked, as if he had known her. Or maybe the idea that everything could go so wrong was alien to him. Regardless, he scooted closer to Jason, their shoulders touching. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jason shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about. I saw her occasionally. There were visits, and she looked… tired, I guess. Then the visits stopped and after awhile they told me the news.”

“What happened?”

“You mean how? She drank herself to death. They hid the truth from me for years, but my current caseworker, Michelle, she’s different. When I asked her about it, she told me straight-up. I know people were trying to protect me, but I spent years wondering how she died.”

“Oh man,” Caesar whispered.

“Yeah,” Jason said lamely. Talking about this was always too hard. He felt he should be wailing over her death, even all these years later, or at least crying at little. He really did love and miss her, but it was like he’d developed a tolerance. The pain was still there, but it didn’t overwhelm him anymore. Sometimes he felt it should. If he really loved her, that pain should tear him up just as much today as it had back then. Jason changed the subject, hoping to escape these uncomfortable thoughts. “What was your nightmare about?”

“Huh? Oh. Zombies were eating my papier-mâché brain, except in my dream it was stuffed full of Chinese food instead of explosives. Listen, I know you hate hearing it, but I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Shit happens.” Jason shook his head, exhaling in a huff. “Sometimes I wish it had happened sooner.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would have been put into care; I would have been seven and upset, but I wouldn’t have been angry. I fought for five years, refusing to settle down because I wanted to go home. By the time she died and I realized I never would go home, I guess fighting had become a habit. Besides, nobody wants a twelve-year-old. Not really. They want little kids.”

“Not true. Peter had just turned eleven when he came here.” Caesar nudged him. “Or you. Why do you think you’re here?”

“To make your parents feel good about themselves.”

Caesar’s jaw dropped. Then he laughed. “You’re cold, man! Maybe you
were
named after an axe murderer!”

“Then you shouldn’t have invited me to your bedroom in the middle of the night. Look, I even brought my axe.”

Jason grabbed his guitar and began lightly plucking at the strings, the notes gentle, the music minimal. Caesar scooted down, grabbing a pillow and lying flat, but his head was upturned, eyes shining as Jason played. This made him feel special, like he was some sort of treasure, the most prized among everything in this trove of a room. Jason closed his eyes, focusing on making the music the best it could be. When he opened them again, Caesar’s were shut, his breathing deep. Jason stopped playing and watched his face for any reaction. When it didn’t come, he let his eyes travel over Caesar’s body, the black hairs on his arms, the shape of his fingers that gripped the pillow next to his head, the small of his back, the curve of his butt.

Jason sat there and stared until his eyes burned. Then he set aside the guitar and scooted down so they were on an equal level. If the space between them wasn’t there, their lips would be touching in a kiss. He studied Caesar’s face, memorizing every detail of this unwilling emperor until his eyes betrayed him and refused to stay open any longer.