Fish Stick Fridays by Rhys Ford

Author:Rhys Ford [Ford, Rhys]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-62380-948-5
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

“ARE THE cops going to take Uncle Deke away?” Zig stood with her nose and mouth up against the bookstore’s front window, smearing spit and God knew what else across the formerly clean pane. “I don’t want them to take him. I need him.”

“God, no. They’re just talking,” Lang said from his exhausted heap by the fireplace. “Why would you think they’re going to take Deacon away? He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Because that’s what they always do. The cops. They take people.”

“Only if they’re doing bad things.” Sighing, Lang added a handful of mini-marshmallows to the cup he’d just filled.

“Mommy did bad things all the time. The cops were always at our house. One of them gave me a teddy bear.” She echoed Lang’s sigh. “Uncle Deke bought him and me a Stitch so he wouldn’t be lonely when I’m at school. Think the cops are going to shoot someone? They shoot people. People shoot back too. It’s kind of stupid.”

“I’ll agree with that. Now, please get away from the window. You’re… just… come here. I’ve made you some hot chocolate.”

He’d gotten Yvonne to go to the hospital, mostly by threatening to call her sister in Los Angeles if she didn’t go. A few phone calls later and a promise to come by the hospital once Deacon was done talking to the detective, Lang was ready to fall over.

He was also still wearing Deacon’s sweats, but that part he didn’t mind.

The bookstore was a soft comfort. He couldn’t quite bring himself to light a fire in the fireplace, not with the stink of burned chemicals and plastics still in their noses, but a few clicks of the heater warmed up the shop nicely. The fragrance of paper went a long way in soothing Lang’s nerves, as did a brisk washing in the unisex bathroom. Zig grumbled a bit at the enforced cleanup but reluctantly acquiesced when Lang insisted. It’d been harder to get her to shed her ash-smeared pajama top and the plush dinosaur slippers she’d worn on her run from the house to the storefronts, but into the shop’s tiny stackable washer and dryer they went.

They probably looked ridiculous with their matching Between the Lines T-shirts, but Lang didn’t care. He was a bit cleaner, and there was chocolate to be had. He just wished he knew how Deacon was doing with Montague.

“I’m still going to be mad at you for drinking the last of ours,” Zig said primly, settling down in the chair next to him. “Just so you know.”

Zig was still a curiosity. Too old in some respects, she was jaded in ways Lang didn’t think was possible in an eight-year-old girl. It was odd to see so much of Deacon in her steady glare, smoky green cynicism peering out from behind thick dark lashes. One thing he did understand—she was always looking to take advantage of any angle. Lang knew that trait well. He’d gone to school to game the system and its laws. Zig was a natural at it.

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