Shift

Colt has been a threat to Dustin’s wellbeing since the moment our friend—my love—was born. That’s the vision that tortures me now, too. That threat carries the potential of taking his life. In the back of my mind I always worried that one day Colt would punch Dustin a little too hard, would be a little too drunk or high to know what he was doing and think his son was his enemy. Would take his life.

My body shakes at that thought and my voice breaks without my permission. The slip in my veneer is enough to trigger Dustin out of his trance, and he abruptly pushes away from the table.

“I need some air. I’m sorry, but . . . I need a minute,” he says, ducking his head as he bolts to our front door.

My eyes flash to my dad in search of answers, but my father is watching him go. I stand to follow him.

“Let him go, Ha

I stand by the table, torn between believing my father and wanting to be there for the boy I love when he’s hurting. Dustin’s pain wins out and I shake my head.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t just let him go,” I say, jogging to the door and rushing out to the driveway where I find Dustin standing at the end by the road, his palms pressed against his crying eyes.

“Dustin!” I cry out. He spins and drops his arms helplessly, his tortured, red eyes finding solace in mine. His lips part as they stretch wide with the need to cry. He’s caught in this limbo where he’s too tough to show his emotion, but the pressure building inside his all-to-human body is dying to explode with everything he feels.

“I can’t, Ha

“You’ve got time. It’s okay, Dusty. It’s okay,” I say as his weight crushes me, his chin falling into the crook of my neck as his spine curves and his frame shrinks to fit with mine.

I hold him tight, letting him quake against me, his body warm under the weight of his black zip-up hoodie and his black jeans. The sun drops below the horizon, and we stay where we are, eventually sitting on the concrete driveway. The air cools, a mix of warm currents in the slight breeze brewing from the desert, but I don’t suggest we change a thing. If this is where Dustin wants to be, it’s where we will stay until he’s ready to go inside. His head hasn’t left my shoulder in an hour, and the only clue I have that he hasn’t fallen asleep is the rare utterance of “I’m sorry, Ha

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I keep repeating. I hate what Colt has done to him, what his mother has done. If she left, knowing what was coming, and didn’t bother to take her son with her, she is more shameful than I thought her to be. Who could do that to their child? To anyone they claim to love, even if they choose their addiction over that person. There has to be a thread of humanity in her soul that remembers she is someone’s mother, that she has a son—a son who is becoming such an amazing man.

Night comes, and we stay as we are. My dad occasionally comes out to check on us, each time encouraging us to come inside. He doesn’t press, though. He gives Dustin the time he needs, and he doesn’t insist I leave him alone any more. Maybe he realizes it’s useless. Or maybe he sees how I’m holding our boy together. I’m thankful for this compassion.

Little by little, Dustin comes back to me. His hands kneed mine, his fingers drawing tiny circles on my palms, his arms coming alive enough to hold me tight. His legs curl around my body as we sit, he scoops me into his cocoon, and finally—finally—his lips find the place where wisps of baby fine hair line my temple. I’m soothed by the strokes of his hand in my hair, and his heart isn’t racing in his chest.

Still, though his body has calmed, he insists he’s sorry.

“I’m just so fucking sorry, Ha

I pull back enough to hold his head between my palms. Our eyes dance, his focus less manic than before but still not the restful expression I’m used to from him.

“I love you, Dustin Bridges. You did nothing wrong. And I love you for you. I love you,” I say. I’ll repeat these words until he believes them, until he hears them in every part of his body. I’ll say them to anyone who asks, to anyone who dares to question where my loyalty lies. I’ll pronounce my love for this boy in a court of law, in the face of death, at the line of fire. I’ll love him for always because I know, whether he can say it yet or not, he loves me back. He loves me, and I won’t let go.