“Not really.”
“You got some sort of busy schedule I need to know about?”
“No. I’m just saying I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“If it’s a bad time, I can come back.” Cart stood, and he kicked one of the rigger bags. It rattled, and the smell of metal and oil drifted up. “Is that what you want? When’s convenient for you, Mr. Stratford? You want me to shuffle on out of here and come back when you’re ready for me?”
“Jesus Christ. What’s the matter with you?”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, fuck me. What’d I do?”
“Aw, fuck off. I’m going to work in the basement.”
“What the hell?”
“I said fuck off. I’m in a bad mood.”
“Kind of got that.”
For a moment, Cart just stood there, running his red, chapped hands over his buzzed hair. Then he grabbed the rigger bags and headed for the stairs; he’d set up a saw down there, and he was cutting boards to finish a few final places where the floor had been damaged.
When he got to the stairs, though, he dropped the rigger bags with another clatter, and he put his hands on his hips.
“I mean, were you going to tell me you were fucking that teeny-bopper, or was I just supposed to figure it out on my own?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want some eighteen-year-old to swing on your pecker, that’s fine. That’s great.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Are you talking about Auggie? He’s just a friend.”
“But you know what? It’s really fucking pathetic that you let me go on and on and make a fucking fool out of myself. You could have just fucking told me.”
“Told you what?”
“Don’t play me like I’m stupid,” Cart shouted. “I’m not as smart as you, but I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Jesus Christ. You know what? Get out of here.”
Cart just stood there, shaking his head.
“Go. I appreciate what you did. I’ll find a way to pay you. But I want you to go.”
Grabbing out his phone, Cart came across the room so fast that Theo limped back a step. Cart didn’t touch him, though. He just held out the phone.
A video was playing on Instagram.
Auggie had posted that goddamn video: Theo leaning in, clear as day, and kissing him.
Over ten thousand comments.
Auggie had posted it. And Theo knew that Auggie had done it out of some sense that he was protecting Theo, which only made Theo angrier.
“That is not what it looks like,” Theo said, knowing it was the wrong thing as soon as it came out.
Cart shook his head and put the phone away.
“You know what you are?” Cart asked quietly. “You’re a fucking joke. Everything that happened with Ian, and you go running off for some teenage boy pussy. Have some fucking self-respect.”
Theo threw the punch without even thinking about it. He caught Cart on the jaw, and Cart stumbled. Then Cart came back at him, catching Theo around the waist in a bear hug, both of them crashing into the wall and sliding to the ground. Theo kicked, used his elbows, fought as close to dirty as he dared. Cart, who was country-boy skinny and all wiry muscle, just kept grabbing him and pinning him until Theo was exhausted and his leg was on fire.
“Fuck you,” Theo said.
“Fuck you right back,” Cart said.
“No, fuck you. You are a fucking coward. Fuck you. You’re so fucking scared of what people say that you kissed me when I was wasted, when I’m so fucked up in my head about my dead husband that I don’t know what’s going on, and you used that fucking opportunity because you’re so afraid somebody might think you like dick. You’re the worst fucking person I’ve ever met.”
“You dragged me out of my chair, dumbass. You pinned me up against the wall. Your fucking lips were a half an inch away. You did that. You. Don’t fucking tell me I took advantage of you, you stupid piece of shit.” Cart grabbed double handfuls of his shirt, lifted him, and then slammed him back against the floor. “Christ, I ought to kill you.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Theo said, but the words were woolen, and he couldn’t think straight. He was vaguely aware of Cart crawling away, and then the chaos of his thoughts went to Ian, went to Auggie, went to Cart, went to Lana, and then back to Ian again, and all he could do was lie there, staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling, hearing his own breathing from a mile off.
Then, from downstairs, he heard the whine of the saw.
Somehow, Theo rolled onto his side. And then somehow he got to his feet. He grabbed his cane, and he used it to hobble into the kitchen. The rigger bags were at the top of the stairs. Below, the whine of the blade cut off, and the smell of sawdust drifted up. Theo eased his weight down one step at a time until he was at the bottom.
He’d brought all the shit he couldn’t handle down here, Ian’s stuff, Lana’s stuff, everything wrapped in plastic and boxed and stacked against the wall. Cart stood at the table saw, measuring a board and marking it. One of his ears was huge and puffy, and Theo realized he’d gotten in one or two blows that were harder than he’d thought.
“What are you doing?” Theo said.
“What does it look like?” Cart said without looking up. Instead of waiting for an answer, he ran the saw again, and the end of the board clattered to the ground.
“I want you to go,” Theo said.
“Wishes in one hand,” Cart said, grabbing another board and measuring it. “Your dick in the other.”
“Cart, Jesus, please. What are you doing?”
“For fuck’s sake, you stupid redneck son of a bitch,” Cart shouted, throwing down the board and the carpenter’s pencil and the square. “What the fuck does it look like? I said shitty, awful things, and I
