Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Shane sighed and blew air on his gloved hands. “Maybe… when I was still a kid and stupid enough to believe someone might choose me over other people.” He glanced at Ros before picking up a chunk of wood from the side of the road and tossing it for Cerberus to fetch. “In prison… I-uh… I was straight. Nobody knew.”
Ros stared at him in disbelief. “What? Are you telling me you didn’t have sex for ten years?” He couldn't imagine a fuck machine like Shane saving himself for that long.
“I did have sex,” Shane interjected with a shake of his head. “Not everyone does, but lots of guys really need it, and with no women in there... it is what it is, right?” he asked, peeking at Ros as if he were seeking his approval.
The cogs slowly moved in Ros’s head despite the cold. “Oh. So sex, but no boyfriends. Was that… okay for you? Was there someone you left behind when you got put away?”
Shane shook his head. “Nope. I didn’t really feel I needed that when I was younger. But it got real lonely in prison, and that’s when I started kinda thinking about all the things I missed out on,” he said, and his green eyes shyly passed across Ros’s face. “I envied those guys who were visited by their wives or girlfriends. Some got lonely and had boyfriends even though they were straight, but... it’s not easy to be gay in there, and I didn’t want to take any chances, you know? Being tender is a trap. Trusting someone else in there—even more of a mistake. It wasn’t like I’d stay there for life.”
Ros nodded, taking it all in. “Trust is really hard after you’ve been hurt.” He glanced at Cerberus, who was happily ripping apart a plastic bag with some ice frozen inside it. “But it looks like he’s managed, so maybe it just takes some time and reassurance.”
“He’s a good boy,” Shane told him in a quiet voice, rubbing the front of his coat. “He’s also been lonely. We understand each other.”
Ros was about to say something stupid like I miss you, or I think I could trust you now, but was saved from his own cravings by Shane’s phone, which buzzed with a hip-hop tune Dex must have set for him.
Shane picked up the call with a loud sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be there. No, it’s fine.” He put the cell back into his pocket and turned to Ros. “Dex needs help with the pipes. If you wanna keep looking around, keep Cer with you, okay? He’ll lead you back home.”
Ros nodded. “I’ll see you later?”
Shane stalled, looking straight at him, and when for a moment he seemed to lean forward, the cold air briefly stopped pinching Ros’s cheeks, chased away by the heat from within. But the moment was gone when Shane nodded, stepping away. “Just relax. And if you find something heavy, don’t bother with it. I’ll help you drag it to the workshop later!”
They shared two more goodbyes, as if Shane couldn’t make up his mind about leaving, and while it was a bit silly, it felt nice to know Shane wanted to spend his time with Ros, despite sex not being on the table.
While the cold was pretty miserable, Ros followed Cerberus through the winding corridors of snow-covered trash, he reimagined the junkyard as the charred hills of Hades. The landscape was dangerous and barren, but its guardian was by Rosen’s side and would lead him back to safety.
He chatted to Cer, pondering his new life here and his confusion over not knowing where he belonged anymore. He couldn’t stand even looking at his dad so moving back with him was out of the question, yet he was also barely settling into an existence where he had to fend for himself.
Shane was his Hades, and he would take Charon’s boat to ferry Ros between his two lives. The trip into the unknown might be perilous and end up with a fall into the river Styx, but deep down Ros knew he wanted to take that journey with Shane and see where it led them.
He collected a couple of small items, but while they all fit into his pockets, the broken chair covered by a layer of brass paint would not. Still, intent on getting it out from the rubble, Ros got down to his knees and ignored the way melting snow soaked into his jeans. He tried to pull on the chair’s legs, but the wood creaked in warning, making Ros sit back on his heels and eye his find with growing frustration.
“It’s gonna collapse,” someone said right behind him.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ros yelped in panic and slipped on the sheet of metal resting under his foot. Fortunately, Jag was there to catch him. “Did Shane tell you to spy on me?”