John shuffled over and dropped into his chair, still cradling his wrapped hand against his chest. A part of him really wanted to do as Ward said. Home sounded wonderful right about then. Familiar, uncluttered space. A bottle of wine, even if he did have to dig one out of that locked filing cabinet. Maybe even a chance to finally sit down with his guitar.
He hadn't had time for that, either. Other than scraps of moments, like driving to and from work, John hadn't had so much as a free second to work onAdam's Song, and he was starting to feel something like withdrawal symptoms. An itch under his skin that couldn't be satisfied.
Christ. Maybe he really should go home.
But then Adam would be alone. Granted, John still had Adam's car keys, but if the isolation and even the tiniest sense of abandonment got to Adam, there wouldn't be anything to stop the boy from finding a way to a liquor store.
Besides, John was bound and determined to keep showing up, like he'd promised. He would keep spending the night, facing that damned urn, and prove to Adam that he'd never leave him again.
But—Christ—he needed a break.
“Okay,” Ward said, dropping into the chair across from him. “Talk.”
“Huh?”
“I've never seen you like this. What's going on?”
John opened his mouth and almost blurted everything out. Almost. Except he had to have better control than that. He couldn't let go of the boundaries he'd set between his personal life and work. John snapped his mouth shut, shook his head, and sighed. “Sorry. I'm just tired.”
“So go home,” Ward said simply.
“I've been staying with Adam,” John countered, then frowned at himself, wondering why he'd admitted that.
“So go pick him up and take him to your place,” Ward said in a tone that indicated the idea should have been obvious.
John blinked dumbly at him. “Christ,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was officially more tired than he'd thought if he couldn't have come up with that solution on his own.
Ward stood up. “Goodnight, John.”
“'Night,” John managed.
He waited until Ward walked out, then slowly got to his feet and shuffled into the bathroom, unwrapping the towel from his hand as he went. John checked the cuts, which had mercifully stopped bleeding. He went to rinse his hand again, only to remember that he'd shut off the water. John muttered a curse and slammed down the light switch, then strode through the office, snatched up his keys, and headed out the door, barely remembering to lock up before he went to his truck.
He climbed in, slammed the door shut, and cranked over the engine. John rubbed his eyes, then put the truck in gear and drove out of the vineyard, leaning slightly forward in his seat as he navigated the country road, heading towards town.
John got to Adam's apartment and let himself in. He found the place eerily silent. No music blaring. No chaos in the kitchen like he'd seen every other night that week. “Adam?”
Adam gasped from somewhere down the hallway. “Oh, thank fuck,” the boy muttered right before rapid footsteps thunderedacross the apartment. Adam appeared and ran right up to him, throwing his arms around John's waist for a second before quickly pulling back and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “You're early. I'm sorry. I haven't started dinner yet. I was trying to make myself start going through that third bedroom but I kept getting that feeling in my gut and I couldn't wait for you to get here so you could tell me–” Adam broke off, and a frown started to crease his brow. “What's wrong?” he asked cautiously, then gasped. “What happened to your hand?”
“Small accident,” John said, taking his hand back before Adam could fuss over him. “Listen. What do you say we go to my place tonight.”
Adam blinked at him. “But it's Thursday.”
“So?”
“You never let me sleep at your place unless it's the weekend. Then again, you've slept here every night this week and–” Adam broke off and waved his hands. “You know what? Never mind. I'm gonna shut up now before you take it back. I'll go pack a bag!” His grin was almost manic—the expression full of desperation and relief—as he whirled away and raced to his bedroom.
John waited, eyeing the growing stack of boxes in the dining room.Shit. That was another thing he needed to take care of. Those boxes would easily fill the bed of his truck and then some. He'd have to make time to haul that load away so Adam could start staging the next load there.
“Okay, ready,” Adam announced, darting towards him with his overnight bag in hand. He jammed his feet into his shoes and gave John a smile.
John ushered Adam out the door and locked it for him, then found himself able to smile back as they headed down to his truck, leaving the apartment behind. He already felt thehaunting presence slipping away.Christ. He couldn't wait to get home.
They started across downtown, the ride oddly silent other than the sounds of traffic all around them. John eyed Adam in the passenger seat. The boy fidgeted, his hands pressed between his knees as he stared out the window.
“Baby?” John stopped at a red light, then turned to give Adam a proper look. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Adam said, nodding insistently.
