A disinterested gaze briefly rested on Morgan. Leo lifted a shoulder. “Bye,” he said, leaving Morgan standing at the bottom of the stairs. The door slammed behind him.
Fuming, Morgan scrambled for his keys. Dripping water and with his sneakers making those funny squelchy noises, he trudged over to the elevator. Once inside his apartment, he couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. He had been standing by the front steps, taking a video of the lightning streaking across the rain-swept sky, but the storm was so fierce and beautiful, he’d wanted to capture the moment. Unfortunately, as he was tucking away his phone to keep it from getting wetter, he hadn’t seen Leo rounding the corner.
Rain lashed against the windows, rattling them so hard, he feared the wind might blow them in. It would be nice if the humidity would break by the end of the storm, but he didn’t hold out much hope. The past few weeks, the city had been a nightmare of wet and sticky heat interspersed with frequent thunderstorms.
The argument with the surly super pricked his conscience. He wasn’t the type to dislike people on sight or have them hate him, but from their first meeting, he’d sensed the man’s impatience and annoyance with him.
Maybe he should make a peace offering, like cookies or something. That would be nice, he decided, and pulled out flour, eggs, butter, sugar, and chocolate chips. In no time, he had the batter assembled and the oven preheated. While they baked, he showered. He didn’t want to still look like a drenched rat when he knocked on Leo’s door.
He’d just slipped into a clean T-shirt and shorts when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hiiii.”
Fear ripped through him. He didn’t recognize the phone number or the hollow, muffled voice, but maybe… “Jeffrey, is that you? How…wh-why are you calling me? You’re not supposed to.” The room turned upside down, and Morgan sat on the bed so he wouldn’t pass out. Sweat slicked his palms as he gripped the phone tighter.
“I know you miss me as much as I miss you.
“No. No, I don’t. And I’m going to call my lawyer.” Morgan disconnected the call and hit Speed Dial for Sean.
“Morgan? How’re you doing?”
“Not well.” Morgan poured out the story. “What am I going to do?”
“First of all, tell me who else has your number.”
“Only you and my parents and the school. But…I haven’t told my parents I’m divorced. I just said I needed a new phone number, and they didn’t question me.”
“What?” Sean’s voice rose, and Morgan winced. “I can’t believe you haven’t told them. You need to do that right away. In the meantime, I’m going to call Jeffrey’s lawyer and read him the riot act.”
“But we don’t know it’s him, right? I can’t prove it. He never said his name or anything that might incriminate him. Even the phone number was unknown. I thought having an unlisted number meant no one could find me.”
“There are ways of finding out unlisted numbers. Unfortunately, nothing is truly private anymore. I’m going to tell his lawyer you’ve been receiving strange calls, and it had better not be Jeffrey. You’re going to have to be vigilant. You’re not in the phone book, right? Not that anyone uses them anymore, but make sure your number isn’t listed in some random place.”
“No. I don’t have my name or address anywhere. I told the school not to give it out, and it’s been flagged in the system. The security guards have his picture and know not to let him on the grounds.”
“Okay, good, but for God’s sake, Morgan, tell your parents. You don’t want them unwittingly playing into Jeffrey’s hands.”
“I will, I promise.” Talking to Sean had settled him a bit, but he still felt nauseated and terrified. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. Chris and I are both concerned for you. Otherwise, is everything going well? We have to get together soon.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s still weird getting used to being by myself and in this apartment, but I can deal with it.” He found he liked the little neighborhood—in a ten-block radius, he’d already discovered an Italian bakery and a tiny Mexican restaurant with street tacos that outshined any place in the city. Plus, they were cheap as hell. That morning, on the floor outside his apartment, he’d found menus for an Indian place as well as one for a Thai restaurant. Even though there was a sign in front of the building—NO MENUS, NO SOLICITATION—the delivery people still left them behind. There was even a little home-goods store that sold knickknacks he could decorate the apartment with. One day he’d feel like this was home.
“Any interesting people? Have you started thinking about dating?”
“Dating? No. Not at all. As for interesting people?” For a split second he thought of Leo and how damn good his arms felt locking Morgan tight to his chest, but dating him? That was a disaster waiting to happen. “Not really.”
“Well, that’ll come in time, I’m sure.” Clearly disappointed with his answer, Sean, as always, tried to put a positive spin on things. “One day the right one will come along, and you probably won’t even realize it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Morgan responded brightly, not believing a word his friend said. “But for now I’m happy, or I will be as soon as I get rid of Jeffrey.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of that. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll get back to you later with an update.”
“Thanks. And say hi to Chris for me.”
“Will do. Call your parents now.”
“I promise.”
Morgan flipped his phone in his hands several times before hitting that button.
“Morgan? What’s wrong?”
Wincing at his mother’s worried voice, Morgan chewed his lip. “Nothing. I-I just needed to tell you something. Something that’s going to probably upset you.”
“You’re not sick, are you? Or Jeffrey? You’re both okay, right?”
“No, I’m fine.” He tasted blood and stopped mangling his mouth. “It’s just…I’ve been keeping something from you because I was embarrassed and ashamed, but…I know I have to tell you.” He could tell them about the divorce without mentioning the abuse.
“Morgan, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? No matter what it is, we love you.”
“Uh, well…Jeffrey and I…we’re…we’re divorced. For about a year. I didn’t want to tell you. I thought it was a big fail on my part, and I know how much you loved him, but—”
“Morgan. Stop.”
He pressed his lips together. “Sorry.”
“Our main concern is you. Not Jeffrey. You’re our child.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course we’re not happy that the marriage didn’t last. Do you want to talk about it? Did you try couples therapy or counseling?”
The one time he’d made the suggestion to see a marriage therapist, Jeffrey backhanded him and split his lip. “Therapy is for weaklings.”
“Not really. The marriage didn’t work out, and I felt it was best to leave. I’ve been seeing a therapist since.”