Chapter 15: All-Nighter Part II (Part 3)

Ryan

Ryan startled awake when he heard and felt a familiar low vibration against his leg. He patted his pocket, wincing at the groove in the back of his head from the edge of the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

But his pocket was empty. He sat up, the feeling rushing back into his ass, which had fallen asleep from the hard tile floor. The warmth pressed against his leg was Pete, and the vibration was coming from Pete's phone, which was hanging precariously from his back pocket.

After poking Pete, and getting a moan in response, Ryan was satisfied that Pete was still alive. He shifted position and was thinking about how he might carry Pete back to their room when Pete suddenly heaved and a heavy plop of vomit hit the toilet. "M'never drungghh agahhh...." Pete mumbled.

"I hope not," Ryan said drily. He waited a moment, then added, "Someone's texting you."

Pete didn't respond.

Ryan stepped out of the bathroom. It was dark and quiet in the rest of the apartment. From his bedroom Ryan retrieved one of his textbooks and returned to the cold tile floor. Resting his back against the bathtub, he tried to read.

It was surprisingly easy to concentrate without the distraction of his phone and his roommates. It wasn't until he finished reading the whole chapter that he realized he'd never even put on music or anything. The silence had been so complete and rare.

He poked Pete again, then shook his shoulder. "Hey, Pete. Hey, let's get you to bed."

Pete didn't wake up. Ryan put his hand on Pete's back to feel for his breathing. Yes, Pete was still alive. What about alcohol poisoning, though? He wished he had his phone so he could just look it up. His laptop was in his room, not that far away, but it felt far when Pete's phone was right there. He eased the phone out of Pete's pocket.

The phone was like an addiction. Ryan had missed the feel of it in his hand, even though this wasn't even his own phone. He tried to open it, then realized he didn't know Pete's passcode. He stared at the lock screen, filled with notifications. He knew his own phone was going to be worse, but Pete had a whole mess of texts. One name caught Ryan's eye, a familiar name.

Monica.

Jacky

"You cannot throw up in this car," Lilliana was saying. "Like, for one, because my dad will kill me. This is a lease. And for two, because—"

At that point, Billy gagged, holding a plastic bag over his mouth, and Lilliana wretched, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

Wordlessly, Jacky passed back the bag from his rest stop purchases. Lilliana snatched it away and held it over her face so the plastic sucked in and out as she breathed.

"I think that's only for when you're hyperventilating," Braedyn said.

Jacky gazed at the coffee he had no desire to drink now. "Remember all those times you bragged about how you didn't have a gag reflex?"

"I'll demonstrate later," Billy said, his voice muffled by the bag.

"You need to tell us if you're gonna throw up," Lilliana said. "Because if you throw up, I'll throw up."

Braedyn looked at them in the rearview mirror as he slowed the car. "Do I need to turn around this car around?"

The silence from the backseat seemed to stretch out forever. When they both said, "We're good," at the same time, Jacky exhaled a sigh of relief. His whole plan had almost crumbled.

"Good job keeping them in line, Dad," Jacky said to Braedyn, then to Billiana he barked, "No more bathroom stops. Everyone's going to hold everything in until we get there. We're making good time."

"Do you want to turn around?" Braedyn asked him.

Jacky surprised himself by hesitating. "No."

"Are you sure?"

His heart was beating so fast. This was all so much easier when it was in the abstract. He had imagined appearing on Ryan's doorstep, without this entourage and the five hours of anxiety tagging along. "Yes," he said finally.

He expected Braedyn to respond somehow. You don't sound sure. Or maybe, What are you going to say to him when we get there? Jacky had forgotten that he'd barely spoken to Braedyn in weeks. For a person who he'd only met two months ago, he felt a strange connection back to the days when they hung out all the time. They had shared thoughts and feelings, even if they'd never quite touched upon whether or not Braedyn was attracted to Jacky or even to guys in general. Aside from Ryan, Jacky hadn't ever had a friend like Braedyn, someone not afraid to show that he cared, who wanted to talk about deep things.

"What if Ryan doesn't want to see me?" Jacky said before he could stop himself.

"He totally wants to see you." Lilliana leaned in from the backseat. "I saw those texts. He really cares about you."

"No one texts their ex as much as all that unless they didn't want to start something up again," Billy added.

"Unless he just wanted closure," Jacky said.

"No way. He sounded so sweet," Lilliana said. "I got only good vibes from him."

"But then why hasn't he texted me in two days?"

Ryan

If only he had his phone. If only Pete were conscious. If only Ryan didn't have a conscience, and wouldn't hate himself for using Pete's face ID while he was unconscious to have access to texting Monica and maybe Jacky.

He banged his head back against the cabinet. Jacky's last text had been one Ryan had gone to sleep thinking about, that night he'd broken his phone.

I am ready. I've never been more ready. Saturday night?

Ryan hadn't responded. It had been late at that point, and Ryan had fallen asleep before Jacky had responded. He'd woken up, phone vibrating in his hand, and read that, and he hadn't wanted to be hasty. He had wanted to respond with a clear, well-rested mind, in the morning. He hadn't wanted to seem too eager.

He was a fucking idiot.

Jacky

They wound through the streets of Somerville. More cars than expected were on the roads, their lights blinding. The GPS announced their arrival, but there was no place to park. "I'll circle around," Braedyn said.

Jacky rubbed his grainy eyes. He'd cried more than once in the past couple of hours. He had cried for the possibility that he'd lost Ryan forever, that even this grand gesture wasn't enough to save them.

He had also cried for all the horrible possibilities about why Ryan hadn't responded. "I'm sure he hasn't been kidnapped and murdered," Lilliana had assured him. "He isn't in the typical serial killer demographic." Which was, apparently, young women between the ages of 15 and 35. When Billy had responded that Dahmer's victims were young men, Lillian had said, "And he targeted the homeless and prostitutes." Jacky hadn't even considered any of this until Lilliana had brought it up, and of course he had to go and remember that Dahmer show on Netflix and see all of that in a whole new light.

While Billiana slept in the back seat, Jacky had taken the opportunity to scroll through Ryan's Instagram again and wonder if Ryan had simply moved on and then he was crying again.

Now, Braedyn again passed the three-decker where Ryan's apartment was, according to Monica, and Jacky said, "Just pull over and let me out."

Braedyn put on his blinker and slowed to a stop. "Good luck," he said.

Jacky was already getting out. His heart was beating so fast he thought he might pass out, and he paused, holding onto the door for support. One deep breath. Two. He leaned down. "Thanks."

In the backseat, Billy and Lilliana had woken up and were giving him sleepy thumbs up.

He jogged up the door of the building and double-checked the number with the text Monica had sent. This was it. Of course, he hadn't considered that the building might have a locked outside door. Considering that it was currently 5:13 a.m., Jacky would be waking someone up when he buzzed through. He examined the door buzzers. Ryan was on the third floor. But before he tried the buzzer, he tried the door.

It opened.

The stairwell was carpeted and dingy, lit by a yellowish hall light. Jacky started up the stairs. By the time he got the third floor he was slightly out of breath. The hall light out here made a steady humming sound.

He was so wired and tired that he didn't know how long he stood there, psyching himself up to knock. The whole apartment building was dead silent. "Why the fuck did you even come here," he muttered to himself, and knocked sharply on the door three times.

Ryan

A knock at the door made Ryan jump awake. He patted his pocket, looking for his phone to check the time, then tapped the screen of Pete's phone. No, he couldn't have heard someone knocking on the door at this hour.

He got up, his body creaking, and patted Pete's back. "Hnnngh," Pete said.

"Think you can get up and go to bed?" Ryan asked.

Pete didn't respond, but there was another round of knocks at the door. Ryan stepped into the hallway and stared at the front door. Everyone else had gone to bed. Jordan shifted in her bed behind her mostly-closed door. "I'll see who it is," he whispered, in case she was awake. He tiptoed to the door. For some reason he thought it might be Charlie, and his stomach clenched in worry.

But when he opened the door, the person standing there was someone so unexpected it took Ryan a long moment to recognize him.

"Jacky?" he said finally. "What are you doing here?"