The Sunshine Boy and the Weaver King

Chapter Seven

Anthony didn't curse a lot. It wasn't because he didn't want to, but because it'd been engrained in him by his parents. Don't curse. Be polite. Say please, thank you, and excuse me. People tended to like you better if you were nice, and they forgot you better, too.

"Fucking shit," he whispered as he walked along the sidewalk, back toward Briar. "I'm going to fucking die."

Add that to the list of things his parents would smack him for. His mom, especially. He knew her as Mom, obviously, but also as Cat, short for Catherine. That was what his dad called her, until Anthony was eight. Then she was Veronica, or V.

She was tall and slender but strong and fearless. Long, honey-brown hair and tanned skin. She had eyes that matched her skin almost perfectly. That was the only thing Anthony got from her, and unfortunately, something he'd have to keep for the rest of his life. She'd always tsk her tongue whenever they met eyes. Grip his chin. "You should wear contacts," she'd say, or some variant of that.

Who are you that you're afraid these eyes will give me away as your son? he'd wanted to ask. Or maybe just, Who are you?

But she was his mother, and she knew what he wanted to say before he did. When he was small enough to only know her as Mom and nothing else, she'd sit beside him at bed and ask him who she was.

"You're my mom," he'd answered, in his clumsy little-boy mumble.

"Is that all that matters to you?" she'd asked. "What about my name?"

He hadn't really known what that meant. Wasn't her name Mom? "I'll still just call you mom," he'd said, deciding that the easiest answer that made the most sense. 

She'd smiled. She didn't smile a lot. It took his breath away, and then it was gone. Now that he was older, he understood a little better. She'd never been able to keep a name before. Mom was the only one that was hers until the day she died. 

For a second, the bitter taste in the back of his mouth was so strong he nearly choked on it. They could have stayed. They could have kept his number, at least. Called once every couple weeks. They wouldn't even need to say anything, he'd understand.

"Fuck," he hissed again, jamming his hands into his jean pockets. Reality. He needed to focus on reality. The present. His mom was gone. Going by Mary or Jessica or whatever else she pulled up on a baby name generator website. His dad probably was still letting her pick and not really caring what he went by.

By the time he got back to Briar, he'd worked his shoulders loose and got his slouch back. He went up the stairs, checked into the floor, and climbed the three flights of stairs to his room. His chest felt heavy. His feet dragged. He could barely force himself to turn the key and push the door open.

Maddox was still there, texting someone on his phone.

"Hey," Anthony said.

Maddox glanced up. Anthony didn't miss how his gaze lingered a little longer than usual. Or was that the same amount of time? Was it how he was dressed differently? The look on his face? All his nerves were on edge-- he'd found himself catching a lot of things that he usually missed. Maddox nodded a greeting and looked back at his phone.

Anthony had just started for his bed when his phone rang. He glanced down at it, over at Maddox, and then back. Ryan. A little bit of tension seeped out of him, and he stepped into the hallway.

"Hey, Tones," Ryan said the instant he picked up. He sounded excited and maybe a little nervous. "Where you at, man?"

"I..." Anthony paused. "Just got some air. I'm back in Briar now."

"Cool, cool, cool. Okay, so, there's this party tonight, and I'm thinking you should swing by. Just for a little bit. If you feel uncomfortable at all, we can leave."

That was almost laughable. One corner of his mouth quirked up. "You know I hate crowds."

"It's a chill party, though," Ryan said, oblivious of anything less than a completely full room being able to be interpreted as a crowd. "We can stay close to the walls and keep all the exits in our line of sight."

He said it jokingly enough, but the fact that Ryan knew he liked to do that was already making Anthony feel pukey all over again. He'd let Ryan too close. He'd let him too close.

"I can't go," he said, feeling miserable.

There was a pause. "Are you okay?" Ryan's voice had softened. "You know you can talk to me, Tones. I'm an ass, but I've got your back."

Maybe one party wouldn't hurt. He was strung out and tired and done, but he was also almost dead already. Go out with a bang. Wasn't that was his dad told him? If you're going to die, don't go peacefully. Never go peacefully.

"I'll see what it looks like," Anthony said, "and if I don't like it, I'm leaving."

"You didn't say if you were okay or not," Ryan replied.

"I'm fine."

Pause. "Bull-shit. But I'll let it slide until tonight and I can see you. Love ya, bro."

Anthony swallowed hard. "Love you too, Ryan."

He hung up and raked his hands through his hair, closing his eyes. How easy would it be to tell Ryan everything? Hey there, buddy. Friend of mine. Hi. Yeah. So, I'm a liar. Like, a professional one. I have more power in my pinky than you do in your whole body, and also, I'm pretty sure my parents were on the run from a psycopath villain called the Weaver. Don't know if you ever heard of him or not.

And what would Ryan say? Anthony could imagine him, nodding, a slight smile on his face. Ryan didn't get shocked. He didn't get blindsided. Cool, he might say. Or, So you were lying when you said I have really ripped abs?, which Anthony had never said in the first place.

He couldn't leave Ryan. He really couldn't. Not when he had so little already.

With a sigh, his arms dropped back to his sides. Party it was. And then he'd deal with Jeremiah Burke and his powers and the jumbled up mess of thoughts in his head.