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Good Enough/Crossroads--Chapter 20--Reaching In and Reaching Out

Chance woke up later than he normally did and, for a blessed moment, everything had been forgotten. But a sudden soreness in his shoulders reminded him suddenly of the impact of being thrown to a hard floor, the weight of a heavy dog above him and--

"Zack?" he murmured groggily when he realized he didn't feel the jackal's arms around him at that moment. He jerked upright fearfully. "Zack?"

"Hey, I'm here," Zack's voice said beside him. "Calm down."

Chance glanced over; Zack was sitting upright beside him, eyes on his phone as if he had just been texting someone. "Hey," Chance managed to say.

"Hey back," Zack returned with a smile. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, but don't you have to get to school? What time is it? Are we late?" Chance gasped.

"Hey, breathe," Zack said, putting a comforting paw on Chance's chest. "The school's gonna be closed for a bit for an investigation. After what happened to you, they're going through everything: the teachers' backgrounds, the security, all of it. McLawhorn's pissed and the superintendent closed every school for the next week, I heard."

"Good," Chance sighed. "At least they'll be checking everything out now..." His stomach growled. "I'm starving..."

"I'm not surprised," Zack chortled. "You didn't eat at all last night. You think you can keep some food down?"

Chance nodded numbly and sniffed. "Ugh, I stink too."

Zack chuckled again. "Just a bit. Why don't you go take a shower? I'll see if your dad will make you some breakfast."

"Okay..."

Chance got out of bed and stretched, feeling oddly at ease. He gathered his clothes and, with another quick smile to Zack, went to the bathroom to shower. He paused as he saw himself in the mirror--his reflection looked almost like someone else. His hair had grown out longer and his eyes somehow seemed darker in the mirror. But what caught his eye most was how his physique had seemingly transformed since he'd last studied himself. His clothes no longer looked nearly as baggy and he didn't seem so sickly thin anymore.

How do I look stronger but feel weaker?

He showered quickly and had only just pulled fresh clothes on when he heard the doorbell. His fur seemed to stand on end at the sound and he waited patiently to see if he'd imagined it. But then there was a knock on the bathroom door, and he stiffened.

"Yeah?" he called out.

"Charles," his father's voice answered, "we need you in the kitchen right now."

"What's going on?" Chance wondered.

"The police are here. They've got a few more questions for you."

The police? Chance swallowed thickly as he opened the door. His father beheld him worriedly, looking just as distraught as Chance felt. He stepped aside to allow Chance to walk by and followed close behind as they trudged through the house and into the living room. Standing in the living room, looking at a befuddled jackal seated on the couch, were two officers in uniform, both of which Chance could recall from the previous day. These two had stood guard outside of the nurse's office while they waited for David to arrive.

"So," the first officer, a severe-looking panther with bright golden eyes, was saying, "that's all you can say? You could've caused some serious cerebral damage to the coach."

"I just acted!" Zack insisted nervously. "That bastard attacked my boyfriend--what was I supposed to do?!"

"Calm down, cub, you aren't in trouble," the second officer, a smiling white-furred rabbit, assured him. "We just need to double-check our facts for the case."

"Is this going to court? Charlie's not going to have to go, is he?" Zack asked worriedly. "I don't know if he'll be able to handle it. You know, emotionally."

"I'm here," Chance said, though his voice was meek, almost fragile-sounding. Almost at once, everyone's eyes turned on him and he stepped back instinctively, his father taking a step forward.

"Is this going to take long?" David asked.

"Not at all, sir," the second officer said kindly. "Like I said, we're just double-checking our facts to be sure that we know what happened yesterday. Charles, isn't it?"

Chance nodded.

"I'm Officer Owens and this is my partner, Officer Martan. Can we talk for a moment?"

Chance looked up at his dad who merely nodded. "Why don't you sit down next to Zack? I'll bring you something to drink."

"Okay," Chance murmured, doing as instructed. He watched his father disappear into the kitchen, then heard Officer Martan clear his throat commandingly. His head snapped back towards the two police officers, Zack's paw resting kindly on his leg.

"Tell us, in your own words, what happened yesterday when you were attacked."

Chance swallowed. Part of him wished he had forgotten. Silently, he wished that he could've been given amnesia and that the whole event would've been wiped from his memory. Yet even as he thought, each minute detail was fresh in his mind, from the scuff marks on the gym floor to the feeling of the coach's grip on him.

He spoke as if he were on autopilot, not truly hearing himself or registering that he was even speaking English. He found himself unable to meet the gaze of the officers, nor could he turn to face Zack. He spoke instead to the coffee table and when he finished, he waited patiently to hear anything more.

"That's quite an experience," Officer Owens noted sadly, while his partner continued to take notes.

"Are we done here?" Zack said brazenly, squeezing Chance's paw protectively. "Can't you see this is upsetting to him? To us?"

"Sorry, we just have to be thorough," Officer Owens said.

"We'll get out of your fur for now," Officer Martan added, closing his notebook. "We'll be in touch if we need anything more from you."

Officer Owens approached and Chance flinched when the rabbit reached out. Officer Owens jumped at the movement and, instead of handing the small card to Chance, set it on the table. Chance glanced at it.

"Who's Dr. Reid?" Zack demanded.

"A therapist the force has for victims of assault," Officer Owens explained. "He's on the police force's payroll so you don't have to worry about payment or anything. If you find you need help, he's one of the best in the field."

"Thanks," Chance said hollowly.

"Take care, kid," Officer Owens said dejectedly, ears drooping. "Come on, Marcus, we've got work to do."

He led his partner out of the house and Zack followed them to the door. Chance absently wondered what hushed words his boyfriend could've been saying to them, but the thought raced from his mind when his father reemerged from the kitchen, a steaming plate of food in his paws.

"Not as good a cook as Michelle," David said chortling weakly, "but at least you'll have something on your stomach."

Chance nodded and looked down at his plate. He scarcely felt hungry at all, but knew he needed to eat. He nibbled halfheartedly on the toast, ignoring the runny eggs and slightly burnt bacon.

"Chance, you alright?" David asked.

"I don't know," Chance confessed. "I'm scared."

"Of that coach?"

"Of everything," Chance answered. "I mean, why did it have to happen to me? There's hundreds of students in that school and he attacks me?! I don't--"

"Wrong place, wrong time," David stated. "Had I known that it would've happened..." He trailed off and sniffled slightly. Chance looked up and saw the brief glint of tears in his father's eyes. "Charles--Chance--I never wanted anything like this to happen to you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be safe and... I want to be a good father to you. I want to be able to protect you so things like this never happen... It's not fair. You didn't deserve it."

"You are a good father," Chance insisted.

"I sometimes wonder if I am," David admitted. He looked up and frowned slightly as Zack returned.

"What were you talking to them about?" Chance asked accusingly.

Zack held up his paws defensively. "Whoa, where'd that come from?"

Chance swallowed heavily and stood. "I think... I need some air... Where's my phone?"

"In your room, but--Charlie!" Zack called.

Chance ignored him, determined to get to his phone and away from everyone. He rushed to his room and snatched the device from his bedside table, sparing a moment to check for any messages. Two from Junior, several from his mother, and quite a few more from Sylvia.

I should return their calls, he thought briefly, but his eyes spied something else on his bedside table. A business card: Anders Erikson.

"Charlie?" Zack stood in the doorway of his bedroom. "Can we talk?"

Chance hurriedly pocketed Anders Erikson's card and turned. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I don't know why I jumped at you like that."

"I was talking to them about getting you treatment," Zack confessed. "And I think it's a good idea to check out their therapist. If he's as good as they say, then what do we have to lose?" He stepped forward into the room cautiously, as if afraid Chance would suddenly explode again. "Charlie, you know I just want to help, right?"

"I know," Chance answered, fidgeting nervously with his phone. "I think I want to talk to Coach Salt's husband."

Zack's eyes narrowed. "Are you nuts? Why?"

"He seemed to be a nice enough guy," Chance stated. "He didn't know that the coach was drunk at school or anything. And he said something yesterday about how Coach Salt's family was. How they were homophobic like my dad. Maybe he knows how to work around it."

"Whatever he tried clearly didn't work! Look what happened with the coach!" Zack said defiantly. The jackal took a deep, steadying breath and spoke in a calmer tone. "Charlie, I'd feel better if you talked to the police therapist." Chance sat on his bed and sighed heavily. Zack walked over and joined him, kissing his cheek. "At least give it a try. For me?"

"Okay," Chance murmured. "Just once."

"Thank you, Charlie. I gotta call my folks. Promise you won't run off when I do?"

"I'll be here when you get back," Chance promised. "I'm not going anywhere."

Zack kissed his cheek again and Chance turned, leaning in to kiss his lips. When they pulled away, Zack was smiling wide. "What was that for?" Zack wondered.

"Everything you've done for me," Chance said.

"Be right back."

Zack stood and walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Hurriedly, Chance dialed the phone number on the business card. The phone rang once, twice, thrice...

"You've reached the desk of Anders Erikson. Please leave a message and a callback number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you and be well."

"Hi, it's Chance Argent from Briarwood High. I'm the cub your husband... went after. I just... I wanted to ask you something. Please call me back when you can."

He hung up and sighed heavily, leaning backwards to stare up at his ceiling. Zack returned moments later and chuckled. "You going back to sleep already?"

"No."

"Want to watch some TV?"

"You don't like TV," Chance reminded him gently.

"Draw?"

"No," Chance said. "I don't want to do anything."

"Charlie, this isn't healthy," Zack remarked. "I'm worried about you."

"Because I feel like doing nothing?"

"Because it's not healthy to do nothing," Zack said. "Which is why we're going back to our training."

"Are you kidding right now?" Chance gasped, sitting upright. "Zack, I just want to--"

"Do nothing, I know, but I'm not going to let this turn you into a lazy good-for-nothing," Zack said. "I want you to still be that energetic, playful, fun cub I first met. The one that had the nerve to stand up to me on the first day. The one that hit me with a dodgeball."

"The one that's going to kick you out of his room in a minute for trying to make him do something?" Chance supplied jokingly.

Zack smiled. "I tell you what, I'll even let you get out all your frustrations on my punching bag. If you want to try the weights again, we will. I just want you to stay active and alive. Besides, my parents want to see you again. They're worried about you too."

"You already cleared it with my dad?"

"Give me ten minutes."

Chance laughed slightly. "If you think you can, I'll go."

---

"Charlie!" Geoff Bailey greeted as they stepped into the Bailey house. He was joined almost instantly by his wife and youngest son. Chance gasped and jumped backward as they started to surround him and, protectively, Zack stepped between them.

"Back off," Zack ordered in a commanding tone. Chance swallowed--he hadn't heard Zack sound so angry in so long. They stepped back. "Give him room to breathe."

"Sorry, we just... we heard what happened," Karen breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Chance stated. "I've been better but..."

"Well, son, you know if you ever need anything, you can always call us," Geoff said supportively. "What're you guys going to do?"

"Wail on the punching bag," Zack answered. "I think he needs to get out some emotions."

"Okay," Karen said nervously. "Just be careful."

"Hey, Charlie," said a small voice and Chance looked down. Tristan had approached, grabbing his paw. "You're okay, right? Daddy said you got hurt."

Chance's face burned slightly beneath his fur. "I'm fine, no worries."

"Are you sure? You look sad."

Chance kneeled, getting eye-level with the young jackal. He smiled and saw that Tristan was smiling back, a brightness that warmed his heart. "I promise I'm okay."

"OKAY!" Tristan said in an excited squeal. Chance winced at the sudden volume. "Can we play later?"

"Yep! Definitely!"

"Come on, Tristan, you still have to help me with the cake," Karen said, pulling Tristan back. "It's good to see you again, Charlie. Stay as long as you like."

She led her husband and son away and Chance could feel his cheeks still pulled into a smile.

"I missed that," Zack said when he was sure that his family was out of earshot.

"Missed what?"

"Seeing you smile for real."

---

Chance glared into his phone, flipping through it absently. After striking the punching bag so many times his fists ached and his body was sore, it felt good to have showered and to lay down to relax. He found himself returning several texts from his friends, his father, his mother, all of which sounded concerned and confused. Where was he? Was he okay? Who was he with?

Helicopter parents, he thought sourly, though in the back of his mind, he knew that they had every reason to be concerned. But for just a few minutes, he wished they'd back off and let him just be without worrying about him.

The door opened and Chance glanced over to see Zack had entered, clean and dressed. "You wanna do something else?" the jackal asked.

Chance looked over again and shrugged. "I don't know. Isn't it time for lunch soon?"

Zack took a gander at the alarm clock. "I guess. Ma might let you help out with lunch if you ask. You hungry?"

"A little bit," Chance admitted, returning his attention to his phone. "I'll go down and ask soon."

"Okay," Zack said and Chance could hear the concern in his voice. "You want to eat up here away from the family? Give you some space?"

Chance exhaled a heavy sigh and glared up at Zack. "No, I'm fine," Chance said forcefully. "They're just concerned and I don't mind. Please stop asking."

"Okay, sorry," Zack said defensively. He looked back at the door, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "See you in a bit then." And he walked out of the room.

Now you've done it, Chance's mind warned him. Just because you're annoyed doesn't mean you get to be an asshole.

I need to apologize.

Just as he made to stand up, his phone vibrated in his paws and he jumped at the sensation. He nearly fumbled the device in his attempt to answer it, not even stopping to check to see who it was calling.

"Hello?" he said into the phone.

"Hello, is this Chance Argent?" asked the voice on the other side, thick with a foreign accent yet strikingly familiar.

"Y-yes. Who is this?" Chance wondered.

"This is Anders Erikson. Nathan Salt's husband."