Free Season's Bleeding by Cal Matthews Page B

automotives. I want to get Brittany a tool kit for her car.”
    “Lead the way,” Leo said and gave me an after-you gesture.
    We threaded through the chaotic toy section, testing the shopping cart’s maneuverability as flustered parents darted around us in pursuit of their ebullient offspring. Three toddlers bent together over a display of robot dinosaurs and as we darted around them, I caught a tiny, wistful smile on Leo’s face. I’d never seen that smile before. It made his face look different, less harsh, less cold. That smile made something in my chest tightened. When I thought about all the things I didn’t know about him…
    “You okay?” I asked loudly, interrupting his trance as he stared at the kids.
    He startled and when he looked at me, I saw the second that he put his game face back on, the very second that that smile slipped away. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or regretful.
    “Fine,” he said, clipped and closed-off. “I’m going to peruse the firearms while you finish up. Find me when you’re done.”
    “Leo,” I called, stepping after him. He half-turned, looking at me over his shoulder. I didn’t often see his eyes look so wary.
    “Hang out with me,” I said softly.
    He looked at me for several long seconds, while my heart pounded in my chest and holiday shoppers streamed around us. I would have said more, said please, said sorry, anything really to get us back to laughing. But before I could, he jerked a quick, sharp nod and shuffled forward, close enough that we made a little island in the sea of people.
    “Thanks,” I whispered.
    His eyes flicked back and forth between my own, but he nodded again.
    “Sure,” he said. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Automatives then?”
    “Yeah,” I said and gave the cart a small push, waiting to see if he would walk with me or trail behind. He curled his fingers around the handle, our shoulders brushing, and we walked side by side past the guns.
    “Do you have plans for Christmas?” Leo asked, low and without looking at me. Our cart squeaked over the dirty linoleum.
    “I’m just staying home,” I replied. “Mom and fucking Lloyd are going to Idaho. To his daughter’s house.”
    “Oh,” Leo said.
    “Are you going to be around?” I asked, though it took me a few seconds to say it.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
    “Great,” I said, and couldn’t help the grin that took over my face.
    “Good.” He smiled back, waiting by the cart while I stopped to look over the tool kits crammed on the shelf.
    “What are you getting Dahlia?” Leo asked after I’d tossed a pink, skull-decorated tool kit into the cart.
    “I dunno,” I said. “Maybe something for her next show?”
    “I doubt they sell packers here.”
    I blinked. “Packers?”
    “Yeah,” he said and snorted a little laugh. “Fake dicks? Cross-dressers put ‘em into their pants.”
    “She’s not a cross-dresser,” I said. Lord knows Dahlia had reminded me of that plenty of times. “She’s a drag king. I was thinking more along the lines of like, a belt or hat or something. Like a top hat.”
    “A top hat.”
    “Or a fedora,” I said defensively, turning my shoulders in and away from him.
    “They don’t sell top hats at fucking Wal-Mart,” Leo said.
    “Well, they don’t sell fake dicks either.”
    He paused and gave me a sly smile. “I bet they sell vibrators though.”
    “No, they don’t,” I scoffed. “They don’t even sell CD’s with explicit lyrics.”
    “They don’t call them vibrators,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They call them ‘personal massagers’. I bet they have them. C’mon.”
    With that, Leo darted through the crowded aisle and hooked a right around the corner. I pushed the cart after him, watching his retreating back as holiday shoppers parted before him. He strode confidently towards the health and beauty section and disappeared from view just as another cart bumped into mine.
    The man pushing the