Just Like Us

By Elizabeth Arroyo

Seventeen-year-old Luca has a credit card, a gun, and an ugly pink suitcase on its last legs—he also has a plan. He'll hold Danny's credit card for ransom and use the money to get out of the city, return the gun to its rightful owner and hope he doesn’t notice the missing bullet, and keep the ugly suitcase from getting stolen. Again. And don't fall for Danny.

Stranded in the city, Danny has no choice but to accept Luca's help. Though extortion is a more accurate word. Roaming the snowy city streets on Christmas together, Danny learns that there's more to Luca than the cold, homeless boy holding his credit card hostage.

When Luca's crew catches up to them, Danny finds himself at the wrong place at the wrong time and manages to avoid getting shot. But the life-altering experience leaves him questioning everything he’s hidden behind his heart, including the fact that he likes boys—Luca in particular. Done hiding that fact from God and his father, Danny finds the courage to stand up for himself and opens his heart to Luca.

Now all they have to do is survive the night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Teen
• Release date: Sep 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9780369506832

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Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2022 Elizabeth Arroyo

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0683-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Jessica Ruth

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

The JCs & AN

JUST LIKE US

Elizabeth Arroyo

Copyright © 2022

Chapter One

Luca

Cy trembled beside me, and I instinctively wrapped an arm around his slender shoulder, tucking him closer to me. Even over his coat, he felt frail and small. Every few seconds he wiped his face. The trembling didn’t stop and neither did the quiet sobs. I kissed the top of his head, catching a whiff of his cheap drugstore strawberry-scented shampoo.

Not your fault, I said, keeping the restless fear out of my voice.

Cy shook his head, his fingers playing with the ripped seam of his coat.

It’s not, I said more forcefully. Not a lie. It hadn’t been Cy’s fault I couldn’t protect him. Not his fault that I’d been dealt fucked-up cards since being born. I swallowed the tightness in my throat. Nothing I could do about it now. I had to keep moving forward. Fix this. Keep Cy safe.

The train car smelled of booze and piss. The peeling advertisements above the windows called out for anyone who had anger management issues, with a phone number added. Just stay calm and call them. Everything will be okay. Another about affordable housing, and another about an upcoming musical. The eyes of the dancers had been blacked out with a sharpie, making them look like creepy, smiley, lifeless dolls. A map of the city’s L train tacked above the double sliding doors showed a swirl of colors all looping around the city. A reminder that my own destination ran in a constant loop, going nowhere.

An old lady wearing a knit beanie kept snatching glances our way as if expecting us to either give her a porn show or rob her. A little boy with large brown eyes sat near the door, rocking his legs back and forth, not even touching the floor. His mother, a young petite blonde, sat next to him, eyes closed, one hand gripped on his coat as if to make sure he didn’t disappear while she dozed.

The train stopped and the double sliding doors opened, sending a blast of cold air inside. No one else got in. Already after dark on Christmas Eve, most families should have been home nursing full bellies and getting ready to open gifts. Everyone except the handful of people on this train car, apparently. Cy and I included.

The train started moving again.

Intermittent lights flashed into the car as we pummeled through the tunnel, mesmerizing against the subtle rocking of the train car. As a kid, it’d always been me and my mom against the world. We’d made a tree out of cardboard and paper decorations and taped it to the wall of our small apartment one year. We had lights aplenty. Most people discarded those just for being tangled. We’d stuck them up with tape on the cardboard to give it some colorful life. Mom loved colors. She always told me to fill my life with color. I preferred black. She’d been proud of my artistic talent with the tree that year. That’s what she called it. Artistic talent. That was the last time we shared Christmas together. Right after, my mom’s boyfriend Holt had pawned me to some john for rent. The cops had picked me up that night and driven me home to a massacre. Holt dead. Shot in the face. My mother drugged out of her mind. Before the cops had a chance to stop me from seeing, I saw. And I couldn’t unsee. I’d been ten years old.

I hated Christmas.

Cy sat up, breaking me from my thoughts, and wiped his face with a wince he tried to hide. His attention remained on the window for a heartbeat before turning back to me with a small smile that must’ve cost him. A busted blood vessel left his right eye red. A nasty purple bruise surrounded that same eye, and he had scratches on his chin from faceplanting onto the concrete. And that wasn’t the worst of it. I lowered my eyes to his throat, where bruises peeked out over the bright red scarf he wore. I’m good, he said, more to himself. I can do this.

I knew Cy would survive this. I wasn’t sure I would but couldn’t tell him that.

Yeah, you will, I said.

We got off the train at the end of the line and walked quietly toward the airport’s arrivals level, where a handful of people waited near the conveyors for their luggage to spit out. The place was emptier than usual, the snow cutting travel. If Cy was lucky, his flight would take off before the bulk of the snow reached the city. The streets were already glazed with the white powder and thick snowflakes still on the path of dumping the projected twelve inches for a white Christmas.

Cy stopped just at the elevators leading up to the check-in area. He turned to me with fresh tears on his face. I can’t do this. I can’t leave you.

I grabbed the straps of his rucksack and tugged just to have something to do with my hands. Cy, we already talked about this.

I’m taking all your money. How will you—

I gently cupped his face, stopping his words. I’ll figure it out. I always do. I just need you to trust me. Trust me. A fucking joke. Trusting me had gotten him into this mess. But the look in his eyes said otherwise. Cy trusted me completely. With his life. And I didn’t know what to do with that trust. I didn’t deserve it.

Okay, he said gruffly.

Just as the elevator doors opened, Cy grabbed the strap of my sling bag and pulled me into him. He kissed me on the mouth. A friendly kiss. A goodbye kiss. A, hopefully, see-you-later kiss. Innocent and heartbreaking all at the same time. Cy and I had been friends for over a year. I knew he was gay. He didn’t hide that fact. But I wasn’t gay. After the quick peck, Cy spun to enter the elevator and almost rammed into another kid stepping off.

The kid looked like hell. Wearing only a black hoodie that fit him too big, dark jeans, and white sneakers, he was not ready for the Chicago winter. And he looked lost. Too young to be alone, too innocent. Not that I knew anything about innocence anymore. Despite being seventeen, I felt old. Thick black hair fell around his face in oily strands. Not much care went into the way he looked, all of it pityingly ordinary except for his eyes. They were large on his face, bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept in days. Framed by thick, long lashes girls paid money for.

Sorry, the kid mumbled, though it wasn’t his fault.

His tired eyes met mine, and for a split second I felt as if he knew all my deepest darkest secrets. He saw the deeper parts of me and knew what I’d done. He broke eye contact to look at Cy for a second, then back at me before he kept walking, dragging a ridiculous hot pink suitcase on one wheel behind him while he carried a violin in a case on his back.

I turned back to Cy just as the elevator doors closed. He wasn’t looking at me.

In a few hours, he’d land in Texas and take a cab to a cheap motel we’d identified and stay there until I came for him. I had to settle a few things before I left Chicago. One being the gun I had tucked into the back of my jeans and the mangled bullet in my pocket.

I started for the restroom and caught sight of the kid. He quickly looked away as if I hadn’t just caught him watching me. The pink suitcase sat on the seat beside him. His attention was on the cellphone in his hand. For some damn reason, he seemed curious about me. I usually made it a habit not to look at people. To go unnoticed. I didn’t fit into one neat racial profile. My mother was Irish, while I had no clue who’d donated the other half of my genes. My skin tone was dark enough to guess my dad hadn’t been Irish. I made it a point to blend in. Not to wear anything that could distinguish me from the masses. My brown hair was tucked in a black beanie, no facial markings, not even a beard. No scars, tattoos, nothing on my body that could identify me in any way, shape, or form. I stood above average in height at six feet, but I kept myself trim, not bulky. And I kept my facial expressions in check. No glowering, sneering, or looking threatening. I was the embodiment of the boy next door everyone underestimated. The boy everyone forgot existed. Except when people looked at my eyes. I’d inherited my eyes from my mom. They were a weird green. Cy had told me I’d never be able to truly blend in unless I wore contacts. I couldn’t afford contacts, so I just kept myself from making eye contact with people.

I walked into the restroom and washed my hands, sweeping the stalls for anyone. Empty. I pulled out the bullet and washed it thoroughly. Blood swirled down the drain. Using a paper towel, I handled it carefully and wrapped it in toilet paper before flushing it. I flushed twice and waited just to be sure. When the toilet filled again with no sign of the wad, I walked out of the stall and washed my hands again, avoiding the mirror.

Already late, I knew I’d never make it back to the shelter before curfew forced them to lock their doors. Meant I had to either rest here or take my chances at the warehouse where Cy and I crashed whenever we had nowhere else to go. The shelter was warmer and had electricity and running water. The warehouse had an abandoned room with blankets, a mattress on the floor, and a space heater we’d jerry rigged directly into the electrical wiring of the building. Better than the streets if you could get to it without getting picked up by the law. Or seen by Juan’s crew, who had nothing better to do than play look-out for the insane fucker.

I had to play my cards right or risk getting a bullet to the head.

I’d worry about that after the sun came up.

The kid was still sitting where he’d planted himself, only he’d fallen asleep. The instrument at his back forced him to sit at an awkward angle. The suitcase sat in the chair next to him.

Idiot.

The shit was going to get stolen. Not my business.

I sat down a few seats from him, pulling my sling bag across the front of my body, and leaned back. I closed my eyes, still listening to the world around me. I heard a couple of guys come for the kid’s shit. The whispers. The suitcase being lifted, and the beat of footsteps running toward the exit. If it were me, I’d strip it of the valuables and dump the rest in the dumpster. The bright pink stuck out like neon at a club.

Not my business.

Chapter Two

Danny

Don’t cry!

I read Bear’s text over and over, flipping the almost dead phone in my hands as my eyes watered at her words. Don’t cry. So what if I’d never wanted to see this city, ever? So what if my dad left me stranded on Christmas? Don’t cry. It could be worse.

Bear: It could be worse.

I read her text as if she read my mind from three thousand miles away where she was spending Christmas with her family.

Bear: You could’ve died at that school.

The school in question being Knox Academy, our boarding school. Makayla earned the name Momma Bear for taking pity on me as the new kid at school. Shortly after, she became my best friend and took care of me. I knew it’d been a pity party at first, but we grew on each other. Like mold. She’d been mad when I told her I meant to stay at the school for the holidays. My dad had taken a last-minute trip to who the hell cares where and hadn’t bothered to include me, which had been fine, but he hadn’t allowed me to go with my grandparents either. Then something happened with the furnace, and the carbon monoxide detectors had gone nuts. They rounded up the only two students still at school and sent us home. Miles Sanderson’s parents had been stuck in some third-world country and unable to