Somewhere Only We Know - 18. New Doors, New Shadows

Riverbend woke under a pale, washed-out sky, the kind of morning where even the snow seemed too tired to fall. Kitt felt better than he had the day before—better enough to stand without wobbling, better enough to shower, better enough to pull on the sweater Tom washed for him and tie his shoes without pausing to catch his breath. He was still exhausted, but he’d grown used to carrying exhaustion the way some people carried backpacks.

He stepped out into the stairwell, ready to walk the two blocks to the restaurant and convince Javier he wasn’t dying, when a familiar voice floated upward.

“Kitt, hold on.”

Tom stood at the bottom of the stairs with Harbor beside him, the big golden retriever sitting proudly with his tail sweeping the floor in slow, heavy thumps. Tom wore a charcoal sweater and his university lanyard, a thermos in one hand and a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Harbor, ever perceptive, gave a quiet whine when he saw Kitt—concern, not excitement.

“You look steadier today,” Tom said gently. “Stubborn, but steadier.”

Kitt descended the stairs, cheeks warming. “I’m okay. Mostly.”

Tom studied him for a moment, then motioned toward the lobby bench. “Sit with me? Just for a minute.”

Kitt sat, Harbor immediately pressing his big head into Kitt’s knee like he’d decided this was his emotional-support human. Kitt scratched behind Harbor’s ear automatically, and the dog leaned harder, all warm fur and trust.

Tom smiled faintly at the sight, then his expression shifted—softer, serious in a thoughtful way.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tom began, “about your situation. The restaurant… the hours they give you aren’t enough. And you shouldn’t be depending on whatever Javier feels like handing out.”

Kitt stiffened slightly, bracing for pity, but Tom read that too.

“I’m not offering charity,” Tom said firmly. “I’m offering work.”

Kitt blinked. “Work?”

Tom nodded. “There’s a youth center near the university—Riverbend Outreach. Kids come after school for tutoring, warmth, food, or just a place to be safe. Some people volunteer, but we also have budget for part-time helpers. A few hours a week. Paid.”

Kitt’s breath caught. “Paid?”

“Yes,” Tom said. “Minimum wage, but regular. Predictable. And you’d still keep your restaurant job. This would just help fill the gaps.”

Kitt looked down at Harbor’s fur. “But I don’t have experience.”

Tom’s voice softened. “You have patience. You’re gentle. Kids respond to people like you more than you realize.”

Kitt hesitated. “I… told you I was nineteen. But…”

“I know,” Tom said kindly. “And I suspected. Kitt, I won’t say it doesn’t hurt me that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. But I’ll let that slide. If anything, your age makes you more qualified to understand some of these kids.”

Kitt’s eyes stung.

“You won’t have to explain anything about your past,” Tom continued. “Just show up. Help. Be a steady presence. If you want.”

Kitt swallowed. “I think I want to try.”

Tom smiled, relieved. “Good. I can walk you there after your shift today. Or Mateo can go with you if that feels easier.”

At the mention of Mateo, Kitt’s face flushed ever so slightly. Tom noticed—he just didn’t comment, only smiled softly like he’d filed the observation away gently, respectfully.

“Thank you,” Kitt whispered. “Really.”

Tom rested a hand on his shoulder—steady, fatherly in a way Kitt had never experienced from his real father. “You deserve a little support, Kitt. Let us help you stand on both feet.”

Harbor barked once—as if to second the motion.

. . .

Mateo found Kitt an hour later outside the restaurant, leaning against the brick wall as he waited for Javier to finish lecturing a delivery driver. The moment Mateo spotted him, his shoulders dropped in visible relief.

“You walked here?” Mateo demanded. “Alone? In the cold?”

“It’s two blocks,” Kitt said.

“You fainted yesterday.”

“I didn’t faint.”

“Your knees tried to abandon ship.”

Kitt snorted despite himself. “I’m fine now.”

“Debatable.” Mateo stepped closer, eyes sharp with concern. “So… what did Professor Hot Dad want?”

“He’s not—” Kitt sighed. “He offered me a second job.”

Mateo blinked. “A… what?”

“A youth center. After school. Just a few hours.”

Mateo stared at him for a long moment. Then his expression softened into something warm and proud and a little jealous around the edges.

“Kitt,” he said quietly, “that’s amazing.”

“I’m nervous,” Kitt admitted.

Mateo nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Good. If you weren’t nervous, I’d think you were a robot. But you’ll be great. Kids will love you. And—you know—extra cash means fewer ‘I’ll just skip dinner’ nights.”

Kitt laughed weakly, but Mateo wasn’t finished.

“And,” Mateo added, his voice dipping a little lower, “Tom noticing you doesn’t surprise me.”

Kitt blinked. “Why?”

Mateo shrugged with manufactured casualness. “You’re… easy to care about. People notice that. Even if you don’t.”

The words hit harder than Kitt expected. His chest tightened, warmth blooming under his ribs in a way he didn’t quite know how to handle.

Before he could respond, Javier burst out the back door, yelling about inventory and threatening to fire every delivery driver in the state. Kitt slipped inside quickly, and Mateo watched him go with a strange pull in his expression—something protective, something wary, something softer than he ever let show in words.

. . .

Meanwhile, in Lakehurst, Matt sat at his desk surrounded by textbooks he wasn’t reading.

He had slept two hours at most. His dreams were full of Kitt—crying, calling for him, falling through smoke he couldn’t reach through. He’d woken gasping, chest aching like he’d run a marathon.

Now he stared at his laptop again.
Riverbend news.
Local community threads.
Police blotters.
Missing-person boards.

Nothing.
No sign.
Not yet.

He scrubbed both hands over his face, swallowing the panic that pressed up his throat.

“Give me something,” he whispered to the empty room. “Just… something, Kitt.”

The radiator clicked on.
The house shifted in its old bones.
His father’s footsteps moved down the hall, hesitating at Matt’s door before walking away again.

Matt’s fingers curled around the edge of his desk.

He would go back to Riverbend.
He would search again.
He wasn’t giving up.
He couldn’t.

Not when Kitt was out there alone.

. . .

That evening, Kitt stood nervously outside Riverbend Outreach, Tom beside him with Harbor sitting obediently at his heel. The building was older but full of life—bright murals, warm lighting, the muffled sounds of kids playing basketball in the back.

“You ready?” Tom asked.

Kitt swallowed. “I think so.”

“Just meet the staff today,” Tom said. “Tomorrow, if you decide you want hours, we’ll arrange them around your restaurant job.”

Kitt nodded slowly.

“Just promise me you won’t overwork yourself and you will spend the money for food and health.”

Kitt nodded again.

He stepped inside—and for the first time in weeks, stepped into a room that smelled not like grease or cold wind or loneliness, but like floor wax, crayons, warm food, and laughter.

For the first time in weeks, he felt the shape of something like hope.

And he wasn’t ready for how much it hurt.

. . .

The youth center looked brighter inside than it had from the street — the kind of old building that carried decades of footsteps and too many paint jobs layered over one another, but still managed to feel warm. A hallway mural showed an ocean full of handprint fish, each one signed in wobbly kid handwriting. A bulletin board overflowed with community flyers, lost gloves, and a crayon drawing of someone who was probably meant to be Tom judging by the glasses and the enormous yellow dog beside him.

Tom led Kitt to a small office with an open door and two mismatched chairs. A woman in her late forties sat behind the desk, typing rapidly, her dark hair tied back in a loose bun. She looked up when they entered.

“Leah,” Tom greeted, “this is Kitt. The young man I mentioned.”

Leah’s face brightened with immediate warmth. “Ah! The one who’s willing to put up with us.”

Kitt flushed, unsure how to respond. Leah stood and extended a hand. “I run the daily programs. Glad you’re here.”

Her handshake was firm, grounding. Kitt nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Tom says you’re reliable,” she said, gesturing for him to sit. “And that you’re good with kids. That’s already better than half the volunteers.”

Kitt opened his mouth to protest — to say he wasn’t sure he was good with anyone — but Leah waved him off gently.

“You’ll learn. This place isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up.”

Harbor rested his head on Kitt’s knee again, sighing deeply as if validating the statement.

Tom smiled. “He likes you.”

Kitt’s chest warmed awkwardly. “Yeah. I like him too.”

Leah ran through what the youth center needed — someone to help sort donated books, supervise the tutoring corner after school, hand out snacks, clean up craft supplies, keep an eye on the younger kids during indoor recess. “Nothing heavy,” she said. “Just eyes, ears, and patience.”

“I can do that,” Kitt whispered.

“You already are,” Tom said quietly from where he leaned against the doorframe.

Kitt didn’t look at him, but he felt the words settle somewhere inside him he didn’t dare name.

Leah stood. “Come on. Let’s introduce you.”

. . .

The reading corner was chaos.

Books everywhere.
Cushions lopsided.
A few kids arguing about who got the big beanbag chair.
Two boys whisper-shouting about superheroes.
A girl in a glittery jacket crying because someone took her pencil.

Leah turned to Kitt with a sympathetic smile. “Welcome to your new kingdom.”

Before Kitt could respond, a small boy—maybe six—ran up to him with wide eyes. “Are you the new helper?”

Kitt blinked. “Uh… I think so.”

The boy nodded seriously. “Good. We need someone tall. All the tall helpers quit.”

Kitt fought a laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

The girl in the glittery jacket tugged at his sleeve next. “Can you reach the top shelf? Miss Leah can’t.”

Leah groaned. “Why do all of you insist on placing things up there when you know I’m five-foot-two?”

The kids ignored her and wrapped their hands around Kitt’s wrist, pulling him toward the bookshelf. Kitt let them direct him, retrieving the missing pencil and handing down books like some kind of gentle giant they’d been waiting for.

Leah whispered to Tom, “He’s a natural.”

Tom nodded quietly, watching Kitt kneel to pick up the crying girl’s fallen markers and return them to her with a soft, steady voice. Something like pride warmed his expression.

Kitt didn’t realize it, but the room was already shifting around him — kids noticing him, flocking to him, trusting him in the way children sometimes instinctively recognize kindness when adults miss it.

For the first time in weeks, Kitt felt something close to belonging.

. . .

Mateo arrived at the end of the shift — hair windblown, hoodie half-zipped, expression unreadable. He paused in the hallway when he saw Kitt through the glass pane of the activity room, surrounded by kids, smiling softly as two of them argued over which bookmark he should choose from a homemade collection.

Tom noticed Mateo hovering, and after a beat, stepped beside him.

“You okay?” Tom asked gently.

Mateo straightened. “Yeah. Just… checking in.”

Tom followed his gaze. “He’s doing well.”

“Yeah,” Mateo said again, quieter this time.

If jealousy could be silent, it would look like how Mateo stood — hands in pockets, jaw tight but not angry, eyes soft but not resigned, weighing something he couldn’t say out loud.

“He likes it here,” Tom said. “He feels safe.”

Mateo nodded once. “Good. He deserves that.”

Tom didn’t push. He simply let the quiet sit there until Mateo broke it.

“How many hours would he work?” Mateo asked.

“Three or four, four or five days a week.”

Mateo’s shoulders eased. “He should be able to handle that.”

Tom smiled faintly. “He’s lucky to have people who care about him.”

Mateo exhaled, almost a laugh. “He’s stubborn. Makes it hard.”

Tom nodded as if he knew that very well.

Inside, Kitt finally looked up and spotted them both through the window. His smile faltered—not negatively, but with a sudden, shy warmth he didn’t know where to place. Mateo lifted a hand in a small wave. Tom gave a gentle nod.

Kitt’s heart pulled in two different directions.

Both directions scared him.

. . .

Meanwhile, in Lakehurst, Matt had reached the edge.

He sat in his truck in the school parking lot long after the late practice ended, cleats muddy, hands shaking from cold and adrenaline. He had run harder than everyone today — had sprinted until the coaches told him to stop, had thrown until his shoulder screamed.

He wasn’t crashing academically or athletically.

But emotionally?
He was splitting down the center.

His phone buzzed with a message from his mother.

Dinner is ready. Please come home, sweetheart.

He ignored it.

He thought of the waitress’s words.
The booth.
The lost blond boy.
The look on Kitt’s face the last time he saw him.

And suddenly the decision snapped into place, cold and sharp and undeniable.

Matt put the truck in drive.

He was going back to Riverbend.
Tonight.
Right now.
He didn’t care if it took him all night, if he had to walk every street in the cold, if his parents panicked, if he missed sleep or practice or anything else.

He was done sitting still.

If Kitt was somewhere in that town — anywhere — Matt was going to find him.

. . .

Back in Riverbend, Kitt stepped out of the youth center into the cold evening air. Tom walked with him for a while, Harbor trotting loyally at his side; Mateo followed a few steps behind, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, eyes flicking between Kitt and the ground.

They reached the intersection where their paths split — Tom toward the university, Mateo toward the apartment, Kitt somewhere between them.

Tom squeezed Kitt’s shoulder lightly. “You did well today.”

Mateo nodded, voice low. “Yeah, you did.”

Kitt’s breath fogged in the cold air. “Thanks. I… liked being here.”

Tom smiled knowingly. “Good.”

Mateo’s eyes softened. “We’ll walk you back.”

And the three of them walked through the falling snow — Tom with the steady warmth of someone who knew how to care gently, Mateo with the protective silence of someone who cared too much, and Kitt caught between them, not ready to choose anything, not ready to understand anything… except that he didn’t feel alone.

Not tonight.

Not anymore.

. . .

Riverbend softened as night fell—streetlights flickering awake one by one, the warm glow turning the snow into drifting gold dust. Kitt walked home with Mateo beside him and Tom just ahead, Harbor’s leash looped casually around Tom’s wrist. The youth center buzz still clung to Kitt’s chest, that gentle, tentative warmth of belonging, but as they approached the apartment building, the weight of reality began to settle over his shoulders again.

“Text me if you feel dizzy later,” Mateo said as they reached the entrance. “Or if you don’t feel dizzy but think you might. Or if you’re bored. Or if you can’t sleep. Or—”

Kitt let out a breathy laugh. “Mateo…”

“What? I’m being responsible.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Responsible,” Mateo corrected, stepping closer, eyes narrowing with mock sternness. “There’s a difference.”

“I don’t have a mobile phone.”

“Then knock on my door.”

Tom watched the exchange with a small, almost hidden smile. “He’s only annoying you because he cares.”

Mateo elbowed him lightly. “I’m not annoying. I’m… alert.”

Tom raised his brows. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Kitt shook his head, cheeks warming. “Goodnight, Tom. Thanks again… for everything.”

“Of course,” Tom said as Harbor whined softly, nudging Kitt’s hand with his snout. “He likes you. That’s a rare honor, you know.”

Kitt scratched behind Harbor’s ears. “Goodnight, Harbor.”

Tom watched him—with the gentle, steady gaze of someone who’d decided, silently, that this boy was not going to fall through the cracks on his watch. “See you tomorrow at the center.”

Kitt nodded, and Tom turned, walking back toward campus with Harbor trotting ahead and the crisp winter air following them. Mateo waited until Tom was out of sight before nudging Kitt toward the stairs.

They climbed in silence, the kind that felt heavy, not awkward. When they reached Kitt’s door, he paused, his hand hovering over the knob, something flickering across his face—hesitation, fear, the return of loneliness the moment the others left his orbit.

Mateo saw it.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Kitt didn’t answer at first. He looked at the floor, then slowly raised his eyes—not to Mateo’s, but just below, like he was afraid of what he’d see if he looked too directly.

“I don’t like being alone at night,” Kitt admitted in a thin voice. “Not after… everything.”

Mateo’s features softened instantly, all sharp sarcasm wiped out in a breath. He reached out, gently tilting Kitt’s chin up with one knuckle—careful, hesitant, almost tender.

“You’re not alone,” Mateo murmured. “Not tonight.”

Kitt exhaled shakily. Mateo stepped back just enough to give him space, then leaned against the opposite wall, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, that half-relaxed, half-guarded posture he used whenever he was trying not to do something reckless.

“You want me to come in for a bit?” he asked.

Kitt hesitated. His fingers tightened around the doorknob. His pulse fluttered like something trapped inside him.

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I don’t do anything I have to,” Mateo said with a small, crooked smile. “Only things I want.”

The air between them went still—charged, quiet, trembling at the edges.

For a moment, it felt like something might happen.
Like the gravity between them might pull them closer.
Like Kitt might lean forward, and Mateo might meet him halfway.

But Kitt exhaled shakily and turned the knob, pushing the door open.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he whispered.

Mateo nodded, stepping back, the faintest disappointment folding into the corners of his expression. “Okay.”

Kitt slipped inside and closed the door softly behind him. Mateo remained in the hallway for a moment, eyes on the floor, breathing out a slow, controlled sigh—then he climbed the stairs to his room, each step heavy with something he wouldn’t name aloud.

. . .

Kitt’s apartment felt colder than usual. The heater rattled in protest, trying to warm air that had settled like ice. He sat on the bed and let the silence gather around him, slow and suffocating.

The youth center had made him feel seen. Mateo made him feel wanted. Tom made him feel… safe.

And yet, the moment he was alone, it felt like the world folded in on itself.

He lay back, staring at the cracked ceiling.
The cold pressed through the thin walls.
His chest tightened—this time not from fever, but from the ache of remembering how warm life used to feel.

He whispered Matt’s name before he could stop it. He missed him but he had decided not to cause any trouble for him.

And tears slid silently down the sides of his face, disappearing into the thin pillow.

. . .

While Kitt cried in his small second-floor apartment, Matt drove into Riverbend under a sky thick with clouds. The town glowed faintly with streetlight halos, snow biting at the windshield. He drove slowly, scanning every sidewalk, every doorway, every diner window.

He checked the square where he and Kitt once sat after the swim meet. Empty.

He passed the natatorium. Lights off, silent.

He circled the blocks near the diner again. Nothing.

He parked near the bus stop where the snow still piled along the edges, imagining Kitt alone there—scared, freezing, hurting. The thought nearly broke him.

“Where are you?” he whispered, forehead resting against the steering wheel.

He thought about knocking on doors.
Stopping strangers.
Asking anyone, everyone.

But it was late, and Riverbend was not the kind of town where strangers appreciated being stopped after dark.

So he drove until exhaustion blurred the edges of the world, until his eyes stung, until the seatbelt left a line across his jacket.

Then he turned back toward Lakehurst, failure heavy in every breath, not knowing he’d parked only two streets away from Kitt’s building.

Not knowing that the boy he loved cried himself to sleep at almost the exact moment Matt whispered his name.

. . .

Back in Lakehurst, the Wellington household was unravelling.

Stephen sat in his armchair, jaw locked, fingers drumming impatiently on the Bible open on his lap. He’d read the same page five times and retained none of it. Susan moved quietly around him, tidying, folding blankets, washing a mug—doing all the things she usually did, except she didn’t look at him. Not really. Not the way she used to.

When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped. “He’ll come back. Sooner or later.”

Susan didn’t turn around. She dried the mug slowly, carefully, as if the ceramic might shatter under her hands.

“You didn’t tell him to come back, Stephen,” she said softly. “You told him to leave.”

“I told him to repent,” Stephen snapped.

“You told him he wasn’t welcome.”

Stephen rose sharply, the chair scraping against the floor. “He needed to hear the truth.”

“And now he’s alone,” Susan said, voice cracking for the first time. “He’s our son, and he’s alone, and you don’t even know if he has food or heat or a roof—”

“He’ll learn!” Stephen shouted, face red with a fury that was beginning to sound like desperation. “This is how boys become men. He’ll see reason. He’ll come crawling back when he realizes—”

“When he realizes what?” Susan whispered, turning at last. Her eyes were wet. Tired. Broken. “That his father’s love came with conditions?”

Stephen’s jaw clenched.

“He’ll come back,” he repeated, quieter now. More brittle. Almost pleading—with himself more than her.

Susan pressed her lips together, as if holding back everything she could no longer say.

Neither of them noticed the way the house felt colder now—emptier, thinner around the edges—as if Kitt had taken the warmth with him the night he ran.

. . .

Back in Riverbend, Kitt finally drifted into a restless sleep, jacket still on, tears drying on his cheeks.

Across town, Mateo lay awake on his own bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why a boy he’d known only weeks felt like someone he needed to protect.

And miles away, Matt drove home through the dark, heart cracked open in ways he didn’t know how to fix.

Three boys.
Three bedrooms.
Three different kinds of loneliness.

All tied to the same missing piece.