Montana Lee Payton, October 9th 2018, Laurel, Montana
The final notes of Halsey’s ‘Bad at Love’ echo and fade into the nearly empty auditorium. Montana stands center stage, stage lights cascading in a halo around him. He stands there, chest heaving, sweat creeping across his brow, he locks eyes with the blonde girl staring at him. The flag is a swirl of gold and silver draped across his shoulder and for a single moment, there’s no Montana Lee Payton, no son of Derrick, no boy trapped in a town of ghosts. There was only the girl in the sequined bodysuit, heart racing. The warmth of the phantom California sun was here, under these lights. Her performance was a supernova of pure unadulterated joy, she spins one last time, a grin stretching across her face, she flashes Jess a beautiful smile and a blush forms on her pale face.
“Wow” Jess whispered, barely audible from the edge of the stage that she was standing. “That was… just wow, that’s the best run-through I’ve ever seen from you, we only have a few weeks of band left but once that’s finished you should join Winter Guard.” She hasn't taken her eyes off him.
Montana’s smile softened and a blush creeps up his neck, “It felt right” he said barely audible, but the words hung in the air around them, heavy with significance.
Jess walked up to him, eyes shining her radiant blue, pupils dilating slightly. “You look happy, so happy” she bolted in and hugged Montana, his head fitting perfectly into her shoulder, the embrace lingers, unlike their hug from earlier, nobody is here to interrupt them. “We can do this anytime you want, Miss Vick gave me the key, she trusts me, this can be our place”
He’s radiating, the offer felt like a lifeline in the dark. In this place he could be her. “Thank you so much Jess… for all of this, the makeup, for the uniform, for seeing through me. And not being scared” Jess cups his face in her palm “I’d never be scared of you” for a second a shiver runs down his spine and his brain short-circuits “I–” he’s cut off by his phone buzzing. Shaking his head he grabs his phone, it’s Ashton.
SmashinAshton: Still Waiting out here.
SmashinAshton: Gonna run out of gas at this rate keepin myself warm
Reality came crashing back in. The cold. The drive home. home. The conversation he’d promised to have with Ashton, his heart sank and a pit in his stomach lurched into existence. He had to take off the uniform, the makeup, be him. Be Montana Lee Payton. The thought made his stomach turn. No, no he didn’t want this moment to end, not yet. Looking over at Jess who’s gathering her things, she offers him a conciliatory smile, she knows he doesn’t want to leave.
“I have to go.” His voice is hoarse, like all the energy has been sapped from it. “Ashton is waiting for me outside.
Jess’s face tightened with understanding. “You can keep the uniform. I’ll order a replacement one.” She said and squeezed Montana's shoulder. “It looks better on you anyway.”
“You flatter me…Are you sure that’s okay?” Montana looked over to her, pleading with his brown eyes.
“Don't make me regret it.” She says sticking her tongue out at him playfully, he pokes it. “You bitch." she slaps his arm lightly “Hey, be careful tonight okay?” she says opening the doors and leading them out into the dull white hallway and turning off the stage lights.
Yeah he should. He doesn't necessarily plan on telling Ashton everything. Not yet, but just enough to pacify him, but there's always the possibility of danger. His mother told him after the incident.
The cold night air hit Montana like a physical blow as he stepped outside, he changed back into his clothes from earlier, but didn't have his jacket on, the wind was overwhelming. The feelings of warmth embracing him just moments early feel so distant already. Ashton's beat-up Honda Civic idled near the curb, exhaust puffing white clouds into the October air. The parking lot is empty except for Gina Perot and Ashton Brooks, waiting for Jess and Montana. They had to practice in this parking lot when the practice field was being used. It was difficult because it was curved and they often had to stop for traffic to go around the building. The band had hardly ever been given much attention and this parking lot was just a small symptom of that fact.
"Took you long enough," Ashton called through the open window, the heat billowing out from the window, he's not wearing his jacket anymore, just his button up from earlier. His smile faded when he saw Montana's face. "Whoa. You okay?" Montana had looked dejected since leaving the building, no tears but he looked tired and was shaking.
Montana's hands trembled as he climbed into the passenger seat. The heater blasted, but he couldn't stop shaking. "Not really."
Ashton put the car in drive but didn't pull away. Instead he looked at the boy huddling in, his eyes still made up, but he didn't meet Ashton's gaze. "Talk to me, Monty. Please."
The words stuck in Montana's throat. How could he explain the euphoria of performing as her, being her, followed by the crushing weight of returning to reality? The uniform is still in his bag underneath his sabre and rifle. Hidden just as much as Montana is, barely covered and ready to spill out if someone looks hard enough.
"I don't want to go home," Montana whispered.
Ashton's jaw tightened. "Then you're staying with me tonight. Mom won't be up this late and I can explain things in the morning." He pulled out his phone. "Or I'll text her—"
"No!" Montana grabbed his wrist. "I mean... Can we just drive? Anywhere but home."
Ashton studied him for a long moment before nodding. He put the car in gear and turned toward the outskirts of town. He brings him to a spot overlooking the town, the lights illuminating the sky. Stars clearly visible above them. He parks the car, it's silent for a while. They had been to this spot before, never in the winter though. There's a tree that they used to sit under and look out over the city. Montana used to read his books or write in his journal up here.
“Ash…” It's silent again. He's waiting for Montana to start. Where to even begin. My dad, the argument, the dream, his mom, hey I'm a girl maybe. The last thought shocks Montana, he's never actually verbalized it like that, well even in his head. He goes with the easiest option. “It's my dad…. he hasn't changed a bit. He wants to put me into his golden boy child box that he's made for me.”
“Yeah that sounds like Derrick.” Ashton sighs. “He's always been rough on you. I just wish he would've had some self reflection after…” he trails off. He glances down then back to Montana.
“I know, I go home and he just reminds me how much I disappoint him by not being what he wanted. No matter what I do I'm just not who he wants me to be and I never can be. He tried to force me into Pee Wee Football back when we were kids. I was bigger than you back then but I was never sporty like that. Now look at us.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “I feel like I keep messing things up. I even pushed you away because I felt bad about leaving you here, if I had just been normal–”
“Monty.” Ashton cuts him off. “I'm not mad. I don’t blame you for leaving, you're more than Laurel. I just thought that we were…” Ashton trails off again searching for the words. Their eyes meet, Montana's eyes are teary. “We were like… like family.”
“family?” Montana's voice comes out like a squeak. His phone buzzes. It's his dad.
Father: About to head out for my shift.
Father: I know you've been avoiding me.
Father: I'm sorry for snapping at you
Father: I'll talk to you when I see you tomorrow.
The texts send a pang of guilt into his heart. “Fuck” he says not taking his eyes from the phone. Ashton lays a hand on his forearm. He's warm, his hands are rough and large. A blush creeps over Montana's pale neck and face.
“Your dad?” Ashton says with a concerned look on his face. He hasn't taken his eyes off Montana.
“He apologized again, we got into an argument last night. He… he said my mom is lucky to not be alive because she'd be disappointed in me…”
Ashton blows air from his cheeks and tightens his fists, his knuckles whitening. “Monty, your mother, she loved you–” Montana cuts him off this time. “But she's gone, Ash… she's not here to tell me anymore. She didn't even leave a note. The last things she wrote are all in her journal, and I'm too cowardly to even open it.” Ashton places his hand on his thigh, more comfort through touch but Montana continues. “She just left and never came back… they didn't find her body, the police said it was likely a suicide and I want to believe them but what if she just didn't want me anymore. What if she's still out there and she left because of me…”
Ashton pulls Montana into a hug, he collapses into his arms awkwardly because of the tight space. He's bawling now, makeup and tears spilling onto Ashton's shirt. He just brushes his hair with his hand and lets Montana cry until he can't anymore.
April M. Payton October 10th 2013 Laurel, Montana
-5 years previous-
She told her everything. The dysphoria, the constant abuse by classmates. Her father's brutal and rigid expectations on her. About Ashton. April sat with her in the hospital and listened to it all spill out hours after the worst night of their lives. April knew it all, she had read her journal without her permission but she wasn't exactly willing to give up that information. She knows she shouldn't have done that but if she knew that it would take a traumatizing near death experience to get her to be her… Well she would've brought it up sooner. They talked about what happened to her today, she was going to be picked up by Derrick, he forgot, it wasn't the first time. Ashton offered to walk with her but got held up by a teacher, she said she'd wait for him at Davidson Park across the street. That's when Matt Silverson, Joshua McDowell, and Erick Stevens held her down and beat her with a baseball bat. She didn't know anything after that, so she woke up in the hospital. April told her she got a call from the school about Derrick not picking her up and found her in Davidson Park. April's not sure she believes her.
She doesn't have a name yet, She asked April if she had a different name for her from before she was born. April answered truthfully that if she'd been born a girl she'd be ‘Montana Leigh Payton’ It didn't go over well. April assumes she'll come up with something on a day she doesn't have a severe concussion and a broken wrist. Oh yeah, she's fuming about that. But the little shit Matt Silverson's dad is a cop, and a particularly nasty one at that if the track record of ER patients is anything to go by. The police had been to the room, they asked her questions about the incident. Fucking scumbags didn't even take any names as soon as the words Silverson came out of her mouth they had already decided on inaction. She's staying overnight at the hospital, but April has gone home for the first time tonight. It's nearly 11 pm. And Derrick has been MIA all day. April is cleaning, she's on autopilot because she can't function without it or else she'd shatter. If she let fear and anger take over there'd be nothing left. She's in the garage, a dim fluorescent light humming annoyingly above her. She's scrubbing his, no her, blood out of the passenger side door mat of her car. The events of today whirling into a pit in her gut, she wanted to scream, to throw things, to throw up. She was dizzy, whether it be from the cleaning solution or from stress, she's not certain.
April had sent the young boy Ashton Brooks home. He was a mess of trauma and guilt, and when his mother came to pick him up she explained the situation. He hadn’t been there and he didn’t know anything. A necessary lie to protect the boy her… daughter liked. She protected him just like she would her own son.
It had been nearly 2 AM when she heard the rumble of Derrick’s truck in the driveway. She shot up. Her back ached but she had to confront him. She walked into the kitchen and waited, lights dim. The front door opened and closed with a slam that rang through the house, Derrick stumbled into the entryway. He was drunk, not just a few beers with his brother Ron, he was capital D Drunk. He smelled putrid, like cheap draft beer and greasy bar food.
“Hey babe” Derrick slurred out, his eyes were glassy. She should confront him in the morning. “Long night?” she spits out. “Yeah Ron had the game on then we went out… Where’s Monty? Totally spaced on picking him up. My bad.” He goes to walk past her, to get to the fridge. She puts a hand out to his chest to stop him. Her green eyes staring daggers into him. If she had any hope of doing this tomorrow, it was out the window as soon as he opened his mouth. “Whoa did I miss something?” he slurs his words as he speaks and she wants to pummel him.
“You missed a call from me… and about twenty others,” her voice was dangerously level. “You missed your son getting his head split open by three boys at Davidson Park. Something that could have been avoided if you weren’t so careless as to forget about the people you’re supposed to care for. You missed a trip to the emergency room. You missed him crying Derrick, not because he was in pain, though he was. Not because he was weak, because the only weak man in this family is you. But because he was scared, scared because the people who were supposed to protect him in life weren’t there. She could keep going but she’s angry, she’s shaking.
The color drained from Derrick’s face, the alcohol doing little to dull the sharpness of her words. “W-What is he… Is he okay?”
“He has a severe concussion and a broken wrist” she said, ticking the injuries off on her fingers. “He needed stitches and no. He is not okay.
“Those little shits” Derrick hissed, confusion turning to rage as he started to grasp the situation. It was the only emotion he was capable of when he felt guilty or scared. “What are their names, I’ll kill them… I’ll go to their houses right now and–.
“You’ll do no such thing.” April cut him off. “You’ll do nothing just like you were when our son needed you. You’ll do nothing because you are drunk and useless.”
“That’s not fair, April!” He yelled, stepping toward her, fist clenched. “I was at my brother’s! I didn’t even know!”
“It’s never your fault Derrick. It’s your brother. It’s the game. It’s the coach who benched him in football for ‘Not seeing Monty’s potential’. It’s the teachers who say he’s “too sensitive”. It’s his for not being like you–”
He hit her. His eyes went wide with shock as if he didn’t remember doing it. Then his expression hardened into something she never had seen before. It was rage. He had swung, fist catching her on the cheekbone. Her head whipped back and she fell to the floor. He’d never hit her before… and now a line was crossed. This is it.
She stared at him, hand resting on her cheek, it was throbbing. Derrick only looked at his hand as if it betrayed his orders. His face, a sick mess of horror, disbelief, and grief. “April… I… I didn’t mean…” But she was already moving, she turned up the stairs and ran, heart hammering in her ribs and her cheek aching. She could hear him scrambling drunkenly after her, calling her name. She slammed the door to her room she used to escape from parties and the pressure of life and pushed the heavy oak dresser in front of it. It screeched, a violent cacophony, like something out of a horror movie. Derrick began pounding on the door. “April! Open this damned door ! please! I’m sorry… I love you!” His voice was desperate and pleading. It was pathetic.
April ignored him, she moved swiftly. She grabbed two duffel bags from her closet, grabbed her purse, keys, her emergency cash in her safe, Montana and her birth certificates and social security cards. Everything they needed to start over. A single tear was shed and April thought; I will not raise her here any longer. She looked at the door about to be broken down by his banging. Then to the window.
There was only one way out.
She opened the window as quickly as she could, the freezing air enveloping her hot skin. She threw the duffel bags out first and they thudded into the fresh snow. She gave one last look at the door and jumped. She landed unharmed into a snow bank, a puff of snow exploding from the ground as she made impact. She stood, took a second to assess herself and grabbed the bag. Running into the dusty garage where she was cleaning hours earlier, she snatches the car keys from the key rack. She nearly trips over herself scrambling into the car and turning it on. She was out of there in record time. She finally let out an exacerbated sigh and her chest heaved. “To the hospital” but first…
She started a phone call… no answer. “god damnit” she tried again. “Pick up pick up pick up pick up PICK UP… Hey mom…”
Montana Lee Payton, October 9th 2018, Laurel, Montana
Ashton took Monty to his house, it was a little beat up and definitely lived in. Only accentuated by the rusty truck his mom drove, parked next to them. Most of the car ride was silent after Montana stopped crying. He helped him out of the car and into the brown wood panelled home. All the lights were off, he had mentioned his mother going to bed early. Early? It was like 11 pm and he had to get up early for school, so maybe 11 isn’t as early as he thought. The house is quiet, the Brooks family has moved since he’d last seen them. He tries to take stock of his surroundings but he’s so tired and it’s too dark, Ashton guides him into his room and flicks the light on.
“Welcome to my room” he says, arms stretched outward in a presenting motion. The room is tidy, a queen size bed with a navy blue comforter in the center of the room, a futon pressed against the end of the bed. The room is decorated with framed sports memorabilia, mostly baseball and basketball by the looks of things. “Would you prefer the bed or–” Ashton is cut off by Montana sitting on the bed and falling to his back. “Ah” He starts unpacking his backpack and puts his jacket away. “I’d offer you some pajamas but…” he looks Monty up and down. “I don’t think I have anything in your size anymore, unless my mother wakes up and has some”
“It’s fine really, I’ve slept in worse.” Montana says. “Like your dad’s house?” Ashton supplies. “Yeah.” Montana says, cracking a smile and stifling a laugh. His head is still spinning, he’s happy to not be home but to say he was expecting to be at Ashton Brooks house tonight would have been a stretch. The day had been so long, he’d been exhausted and now he’s out of gas.
“Hey Monty?”
“Yeah Ash?”
“Your mom loved you more than anything. And for what it’s worth I miss her too, she was always kind to me when we were kids” Ashton looks over to Montana, he’s laying under the covers now and Ash goes over and sits at the edge next to him. “I never got to tell you, I was there Monty, I’m the one who found you in Davidson Park.”
Montana’s eyes widen and he sits up slightly leaning close to Ashton looking him in the eyes. “Y-you were there?” Ashton nods solemnly. “Ash I’m so sorry… you must’ve been so worried” Ashton just puts his hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. “I’m not going to let you apologize for getting assaulted…” They sit there staring at each other for awhile. Eyes not daring to move away. Montana just whispers “Thank you…” and Ash smiles at him.
It takes them awhile to separate but they do and Montana is the first to fall asleep.
Jessica Perot, October 10th 2018, Laurel, Montana
It’s early, the sun is barely out but Jessica Perot is pacing around her room, she’s been up for a few hours. She got up early because she needed to research and her mind was racing. She’s got about 5 tabs open on her laptop about transgender people. She’s been taking in just about every bit of information she possibly can. The only problem with that is that the internet is often wrong, she notes. And it’s not like she can just go up to… Him? Her? Them? And ask, because she’s fairly certain she’s right but like. People online are saying you shouldn’t crack ‘eggs’ but what if that’s one of the wrong things? What if it’s right? She’s back to pacing, she has the back of her pen in her mouth as she works. She’s too amped and she hasn’t even had any coffee. Her mom opens the door and she feigns a greeting, she’s too in the zone, eyes closed and thinking. Her mom drops her phone.
Gina Perot is standing there mouth agape looking at my laptop, she gave her a confused look. Gina shrieks “OH MY GOSH YOU’RE TRANS?!” Jess looks to her then back to the computer and it takes a solid second. “Wait-” she’s cut off by Gina hugging her and practically screaming in her ear “Oh my god this makes so much sense, congratulations–”
“Wait no mom” Jess is frantically waving her hands as she talks. Gina continues “Are you going to school today? Do you need me to help get you a haircut?” “MOM.” She's not listening. “To think all this time, I thought you were a lesbian but you’re actually just a straight boy, what name do you go by”
“MOM I’M NOT TRANS.” She stops and cocks her head at me. “oh.” she looks back at me then back at the laptop. “but.” “I’m trying to help a friend!” Jess says defiantly. “The girl from yesterday?” Gina asks. “Evelyn?” Jess responds. “No not Evelyn it started with an M, I think, it was an odd name.”
“Montana, yeah that’s her” Jess says returning to her pacing. “So she wants to be a boy huh, shame I thought she was pretty?” Jess scrunches her face “Okay mom you’re way off here, no she wants to be a girl you have it backwards and even if she did want to be a guy why would that be a shame?” Gina looks Jess up and down “Oh I didn’t mean it like that” she slaps Jess’s arm. “I meant that it’d be a shame because you like her right?”
Jess just stares at her mom. “Okay that’s enough, it’s too early for this we’ll talk later. Out.” she says shooing her mom out of the room, her face blushing beet red. Jess opens her phone and sees that Montana never responded to her last night when she texted.
-last night-
CaptainJessSparrow: Hey did you get home okay?
CaptainJessSparrow: hey
CaptainJessSparrow: are you ok
CaptainJessSparrow: are you hurt
CaptainJessSparrow tried calling, missed call.
CaptainJessSparrow tried calling, missed call. x2
CaptainJessSparrow tried calling, missed call. x3
“Ugh” she buries her face in her hands.
Montana Lee Payton, October 10th 2018, Laurel, Montana
At some point Ash must’ve gotten up because he can hear him speaking to his mom. Montana gets up and leans over to the door. Jodie Brooks’ voice rings out “Was that Sarah?” his face scrunches in confusion. Ash responds “What? No, we’re on a break. That was Monty.” He can practically hear Jodie’s eyebrow raise. And Montana mouths the words ‘Sarah?’ “Monty? The boy you were friends with when you were twelve? Do you think I was born yesterday?” Ash gets louder and more serious. “Mom, that's Monty in there.” “You’re serious?” she queries.
“Oh my god mom! Yes, that's him in there. He’s back in town.” “Since when are you sleeping with boys?!” He groans. “Mom! I'm not sleeping with him, he's having a hard time. His mother just passed and he didn't want to go home last night. He needed a place to stay.”
“Oh.” Jodie says pacified. “Well is he okay? Maybe I should see him, I haven't seen him since he was… god he would've been in middle school with you.” Montana held his breath. Ashton replied quietly, “He will be… We'll be out for breakfast soon so you can see him, just don't ask about his mom, okay?” Jodie must've given a silent affirmative. He hears footsteps coming back and scrambles back to bed, only making it back before the door opens. Ashton peeks his head through the door. “Hey you're up?”
Montana rubbed his eyes feigning grogginess. “Yeah, sorry I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I only just woke up.” He stifles a yawn. Ashton shrugged, stepping back inside his room, he's wearing grey sweatpants and a purple Kobe Bryant Lakers jersey. He leans against the wall and looks at Monty. “Don’t worry about it. Mom’s making pancakes by the way.” He said tossing a bundle of fabric at Montana, a hoodie. Soft and the school’s purple. “Here. Borrow this. You shouldn’t go to school wearing your sweaty clothes from last night.”
Montana unfolded it. Laurel High Basketball was embroidered across the chest. His throat tightened. “Your basketball hoodie” Ash, I cant–”
“You can.” Ash gave him a smirk. “Besides, it'll piss off your dad if you wear it home.” Montana grinned at him. The idea was irresistible. He pulled it on and was drowning in the fabric, hands barely peeking through the sleeves. It smelled like detergent and wow, his cologne. “Cute–” Ashton said, then immediately stopped himself. “I mean– uh–”
The sound of Montana's phone buzzing saved them both from the situation.
CaptainJessSparrow: ARE YOU ALIVE???
CaptainJessSparrow: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DIED AND I HAVE TO PLAN YOUR FUNERAL
He cringed and finally saw all the calls and texts from last night.
ML: I’m so sorry Jess, yes i’m alive. I’m at ash’s sorry
Three dots appeared instantly.
CaptainJessSparrow: OH THANK FUCK I REALLY DIDN’T WANT TO CALL YOUR SCARY DAD
CaptainJessSparrow: WAIT WHAT
CaptainJessSparrow: YOU STAYED AT ASHTON’S HOUSE
Montana locked his phone and went out of the room for breakfast.
Jodie Brooks’ pancakes were a revelation, thick, golden and flavorful, a stark contrast to the instant oatmeal he typically chokes down before school. Jodie was a whirlwind of energy, specifically fussing over Montana, her gaze searching but warm. “It’s so good to see you Montana.” she said sitting across from him at the small kitchen table. “You were always such a quiet and sweet boy growing up, Ashton here missed you terribly when you left.”
A pang of disappointment flashes in Montana’s eyes. The words meant with kindness still labeled him as something wrong, he hated it. boy. He forced a smile “It’s good to see you too Mrs. Brooks. It’s been too long.” Before he could even continue Ashton’s arm was around his shoulders. “Mom, we gotta get going, we’re gonna be late.” Ashton says, standing up with Montana. Ashton gave Monty a look, a silent question. You okay? He nodded slightly, grateful for getting pulled from the interaction.
Walking into Laurel High with Ashton felt like walking through a minefield, the whispers and stares that were familiar were now only amplified with speculation. He was still wearing Ashton’s basketball hoodie and that hasn’t gone unnoticed from the general mass of people cluttering the halls of Laurel High. In the rigid social hierarchy in a school like this. It was a statement. He felt Ashton’s presence next to him though, warm and comforting. He pulled the hoodie sleeves over his hands, the scent of Ash’s cologne a strange comfort.
They split off to go to their respective lockers, Montana had barely opened his by the time Jess popped up out of nowhere and startled him. “Hey!” her blue eyes were wide with frantic energy. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the crowded hall. Her voice was a sharp whisper, “Are you okay? I was losing my mind! And what are you doing showing up together with Ashton Brooks? And–” she pinches the sleeve of his hoodie. “Is this his?”
The questions tumbled out of her mouth like word salad and Montana was having a hard time keeping up. Her words were laced with relief, confusion and jealousy? How is that even possible?
“Jess, I'm sorry I didn’t answer.” Montana said in a low voice. “I couldn’t go home last night, not after…” he trails off, not knowing exactly what he wants to say. She interrupts. “So your plan was to go home with a man that you've not talked to for years?” ”
Montana flinched at the accusation in her tone. “It wasn’t a plan, Jess. It just happened. He was there. He saw I was a mess.” He lowered his voice even further, the words catching in his throat. “He gets it. Some of it. He knows my dad.”
Jess’s expression softened, the hard lines of jealousy giving way to the familiar landscape of concern. She let go of his arm, her own shoulders slumping slightly. “I know. I’m sorry. I was just… worried. When you didn’t answer, my brain went to the worst-case scenario.” She glanced down at the hoodie again, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “I just want you to be safe. And happy. Like you were last night.”
The memory of the auditorium, of the shimmering uniform and the unrestrained joy, washed over Montana. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I was,” he whispered, the admission feeling both wonderful and painful. “I really was.”
“Then we’ll do it again,” Jess said, her voice firm, a promise. “Tomorrow. After practice. But for now…” she gestured down the hall where students were shuffling into classrooms. “We survive this.” She gave him a quick, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before turning away. “Text me later. For real this time.”
Montana watched her go, a knot of complicated feelings tightening in his chest. He was caught between the two, two people who offered safety in wildly different ways. Jess, who saw the girl he wanted to be and gave her a stage to dance on. And Ashton, who saw the broken boy from his past and offered him a shield. He didn’t know how to reconcile the two. He didn’t know if he even could.
The rest of the school day was a surreal haze. He wasn’t Montana Lee Payton, the weird color guard kid. He was the kid wearing Ashton Brooks’s hoodie. He was Ashton Brooks’s… something. It was a different kind of box, but it was still a box. and it made him feel like an imposter in borrowed armor.
He saw Ashton by the water fountain before fourth period. Ash just gave him a small nod, a silent question in his eyes. You okay? that question again. Montana nodded back, a gesture that felt like both a truth and a lie. The brief exchange sent a warmth spreading through his chest, a stark contrast to the cold dread that was slowly building as the final bell approached. He had to go home. He had to face his father.
April M. Payton October 11th 2013 Laurel, Montana
-5 years previous-
The phone felt slick with sweat in April’s hand as she drove away from the house, the image of Derrick’s face—a horrifying mask of rage and regret—burned into her mind. The pounding on the door still echoed in her ears.
“Hey mom…” she’d choked out, her voice cracking.
On the other end of the line, her mother’s voice was instantly alert, cutting through the fog of sleep. “April? What is it? What’s wrong?”
There was no preamble, no easing into it. The words spilled out of April in a frantic, whispered torrent. “Derrick… he hit me. Monty’s in the hospital. I’m leaving him. I’m taking Monty and I’m leaving. I’m on my way to the hospital now, but I need… I need somewhere to go.”
There was no hesitation. No judgment. Just the calm, steady voice that had been her anchor her entire life. “You come here. You drive straight to us in California. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll get the guest room ready. Is Monty okay to travel?”
“He has a concussion, a broken wrist… but he’ll be okay. He has to be.” April’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “He told me, Mom. He told me everything.”
A knowing sigh from the other end. “ The way Derrick talks about him… just get here, baby. Get yourselves here safe.”
The call ended, and a fragile sense of resolve settled over April. The fear was still there, a living thing coiling in her gut, but it was overshadowed by a fierce, protective fire. She pulled into the hospital parking lot, her headlights cutting through the still-falling snow. She took a deep breath, wiped the tear track from her unbruised cheek, and composed her face. She couldn’t let her daughter see her fear. Not now.
She walked into the dimly lit hospital room. Montana was asleep, her small face pale against the white pillow, one arm in a cast resting on top of the thin blanket. April’s heart ached. She gently brushed a stray piece of hair from her daughter's forehead.
“Hey, sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “When you wake up, we’re going on a trip. We’re going to the beach. We’re going home.”
She sat in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair, watching her daughter sleep, and for the first time in a long time, despite the chaos and the pain, April Payton felt a flicker of hope. They were getting out.
Montana Lee Payton, October 10th 2018, Laurel, Montana
The final bell was a death knell. Montana’s stomach plummeted. He packed his bag with numb fingers, the weight of the borrowed hoodie suddenly suffocating. Ashton was waiting for him by his locker, leaning against the metal door as if he’d been there all day.
“Ready?” Ashton asked, his easy smile not quite reaching his eyes. He knew what this meant.
“Never,” Montana muttered, but he fell into step beside him anyway. The walk to the parking lot was silent, the air thick with unspoken anxiety.
Ashton pulled up to the curb of the orange-red brick house. The giant American flag seemed to mock him. He could see through the living room window that the TV was off. Derrick was home. And he was awake.
“You want me to come in with you?” Ashton offered, his hand hovering over the gear shift.
Montana shook his head, though every instinct screamed at him to say yes. “No. It’ll just make it worse. I have to do this myself.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thanks, Ash. For… everything.”
“Anytime, Monty. You know where I am if you need me.”
Montana got out of the car and didn’t look back. He watched Ashton’s Civic pull away before turning to face the house. His house. His prison. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Derrick was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee untouched in front of him. He wasn’t yelling. That was somehow worse. His eyes were cold and flat as he looked Montana up and down, his gaze lingering on the purple hoodie.
“So,” Derrick began, his voice dangerously quiet. “Ashton Brooks’s house. That’s where you were.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation, laid bare on the scarred wood of the kitchen table.
Montana’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the oppressive silence. He clutched the strap of his bag, the knuckles of his free hand white as he curled them into the soft fabric of the hoodie. “I didn’t want to be here last night.”
“You didn’t want to be here,” Derrick repeated, his voice dangerously low. He finally looked up from the table, and his eyes were chips of ice. “So you run off to the Brooks’ house? You think that’s a solution? Airing our family’s dirty laundry all over town?”
“You’re the one who made it dirty!” The words flew out of Montana’s mouth before he could stop them, hot and sharp. “You said… what you said about Mom. You think I can just forget that and go to sleep in my room like nothing happened?”
Derrick stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the linoleum. He was a mountain of barely contained rage. “What I said was out of line. I told you that. I apologized. But you, you run off and make a spectacle of yourself. Because you couldn’t handle a few harsh words?” He took a step closer. “Now take that thing off.”
“What?” Montana asked, confused.
“The hoodie.” Derrick gestured with his chin, his lip curled in disgust. “Ashton Brooks’s basketball hoodie. You will not wear another man’s stuff in my house. You’re a Payton. Act like it.”
It was the final straw. All the fear, the confusion, the suffocating wrongness of the last forty-eight hours coalesced into a single point of fiery defiance. “No.”
The word hung in the air between them, small but solid.
Derrick’s face contorted. For a second, Montana thought he was going to lunge, that the scene from five years ago was about to repeat itself. But Derrick just shook his head, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Fine. You want to be a child? I’ll treat you like one. You’re grounded. No phone, no going out. And you can forget about that… color guard practice. You’re done. Maybe a few weeks without prancing around with your little friends will knock some sense into you.”
The threat landed like a punch to the gut, knocking all the air from Montana’s lungs. Color guard… the auditorium… the uniform… Jess. It was the only place he felt like himself. The only place he felt like her.
“You can’t do that,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“I can and I did,” Derrick said, turning his back on him. “Now go to your room. I don’t want to see your face.”
Montana didn’t need to be told twice. He fled, stumbling up the stairs, the threat echoing in his ears. He slammed his bedroom door, the sound hollow and unsatisfying. He locked it, then shoved the dresser in front of it, his movements frantic and clumsy. He was trapped. Utterly and completely trapped.
He slid down the door, burying his face in his hands, his breath coming in ragged sobs. The borrowed hoodie felt like a lead weight. He ripped it off, throwing it into the corner of the room as if it were on fire. He was shaking, a deep, bone-rattling tremor he couldn’t control.
His eyes fell on his guard bag, discarded by the bed. His hands, still trembling, unzipped it. Beneath the rifle and sabre, folded neatly, was the shimmering silver and gold uniform. He pulled it out, the cool, sequined fabric a stark contrast to his heated skin. He clutched it to his chest, a lifeline in a churning sea of despair. This was his. This was real. And Derrick was trying to take it away.
His gaze swept across the room, landing on the bookshelf. Tucked behind a row of fantasy novels was a worn, leather-bound journal. April M. Payton was embossed in faded gold on the cover. He’d brought it back from his grandparents’ house but hadn’t been able to bring himself to open it. The finality of it, the silence of her voice on the pages, was too much to bear.
But now, the silence in the house was louder.
With a surge of desperate energy, he scrambled over to the shelf and pulled the journal free. It felt heavy in his hands, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unanswered questions. He sat on his bed, the sequined uniform pooled in his lap, a beacon of a possible future. He held his mother’s past in his hands.
His thumb traced the edge of the cover before he finally, carefully, opened it to the first page. The handwriting was elegant, familiar, a painful twist in his heart.
October 12th, 2013,
We made it. We’re in California. Montana is asleep in the back of the car, looking so much younger than twelve. The air here already feels different. Lighter. Like we can finally breathe. I keep looking in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see Derrick’s truck, but there’s nothing. Just the long, open road. She doesn’t have a name yet, not one she’s chosen. For now, she’s just my daughter. And for the first time in a long time, I think we’re going to be okay.