Page 38

“Dublin. This gaudy high-rise with my dad. We manage financial shit. Boring, but pulls in the big bucks.” That was simplifying what I did to an almost insulting degree, but I figured George already knew what I was talking about. “He’s acting CEO but I’ll be taking over for him in the next five years. We’re in the home stretch as he prepares for retirement. ”

George nodded along, processing this. “Okay. You’re at work,” he urged me. “What next?”

“I handle the big-ticket clients personally. Get updates from my personal assistant.” I continued, still feeling off-kilter. “I’ll go to lunch with one of my hockey buddies, or more frequently, June and Roddy. Usually some hole-in-the-wall place—where I end up ordering a disgustingly massive amount of chicken and rice—and nothing else.”

“Because of your strict diet,” George replied, proving he’d been listening when I’d told him about it.

“Yep.” June never stopped teasing me about how anal I was when it came to my fitness. But…I simply wasn’t comfortable enough with myself to let go. At least, not the way I had this past week. It felt like I’d been living a mirrored life.

Myself, but…different.

More authentic.

Less encumbered by my own insecurities.

“I’ll stay at the office late. Usually way later than is probably healthy,” I admitted. “My work-life balance is not…the best.”

“How late is late?”

“Depends on the day. Mondays are usually the worst though. If it’s a good day…I’ll hit the ice after. There’s a late night drop-in session that a lot of my buddies attend because they know that’s the main time I can go.”

“And then?”

“Then I head home.” I shrugged a shoulder, the pain in my chest only growing. “To my empty-ass house to shower. Order more take-out. Maybe pick away at something work-related to get me ahead for Tuesday. If I’m feeling horny I’ll swipe through Poundr for a hookup—meet them at a hotel, and call it good.” I maybe shouldn’t have added that last part, but I figured George actually wanted to know. “I’m boring.”

George snorted. “Nothing about you is boring. ”

It felt odd to have my own words thrown in my face.

Cathartic.

I sucked in a breath, eyes on the road, my lips curling into a slow smile.

“What about Tuesday?” George asked before we could fall into silence.

“Well…”

It was surprisingly busy at the airport when we arrived. A summer storm had hit about halfway to Columbus from Hocking Hills, and the stubborn gray clouds refused to let up. Miserable, warm drops dripped from above. They’d wet the car, and the road, and the scent of the storm was thick in the air. Despite the stacked nature of the Columbus airport, and the fact I couldn’t see the storm as the levels above us blocked it, I could still sense its downfall.

Poetic almost.

It’d rained like this the day I met George in New York. And now the storm was here, like it was guiding him home. Symmetry.

There’d been no trains to delay our arrival.

No red lights.

Nothing to stall the inevitable.

The universe, for once, had decided to present George with good luck. If you could call this good luck. I certainly didn’t. Even if I was the one stubbornly clinging to our end date out of a sick sense of self-preservation.

I’d wanted to walk George to his gate, but knew that wasn’t a possibility.

So, here we were.

The car was parked behind us, windshield wipers blurring back and forth, back and forth. The thump-glide of them swiping away the last dregs of rain would’ve been soothing on any other occasion. Today, it, like everything else, only seemed to amplify my emotions.

A metronome of judgment .

My weakness as cold as the chill the rain left behind.

My hands were fists at my side, flexing. The bones creaking. It felt impossible all of a sudden to open my mouth. Cruelly, my silver tongue failed me right when I needed it. George had his phone again, in his pocket. He had his backpack, sans Neil—RIP. He had…everything.

My watch felt heavier than before. It itched and itched.

Beg him to stay, that awful, sneaky voice whispered.

What if it works out?

What if he ? —

No. No. I knew it wouldn’t. I’d had it proven to me time and time again. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t expect George to accept me when I couldn’t even accept myself. Couldn’t ask him to leave his life behind. Couldn’t go back on our deal.

Couldn’t—

A steady litany of insults and encouragements bounced around inside my head. Back and forth.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

What a joke.

I was such a fucking joke.

Why would George want this?

Why would George want me ?

“So…” George trailed off, looking up at me— waiting . I hated this. Hated that I wasn’t strong enough to be brave. Hated that a small part of me thought that this could work out for us—and I wanted to squish it down.

Wanted to bury the romantic I’d unearthed, lock him behind my walls, to protect myself from the heartbreak I knew I couldn’t survive.

If George said something…maybe I could push through my own fear. If he gave me a hint that he wanted more. If he crossed that distance first, maybe I could?—

“So.” I stared back, heart in my throat .

George opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—and I froze.

Was he?

No.

No way.

There was no way, shy, reserved George was about to tell me that he loved me. That he was going to pack up his entire fucking life and move in with me. That he didn’t care that we’d barely known each other a week—he knew without a doubt that I was the one for him. That being my “practice boyfriend” would never be enough. That he wanted me?—

Unless…

He did?—?

And he was ?!

But then…he sighed.

And his head dropped down.

And he looked at my feet. Silent. It wasn’t rejection. But it certainly wasn’t the rain-scented confession of undying love that I’d hoped for. I fiddled anxiously with the clasp on my watch.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Right.

“Do you come to New York for business often?” George inquired, without looking up. What he’d just asked was an olive branch—so I was grateful. Even if it hadn’t been what I was hoping he’d say.

What I needed him to say.

“I’ll be there again next month. I could take a few extra days…you know, if you were available.” This was something, wasn’t it? The safe route.

“I’ll add it to my calendar,” George said. “We’re…friends, aren’t we?” The question was so devastating it tore my heart in half.

“Yes.” I barely recognized my own voice. “We’re friends.”

“Even if our arrangement is over?” George clarified.

“Of course. ”

It was a promise that this wasn’t the last time we’d meet. Which was good —wonderful even. It made the weight on my chest ease some.

But it still…

It still didn’t feel right .

“And you—when will you…um,” I stumbled. “When will you be visiting Ohio next?” I asked, when I’d found my words.

“I have a week off for Christmas,” George said.

A couple walking by us nearly whacked him with their suitcase. George side-stepped, leaning into my space with a nervous laugh.

Nothing about this conversation felt even remotely right.

Dad was right.

I was scared.

Scared that if I offered George myself in all my unrefined, unrestrained glory—he would find me lacking.

“Nothing before then?” My hands cupped his biceps, steadying him.

“I mean…I could take a few days for my birthday.”

“When?”

“October.”

I nodded, up and down. “Tell me the dates. I’ll take them off too. I never did get to take you ice skating.”

“Okay.” George opened his mouth again—then sighed, when nothing came out. It clicked shut with finality. Instead of speaking, he reached for my face, palms cupping my cheeks. “Can I kiss you? Just one more time.”

“Of course.”

Just one more time.

George didn’t hesitate, leaning into my space to steal a long, lingering kiss. He moved away a moment later, and I chased him, unable to let him go so soon. Longer, greedier. My tongue swiped his lower lip, begging entrance. His hands felt cold. Like he was anxious.

“ Alex ,” he admonished, “we’re in public. ”

“Don’t care.”

George didn’t fight me. His lips parted submissively. Slipping inside him with a needy growl, felt like coming home. My fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him in tight, sharing his breaths like they were my own.

Someone whistled but I ignored it. Ignored the cars that pulled in and out of the drop-off zone. Ignored the rattle of suitcase wheels on the cement. Ignored the fact my father was watching us from the car. Ignored the elephant in the room—like the coward I was.

One hand slid to George’s backpack pocket, fingering the flap as I made the last-second decision to give him something to remember me by. Something important.

This was enough.

Wasn’t it?

It was something.

We’d meet again.

That was…that was enough.

Right?

I was nearly home by the time I finally realized what a colossally bad decision letting George enter that airport alone had been. He hadn’t looked back. I knew, because I’d watched him until his tall silhouette disappeared inside the building.

Numb, I didn’t move for a long time.

My bare wrist hung at my side.

I let the space that George was supposed to occupy echo. He should have been with me. We should have been laughing. We should be sharing rain-soaked reunions , not…goodbyes.

I should be hugging him, recharging—after how goddamn long today had been .

But instead…I left.

Thoughts swimming. Chest tight. That horrible ache growing as every George-less minute passed by.

I’d driven out of the terminal, confused.

Upset.

Attempting to rationalize my irrational behavior despite how impossible an endeavor that was. I knew I was trying to protect myself, like I always had. But it didn’t feel like it was working.

And the walls that I’d built to keep me safe now felt like a prison.

Trapped by my own fears. Trapped by my own insecurities. The walls closing in on me, showing me in startling, devastating clarity how very alone I was.

And it was my fault.

It was always my fault.

Wasn’t it?

I’d built this cage brick by brick. Shut everyone out. And it wasn’t until I’d met George that I realized how fucking miserable I’d made myself.

June was right.

Fuck, I’d been saying that a lot lately.

But it was true.

She’d said, “You look happy, Alex.” She’d said, “For how long?”

And I’d—fuck.

I’d blown her off. Said she was drunk. Played her words off like they weren’t an omen. Like she wasn’t looking into the goddamn future.

But she had been.

She’d predicted this.

She’d tried to help.

Just like Dad had tried to help, telling me, “You carry too much, Alex. Let someone else help. Jesus. You know we all want to.”

And I’d blown him off too .

Hadn’t believed either of them. Hadn’t listened. Had thrown up more walls—and more walls—and more?—

Only I wasn’t brave enough to confront my demons afterward.

It wasn’t until the airport was out of sight, the familiar streets blending into one another that I finally gave a name to these feelings.

Loss was palpable in the air.

Filling the car with its thick, cloying ache. Festering like mold. Heavy, and impossible to breathe around.

When Dad had gotten hurt, I’d freaked the fuck out. June too. We’d been a tangle of emotion together, constantly terrified, hovering over him—smothering him. The scare that we might’ve never seen him again causing us both to walk on eggshells.

And that had been…Christ. So fucking awful.

Something we never could’ve predicted.

Something I’d never wanted to go through again.

And here I was—choosing to lose George before I had to.

Choosing to bet on my own pessimism, because I thought it would save me from heartache.

But it couldn’t.

It wasn’t.

Because my heart was a gaping hole in my chest.

The stoplight turned red and I paused, heart ticking along with my blinker. To my left, on the sidewalk, a couple were running, jackets over their heads. I didn’t need to hear them to know they were laughing. They looked happy. The light turned green, but I didn’t move—stuck, as I watched them kiss beneath the blanket of their makeshift umbrellas.

I’d almost…

I’d almost had that.

And I’d…

Let him go .

My vision began to blur. The next handful of roads blended into one another, my body operating on autopilot as I headed toward home. Home , where I could lick my wounds in private. Home. Alone. Without my Georgie. With only the memory of his presence, and the way he’d made my world so much brighter.

Home, with his half-eaten jar of apology pickles.

And the daydream of what could’ve been.

As I drove over a railroad crossing, my wheels ground over the tracks. Thud, thud, thud. There were railroads like this all over Columbus. So common, I hardly noticed I’d passed one—too occupied by my own distress to really pay attention.

What had I expected?

That I wouldn’t miss him?

I mean…how stupid could I possibly get?

He wasn’t a friend.

He was my best friend.

He wasn’t meant to be a fond memory.

He was my soul mate, probably.

And he was boarding that plane right now, wondering why he wasn’t enough. Again. But this time, I was the reason he was feeling inadequate.

Was this—this awful, horrible loss—really worth it? Wouldn’t I have been happier—less…less fucking miserable, if I’d simply told the truth? Why the fuck had I actively chosen to lose him? If that decision was supposed to protect me—it had definitely backfired.

I couldn’t recall ever feeling worse.

Sweaty, shaking, my vision flooded with black spots.

My chest squeezed, and squeezed, and squeezed.

I could hardly get a breath in.

And I knew…if I kept driving in this sorry state, I was bound to crash. So I pulled over onto the side of the road, lost in my head, as thunder rumbled ab ove. The tracks were behind me now. I must’ve been driving at a crawl, if I’d barely gotten this far past them.

It wasn’t until I’d put the car in park, and I could actually let my guard down, that I realized my vision was swimming—not because of the rain—but because I was crying .

“Alex?” Dad’s voice was fraught with concern. He was in the passenger seat now. He’d switched over during my staring session with the door George had disappeared through. I hadn’t spoken to him since we’d left. Not a word. And he hadn’t said anything either.

Until now.

I groaned, resting my head against the steering wheel as the tears began to spill. Hot and angry. Angry at the situation. Angry at myself most of all.

“ Alex? ” Dad’s hand rubbed my back.

My masks fell away, one by, one by, one.

Until nothing was left.

Just me.

Just the aching black hole that was my heart—desperate to be loved. So desperate I’d convinced myself I had to be perfect to deserve it. I kept people at a distance. Pushed them before they could pull away. Before they could see the real me and decide that I wasn’t enough.

When had my self-esteem gotten this…bad?

Jesus.

When had I…

When had I begun to think that love was something I had to earn?

I ran, just like George did.

“Alex?” It was the third time Dad had said my name. Three times he’d tried to break me out of my teary-eyed, dazed stupor. My shoulders were shaking. I couldn’t get them to stop. Didn’t know if I even wanted to, as I folded over the steering wheel and sobbed.

“I hate myself,” the words were brittle. “Fuck. I hate myself so much?— ”

Dad’s hand stroked up and down, comforting me. But it wasn’t the hand I wanted. Wasn’t the comfort I wanted. He wasn’t the person I wanted.

“How could he ever love me if I don’t love myself?” My tears smeared down the steering wheel as that gaping, cavernous hole in my heart cracked wider. “How could I ask him to stay with me? When I’m like this ?”

The car was silent as my brain caught up to my mouth.

Only the drum of the rain, and the rattle of a train in the distance echoing through the quiet.

“ I love you,” Dad said, tone as gentle as his hand.

I sobbed again, turning from the steering wheel and crumbling into him. He was smaller than me, but he held my weight, as I maneuvered across the console to cling to him. I couldn’t recall ever having a conversation like this with him. Ever opening up. Not even when I was a kid.

“Even like this?” My voice broke, tears wetting his collar.

“ Especially like this,” Dad reassured.

It was…so close to what George had told me. The words that had rattled around inside my head. The words that—as I recalled them—with my walls down and my heart vulnerable, began to crowd into that awful, empty space.

“I like your intensity.”

“You’re perfect.”

“To see Alex James as a whole…picture? Not just the put-together-bits you want everyone to see is an honor. And I find…I like you more this way, without the masks. Dirty socks and all.”

Dad’s words were there too. As well as June’s. Filling in the gaps of that gaping, open wound.

Enough…that I could breathe again.

Enough that I could think.

That my self-loathing faded, and I was able to offer myself the grace that everyone else did. George worried about perfection the same way that I did. George understood this feeling better than anyone. He gave himself rules to follow. He was desperate to be seen as perfect. To make his family proud. To not be viewed as a burden. Maybe…if there was anyone in the world who could love me, it’d be someone like that.

Someone who looked at my dirty socks and told me he liked them.

Someone who understood my flaws because he shared them.

The storm that had overwhelmed me calmed as the storm outside the windows raged on, the steady beat of the windshield wipers waving back and forth. The sound of a train approaching grew louder, but I hardly noticed.

I breathed in and it hurt.

I breathed again, and it felt a little easier.

“I let him go.” The words were knives on the way out.

“It’s not over,” Dad promised. “There’s still time. That’s what phones—and planes—and computers are for. Hell, you could even tweet-tweet him.”

“You don’t get it.” I clung tighter to him, opening up even further. And it didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt like I thought it would. Sharing the burden. “I’m like Brendon. No. I’m worse than Brendon. All George ever wanted was for someone to need him like he needs them—and I do. And yet, instead of being a goddamn adult and being honest about my feelings—I didn’t fucking tell him. I ran away. I let him leave. I let him think that I?—”

I let him think that he wasn’t special.

That he wasn’t enough.

And he was .

“I need to call him.” My heart was pounding. “I need to ask him to stay—I need to tell him how I feel. I need—” I fumbled my phone out of my pocket. A horrified sound escaped when I saw that it was dead. Dead-dead. Jabbing the power button into submission didn’t provide even a flicker of light from the pitch-black screen.

Fuck. Fuck. Car charger.

I needed—Jesus. I scrambled around for it, relieved when I found it where I’d put it. Plugging everything was a struggle when my eyes were bleary with tears and my nose was running, but I managed.

It wasn’t until I had my phone turned back on and I’d pulled up my contacts list that I realized I didn’t have George’s number.

“I don’t…” I trailed off, staring woodenly at the screen. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I turned to my dad with despair. “I didn’t ask for his number.”

“Alright. Get out.”

“W-what?—”

“Don’t fight me on this. You’re in no state to drive, and the faster I can get you to the airport the faster you can fix this.”

Dad had always been the type of man who took action, and he did so now, already out of the car before I could even process what was happening.

Dazed and confused, I pushed my door open and stepped out. Off in the distance, bells rang, the rattle of the approaching train forcing me to pick up the pace. It’d gotten louder. Loud enough I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I scrambled around the car, switching spots with my dad and sliding into the passenger seat.

It was a miracle I didn’t throw up.

“Okey dokey.” Dad put the car in drive, pulling back onto the street. Only…unfortunately for us, we were too late. The boom barriers were already lowering into place and blocking the way we’d come. “Dammit.”

Dad reversed, the back-up camera flickering on.

This was fine.

There were other ways to get to the airport.

We weren’t about to get stuck behind a goddamn train.

Everything was fine.

Everything was?—

Jesus Christ.

Everything was not fine.

Dad only drove a few feet before we both realized our mistake. Because the clanging of bells were deafening now. And behind us—just like in front— there was a railroad crossing, its gates swinging closed.

I’d been so out of it, I hadn’t noticed we were trapped between two crossroads.

“No.” I seriously could not make this shit up. “ No . No, no, no, no.”

“It’s fine,” Dad reassured, putting the car in park, because there was no reason to ride the break when we had no idea how long we’d be stuck. “We’ll fix this.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” My hands sunk into my hair, tugging hard enough to sting. I’d finally found my courage to turn back and go for George and this was how the universe repaid me?

“Call his mom,” Dad said, trying to soothe me—and failing. “I’m sure she can give you his number.”

“Okay.” I highly doubted she’d answer, considering the fact she was commanding the rest of the Miltons to pack up as we spoke.

Which meant, the most I could do was message George on Picstogram. I doubted he’d check that. Not after the last time he’d had his phone open we’d posted the picture of us—and Brendon had begun to blow up his phone. Hell, if today’s luck was any indicator, my message would go right to spam.

God.

Dammit.

One last tug.

I sagged, defeated.

There was nothing I could do. No way to fix this. By the time these damn trains had passed, George would be long gone.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t?—