Page 13 of Goldilocks

“Can we meet?” Eric’s shoulders crept up as he asked. Tensed, as if waiting for Sam to snap at him.

Sam had to think about it, but…alright. Sam knew families were complicated. If Eric ran away, it meant he didn’t have a good relationship with their dad in the first place, and he also hadn’t seen him since coming back. He also knew that none of the aunts or uncles that he might have talked to at the party yesterday fully recognised how bad Oisín was now. They thought he’d withdrawn from heartbreak after the losing his wife. They thought it was a weakness of character.

“Alright,” Sam agreed.

Eric flipped up the indicator as they neared their overgrown driveway, and Sam’s heart leapt. Jerkily, he pointed ahead. “Bring me to the pier. I’m going to take the boat out.”

“At this time? During the week?”

“Yes,” Sam said, emotionless.

And for some reason,thatmade Eric tense too. “I’m not having a go at you, Sam. I’m justasking.”

“And I just answered.”

“Does not remembering me mean you have to hate me?” Eric asked, that shining hurt back in his voice.

Real frustration curdled in Sam’s blood. “It’s your tone, alright? Every time you ask about the boat or Dad, you make this face, and your voice just—”

“That isn’t on purpose! I have horrible memories of both of them, that doesn’t mean I’m—” Eric’s voice cracked. He jabbed the indicator and roughly pulled off the main road into someone’s driveway. The seatbelt dug into Sam’s shoulder as they jerked to a stop.

Sam turned to Eric in alarm to find a hand already covering his eyes. “I’m not doing it on purpose. Okay? I’m sorry.”

Sam’s heart sank. Eric’s breaths came in rough, uneven gasps. His skin – already pale enough – seemed almost ghastly now. Sam reached out, finding the skin at Eric’s wrist warm and clammy beneath his own. “I understand,” he said. He squeezed, his fingers forming a ring around Eric’s wrist, and he felt his rabbiting heartbeat through the contact.

Eric, under the gentle pressure, lowered the hand covering his face. His eyes reddened with the threat of tears, and there was an unstable tremble in his mouth.

“Do you want me to call Ivan?”

“Why?”

“So you can talk to him. Relax a bit, maybe?” Sam suggested. “I don’t think you find talking to me calming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean that as a barb.”

Eric shut his eyes, and Sam watched him bring his heartbeat back to a more normal pace through deep, purposeful breaths. Sam felt as though he was looking at Eric as a teenager, not a man who was closer to thirty than twenty. He could picture him sitting on his bed, bent over with his fingers wound so tightly into his hair his knuckles were white. Holding on so tightly Sam was afraid he would pull out his hair, prompting him to approach and hug him and—

Pain lanced through Sam’s eyes. He recoiled from Eric and curled forward, jamming his palms hard against his temples as a shudder racked through his entire body. “Christ,” he cursed.

“Sam?” Eric’s voice rose in alarm. “Are you okay?” A warm arm wrapped around his shoulders. Careful fingers combed back the hair at his temple. “Sam?” Eric softened his voice.

“Headache,” Sam gritted out. The pain in his eyes morphed and expanded; pressure built at his temples until each beat of his heart drove too much blood through delicate veins. They were overfull, about to burst.

“Out of nowhere like that? Okay, okay, uh, Ivan’s in town, and he’s got heavy-duty painkillers. I’ll call him.”

Sam tuned out Eric’s babbling. He curled forward even more, pressing his forehead against the dash, and he slipped his fingers into his hair and squeezed. The outside pressure helped with the inside pain. Cutting through that pain was a soft touch at the back of his neck. A gentle, achingly familiar voice telling him he was okay.

Sam was half aware when Ivan arrived.

“He’s got migraine tablets for you,” Eric said, encouraging Sam to sit up. His door clicked open, and a firm arm around his shoulders pulled him upright. Black patterns on olive skin filled Sam’s vision. He focused long enough to swallow whatever the hell they pushed between his lips, then promptly doubled over again and prayed.

“It’ll kick in soon, promise.” Ivan rubbed his back. “Those are the same tablets that helped out Eric when he was younger. His migraines stopped years ago, but I always keep a bottle around in case he needs them. Good thing, huh? Migraines run in the family?”

Their voices buzzed. Sam gradually became less aware of how his eyes felt inside his skull and more aware of how the soothing hand rubbing the back of his head massaged away tension. It was just like how his mom used to stroke his hair as she told him stories about school to send him to sleep. Often the stories were too engaging; they kept him awake as he fought the urge to sleep.

“You didn’t give him a migraine, Eric,” Ivan said gently.