Page 4

William

The sky held onto its gloom, and the puddles were large enough to take a swim in. At least the rain had eased up enough for me to resume my morning runs. I’d left before sun-up and hadn’t wanted to wake Ryan that early, so I left him a note on the refrigerator. The non-stop second guessing, questioning if that would be enough caused me to double back halfway through my usual circuit.

We’d crossed the one week mark, and there had only been one minor change. I no longer had to sample Ryan’s food before he ate—because now he meticulously watched me prepare everything. I think it was more about him enjoying the process than him not trusting me. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he’d perch at the edge of his favorite stool, engrossed while I worked the toaster and coffee machine.

We still hadn’t graduated from Eggos and Everything bagels. The sight of both now made me gag.

Ryan was particular about how much syrup made it onto his food. Too much and it made a mess, not enough and he choked from the dryness. Cream cheese was another matter. I couldn’t spot his bagel beneath the amount he slathered it with.

I could see he’d put on a few pounds. His long arms were still thin, his broad shoulders still boney beneath his shirt, but the hollows of his cheeks were less pronounced. I didn’t suspect he’d get too big, though. He seemed naturally lean, his frame a close match to Colson Baker’s.

He needed more nutrients though. We both did, which was why I’d been teasing the idea of my mother’s cooking bit by bit. When I’d mentioned she’d be coming by in less than a week, he hadn’t stormed away from the island like he did the day before.

Pushing through the building’s revolving doors, I slowed at seeing Xavier speaking with Steve at the concierge desk. Fuck. I’d been brushing him off all week. Him showing up unannounced meant he’d finally had enough of it.

Spotting me, Steve smiled and said something to Xavier. Xavier turned as I made it into the lobby, panting and wiping sweat from my brows. I wore compression tights and an equally form fitting tank, my typical running gear. Xavier had never made a secret of liking it. He gave me an appreciative once over before coming to meet me halfway.

“I know it’s not the most attractive thing to show up on your doorstep uninvited, but you left me little choice.” His annoyance made his Spanish accent thicker, his ‘R’s’ rolling.

“Xavier—”

“You left me in the middle of a performance with nothing more than a shout for me to cover for you, and a mention of something urgent needing your attention back home.” He handed my leather duffle over, packed with the items I’d left at the hotel.

“I’m sorry—”

“Then you ignore my calls and texts. What the fuck is going on, William?”

To be fair, he wasn’t the only one I’d ignored. I cleared my calendar of all upcoming appearances, and I’d left Freedom Fighters in the hands of the capable people I’d put in place to run it. It helped that I wasn’t responsible for the day-to-day. My other work commitments didn’t allow for it. Davidsons’ was the only call I’d returned, because I was invested in his investigation.

“Is everything okay?” Xavier pushed. “Is your mother—”

“She’s fine,” I cut in, laying my hands on his shoulders to calm him. I’d really screwed this up. His deep-set hazel eyes implored me to explain what was going on with me. I pulled him to the side as morning rush-hour foot traffic picked up in the lobby.

“I’d gotten a call from Davidson. They found a group of Americans they believed were trafficked.”

“Jesus,” Xavier exclaimed quietly, inching closer. “That’s amazing, William. I mean not—”

“I know what you meant.”

“That doesn’t explain why you needed to rush back. Or why I haven’t heard from you since.”

“Davidson needed my help with one of the survivors. They couldn’t get him to speak or accept medical attention.”

“Oh,” Xavier said, taking a step back. He peered toward the bank of elevators. “Let me guess. You’re the only one who can save him.” His expression was guarded now.

Xavier and I worked together, he’d been my replacement as concertmaster after I’d taken the position as conductor and music director of the New York Philharmonic. We became friends, and he eventually began working on outside ventures with me. He was talented. He was also attracted to me.

The attraction went both ways, but Xavier wasn’t the type who could handle a no-strings attached fling, no matter how much he professed otherwise. He’d lapsed into discussion of a possible future for us more than once. I couldn’t be who he wanted, who he deserved. There were limitations to what I could offer him.

I’d been upfront with him from the start, and he’d told me he could handle it. That it wasn’t my job to manage his expectations, and that if he fell, he wouldn’t blame me for it. He did fall, and I knew he believed it was my fault.

I heard it in his voice every time I had to leave in the middle of a work session, or cancel plans to tend to something related to Freedom Fighters. I felt it every time he forgave me after going pliant beneath me, screaming out his pleasure while stuffed full of my cock.

Xavier wanted more, he wanted to be my priority, and he couldn’t comprehend why that was impossible. He didn’t know that every spare part of me was abandoned in a field alongside my broken promises. I had nothing left for him.

My non-existent dating life didn’t help matters. My apathy toward romantic involvement with anyone else kept his hope alive. He believed I’d one day grow tired of running and choose him. We were stagnant in our own ways, and maybe subconsciously I encouraged his need to hold on. Because if it were to be someone one day, then why not him?

I’d broached the subject of ending our work relationship after putting an end to our intimate one. The mere suggestion had caused a huge argument. From Xavier’s perspective, if I couldn’t give him my heart, then I could at least help him fulfill his professional dreams. We’d won our first Academy Award shortly after.

“Well, what about work?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. “We have deadlines to meet, William. Maybe you don’t mind putting your life on hold whenever someone in need comes calling, but I still have goals I’d like to meet. What you do affects me too.”

“I know that,” I said, taken aback by his clipped tone. For the most part Xavier had a mild temperament, and rarely needed to raise his voice or sharpen his tone to get his point across. “He should only be here for another week. Two at the most.” Even I heard the uncertainty in my voice. Seven days had passed and Ryan still hadn’t spoken. I didn’t even know if he could.

Xavier shook his head, muttering something in Spanish before running a hand through his wavy hair. He was beautiful, sensual and elegant. Especially when reduced to begging me for mercy in his native language while I used his body to the brink of collapse. Life would’ve been easier if he was enough to make me different, to make me forget about my past.

“Do you have an hour to spare now to run through the final edits I sent you last night?”

“You know that isn’t possible, Xavier.”

“Why not? He can’t expect you not to work.”

His jealousy and frustration made him insensitive. This wasn’t normally who he was. He seemed to be on the cusp of an explosion. I took full responsibility for that.

“Because you’re a surprise, and surprises aren’t ideal. He needs predictability right now.” We’d gone through this before, but each time he made me repeat it again. Maybe hoping I’d ‘see the light’ at some point, or hoping each occurrence would be a reminder to him of what I would always put first, assisting with him getting over his feelings for me.

He chewed his lip, looking helpless and lost, as if hearing the familiar words hadn’t lessened his feelings at all.

“I’ll have to rearrange our current schedule, yet again,” he said with undisguised irritation. “Two weeks?” he asked as though needing me to promise. I couldn’t, because it would only make things worse when in two weeks not much had changed. We both knew that could be the case.

Xavier had a point, though. We had important deadlines looming, and he’d need to be here for us to meet them.

“I plan on having my mother over for dinner at some point. I’ll tell him about you. Let him know you may be joining us. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Okay,” he said, before nodding and walking away. He stopped after a few steps. “I’m really happy for you, William. For Davidson, for the people recovered. I know how much this means to you.” Except he didn’t know how much it meant to me, not really. Because he didn’t know me. No one did.

I knew something was off the moment I entered the apartment. That sort of feeling you get when something bad is about to happen, or has happened. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Ryan?” I set my duffle bag on the floor before taking off for his open bedroom door. The mattress and bedding were on the floor, one of the bedside lamps lay on its side, the other one shattered. The chipped paint on the wall confirmed how it’d been broken.

“Ryan?” I called louder, jogging down the hall. “What the…” I peered around the kitchen. The cabinets were thrown open, dishes smashed to pieces along the counters, stove and sink. Something crunched under my shoe. Broken glass.

Panic set in, locking my brain and my limbs. A muffled sound of pure agony sent me spinning around, and I had to grab hold of the wall to avoid slipping on the debris littering the floor.

Ryan stood heaving in the far corner of the living room, crushed against the window. Fist sized blood stains peppered the glass, like he’d been trying to beat his way out. He made that guttural sound again. A trapped, primitive baying that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Calling it a sound almost minimized it. A more apt description would’ve been misery. That’s what it sounded like to my ears.

“Ryan,” I breathed, still unable to comprehend what the hell had happened. His hair hung around his face, his gaze vicious. He looked dangerous, unhinged, but most of all… scared. Utterly, heartbreakingly scared. But why?

I searched my brain for a reason, finding an obvious one. Because I’d left him. I left him.

Swallowing down the acrid truth of that, I took a step in his direction, needing to find the source of the bleeding and make it stop. He shrank back deeper into the glass. I halted. “I left you a note,” I said, turning my head toward the kitchen. The note was torn to shreds, scattered among the mess.

I thought over the seven words I’d written down. “Went for a run. I’ll be back.”

The last three played on a loop in my head, making my insides hurt. I’ll be back… I’ll be back… I’ll be back…

“Did you think I wouldn’t come back? I live here,” I said instead of the pointless drivel I’d been about to say. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t abandon you. “My things are here. My life is here.” You are here. A rational mind would have understood these things, but I had to remember unaddressed fear would overrule logic every time. I’d need to be more mindful of what could potentially be a trigger for him.

Seeing droplets of blood hit the floor threatened to tear apart my patience. I needed to get to him. I needed to find his wound, to find the source of the bleeding and make it stop. As though sensing my intentions, he hid his hands behind his back.

“How hurt are you?” I continued. “If you won’t let me look at it, then at least let me get you the first aid kit so you can clean and examine it yourself.”

He still said nothing. I thought about all the things I could have done differently. Thought about what I would’ve needed from him, right now, if our roles were reversed. I also recalled something I’d said to Xavier downstairs.

“He needs predictability.”

We had a routine going here, and he’d come to count on it. Maybe even trust it without realizing it. And then he woke up, and I was gone. He’d depended on me being here for him, and maybe he hated realizing that.

I exhaled and closed my eyes briefly before opening them and offering him a deeper look inside me, a peek behind the curtain no one else had ever gotten before. “I’m constantly trying to outrun the unrest inside me because I know what happens once it catches up to me.” Flashes of blades and blood filled my mind. I shook my head to clear it.

“I spent a good chunk of my adolescent years in therapy. Some of my adult years too. One therapist suggested running to help reduce my stress levels. With nothing to lose, I tried it and fell in love. I can literally see my demons in my mental rearview as I race through the streets at breakneck speed. If I get far enough ahead of them, I earn a couple days worth of peace before they’re biting at my heels again.” Peace might have been an exaggeration, but I didn’t want to scare him with the unfiltered truth.

“Wash, rinse, and repeat. It’s been a week since I ran. I hope you can appreciate what that means.”

Ryan’s breathing evened out at a gradual pace. The only sign that my honesty might have gotten through to him.

“I should’ve waited until you woke up and explained all this before leaving. I should’ve invited you. I should’ve done a number of things to prevent this.” I looked around at the destruction again. “I’m not a perfect man, Ryan, but I’m doing the best I can.”

I grinded my molars together as I listened to the drops of blood hit the floor behind him. Time ticked by, and I thought I might scream, but then he began to relax. His eyes softened first. His jaw unlocked next, then his shoulders lowered. With some hesitance, he held his left hand to his side, letting me know it was the injured one. He snatched it behind him again when I stepped forward, a warning that I’d taken it too far.

I nodded. “I’ll get the kit for you.” Racing into my bathroom, I searched under the sink until I found the red first aid kit. In the kitchen, I filled a bowl with water before placing it and the kit on the coffee table. It was the only area that didn’t need to be sectioned off with caution tape.

Sitting on the arm of the couch, I watched as Ryan lowered to his knees across from me. First he dipped a hand in the bowl of water, clearing some of the blood away. The small gash at the center of his palm became visible then, already clotting. He must have cut himself with a piece of glass during his tirade around the apartment. The superficial cuts surrounding it scabbed over days ago, the ones he’d received during the struggle at the hospital.

“Sorry,” I murmured, sitting back when he glared at me. I hadn’t realized I’d leaned in to get a better look. I fisted my hands in my lap, hating that I couldn’t help him, biting my tongue to prevent offering him unsolicited verbal assistance. He hovered his hand over the red water before dousing his palm with peroxide, gritting his teeth as it bubbled over the wound. There didn’t appear to be any glass or porcelain splinters stuck in it.

Ryan worked as though patching himself up was second nature. I held back my questions as to why that was. I had enough heartache to work through at the moment.

By the time he finished bandaging his hand he looked exhausted, the adrenaline from his rampage fading. Still, he left and returned with his shoes on before retrieving the broom and dustpan from the pantry to start cleaning up the mess he’d made of the apartment.

“I can do that,” I said, jumping up from the couch. Ryan ignored me, taking careful steps though the kitchen, hyper focused on the task.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” I said, scrunching my nose up as the stench from my sweaty workout clothes suddenly hit me. “I’ll make us some boiled eggs after.”

He didn’t answer me, and I took in his bloody clothes, making a mental note to order him some more things. Maybe some running gear too, in case he decided he wanted to join me one morning.

Ruminating in my thoughts, I took way longer than I should have. I hurried to pull my t-shirt on as I headed for the hall. Two hard boiled eggs waited for me in the silent kitchen, shelled and cut into halves. I didn’t have the opportunity to revel in the fact that Ryan had cooked for me. Not when I couldn’t take my eyes off the torn sheet of paper resting near the bowl.

With an unsteady hand I lifted it, mouthing the one word written in a barely legible chicken-scratch. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve said a child penned it. He’d scribbled it out and tried again numerous times.

I leaned back against the counter behind me, needing the support as my chest split wide open.

It wasn’t the apology that killed me, but that he’d spelled “sorry” with one “r” and two “e’s”. A mistake a typical six-year-old might’ve made.