Page 8

Wiliam

“I’ll let you know how my talk with Mihaela goes,” I said as Xavier stepped onto the elevator, anger making me sound gruff. I was upset with him, but I was more upset with myself. He placed his hand on the doors, keeping them open.

“I know it wasn’t my place to say—”

“No, it wasn’t. You could have set him back.”

“Are you saying he was close to leaving here?”

“Why are you in such a hurry for him to leave?”

“The real question is why aren’t you?”

“I am,” I snapped, “but it needs to be when he’s ready, and not a moment sooner.”

Xavier stepped off the elevator, letting the doors close behind him. He stared into my eyes as if searching for something he’d never been able to find before. Like maybe he’d give trying to figure me out one last shot. Everything he needed to know was right there. I carried it with me, rarely able to get a moment’s rest from it. He just didn’t know what to look for, so the truth would forever be an elusive thing to him.

“What about his family, hmm? I’m sure there’s someone out there who misses him, who hasn’t stopped looking for him. Do you even care about them? Have you asked him about them?”

“I…” I couldn’t answer him. My answer would’ve been damning. I hadn’t thought much about his family. I’d only been thinking about him. “He doesn’t talk.”

“How convenient,” he drawled. “It’s been weeks. Has he even gotten any fresh air? Gotten some sunlight? Or have you kept him trapped in this beautiful prison?” He waved a hand toward the apartment door.

“Sun?” I scoffed. “Have you seen the weather the last couple of weeks?”

“You get the point I’m trying to make, William. God, just take a moment to look at yourself. Have you asked yourself what it is you’re doing here? Are you being honest with yourself?”

I set my jaw, speaking through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to help—”

“You’re trying to fix them,” he interrupted me. “You can’t fix them, William. You can’t save them all.” He drew in closer, resting his hands on my stubbled cheeks whispering, “And they can’t save you .”

What he didn’t realize was that I didn’t need to save them all. I only needed to save one .

He pressed the call button, and the elevator doors opened. We watched each other until they closed, neither of us knowing what else to say.

I found my mother in the kitchen dishing food into Tupperware containers.

“I made enough to last a full week, as promised. And there’s a whole chicken in the freezer already seasoned. Thaw it and pop it into the little rotisserie oven I got you whenever you’re ready for it.”

“Thank you.” I kissed her forehead before loading the dishwasher. While we worked, she hummed the lullaby she used to sing to me when I was a kid. It always calmed me, even when I became too old for her to still be singing it to me. She hummed until my movements turned fluid, her voice putting me in a daze.

“They’re all the same, you know. The survivors who come through here,” she explained when I stopped wiping down the counter to shoot her a questioning look. “Even the ones who don’t. They’re all the same.”

I leaned against the counter as I thought over that. “They look nothing alike.”

“No, but the way they are drawn to you, is the same.” She came around the island to stand near me. “Your mournful nature intrigues them. They see a kindred spirit when they look at you, and I think that makes you safe in their eyes.”

Ryan possibly preferred me to the alternative, to being with a group of strangers versus one, to having to face reality over being able to lock himself in his room here. But drawn to me? Kindred spirits? For once I thought she may be wrong about something. I didn’t stop to correct her, though. In truth, her words made me hopeful.

“Xavier obviously wants you to open up to him. Whatever battles he’s faced, he wants to share them with you, and he wants you to share your scars with him. He’s jealous that they get to know you in a way he doesn’t, even if the truth is that they don’t know you either. None of us do. Not really.” She cupped my cheek to soften the sting. “I think for Xavier it’s enough that you care about this part of your life more than you care about him. You wear your brokenness on your sleeve, but you keep the reasons why locked away in a place no one can reach.”

I closed my eyes, finding sanctuary in her soothing touch. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I know, baby,” she whispered back. “I know. Sometimes I still wonder if—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said resolutely, and not for the first, or even the hundredth time. “You were never the one to blame.”

She nodded, clearing the emotion from her throat before taking the dish towel from me. She continued where I’d left off with wiping down the counter.

“Why didn’t you jump in when Xavier was saying all those things to Ryan?”

“You didn’t ask me here in an official capacity. It wasn’t my job to mediate. And because sometimes it takes a little disruption to move things forward. You weren’t going to be the driving force. You’re too close to this. You always have been.” She shrugged. “All in all, Xavier didn’t say or ask anything harmful.”

I had nothing to fight back with. “What should I do?”

Finishing up, she tossed the towel into the sink and rested her hip against the counter. “Do you want my professional, or personal opinion?”

“Depends. How much will your professional opinion cost me?”

She grinned. “For you it’s free of charge.” She sighed, both of us sobering. “I accidentally bumped into him while we were cooking earlier. I had to count him down from a panic attack, William.”

“He doesn’t like physical contact. I don’t want to push him.”

“All that’s understandable, but it’s time to set boundaries and encourage healthy compromises. He needs to talk to someone equipped to handle what he may have gone through.”

“He doesn’t speak,” I reminded her.

“Talking isn’t only defined by sound.”

“I’ll need to consult Merriam-Webster before agreeing to that statement.”

She placed a hand on her hip, unimpressed by my obtuseness. “There are other ways to communicate, and you have some of the best therapists in varying practices on payroll at Safe Haven. Boundaries and healthy compromises,” she repeated, and I nodded.

“Out of curiosity, what would your personal opinion have been?”

“The same,” she said simply, grabbing her blazer off the back of the stool. I would have laughed under different circumstances. “Come on, walk me out.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? Traffic out of the city is brutal at this time.” My gaze lingered on Ryan’s closed bedroom door as we made our way out of the apartment.

“I can’t. I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’d rather wake up knowing I only have a short walk to the office versus the almost one-hour drive in rush hour traffic from here. I’ll text you when I make it home, baby.” She kissed my cheek before the elevator doors closed.

I made my way up to the music studio, then poured myself a stiff drink at the bar cart in the corner. I spent a couple of hours there fine-tuning a few cues I’d needed to work on for weeks but hadn’t. Now that Ryan and Xavier had been introduced, I didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t come over to finish work on this project. I could let him in from this level, avoiding Ryan all together, if need be. He didn’t seem to like Xavier, but he didn’t seem to like me much either, so there was that.

Figuring I’d given him enough alone time, I rubbed my tired eyes, refilled my drink and made my way downstairs. The moonlight guided my way through the darkened apartment, and I stopped short at finding Ryan’s door open.

Stepping in, I whispered his name. No answer. The tangible emptiness in the room told me checking the bathroom and closet would’ve been pointless. It was the same palpable emptiness I felt whenever we were more than a dozen feet apart.

Closing in on his bed, I glanced hesitantly over my shoulder into the hallway. I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his glare if I was caught. Running a hand over the carved wooden footboard and grabbing hold of one of the posts, I scanned the room he’d made his own.

His pajamas were neatly folded on the nightstand, ready for when he returned for bed. I opened one of the drawers, my breath stuttering at the familiar strips of cotton inside. Setting my drink down, I picked them up and ran them through my fingers. Sorrow filled me. Did he still use these to chain himself at night? Or had he just forgotten they were in there? I wanted to strike a match and watch them burn, but it wasn’t my place to. Not when doing so might have done more harm than good.

“He needs to talk to someone equipped to handle what he may have gone through.”

Dropping them back into the drawer, I closed it.

The library would be the only other room he’d be in. He didn’t ever hang out in the living room, and only spent time in the kitchen to eat. As expected, I found him on the window bench, a book in his hand and several in his lap. His brows were furrowed in what looked like equal parts concentration and frustration.

He knew how to read and write, if only at around a first or second grade level. Fluency, speed, spelling, good penmanship, and comprehending complicated text was where he struggled—from what I could tell by observing him, and from the notes we’d exchanged.

I’d downloaded a phonics tutor app on my phone for him. It would allow him to type words in from the various books he seemed to take interest in. The virtual assistant would then give the proper enunciation and definition. I hadn’t told him about it yet, though. I didn’t think he’d want my help. Or maybe because I wanted to be the one to personally teach him, if he’d let me.

He looked up from his book, the dark circles under his eyes adding color to his normally pale skin.

“You’re tired,” I said, an unintentional bite to my words. I hated seeing him sad or angry or scared. And apparently, I hated seeing him tired too. “You should get some rest.” I’d softened my tone. “The books will be here tomorrow.”

He gave no indication that my concern meant anything to him, but his gaze did lower to the tumbler I held.

“It’s just a little something to help me relax.” I managed not to sound ashamed or defensive—both of which I felt to my core.

He returned his midnight eyes to mine, and it took me clenching every muscle in my body to not squirm under his intense scrutiny. Slowly, he closed the book in his hand and set it to the side, doing the same with the others on his lap before unfolding his crossed legs and dropping his bare feet to the floor. He did this while peering into me, and again I couldn’t help taking notice of his beauty.

Ryan did everything with so much passion. From the way he wrote, as though the blank page offended him, to the way he ate. Even down to the way he sometimes seemed to hate me. His scowls contained enough heat to singe the hairs off my body from across the room.

That passion gave him a sensual quality I was positive he wasn’t aware of. The more fire he displayed, the more fascinating he became. I was beginning to find myself captivated by him, and he hadn’t even spoken a word to me yet.

Speaking of which, I wanted to hear his voice more than I wanted my next breath. I had to know if his tone matched the soft appearance of his skin, and the delicacy of his cheek bones, or the exoticism of his beauty mark. I shouldn’t have been wondering about any of that, but I couldn’t help myself.

Ryan reached out, removing the tumbler from my hand, careful not to touch my fingers. He waited a few seconds—as if giving me time to object—before taking a tentative sip.

I couldn’t have objected if I wanted to. Like him, I couldn’t find my voice. He swallowed, his cheeks glowing red from the burn.

“It’s rum and coke,” I breathed, heart beating a staccato rhythm. “More rum than coke.”

Other than the sweet color spreading over him, he hadn’t flinched or winced. Perhaps being intoxicated wasn’t new to him.

He took a more generous sip before handing it back to me and licking his lips. Something deep within me clenched, and I felt an overwhelming need to apologize for it.

I needed to clear the lump forming in my throat, but that reaction would’ve exposed how he’d affected me. “I ah… I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” My feet didn’t get the message, because I hadn’t moved.

Ryan went back to his book, flipping to the dog-eared page he’d left off at.

“The Pain and the Great One,” I read, angling my head to make out the title. “I used to love that as a kid. I never had a sibling, but I’m pretty sure if I had, I would’ve been The Pain.” It was one of the new books I’d ordered for him. I’d left them somewhere easy for him to find rather than making an announcement about it. I had a feeling he would’ve avoided them out of spite if I had.

I’d been about to leave, but then he turned the book around, pointing to a word. “Ordinary,” I said, taking a chance he wanted me to sound it out for him. “It means—”

Ryan slammed the book shut. I took it as him saying he hadn’t asked me what it meant. When he was sure I understood the rules, he opened the book again, turning to a new page and pointing to a different word.

“Pokey,” I said and stopped. This time, though, he kept his finger on the word long after. “It means slow, carefree, in a sense. Not at all moved by the demands of time.”

He looked at the word, rubbing his finger over it as if he wanted the letters to seep into his skin, never to be forgotten again. We went through this a few more times, and I got good at knowing when to elaborate, and when to simply tell him how to sound out the word.

He picked up another book by the same author, and we continued on. I didn’t dare smile, or show my amusement in any way for fear he’d do something to shut down my blip of happiness. Like maybe burn my library to the ground. In many ways he didn’t trust me, and when it came to my rare declarations of joy, I didn’t trust him either. Joy was such a fragile thing, and he’d already proven he had the power to rob me of it at will.

After a while he yawned, stacking all the books together and placing them back on the shelf. He glanced back at me like maybe he wanted to say something, but then his eyes filled with that familiar rage again. He left without so much as a wave goodbye. I stood there wondering about his anger, wondering if I should take it personal. No, it wasn’t about me, I told myself. He’d be angry with anyone after what he must have survived. I was just lucky enough to be in his vicinity when he needed a punching bag.

I showered for the third time that day, shaving at the sink afterward, making a mental note to make an appointment with my barber. The mixed texture of my hair was starting to stick up straight in some places and coil in others.

Crawling into my enormous, empty bed, reminded me of my loneliness. If I wanted to, I could have called Xavier over, snuck him in while Ryan slept, and made love to him all night. My body craved that connection with someone, even if my heart would keep its distance throughout the whole ordeal. It had been too long, and I was starting to feel the effects of deprivation. I couldn’t bring myself to do that to Xavier, though. Things were messy enough between us as it was.

Spitting into my palm, I reached into my briefs and withdrew my cock, already hot and hard. I bit down on my cheek to stifle my moans as I worked my shaft, moving closer to the crown. Swiping up the precum with my thumb, I envisioned a tight warm body on top of me, taking me to the hilt and whispering my name. The loneliness swelled further, until my skin felt like it might burst.

Needing this to be over with, I bent my legs and spread them wide to slip a finger from my free hand into my opening, stopping at the first knuckle and coming instantly. I couldn’t even manage to get up to clean myself off. I pulled the sheet over me, letting the cotton absorb my cum.

I fell asleep with my teeth buried into my pillow, a precaution to keep from howling the name that haunted me every night now. It would always remain my dirty little secret.

The next morning, I awoke to a sheet of paper at my door. I hurried from the bed to snatch it up. It was a sketch. The most beautiful piece of artwork I’d ever seen.

It depicted a man facing the horizon, the sun exaggerated in the distance. Simple, yet no detail had been spared. Not his curls, his straight nose, nor the scowl he perpetually wore. He’d managed to capture it all, even in profile.

I backed up, falling onto the bed once the backs of my knees met the mattress. Too many things floated through my mind at once.

Ryan’s an artist.

What does this mean?

Ryan’s… an incredible artist.

What the fuck does this sketch mean?

Is he trying to tell me something?

Is it just a random sketch?

Am I overthinking this?

And finally… Ryan’s an artist.

Then I remembered something Xavier said before leaving yesterday.

“Has he even gotten any fresh air? Gotten some sunlight? Or have you kept him trapped in this beautiful prison?”

Could it be… “No,” I whispered, striding for the door, forgetting I wore nothing but the boxer briefs I’d fallen asleep in. I was too excited by the possibility of what this could mean to even remember to check if dry cum stained my chest. I pulled my door open with more force than needed. I exhaled shakily at what waited for me.

Ryan was sitting against the wall across from my room, dressed in the running gear I’d bought for him. He held a sheet of paper up, three words scrawled across it.

I want sun.