Page 20 of Salvaged Heart

20

BECKHAM

AUGUST

A nders hadn’t been himself for days. He worked quietly and usually alone, disappearing for smoke breaks that took hours, picking at his food and poking the rest of it around his plate. He kept conversation to a minimum, and his voice was tired and brittle when he spoke. Whenever I reached to comfort him in the way he usually gravitated to, he’d shy away, making up any excuse to put distance between us.

Kara told me the shift in temperament was typical. “Just give him time,” she said. “Don’t press him, but continue to let him know you’re there for him when he needs you.”

But despite how many times I tried to reassure myself that she was right, something nibbled away in the back of my brain. Something wasn’t right. He was pulling back into himself. How long would it be until he broke? It was like I was on a beach of loose, fluffy sand, trying to hold it all within my palms, but no matter how tightly my fingers pressed together, the grains continued to fall. The more attention I gave him, the more he was slipping away.

Even now, he was sitting on the back porch overlooking the lake, his eyes glassy like he was seeing things I couldn't. His face was haunted and pale, his body so thin. I wanted to go to him so badly, pull him into my arms, and fight away all the demons that haunted him, to build a bubble around him to keep all the bad stuff at bay. But the bad stuff was in his mind, and I could do nothing to vanquish it.

“Just keep showing up. Keep being a safe space for him, and he’ll talk when he’s ready.”

Kara was right. I needed to bide my time and wait for him to come to me or talk in the group. But as each silent day drifted by, each night passed where he clung to the edge of the bed, not seeking me in the middle of the night like he usually did, and my restlessness grew. I would not lose him to this. I had to do something.

“Let’s go somewhere.” I wasn’t sure when I had moved to his side, and by the way he jumped at my voice, he hadn’t heard me move either.

“We have too much to do.” He didn’t look at me, pretending to be entertained by rolling his thirty-day sobriety coin between his fingers. These days, he clung to it like letting the reminder out of sight even for a moment would undo all his hard work.

“Yeah, but we can afford a day off. Kara told me there are some great hiking trails about forty-five minutes from here. We could take the bike out if you're up for it.”

Silence.

“Or…There are some museums downtown. You like art, right?”

Nothing.

“We could go to one of the lake beaches. I found old chairs and blankets in the attic. We could take a picnic and make a day of it.”

“What are you doing?” He turned his head, finally acknowledging me, his eyes cold and severe.

“I just thought it would be good for you to get away from here for a little bit…I wanted to spend some time with you.”

“We spend nothing but time together.” His words were sharp and cutting.

“You know what I mean,” I mumbled.

He returned his attention to his coin, flipping the red disk over and under each of his fingers, waiting for me to leave, but I stood firm. If he wouldn’t talk to me, I would at least be here. I could at least offer him company. I was trying not to take his change in mood personally, but considering the last time he had been open and himself was right before he told me no and ran away, it was hard not to. I’d crossed some line I didn’t know was drawn. Hadn’t he kissed me?

My mouth opened before I could think better of it. “Did I do something?”

“What?”

“You’ve been distant the last few days, and if I did something to cause it, I’d like to know so I can fix it.”

He let out a long sigh, dipping his head to his knees and bringing his hands to his face. “It’s not you.”

So many unspoken words hung between us. I wished I could pull them from him. Absorb all his secrets, all the things that still haunted his soul, but if there was one thing I’d learned about Anders during our brief time together, he kept his heart guarded for a reason. There had been a time when he’d freely given pieces of himself to others, and they betrayed or rejected him. The latter had done the most damage. Anders might put up a front that he cared little about what others thought about him, but the truth was, inside, he sort out acceptance like it was oxygen.

I sat down in the chair next to him, scooting it a foot or so away, hoping the extra distance would prevent him from running. Instead, he glared at the gap between us, his brows furrowed for a beat before meeting my eyes.

“This time of year is always hard for me.”

Now he was looking directly at me, I could see the puffy skin around his eyes, along with the salty streaks tears had left down his face.

“When I was high, it was easier to pretend, easier not to feel. Easier to forget. J…he…August nineteenth.”

The missing words caught in his throat, but he didn’t need to say them.

Jonah. The love of his life’s anniversary of death was a short three weeks away. I could tell from the look on his face he still blamed himself for the loss.

“I’m sorry.” It was a pathetic answer, but I didn’t have the words to communicate the devastation I felt for him. Pain twisted my heart at just the idea he was experiencing such heartbreak. Saying sorry was like sticking a bandaid on a gaping wound, but it was all I had. “Would you tell me about him?”

He didn’t answer, but his gaze asked a million questions.

“You don’t have to, but…I’d like to learn more about him if you’d tell me. I think it would help.” I got the impression Anders hadn’t let himself talk about Jonah in a really long time, perhaps at all, since his death. He’d said his mother and Laurel’s father had erased any connection between them from existence. It didn’t take a giant leap to understand that had probably come with a gag order for him to remain silent.

“You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Why not?”

Something told me I already knew that answer. Whatever was brewing between Anders and me was new and undefined, but it was something. We both felt pulled to the other like magnets, and there were moments between us that were as hot as lava. He didn’t want to talk about Jonah with me because he had already given Jonah his heart. He was worried that if I knew that, if Anders let me see exactly what he’d meant to him, it would send me running in the opposite direction.

But it would take a really insecure person to feel threatened by a dead man. I didn’t know what I wanted Anders to mean to me yet, but I did know that regardless of where we were headed, his ability to be with me was not contingent on him forgetting Jonah. If Anders could never love me, it would have nothing to do with the man he still held a torch for and everything to do with us not being meant to be. Being with someone meant accepting every little piece of them. And Anders had a million complex pieces. Many of which I'd surely yet to discover. But that thought didn’t scare me. I wanted to learn all his different parts–what made him whole–and find exactly where I could fit in among them.

Jonah was an integral part of Anders’ life. Knowing the lost love who lived in his soul would only help me understand him better.

“Is that why you’ve kept this from me? You think I don’t want to hear about him?”

“Beck, I…”

“Because I am not lying when I say I do. Anders, you talking about someone who meant the world to you, and the agony you feel in their absence will not change how I feel about you.” He blinked as I tried to convey the seriousness of my words in my expression. “I want to know all of you, whether as a friend or something more. If that means getting to know him too–I want that. Need that. If you're not ready to tell me about him yet, I understand, but I need you to know you can come to me about this. You don’t need to hide this part of you from me. ”

He just shook his head as if saying no. I could understand that, so I wouldn’t push, but to my surprise, he spoke, the words coming out hesitant and shy. “He was my whole world, and when he was gone…I thought about killing myself so many times and tried a few times, too. Every year that's passed since then feels like a mockery. Jonah was so full of life, Beck, and he died. I’ve now spent more years than I knew him wanting to die, and yet I’m still here.”

I brought my hand to his, expecting him to pull back like he had been doing all week, but he took it, letting our fingers slide together. I had only known Anders briefly, but the idea of him not being in my life was a thought I couldn’t stomach.

“He would want you to live.”

“I know.” He held the coin up between us. “I’m going to keep getting these for him. One for every year I got to live, and he didn’t. Every year, I wasted. Maybe I will be strong enough to get them for myself by that point instead.” He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Can I hold you?” He stood from his chair slowly, moving to mine. It wasn’t big enough for us to sit side by side, so he ended up half in my lap, slotting between my right side and the chair’s arm, his head on my shoulder. I cradled him close, inhaling his scent. Citrus and cigarette smoke. It was a combination that should have been disgusting, but on him, it smelt like…home.

I nuzzled my nose into the side of his face. His hair was beginning to get long. The sides that were shaved short when we met now curled into soft ringlets, the mop on top, long enough to braid. I ran my finger through them, eyes closed, allowing the heat from his body to recharge me. I only now realized how draining the last few days had been, how much worrying about him had taken from me. Now he was pressed against me again, I finally felt like I could breathe.

“You can tell me anything, Anders. I promise I'll listen. I promise I won’t judge you for it.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Well, I do enjoy kicking puppies for fun. Hope you won’t judge me for that.”

I pretended to think about it for a second and scrunched my nose theatrically. “I’m sure it’s just the mean, ugly ones, right?”

The smile I felt against my chest lit me up inside. I wanted to make him smile every minute of every day. Wanted to keep him safe and warm and healthy. Wanted to make him happy and whole. Who was I kidding, saying I didn’t know what I wanted Anders to mean to me? At this moment, with him pressed up against me, the answer was glaringly obvious. I wanted him to mean everything to me, and I hoped I could mean everything to him one day, too.

There was still one thing burning me up inside, however, and it probably wasn’t the best time to push him on it, but my mouth was opening, spewing the words before my brain could intercede. “Now we’ve got the you can tell me anything spiel out of the way, I do have something to ask you.”

He let out a noise that was half groan, half oh-oh.

“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” I took the slight nod against my chest as permission to continue. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“We’re touching right now, silly.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I pushed some of the curls away from his face, tilting his chin slightly where it lay on my pecs so I could look him in the eyes. “The night at the bar, when I reached for you, you said you’d already finished.”

“That was true. I was an uncomfortable, sticky mess the entire night. Have you ever tried riding a motorbike with cum coating the inside of your boxers?”

He was deflecting. “The other day in the kitchen, you were as into it as I was, but you pulled away again when I tried to unzip your jeans. You basically ran from the room.”

The seconds passed like minutes, cogs turning in his brain. I wouldn’t push him, I'd meant that, but I felt his need to tell me was soured by his fear of how I might react. I kissed the top of his head in reassurance.

“Anything.” I reminded him.

He took another moment to gather himself, then said in a whisper that wouldn’t have been audible if we hadn’t already been inches apart. “Sex is difficult for me.”

Difficult?

I’d gotten the impression that Anders was pretty experienced. Still, now thinking back to all our conversations and interactions, I realized he'd never actually said anything for me to interpret that way. Well, except for when he’d jerked me off in the alleyway behind the bar. Nothing about that moment had seemed hesitant or like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He was confident and worked me over better than I could ever have done myself. But that didn’t mean he was experienced or even liked sex.

“Well, it’s not like I have any experience either… with men, I mean. We can take things as slow and as far as you’re comfortable with, and then…”

“No, you misunderstood me.”

Okay, then, maybe he couldn’t have sex. I didn’t know how drugs affected certain things, but… well, no, that couldn’t be true either. I had felt how hard he was against me on both occasions, and there were several mornings I’d woken to him curled up next to me with his erection digging into my thigh.

“The opposite, I guess. I’ve been with a lot of men, but… it wasn’t always safe or consensual.”

“Wait, what?”

Misinterpreting my outburst, he pulled away, trying to jump out of my reach. I tugged him back to the chair but allowed him as much space as a one-seater could afford.

“Well, I’m sure I said yes in the moment. But I woke up so many times, with no idea where I was, with people I had no recollection of meeting after a complete bender…”

“Anders, that’s not consent.”

Horror racked through me. I'd just lunged at him both times, not even thinking of asking. My rage-fueled mind desperately cycled through the events in the bar. He. Had. Asked. Me.

Can I touch you? Beck, fuck let me touch you.

“Beck, stop. I can see in your eyes what you're thinking right now. You didn’t hurt me. Both times I said no, you stopped without question.”

At least that was true. It didn’t make me feel less guilty, though.

“Did they hurt you?” A familiar beast was growing in my chest.

“Sometimes.”

My heart was one crack away from breaking completely.

“Beck, look at me. It’s in the past. I know you would never do that to me. I feel safe with you. I do, I promise. Just in the moment…sometimes it’s hard for me. Sometimes I panic.”

I ran my finger over his cheek. I didn’t deserve this man. “What I said earlier still stands. We can take this as slow and as far as you are comfortable with. I won’t push for more.”

“I know you won’t.”

I got the sense he believed that.

“Beck, there’s something else you should know.”

I wasn’t sure I could take much more, but I’d promised, and I did again, “Anything. Without judgment.”

“There are so many nights I can’t remember, Beck. I can’t be certain we used protection and….There are nights I do remember that we definitely didn’t.”

He was practically vibrating with anxiety next to me. My heart hammered in my chest, my mind finishing his sentence a million different ways. Was he sick? I found myself cataloging everything I knew about STIs and other illnesses he could have, my heart stopping on the scariest one of all. Is that what he was trying to tell me?

“Are you…? Do you…?” How was a person supposed to ask someone something like that?

“I don’t know. I haven’t been tested since high school, and it’s not fair or responsible of me to start anything with you when I don’t have those answers.”

“We should get you tested then. I’ll call around some places in town.” His face dropped, a look of hurt in his eyes. Shit, did he think I only wanted him to get tested so we could be together? “No, Anders, I didn’t mean it like that. You should know. If you're sick, it’s important you get medical care.”

He nodded, avoiding my eyes. “I told you, I’m fine if nothing happens between us, but it’s important, you know.”

“I’m scared.” His voice cracked. “I know it’s stupid…”

“It’s not.”