Page 28 of Santino (The Camboy Network #4)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

SANTINO

Hayden and I were supposed to film our second video together, but Sebastian ended up rescheduling it.

He didn’t say why, but I’m pretty sure he wanted to wait until Hayden was able to get in and see that therapist of his first. And since I’m not going back to San Francisco just yet, there’s no rush.

So instead, we’re filming the bachelor party scenes for the documentary—in Atlantic City.

Noel’s pretty pissed about it, actually. He wanted to go to Miami or Cabo or something like that. But Sebastian vetoed those ideas, saying they were too far away and we’re on a strict timeline and budget.

I don’t know what Noel’s complaining about.

Atlantic City looks pretty cool to me. We’re at this really nice resort that’s right on the water.

The room Hayden and I are sharing has a super dope view of the ocean.

Sebastian’s got a whole itinerary planned for us—hanging out by the pool, couples massages for Noel and Bellamy in the spa, fancy dinner at the hotel’s rooftop restaurant, then partying at a gay strip club.

“Miami would be so much nicer. It’s not that far away,” Noel grumbles as he pouts on his lounge chair. We’ve taken over a whole row of them by the outdoor pool.

“Oh my god, will you please shut up!” Rhys exclaims as he rubs sunscreen on Angel’s back.

“I’m just saying,” Noel continues. “I don’t mind paying for it. It’s my bachelor party, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I get to go where I want?”

Sitting on the chair next to him, Bellamy reaches over and pats Noel on the shoulder. “There, there, honey. We can go to Miami some other time. It’s not like you’ve never been before.”

“That’s not the point.” Noel glares at him and manages to pout even harder.

I have zero interest in getting involved with that argument. Instead, my gaze settles on Hayden, who’s setting up the GoPros so he can hand them out to everyone.

He’s wearing baggy shorts and a baggy t-shirt that hang off his body more than they should.

The baseball cap he’s wearing is pulled low over his eyes.

He’s been pretty quiet during the trip so far, only really talking when someone asks him a question.

He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone and always hangs back at the edge of the group.

Honestly? He looks miserable. But I don’t know.

Maybe that’s the best we can hope for, considering.

I mean, I hate thinking that, but at least he hasn’t had one of those episodes where he spirals out of control and breaks down in tears.

That’s good, right? He’s moving slower than he normally would, like every task is way more difficult than it should be, but it could be so much worse.

I can tell he’s trying, forcing a smile when he needs to, pretending he’s having a good time. This is Noel and Bellamy’s bachelor party and we’re supposed to be having fun and celebrating. He doesn’t want to steal attention away from his friends or ruin the trip for everyone.

If anybody asked me, I’d say Noel was doing a better job of ruining the mood than Hayden. But no one asked me, so whatever.

We spend the next hour or so at the pool. Rhys and Noel stay on the lounge chairs and bicker, while Bellamy, Angel, Christian, and I play keep-up with a beach ball in the water. We’ve each got GoPros strapped to our wrists and Sebastian and Hayden circle around us on the deck with their cameras.

It’s fun. I have a good time. Mostly. It’s hard to truly enjoy myself when I’m worried about Hayden. I don’t want to be overbearing, though. He’ll just feel more like a burden if I hover too much. So I keep an eye on him and try to check in without being too obvious.

On the deck, Sebastian checks the time, then calls it. “We’re good here. Noel and Bellamy need to get to their massage appointment. The rest of you can chill until dinner.”

Hayden grabs an armful of towels and hands them out as we climb from the pool. I put my hand on the last one, but I don’t take it until he meets my gaze.

I don’t ask if he’s okay. I can already tell he’s not. He holds himself like he’s bracing for impact, tension radiating off his body. He’s chewing a hole through his bottom lip. His eyes have a slightly vacant look in them, like he’s not a hundred percent here.

I need to get him back to our room so he can rest.

I help him gather all the GoPros and stuff them into the equipment cases. Then the second Sebastian gives us the okay, I take Hayden’s hand and drag him toward the elevators.

When we get to our room, Hayden stumbles toward the bed and collapses. He curls up on his side, a pillow hugged to his chest. His breaths are coming hard and fast, like he can’t quite get enough oxygen in his lungs.

Gently, I reach for the one sandal that’s still dangling off his foot and set it on the floor where the other one fell off. Then I pull at the duvet so I can fold one half over his body. He sighs as I tuck the thick covers around him, turning him into a burrito.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as his breathing slows to something closer to normal.

Sitting next to him, I slide his hat off and run my fingers through his matted curls. His eyes drift shut as I pet him.

My heart aches for him. So much it feels like my chest might crack open.

I wish there was more I could do. I wish we didn’t have to wait so long to see the therapist. It’s so hard to see him suffering like this.

And if it’s this hard for me to watch him, I can’t imagine how much harder it is for him to actually live through it.

Leaning down, I plant a kiss on his head. “I’m gonna shower, ‘kay? I’ll be real quick.”

He nods silently and I rush into the bathroom to take the fastest shower in my life.

Hayden is in the exact same position when I come back out and I climb onto the bed with him, curling myself around his back. He snuggles down into me with a sigh. Gradually, the tension melts away and I think he falls asleep.

But he hasn’t. “What about your apartment?” he asks after an extended silence.

I don’t understand what he means at first. My apartment is his apartment… unless he wants me to get my own place in New York? My stomach sinks for a moment at the thought of Hayden not wanting to live with me. Then it clicks. “You mean my apartment in San Francisco?”

He nods. “And all your stuff.”

I haven’t really given it much thought, but what really is there to think about? “I’ll give up the apartment. There’s a new guy in Bellamy’s old room, so he can take over the lease. And I don’t have that much stuff. Most of the furniture belongs to the landlord.”

He falls silent again for a few minutes. “What about your family?”

He means my mom. Guilt sits like a rock around my neck every time I think about her. I haven’t spoken to her since that day. My sisters say she just needs time, that she’ll come around. I hope she will, but I’m not optimistic.

“Will you miss them?”

“Yeah, I will.” And I’m sure they’ll miss me too. But people live away from their families all the time. It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other or anything like that.

“What will you miss most?”

A pang of nostalgia hits me. As much as I gripe about them sometimes, I really do love hanging out with them. My cousins were some of my best friends growing up. My nieces and nephews are hilarious. I’m glad I’m from a tight-knit family. I just wish I had a little more breathing room.

A smile tugs on my lips as memories pop into my head. “Oh man, our family get-togethers are legendary. My parents have this industrial-sized barbecue and my dad really likes to do pulled pork and beef brisket.”

Hayden shifts, turning on his back so he can peer at me through his blond lashes. “Is that why you love meat so much?”

I laugh out loud. “Yeah, it probably is.”

Hayden’s lips curl into a smile and for the first time since we left New York, it actually looks genuine. His eyes crinkle a bit at the edges and the greens of his irises are a touch brighter.

“What else?”

It doesn’t take much thinking. “My mom’s potato salad is to die for. I swear to god she puts crack in it or something, it’s so good. And my sister Paola is like, a master baker. She does cakes, pastries, pies—basically anything that goes in an oven.”

My stomach gurgles loudly. Hayden and I stare at each other for a split second before both bursting out in laughter.

He ducks his chin, nearly disappearing into the duvet he’s wrapped up in. The laughter clears out some of the heavy darkness weighing him down and suddenly, he looks a little lighter, a little more alert.

Hayden’s laughter might be my favorite thing about him. I love how it sounds, low and rumbly, like a warm hug I want to wrap around myself. I love how it snaps him out of his spirals. I love how it lifts him up and makes him shine so brightly.

“You’re hungry?” he asks.

I shrug. “Meh. I can wait till dinner. Are you hungry?”

Hayden shakes his head. I’m not surprised. He’s never hungry these days. He doesn’t eat much of the food I put in front of him. I know he’s trying, but he’s still losing weight.

We lay in bed together until it’s time to go to dinner.

Dressing in silence, we move around each other in the bedroom and bathroom like we’ve been doing this dance together our whole lives.

The little touches on the waist as we pass each other.

When we catch each other’s gaze in the mirror.

The way he hands me the deodorant right when I need it, without me asking.

It’s so simple. So normal. So domestic. But it fills me up with this deep, rich happiness I’ve never felt before. Like this is where I was always meant to be. Like this is where I belong. With Hayden. Sharing a life with him.

I want to tell him I love him. So badly sometimes I can physically feel the words on my tongue.

So badly my chest feels tight with all the love just waiting to pour out.

I don’t know if it’s the right time yet.

I’m not sure how he’ll take it when he’s still struggling so much.

I want to wait until we get a diagnosis for him, until we have a plan of treatment in place and we’re not wandering blindly in the dark.

Until then, I’ll show him I love him with every word and every touch. With every moment of silence I spend holding him and every silly joke I crack to tease a smile out of him.

At the door of our hotel room, we pause.

“Ready?” I ask Hayden.

He’s chewing on his bottom lip. I reach up and tug it out from between his teeth with my thumb. Leaning in, I plant a kiss on the poor, abused lip.

I love you. I think in my head as loudly as I possibly can. Maybe he’ll hear it somehow. Maybe he’ll feel it. Maybe my love can help heal some of the brokenness he carries around inside.