Page 166 of Shrapnel

It was probably that look in his eye, thatElijah lookthat Jamie could never refuse, but it had him breaking down. He told him everything. Everything. Even the things he tried not to tell himself. Jamie told Elijah about his mom—how he hated that he hated her, how he knew she was a victim but he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive her. He told him what she did to him. What Dominic had done to him. What he did to himself afterward to survive.

Elijah didn’t speak, he just listened. When Jamie was done, he ruffled his hair and grinned.

“Thank you for shooting my boyfriend.”

The tension in the air broke like a dam and Jamie laughed. Truly laughed. Elijah was his safe space. The person who killed with him, who taught him to live again, who had his back while he confronted his past, and never pushed him for more than he could give.

Crutches always came in pairs.

Elijah was standing at the funeral now, face downturned and shoulders slumped. His relationship with Noah was the worst kept secret in the state, so he was there pretending to mourn his boyfriend.

“Is Willow sobbing?”

Noah groaned behind the headstone. “Probably laughing.”

“Oh yeah,” Owen agreed. “She’s hysterical.”

And not the acceptable kind. Willow had outdone herself—black flimsy veil fluttering over her face as she loudly wailed into a hanky. Roland looked like he was about to have a stroke, patting her back while Willow hiccupped into his lapel.

Willow would be in town after this. She refused to go on tour for so long because, as she claimed, ‘I leave for a couple of weeks, and everything goes to hell’. Kurt would probably rather chew glass than admit it, but he missed his sister. Grant was probably equally as grateful to have Roland back. Someone had to keep them all in line.

“Jackson isn’t here,” Owen pointed out.

“We invited him.” Jamie grinned. “He told us to fuck off.”

Noah rolled his eyes and knocked the back of his head against the tombstone. He didn’t seem as desperate to look over towards his funeral now.

Jamie wondered how Noah must be feeling. That was a thing he was trying to do more now. Owen called it empathy. Whatever it was, he knew Noah must be feeling just as weird as he was. Like he had just overcome some big crossroads and now he had a whole new road open to him.

Noah moved into their apartment. Jamie bitched about it for a while, but only on principle. He didn’t really mind. It was nice to have people around. When things got quiet, he started getting all deep in his feels, which was a thing people did apparently. Now that all his walls were down, sometimes he was inundated with things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before. Elijah suggested exercise or therapy. Noah suggested alcohol and sex.

He hadn’t tried either. Yet.

Glancing at Owen, he tried to rein in the weird gallop that his heart did whenever he thought about him. He was the same, but Jamie was seeing him in a whole new way. Everything, from the way his nose scrunched when he was embarrassed to the snuffling snores while he slept, was endearing.

He told Jamie he didn’t have to say he loved him but that didn’t stop Owen from saying it. And when Owen decided something, he meant it. Everything from making sure Jamie was sleeping to checking his cast to make sure it wasn’t wet. Owen hadn’t officially moved into their apartment. Technically, he was living at Weaver Syndicate.

But they spent their evenings sprawled out all over Jamie’s small living room, playing video games and watching shitty movies. Then they ate take out, or convinced Jamie or Elijah to cook and then retreated to bed.

It was a suspended moment in their lives—Jamie and Elijah having time off for the first time in their lives, Noah starting a whole new life, and Owen being homeless. There was an expiration date, but for the moment they were enjoying themselves.

Jamie and Owen shared a bed every night. Despite Jamie’s tiny mattress and the casts on their limbs, they couldn’t let the other go. The first time Jamie had a nightmare, Owen held him close. When that didn’t work, he rolled on top of him and pressed him into the mattress with his weight. Sometimes when Jamie was clenching his jaw Owen would kiss him until he relaxed. Sleepy kisses pressed against tightened lips, hands stroking his sides, and eyes fluttering in drowsy blinks were the cure to his dreams.

They hadn’t had sex. Jamie’s broken ribs and ankle made sex physically difficult and emotionally…neither one of them was ready. Jamie for obvious reasons. Owen didn’t know about his mom. Jamie never wanted to tell him. He didn’t want that memory in his head. Not when there was something so innocent and charming in the way he stole glances when Jamie was changing. He never wanted that to change.

Maybe that was selfish, but Jamie was going to have to live with that.

He squeezed Owen’s hand and was rewarded with a cheeky smile. “Looks like they’re wrapping up.”

The congregation broke up. People they didn’t know drifted away while the rest trudged up the hill toward them. Elijah had a worried look on his face, looking around for Noah.

Owen went to speak with Willow about making a website for her. He was trying to explain to the musician that there was no way he could make it look like her violin bow was sticking ‘out of the screen like a sword’. Roland hadn’t taken his hand off Willow since the funeral began, but he nodded at Jamie.

Kurt began bickering with Noah. From where they were standing it looked like he was arguing with the headstone.

Grant sidled up to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready for work.”