by Jerry Cole
“If I told you,” Eddie said, at Patrick’s expression, “you never would have gotten in the car.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Patrick snapped. “Eddie, I’m trying to–”
“You can drive up to his fucking apartment, Patrick,” Eddie said, just as heated. He sighed, gave Patrick a quick look and then turned back to the road. “It’ll be all right, Tones. Isaac won’t even be there.”
A promise that Eddie couldn’t make, but Patrick kept his mouth shut. Fuck, just when he was starting to – yeah, all right, maybe he wasn’t getting used to it or over it or what the fuck ever, but he was dealing. And now he was going to have to deal all over again because this was fucked up.
As they pulled up outside of Isaac’s apartment building, Patrick kept his eyes on the street, could see Sam waiting by the wall and God, there was Isaac right next to him. Patrick’s fingers dug into the soft cushion of the seat and he grit his teeth.
Eddie let out a breath. “Sorry.”
“Whatever,” Patrick muttered. His eyes flickered up, staring at Isaac’s profile and God, he wanted desperately to look Isaac in the eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to.
Sam was opening the driver side rear door, and Isaac was standing just behind Patrick’s shoulder. God, what the fuck.
“Hi, Eddie,” Isaac said, poking his head in the car. There was a pause. “Hi, Patrick.”
Were they supposed to pretend everything was fine? Patrick didn’t know if he could do that, but he was already saying, “Isaac,” sounding strangled and weird.
Sam was seated, telling Isaac he would see him later, and though he’d shut the door, Isaac had yet to do so and Patrick might just have to tell him to fuck off if the tension didn’t ease soon.
“I’ll see you later,” Isaac said and God, he sounded just the same and Patrick’s heart ached for the familiarity of it. He loved Isaac so much and he couldn’t pretend this was fine, that he wasn’t scared of what their future held.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, finally looking over his shoulder, freezing when Isaac met his gaze unashamedly. God, he looked – better than he had the last time Patrick had seen him, and he wondered absently what he must look like to Isaac. He didn’t want to think about that and shook it off, turning away from Isaac quickly, and keeping his grip tight on the chair. If he let it go, he wasn’t sure he was still sitting in the car. It felt surreal, strange.
Finally, the door shut, and Patrick felt like he could breathe. Tipping his head back against the headrest, he relaxed into the cushions.
“Sam,” Eddie said, peering back over his shoulder and giving Sam a warm smile. “How’s it going?”
Patrick tuned them out for a while, glad that conversation wasn’t being directed at him, because his chest was tight. He hoped it wouldn’t always be like that, that seeing Isaac would get easier, because if it didn’t, Patrick wasn’t sure he could do any of this.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Patrick was an expert at compartmentalizing, and if he had to do so with Isaac, that was fine. He would focus on other things, like the VA; the center was modern and beautiful, all white and chrome, and Patrick raised his eyebrows appreciatively. The interaction with Isaac shifted to the back of his mind, though it was great at whispering into his subconscious, trying to let him know he should really work out what the fuck it had been about. Fuck off, Patrick snapped. God, he was talking to himself. Focus on Eddie and Sam, on whatever it was they told him he should do, and it would be fine.
Ha, as if anything was ever fine.
Still, as he climbed out of the car, finally looking Sam in the eye for the first time since they’d picked him up, Patrick felt the tension leave him. He had something in mind that needed doing, and it was enough to tear him away from worrying about other things, even if just for the day.
Sam opened his mouth, closed it just as quickly. Patrick was growing uncomfortable with the staring, but thankfully Sam just lifted his mouth into a tentative smile. “Come on, Patrick Wright. Let’s introduce you to charity.”
“You know I give to charity, right?” Patrick pointed out. “I get invested as much as possible.”
It wasn’t a lie; Patrick did give, and his foundation helped many causes, but Patrick hadn’t spent much time on the ground. It had always seemed suited for somebody not him – namely Rebecca or Eddie – because he wasn’t the kind of guy someone wanted fronting their charity. He had too much bad press following him around.
“Sure,” Sam said easily, and he didn’t look like he was skeptical. He was incredibly easy going and Patrick could see why Isaac wanted him as a friend. “But that’s not the same as meeting the people you’re helping.”
Patrick had his hands in his pockets because he didn’t know what to do with them, and he was content to stay a step behind Eddie and Sam as they entered the center. “I’m not actually doing anything for the VA.”
Eddie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. There are people just like these soldiers that your charities are helping.”
It made something in the back of Patrick’s head pay attention. He wasn’t helping the VA, but his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend now, probably – was a soldier who had been honorably discharged. He had been injured and would probably need the VA’s services now, or at some point. Patrick was ashamed to realize that he had no idea what had happened to Isaac during his time in the army, or how he felt about being on home soil.
Perhaps his friends were right; communication had broken down, and even though they’d spent so long together, they’d never spoken about anything important.
The décor, while not something Patrick would choose for his own home, seemed designed to put everyone at ease, giving them a feel of home, or as much as you could get when you knew exactly where you were. Patrick let his eyes run over the people already seated in the lobby, some injured, others looking small, as if trying to fold themselves into as small a space as possible, and others still smiling in a way Patrick was familiar with; fake, and with a touch of fear.
“Sam,” Patrick said quietly, and he could have asked Eddie, but Patrick chose Sam for reasons he didn’t want to analyze. “What do you do here?”
Sam looked back over his shoulder, hesitating only a fraction, before waiting for Patrick to catch up, keeping his voice low. “Depends on what they need. There are people making teas and coffees, other who help out with accompanying patients through the center. Music, counselling. It depends on where they’re short. Why?”
“Some of these people look like they really don’t wanna be here.” Patrick pulled his hands out of his pockets, tucking them around his chest and under his armpits. It was a strange feeling, to look on the people – the veterans – in the lobby and want to help them. Patrick had always let everybody else do it for him. Being here was new.
“They don’t,” Sam told him, his eyes following Eddie, who had stepped up to the reception desk. “Most of them feel forgotten. For some people, this is the only contact they have.”
That hurt. Patrick knew he was the kind of person who would end up alone, even with the friends he was lucky enough to have.
“Still wanna help?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, breathing out slowly. He was uncomfortable, couldn’t deny that, but he wanted to help. “Even if I’m just making tea.”
Sam laughed gently. “Pretty sure you’ve never done that before in your life.”
It could have been a jibe, if Sam wasn’t smiling warmly, and God, he was so much like Isaac that it hurt. Patrick looked at Eddie, who was coming back with badges, and Patrick took his, staring down at his photo.
“What?” Eddie said, looking at Patrick’s raised eyebrows and shrugging. “I emailed last night.”
Patrick snorted, but pinned the badge on.
Eddie and Sam disappeared off into the bowels of the center, and Patrick was given direction to where to help out. Patrick did have to make the teas, and though he couldn’t imagine the last time he’d made one out of a genuine want to
help someone, he found it easier the longer the day went on. The people he met were fascinating; a range of people with PTSD, visible injuries, mental health, and a variety of issues that was a direct result of their service. It made something in Patrick’s chest ache, and though he was hurting for all of them, a lot of them made him smile.
A couple of people recognized him, and though Patrick got a shot of distrust – which he could understand even if it made him feel like a dick – but there were a few who were genuinely pleased to see him.
“Where did you serve?” Patrick asked one woman, who had a prosthetic arm. She had a service dog at her feet, and Patrick was careful not to touch it, and he thought of Isaac. He wondered if Isaac had his dog yet.
“Iraq,” the woman told him. Her name was Sheila, and she was about Patrick’s age, if his radar was correct. “Three tours.”
“Wow,” Patrick said. It was impressive, and he couldn’t be ashamed about not doing something perhaps others had more courage and will to do, he felt guilty anyway, for not doing his part. He had never felt that with Isaac, and maybe that was because he hadn’t bothered to appreciate that part of Isaac. The shame in his belly was real, and he swallowed it down, tried not to let it show on his face – he didn’t want Sheila to think that it was because of her. “That’s impressive. I know you must hear this a lot but thank you for your service.”
Sheila’s smile was warm. “Thank you.”
They lapsed into silence, and Patrick took a few more orders for drinks. Sheila didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, and he wondered what she had come in to do. He wasn’t gonna be rude enough to ask her.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Patrick was startled, paused in making his next coffee and nodded. “Yeah, course.”
Sheila reached down to her dog, scratching at its chin, and her lips quirked up, smiling. “What made you volunteer here?”
“I could lie,” he said, “and tell you that I’m a good person.”
“Your search history would tell me differently,” Sheila said, and she was still smiling, so Patrick tried not to be offended.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, wincing.
They lapsed into another silence, Patrick stirring the sugar into the coffee and gave it to the gentleman to Sheila’s left. He was an elderly gentleman, deaf in one ear if the hearing aid was any indication and turned back to his magazine as soon as Patrick had handed over the drink. Sheila was still waiting, patient, and Patrick paused in making drinks to give her an honest answer.
“My boyfriend,” Patrick started, watching Sheila’s reaction from under his lashes, but although she gave the customary raised eyebrows, he didn’t see anything disgusted in her expression. “Well,” Patrick said, Isaac’s anger and his own heartbreak vivid in his mind, “ex-boyfriend I suppose now.”
“I’m sorry,” Sheila said, quietly.
“It’s fine,” he started, rubbing at his arm, even though it wasn’t fine at all. “Anyway, he, uh, he was in the Army, discharged because of injury. I realized that I didn’t – I didn’t ask him about it at all or even acknowledge that part of him.” Patrick didn’t know why he was telling a virtual stranger his history with Isaac, but something eased in his chest. Perhaps it was because she didn’t know him, not really, and he would never have to worry about her perception of him after today.
“Why?” Sheila asked. It wasn’t accusatory.
Patrick shrugged with one arm, eyes sweeping the waiting room to make sure there was nobody who needed him. “Because I’m a self-absorbed asshole. Because I was so afraid of losing him that I didn’t want to get to know him? Take your pick.”
Sheila’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t really explain why you’re helping out here.”
For a long moment, Patrick didn’t say anything. Better to say something flippant, ignore his talk with Sheila completely. Instead, he decided to put this whole change thing seriously. “I’m trying to be a better version of myself, I guess,” and it sounded flippant, but Patrick meant it, could feel the certainty of it deep in his belly. Sheila leaned forward on her knees and Patrick swallowed. “I have friends who volunteer here. Maybe that’s why.”
“Good reasons,” Sheila said, pushing herself to her feet. She had her service dog’s leash twisted around her wrist, and she waved to someone standing in the doorway of a counseling room. “For what it’s worth, you’re not the guy the tabloids make you out to be.”
Not a ringing endorsement when Patrick didn’t know if she meant for better or worse, but he’d take it.
Eddie and Sam met him an hour or two later, and Patrick took the time to say goodbye to the veterans left in the lobby before handing his badge back to the reception desk.
“So, how was it?” Eddie asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.
Patrick stretched in the back seat, letting Sam take the passenger, and felt the burn of a good day’s work in his muscles. He didn’t know what to say about it, except that it had been good. It hadn’t been ground breaking in any way, but he met Eddie’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Met some interesting people.”
“Yeah, there are some characters,” Sam said. He turned to look over his shoulder at Patrick. “You gonna come back?”
“Maybe,” Patrick said slowly. “I’ll probably make a donation, though.”
There was silence from upfront, and the look Eddie and Sam exchanged immediately had Patrick’s hackles up. He clenched his hands into fists, looking out the window.
“Not because I want to throw my money at a problem and think that’s okay,” Patrick said nastily, talking over Eddie when he started to say something. “I can’t help out as much as you guys can, even with making Rebecca CEO. This is the best I can do until I have a free day or evening or something.”
“Patrick,” Eddie said, his tone hard. “We weren’t thinking that.”
Patrick breathed out slowly. He rubbed at his face. “Sorry.”
There was a curious expression on Sam’s face. “You’re making Rebecca CEO?”
“She’s better at running the company than I am,” Patrick said honestly. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk outside the car, watching the buildings roll by. “Shouldn’t be that surprising.”
“I guess not,” Sam said quietly, and Patrick couldn’t read the expression on his face.
“If you weren’t thinking that,” Patrick said, because he couldn’t leave it alone. He always had to pick at those scabs. “Why did you have that look?”
Eddie sighed audibly, probably doing it for dramatic effect and Patrick was an asshole, which probably explained why his friends were the same way. “It wasn’t a look of stop throwing money at it, Patrick, and more a look of appreciation for the steps you’re taking to change.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows as he stared at Sam, who was smiling, and Eddie, who met his gaze unashamedly through the mirror. “What the fuck?”
“Hey, I’m a counselor,” Eddie said, but he was smiling as he turned back to the road, and Patrick was feeling magnanimous enough to forgive him.
“Thanks,” Patrick said, only a touch sarcastically. “Your appreciation means a lot to me.”
“Damn right it does,” Sam said.
It was the lightest Patrick had felt in a long time, and he actually let himself smile, hoping it was a feeling that would last longer than an hour.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
WRIGHT SERVING THE TEA?
It was a lame attempt at being relevant, but Patrick read the article anyway, some grainy photos of him serving tea attached to the writing, and though it wasn’t glowing – the reporter made it seem as if Patrick wasn’t being altruistic, but opportunistic. Though he knew better than to read the comments, Patrick found himself scanning them anyway, pleasantly surprised when more of them were positive than not.
A start to the arduous rehabilitation of his image.
Ugh, Patrick stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His phone had remained stubbornly silent since the article�
��s appearance, and he was sure there were more of them; for the length of time he’d been at the VA, there had to have been better pictures taken. Not that he wanted there to be, but he’d been recognized enough times to know that much at least.
His apartment was eerily quiet. His life was eerily quiet. He’d clearly gone right back around to his childhood, where he could barely stand his own company, let alone have someone there with him.
A self-pity day, yay.
With his cupboards bare, Patrick did an online shop, and thinking about Isaac demanding he buy actual ingredients to make food instead of having it made for him, wasn’t as bad as Patrick had thought. It brought the familiar touch of regret and pain, but he was surprised to realize he was smiling, and that imagining Isaac’s reaction was good instead of terrible.
Perhaps the pain did ease, even if it would never leave completely. The order placed, Patrick set about digging through his cupboards to find something to eat, when there was the sound of his door clicking open. There were only a few people who had a key card to his apartment, and when Patrick looked over the top of the fridge door, he was surprised to see Jake and Gary.
“Uh,” Patrick said, frowning. “What are you guys doing here? Without asking?”
Jake rolled his eyes and held up a box of beer and a grocery bag. “We’re the first wave. Brought beer and chips.”
“First wave?” Patrick said, and fuck, he really didn’t want to entertain his friends right now. “What the fuck, Gary.”
Gary held up his hands, but he looked relaxed and pleased, so clearly, he was in on the betrayal as well. “I’m just here in case you cry.”
“Fuck you,” Patrick said, flipping him the bird. He shut the fridge, eyeing the beer warily. “You know I’m not gonna drink any of that, right?”
“Fuck,” Jake said, looking contrite. “Sorry, man, I didn’t even think.”
Patrick wasn’t offended. He was doing his best to stay sober, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that going cold turkey was good for him or would solve his problems. Besides, it was obvious that Patrick was getting company he hadn’t asked for, and he’d hope they wouldn’t let him go crazy. “It’s whatever. Just don’t let me have all of them.”