Somebody to Love (Crazy Little Thing Book 3)

by Serene Franklin

  “Easy, big guy.” Remy took my hand in both of his and rubbed my knuckles. “I’m supposed to be doing this anyway. Go sit down.”

  I retreated to the living room, and Remy brought food and drinks out moments later. He sat at the other end of the couch after hesitating, glancing between the couch and the matching chair. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took his first bite. He hummed in satisfaction and leaned back into the cushions. “This is so good. I haven’t had it in ages.”

  “You don’t still eat it all the time?”

  He shook his head, chewing another bite. “It never turned out the same as when you made it, so I stopped trying years ago.”

  I didn’t know what to do with that, so I didn’t say anything. The quiet never bothered me, though I was painfully aware of it with Remy next to me. For his benefit more than mine, I turned on the TV then passed him the remote. He put on reruns of Arrested Development, which was always one of his favorites.

  We made it halfway into the first episode without exchanging another word. It wasn’t at all like the comfortable, companionable silence we used to share. This was the result of avoiding the inevitable conversations we needed to have. I couldn’t have Remy, or anyone, tiptoeing around me—it just wasn’t going to work.

  I took a deep breath to steel myself, then turned toward him, ignoring the pull in my shoulder. “Why did you leave?”

  I didn’t have to specify when I was referring to; he knew. His body froze mid-inhale for a few moments before he licked his lips and his breathing resumed. “Maxim, I don’t think—”

  “Please,” I pleaded. “If I did something wrong, please tell me.”

  “It wasn’t anything like that. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned away and his jaw clenched a few times. “I know I owe you an explanation, but I can’t talk about that right now. I know that’s selfish of me, so you don’t have to tell me. Just… please understand that it wasn’t because of anything you did or didn’t do.”

  That wasn’t exactly the answer I’d been hoping for, but I wouldn’t ever force Remy to do anything he didn’t want to do. Trying to control a guy like him was a fruitless endeavor and always had been. If he didn’t want to do something, he wouldn’t—not even to keep up appearances. Especially not for appearances. It drove his parents crazy when we were teens.

  “I’m sorry I asked.”

  He huffed, then faced me again. “Don’t apologize. I’m the asshole here.” I didn’t dispute that, though I also didn’t think it was entirely true either. “I’ll try to answer anything else you want to ask me.”

  “If I hadn’t been injured, would you have ever come back?”

  “Fuck me,” he muttered. “I wanted to, but I don’t think I would have.” He must have seen the unspoken question in my eyes and continued. “I didn’t think I could bring myself to. What could I have said to you to explain why I’d been gone so long? I still don’t fucking know what to say.”

  “Why come back now?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, revealing another tattoo on his underarm—some sort of serpent, maybe. “I was in a bad place when the hospital called. When I heard you were hurt, or worse, I needed to get here. Nothing else was more important than seeing that you were all right.”

  “You still care about me.” It wasn’t a question, and I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  Remy’s face contorted, and he almost looked offended. “Of course I still fucking care. I never stopped loving you, Max.” He said my name so softly that I would have missed it if I hadn’t been watching his lips.

  Love. I sucked in a sharp breath, then nodded. I still loved Remy, though I was sure when he said it, he didn’t mean he was still in love like I was. I’d tried to hate him. I tried for months, but I couldn’t. Even when I’d given up all hope that he was coming back, I still loved him.

  “You don’t have to reply to that,” Remy said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m not trying to score any sympathy points. I know I did a terrible thing to you by leaving, and I’m not trying to soften that.”

  I needed to change the topic before I said something stupid. I couldn’t trust myself to not tell him how pathetic I’d been, hoping he would one day come back to me. I took a drink of the water Remy had brought out, then cleared my throat for good measure. “Where have you been living?”

  “New York at first. I’ve been in LA for the last eight years or so, though.”

  One corner of my mouth quirked. “That explains your tan. It’s subtle, but you’re definitely darker.”

  He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, all the SPF sixty sunscreen in California can only keep me so protected.”

  “What do you do out there?”

  The joy in his eyes from a moment ago died, and I instantly regretted the question. “Not very much, if I’m being completely honest.” I cocked my head in confusion, and he went on. “When I left Chicago, I didn’t have any money. I stayed with friends and lived off my savings for a few years. I had enough to last two decades or more, though the company I kept enjoyed a fairly lavish lifestyle, and I pissed it all away. Well, I drank it and snorted it if you want me to be specific.”

  Remy had dabbled in cocaine when he was fifteen. We started dating a year later, and I got him to quit before it became a serious problem. It saddened me that he’d picked it up again, but I wasn’t going to judge him. I nodded for him to continue.

  “Instagram was starting to get really popular then, and my account garnered a bunch of attention because of who I was always seen with, and where. I got my first paid sponsorship in 2013, and it kept building from there. The more followers I got, the more companies contacted me.”

  “You’ve been able to sustain yourself doing that?”

  He hummed. “With almost two million followers, I was able to charge one hundred grand per post on average. Once I became an”—he held up his fingers and made air quotes—“ ‘Internet celebrity’ I also got large sums of cash for going to certain clubs. Being seen and photographed there, drinking specific brands of alcohol—shit like that.”

  I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut. I didn’t know what to say. I knew people like that existed, but I never thought I’d know one. It seemed so absurd as a concept to me, yet at the same time I understood why people would be drawn to Remy and that kind of lifestyle. He was effortlessly charismatic, enough that even I’d been pulled in. I was pretty sure that was part of why he and Macalister didn’t get along—they were too similar, though they’d never admit it.

  “Unless I imagined it, at the hospital you said that money was an issue.”

  “Yeah. I haven’t had a sponsor in a while, so things are pretty tight. My rent in LA is ridiculous.” He flashed me a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I knew there was more to it. He’d tell me in time.

  “Will staying here be problematic for you?”

  “Not at all. The great thing about being Internet famous is that I can be anywhere.” His tone was self-deprecating, which was new for Remy. “Besides, I already told you that there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to worry about money while you’re here. I have to meet with my supervisor at some point to fill out some paperwork, but I’m going to receive compensation since I was injured on the job.”

  Remy shook his head. “I didn’t come here to mooch off of you.”

  “You won’t be. Your money won’t help me when I need someone to help me with tying my shoes, or any other simple task that will cause me trouble.” I smiled at him to show I was being sincere.

  “Hopefully I can be more useful than that,” he said flatly. “While I appreciate that you made my favorite, you shouldn’t have even cooked today. I should be doing that for you.”

  I snorted a laugh, wincing at the slight movement in my shoulder. “I can still cook sometimes, Remy. I’m not an invalid.”

  Remy bit his lip and nodded. “No, I suppose you’re not. I mean it, though. I want to be useful,
and I’ll do whatever you need.”

  “Will you consider sleeping in the bed with me?” Remy’s eyes widened, and I quickly elaborated. “I don’t mean to imply anything by that. The couch isn’t too comfortable for sleeping, and the bed is huge.” My skin heated the more I spoke, and I wanted to hide. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know it’s kind of… weird.”

  “No, I’d like that. No offense, but your couch is lumpy as fuck.” He flashed me a playful smirk, and we watched a few more episodes. This time the silence wasn’t heavy. We still had a lot to discuss, but we’d made enough progress for one day.

  The rest of the day was much of the same, with Remy and me watching TV. We dropped the heavy subjects and stuck to safe, neutral topics. Remy told me more about what being an influencer was like, and how much he loathed that term. He asked me about my duties being an ironworker, which sounded dreadfully dull after the lavish stories he’d told me. Even so, he paid careful attention to everything I said and asked me questions about the job.

  My shoulder ached the entire time, worsening as day turned to night. I thought I’d done a fairly good job of masking how much it hurt, but I couldn’t keep up the façade after supper. Sweat had begun to bead on my forehead while we were watching a movie and my breathing wasn’t as steady as I tried to make it.

  “Maxim, how bad is your pain right now?”

  I shrugged, which was a mistake. Pain shot through my entire arm and up my neck, making my jaw clench and my eyes water.

  “Dammit, why didn’t you say something?” Remy shot up and headed down the hall. He returned a few moments later with my unopened bag of prescription drugs. He stood before me with a pained look that almost rivaled mine. “Why didn’t you take your dose when you woke up?”

  “I can’t think straight when I take those.”

  Remy sighed and sat down on the armrest of the couch. He rubbed my good shoulder, while his fingers absently tapped on the closed paper bag sitting in his lap. “I’m not going to force you to take these, even if I think you should. You don’t have to take the full dose if they mess with you too much. We can try half and see if that helps at all.”

  I shook my head gently. “I’m okay. I think I should go back to bed, though.” I tried to stand, and I stumbled, dizzy from the pain. Remy caught me and helped me to my bed.

  “Maybe tomorrow morning you can try a shower. I bet you’re dying for one.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  Remy snorted and shook his head. “Don’t be a dick. You know I wasn’t implying anything.”

  Laughter rolled through me, which I tried to stifle. I wasn’t successful. Remy pouted as he aggressively fluffed up my pillows, though he was careful when he placed one under my arm. He pulled up the blankets, then sat on the edge on the bed with his hand on my chest. His hand on me served as a distraction from the throb in my shoulder, and one I welcomed. “Are you coming to bed?”

  “Soon. I’d love a proper shower first. And a shave too.” He scratched at his stubble and scrunched up his face.

  “Help yourself to whatever you can find.”

  Remy asked me if I needed anything before he turned off the light and left the room. I heard the shower spray a minute later and tried not to think about all the showers we used to take together. I had to stop having those types of thoughts if I wanted to survive the next few weeks. My sling had to stay on for at least four weeks. If Remy was going to stay that long, I couldn’t let my mind wander to the past every time I was reminded of the way things used to be. I had to accept that both of us had changed. He wasn’t mine any longer, though in my heart I knew I always would be his.

  I must have dozed off while I was waiting for Remy. My shoulder woke me after I tried to turn toward the warmth resonating from the other side of the bed. I sat up to take some pressure off of the back of my shoulder, which was on fire. Once the main burst of pain trailed off, I felt around in the dark until my fingers connected with warm, smooth skin. I lightly traced it until I reached Remy’s collarbone. He was facing me, and still asleep from the sound of his breathing. I noticed at the hospital that he was every bit the heavy sleeper he’d always been, and I was glad for it. He had to be tired, and I’d hate to wake him needlessly. I withdrew my hand, then lay back down, wishing there weren’t eleven years of distance between us. Wishing that I’d finally woken from the nightmare of a life without him.

  Five

  Remy

  I thought I was still dreaming when I woke up with Maxim next to me. He was turned on his side, facing away from me, giving me a nice glimpse of his T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. It would have been even better with the light on, but I wasn’t about to complain. Being with Maxim had always felt so right—like our bodies were made for each other. I wondered if that were still true. Aside from my hair and tattoos, I hadn’t changed too much physically since we were together last. Maxim on the other hand was broader, thicker, and it was probably my imagination, but he seemed taller than the six foot three he was before. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought of being with him now. Was he still tender and attentive? I’d bet he was.

  I’d always had to push his buttons to get him to be rough with me. It was one of my favorite games to play, usually starting in the morning and building throughout the day. By the time we’d go to bed, Maxim would be so riled up and frustrated with me, and he’d work all of that out on my lucky ass. What I’d give to feel you again. I reached for him, then balled my fist and pulled it back before my fingertips made contact. I couldn’t go fucking things up on the very first night. I wasn’t there to fulfill my fantasies or relive moments passed. With that thought in mind, I carefully slid out of bed, went to the washroom, then cleaned up the mess I’d made in the kitchen the night before.

  I needed to learn some new recipes if this cooking thing was going to work out. Maxim had always cooked for us before, but it was on me now, and I had a feeling ramen and boxed dinners wouldn’t cut it for much longer. Given his physical fitness, I assumed he ate a lot of protein and veggies—healthy shit I never cooked for myself. I set myself a reminder in my phone to look up some easy, healthy meals, and I’d ask Maxim what he normally ate once he woke up. The state of his fridge was almost as grim as mine had been back when I had my own place, so we needed to grab groceries soon.

  Until then, I found some oats, honey, and brown sugar, and Googled how to make oatmeal for breakfast. I brought it in for Maxim and was surprised to see him sitting up. “Good morning,” I greeted, my voice tight at the sight of his stiff shoulders. He was in pain.

  “Good morning.”

  “I made some breakfast. It’s more carbs—sorry about that.” I handed Maxim the bowl then stepped back and fiddled with my hands as he took the first bite. He made a face that wasn’t quite enjoyment, yet not quite revulsion. “Oh, fuck, is it bad? I tried to follow the recipe.”

  Maxim shook his head while he took a drink of water. “It’s not bad. It’s just, um… sweet.” He continued eating, dodging me when I tried to take the bowl back. I insisted that he didn’t have to eat it if he didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t surrender it. “I don’t dislike it, Remy. It’s sweet because you’ve always had a sweet tooth. It reminds of those cookies you baked for my fifteenth birthday,” he said with a smile.

  I groaned. “Can we not think about those? I was high as fuck and forgot I’d already added the sugar.”

  “You forgot twice, love.” His mouth snapped shut as soon as the words left it, and pleading dark brown eyes met mine. “I’m sorry about that.” He sounded so fucking sad, and that shattered my heart.

  “It’s okay—really. It’s like you said last night: we’re in a kind of weird place, uniquely so. Hiccups are going to happen, and I’m sure it’ll be awkward at times, but it’s okay.” I gave him my best smile and felt a wave of relief when he nodded. “Now, how about we figure out this shower situation?”

  Figuring out the shower situation was far less exciti
ng than I’d hoped it would be. We decided it was best to leave the sling on since the wound was still fresh, so I taped a bag around it to keep it dry. Since he wasn’t taking his drugs, Maxim was steady on his feet and didn’t need any assistance beyond the taping.

  We went to get groceries after his shower. I’d offered to go solo so he could rest, but he had insisted on coming. It was a clear day, and the sidewalks were free of ice and snow, so I didn’t see the harm. I only had T-shirts with me and had to borrow one of Maxim’s sweaters. He tried to offer me his coat, but I declined and made him wear it. The sweater was perfect, anyway. It smelled just like him and was loose on me in that cozy, curl up on the couch and relax kind of way.

  The walk there and back showed me that I not only needed a proper winter coat, but boots as well. Sneakers weren’t sufficient, even for a mild Chicago winter day after coming from Cali. I was half frozen by the time we returned with as many bags of groceries as I could carry. Maxim had offered to carry some, and I’d turned him down for obvious reasons.

  The remainder of the day was very much like yesterday. We sat and watched Netflix, interspersed with periods of light conversation. I tried to keep the topic off of me, but Maxim was far too interested in how I’d been living and kept steering the conversation back to me. As much as withholding the whole truth from him made me feel awful, telling him everything would be worse. I didn’t want Maxim to pity me, or worse, be disappointed or disgusted. No matter what spin or disguised word was used to lessen the intent, I was a whore in every sense of the word.

  I’d been a fame-whore for years, selling myself to the highest bidders for social media ads. After my “career” imploded, I stooped to a whole new low when I accepted an offer to be a live-in rentboy. It was that or porn, and my face was too recognizable for the latter. What else could a guy with literally no qualifications do?