The Cost of Living (ARC)

by Emilie Lucadamo

  If Lehexe minds, he doesn’t let on. “I’m gonna bring you something for the fever,” he says. “You sit tight, okay?”

  “Not goin’ anywhere, man,” Beck says, and means it. He doesn’t think he could move if he tried.

  It feels lonely without Lehexe in the room. He settles for closing his eyes and listening to anything his ears can pick up—from the rain pounding against the window to the soft voices that resume in the next room, too low for him to make out. He tries to follow the cadence of Lehexe’s voice, the highs and lows of his accent; it soothes him like a lullaby, and he doesn’t realize he’s drifting back to sleep until he’s startled by the door opening again.

  “Sorry,” Lehexe says, at Beck’s deer-in-the-headlights expression. “I brought tea.”

  “Tea? For a fever? Ain’t there…medicines, ’n stuff like that?”

  “There are,” Lehexe agrees, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he balances the teacup in his lap. It’s a casual gesture, but it strikes Beck as comfortable, in a way that puts him at ease. Lehexe seems like he’s used to taking care of people; any potential awkwardness isn’t present. “But this will work just as well. Come on, drink up.”

  Beck obediently sips at the tea. Lehexe helps him sit up and watches him until he’s downed the entire cup. The tea is neither cold nor scalding, just the right temperature, and leaves a faint tingling sensation in his mouth. It carries a heavy taste of herbs, mixed with just enough sweetness to make it tolerable. Only when the tea is gone does Lehexe nod and allow Beck to slump back against the pillows once more.

  “I was gonna give you something else to help you sleep,” he says, watching Beck melt back into the mattress. “But I don’t think you’ll need it.”

  Beck at least has the decency to feel guilty. “Sorry for takin’ your bed.”

  “Nah, it’s fine. Get some rest, Beck.”

  Beck pulls a face, making a soft noise of protest. “Hey,” he says suddenly. “What’s your name?”

  Lehexe looks surprised. “Huh?”

  “You gotta tell me your name. I told you mine. Fair’s fair.”

  The man above him considers this for a moment before he smiles. He’s got a nice smile, Beck decides; it melts away the underlying anxiousness of his face, making him look softer and more relaxed. “It’s Adam,” he says, low voice uttering the name like a secret. “Adam Lehexe.”

  “Adam,” Beck tests out, halfway between wakefulness and sleep, and decides he likes the way it sounds on his tongue. “That’s nice.”

  “Why, thank you.” Adam laughs, a low sound that echoes over the rain. The mattress shifts beneath him. Beck’s drooping eyes remain fixed on his shadowy figure, and he can’t help but think this is a nice sight to doze off to.

  “Night, Adam,” he mutters, before his eyes close again.

  BY THE NEXT morning, his head is clearer, and when he opens his eyes to the smell of something cooking, Beck is delighted to find that his stomach doesn’t churn at the thought of food. He pulls himself from bed, wincing at the ache in his muscles that has not totally abated. His head still pulses, and some of the cloudiness over his brain lingers, but compared to last night he feels like a million bucks.

  He’s wearing clothes too, he realizes—a white T-shirt (which is a bit too tight) and loose shorts.

  Oh God—is he wearing Adam’s clothes?

  Panic might spur him out of the bedroom, but the smell of breakfast definitely helps. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but somehow he’s not surprised at all by what he spills out into—a cozy-looking living room with a wall-embedded countertop splitting it off from a small kitchen. One small door in the corner is ajar, leading to what looks like a bathroom. A row of windows against the far wall are guarded by heavy curtains, now drawn back to fill the apartment with sunlight.

  A beige couch rests against the wall, facing a small television set that must have been bought at the turn of the last decade. Between them is a coffee table, messy with loose papers and dogearred books. There are several half-empty coffee mugs, their contents long since gone cold. Beck spots a remote buried halfway beneath the couch, hiding in the plush carpeting.

  Most interesting, however, is the bouncy pop music filling the apartment, and the woman swaying to it as she scrubs the kitchen countertop.

  “Um,” says Beck, and the woman freezes. In the half second that passes before she’s fumbling with her phone to shut the music off, a comical bolt of alarm flashes across her face.

  “Did the music wake you up?” asks the woman in a softly accented voice, looking apologetic. Beck shakes his head slowly, trying not to seem like he’s gaping around the apartment. The last thing he needs is to seem creepy, on top of everything else.

  “Nah, I think it was more the…sleeping-for-twelve-hours thing.”

  “That will do it.” She nods and picks up her handful of paper towels once again. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you feel up to it. It should still be warm!”

  He doesn’t need to be told twice. Scrambled eggs and breakfast sausages are cooling in the pan, but they taste amazing to Beck. He’d gladly eat oven grease at this point. Now that his stomach isn’t turning itself inside out, it’s desperate for food. He feels like he hasn’t had a bite of food in months.

  He’s devoured the eggs and sausages to the last bite before it occurs to him that the woman might not have eaten. His eyes widen guiltily as he glances from the empty pan to where she’s busy at the sink, but when she looks over at him, she smiles.

  “Don’t worry. They’re all yours.”

  “Thanks,” Beck says genuinely. When she passes him a glass of water, he accepts with a grateful murmur. Maybe drinking something nonalcoholic will help him get rid of this awful headache.

  He slides into a seat at the kitchen counter, content to nurse his water in silence. The woman isn’t as complacent. After a few seconds, she turns the music back on, softer than before, and begins to clean the counter again.

  “Adam always tells me I’m more of a slob than he is,” she says in a light voice, “but I don’t believe it. He has mountains of books laying around and hasn’t cleaned his kitchen since last year. I don’t know how he can live this way.”

  “Well, he lives above his shop,” Beck replies. The woman is clearly interested in making conversation and seems friendly enough. Beck’s never been shy, anyways. “Maybe he spends more time down there than up here.”

  “You’re probably right. Workaholic,” she says, and then smiles. “Your name is Beck, isn’t it? I’m Sophie.”

  “Good to meetcha.” Beck offers a hand, realizing he’s still clutching his glass, and pulls it back with a sheepish wince. Sophie’s smile grows a bit broader.

  “Where’s Adam?” Beck asks, anything to distract her from his hopeless idiocy. Sophie turns towards the living room, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture that seems a bit too casual.

  “He went out a few minutes ago. I asked him to do me a favor, but he’ll be back soon, don’t worry. He’s been fussing over you since last night!”

  No wonder—Beck stole his bed and probably ruined his entire evening. Adam didn’t need some drunk, sick idiot passing out in front of his store. Beck has no clue why the hell he was so nice to him. “He asked me to bring you something to wear,” Sophie adds (and thank God the clothes aren’t Adam’s). “I was surprised to get a phone call at midnight, especially when I heard what it was about.”

  Beck feels another pang of guilt and ducks his head to avoid meeting Sophie’s eyes. At this point, he doubts he has much dignity left, but he doesn’t want her to think he’s stupid (despite the fact that he clearly is). Sophie is pretty, with ash-brown hair neatly tied back from her face with a blue scrunchie, and bright eyes set in a freckled, pleasant face. What’s more, she’s being much nicer than she has to be. Even if she doesn’t live here—which, if Adam had to call her last night, she must not—he’s still a stranger in her friend’s (boyfriend’s?) home. Not only has Sophie made
him breakfast and found him clothes, now they’re making small talk.

  Beck feels embarrassed. He isn’t sure what to do. A large part of him would be more comfortable leaving, but there’s no way he can go without thanking Adam for everything he did for him. It’s obvious Sophie is here to keep an eye on him, and he chafes under the idea of being babysat but reminds himself again he’s in a stranger’s house.

  She must sense his unease, because Sophie gives him another smile.

  “I made muffins,” she adds, gesturing to a plate of chocolate chip pastries sitting in the center of the kitchen counter. “Do you like to bake?”

  “I’m bad at it,” Beck shrugs. “Never learned, I guess.”

  “Anyone can bake.” Sophie waits patiently as Beck plucks a muffin off the plate. He blinks at it for a few seconds before popping it into his mouth, taking a large bite. An involuntary moan escapes him at the savory taste, and her grin widens.

  “So,” she says as she settles down at the counter across from him. She rests her chin in her hands, scrutinizing Beck with large cerulean eyes. “Are you a student?”

  “Yup,” he nods around a mouthful of muffin. “I’m a junior at Meacon. Studying poli-sci.” Which is basically a responsible way of saying Beck has no clue what he wants to do with the rest of his life but needed to pick something. No doubt Sophie knows this as well, but she doesn’t let on.

  “I’m at Meacon too,” she says. “I’m a senior!”

  Sophie, it turns out, is from some small, French-speaking town Beck has never heard of up in Canada. She came to America to study after high school and is working on getting her medical degree. She’s come to know Adam through a desperate need for medical textbooks, which he helped her obtain from his store at a discount. They’ve since become close friends, even if Adam has been out of school for several years.

  To Beck’s delight, Sophie is also familiar with his younger brother, Dylan. They’re both medical students, even if Sophie is a few years ahead of him; they still share a class and compare notes after confusing lectures. They’ve even gotten lunch together once or twice, according to Sophie. Beck is left wracking his memory for any time his dorky little brother might have mentioned having lunch with a pretty girl with a French accent.

  If he hasn’t shared anything about Sophie with Beck, Dylan no doubt has mentioned her to Dana, or at least to James. It’s rare that the four have many secrets. Being in each other’s business is a consequence of sharing a house, as well as growing up in the same neighborhood for most of their lives.

  Beck was born in Newark’s largest hospital and placed in the nursery right next to James. Ever since then, they’ve been inseparable—the “terrible twins,” as their parents used to say (even though stocky, Italian James has always stood in stark contrast to Beck’s eyesore ginger hair and freckled face).

  James started dating Dana in junior year of high school, and she quickly became another part of the team. When they both wound up getting accepted into the same school in the much smaller town of River Falls, Rhode Island, it was just common sense they’d all move together. (Everyone insists Beck’s major isn’t a real degree, but it’s more realistic than James’s criminal justice aspirations. Dana is either going to wind up managing a company or taking over the world.) When Beck’s younger brother was accepted into Meacon University’s prestigious medical program, he came down to join them. That’s the way they ended up: Beck and Dylan, Dana and James.

  Their life hasn’t changed much since New Jersey—the only difference is they’re in a smaller town now, and they don’t have their families hanging onto their backs. Beck would be lying if he said they didn’t take advantage of that. Some of the stuff they’ve gotten up to has been pretty wild—which is why he’s mortified over what happened last night, but not that surprised.

  He tells Sophie as much, through a blush that must dye his face bright red as his hair. “My friends and I have put each other up to so much wild stuff that I’m surprised any of us are still alive. Not that that’s an excuse,” he hastens to add. “What happened last night… Well, I dunno what the hell happened. I’ll get outta your hair soon, promise. I just wanna thank Adam for being such a great guy. Then I’ll get goin’, but I need to thank him first.”

  He’s sure he sees a flicker of something uncomfortable on Sophie’s expressive face—just for a second, before her head spins towards the door. “I think you’ll get your chance,” she says over the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. “He’s home.”

  Adam enters the apartment several seconds later, keys dangling from his hand. He takes in Sophie and Beck at the counter before offering a close-lipped smile. “Good to see you up,” he says to Beck; before he can reply, another figure trails after Adam and shuts the door behind her.

  The girl who follows Adam into the apartment is built like a bird: slender, with long, bony limbs and a small frame. She has dark hair, falling to her shoulders in loose waves, and tawny skin. Her eyes are trained on Adam until she enters the room and registers the other people. She takes in Beck first, gaze sharp and suspicious, before landing on Sophie. A small bit of tension fades from her shoulders.

  “Alyssa!” Sophie stands up quickly, plastering on a bright smile. It’s not the same one she was giving Beck while they were talking. This has a note of urgency to it, a little too forced to be real. It’s the same one she gave Beck when he walked out of Adam’s bedroom. Now that he’s seen her real smile, he can tell the difference.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks the younger girl. When Alyssa shrugs without a word, Sophie turns her wide eyes on Adam.

  “She’s looking good,” he says with a shrug. “I’d give her a clean bill of health. No fever, no aches and pains… She’s doing just fine.”

  “Fine,” repeats Sophie, a hint of something Beck can’t identify in her voice. She fixes an earnest look on Alyssa.

  Alyssa offers her a faint smile in return. “Fine,” she echoes in a low voice. Beck catches her eye for a quick second before she averts her gaze, turning away. He’s not about to say it out loud, but something about Alyssa doesn’t seem “fine” at all.

  As Sophie starts to bustle over Alyssa, urging her to sit down in the kitchen, Adam turns his attention back to Beck. “How’re you feelin’?” he asks, in that same low voice Beck remembers well from last night. Hearing it with a clear head, he finds that his feverish mind hadn’t exaggerated at all. Adam has a voice that carries like a gong, deep and lyrical. It seems to fit him perfectly. Adam himself is serious, soothing, with an underlying air of something mysterious that Beck can’t help but find a thrill in.

  (Jesus, he’s known the guy for less than a day. James was right—Beck does romanticize things too much and is weak for an attractive face. In the time he’s known Adam, he’s thrown up at his feet, made him carry his unconscious body up the stairs naked, and stolen his bed for a night. It’s safe to say Beck has no chance, even if Adam was into men.)

  “I’m feeling great,” he says, forcing his brightest smile as he tries to smother every ounce of attraction he feels for the other man. “A lot better! The hangover ain’t even that bad!”

  “Hangover, huh?” Adam raises an eyebrow.

  “I’ve had way worse!” Beck chirps, then shuts his mouth abruptly. Geez, he sounds like an alcoholic. Ignoring the urge to smack himself in the face, he instead crosses the room and offers Adam a hand.

  “Hey, I just wanna thank you. For helping me out last night, ya know? It was great of you—I have no clue why you did it, but geez, thanks a lot. I know I’ve been a pain, so I’m gonna get out of your hair, but I just had to thank you. If I can give you anything—money, whatever—just name it. I have no idea what the hell was going on last night, but you were way nicer than I deserved.”

  Adam drops his hand awkwardly, shifting in place. Beck is surprised by how out of his element he suddenly looks. He hopes Adam doesn’t think he’s offering him charity money—he’s doing better in the financial department t
han a mostly broke college kid anyway. Was offering cash too much? Just as anxiety is starting to grip Beck like a vice, Adam looks at him once again.

  “Actually, Beck… I kinda wanted to talk to you about that.”

  Beck stands up a bit straighter. There’s a look on Adam’s face that he recognizes, and he doesn’t like it. It’s the same expression Mrs. Petrucello wore before she told them that James’s brother had died in Afghanistan. It’s the same expression Dylan wore when he learned he was failing three classes and at risk of losing his scholarship. It’s the same expression Dana wore after one of her and James’s worst breakups.

  Something isn’t right.

  “Adam?” he asks, suddenly nervous. “What’s the matter?”

  Adam sits down at the counter again and gestures for Beck to do the same. He hesitates; Adam is waiting, Sophie is watching him, and even Alyssa pierces him with a dark-eyed gaze. Suddenly, anxiety roils in the pit of his stomach. His eyes flicker towards the door, and he wants more than anything to race out of that apartment.

  Instead, he sits down across from Adam.

  “What do you remember about last night?” Adam asks. Beck shrugs, mind automatically flickering back to waking up in the street. He recalls the thunder crashing over his head, icy rain pounding his skin. He recalls remembering what his grandmother told him once, that when it storms the angels are battling in Heaven.