He sighs. “I’m not mad. Hell, I don’t have any right to be mad… it’s him, isn’t it?”
“Eryk?” I joke, trying desperately to make light of the intense moment.
Surprisingly, Brendan chuckles. “I knew that drag thing was a cover up.”
“Yeah, he’s secretly straight. Has been for years.”
Brendan laughs and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
“I wonder,” I say softly, “if things wouldn’t have turned out better with people if I’d just relaxed some. Being long distance with you drove me crazy. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you here, being my short distance boyfriend.”
“Things are never perfect.”
I wipe a speck of dust off the dash. “I keep trying to make them that way.”
He laughs again. “Yeah, you do, but that’s one of the great things about you.”
I scrunch my nose up and twist the steering wheel between my fingers. “Really?”
He reaches out a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, but it’s not a romantic gesture. Instead, it’s tender in an almost parental way. I smile at him and he grins back.
At the airport, I pull up to the check-in gates. He gives me a quick hug and I breathe it in, knowing there’s no guarantee we’ll run into each other again soon.
“Bye, Sydney,” he whispers into my hair.
I squeeze him tighter. “Bye. Sorry if I made you late.”
“Just getting to see you this morning would make it worth it.”
He lets go and climbs out, and I watch as he pulls out his suitcases and disappears through the glass doors. A car honks somewhere behind me in the congested mess of cars, and I put my attention back on getting home.
I spend half the ride yawning into my hand. Visions of coffee pots and TV remotes dance in front of my eyes.
“Just a little longer,” I murmur to myself.
My phone rings and I try to reach for it, but my bag is all the way in the backseat. Frustrated, I give up. I can only hope it’s not Brendan calling to ask me to pick him up because he missed his flight.
After pulling into my parking spot, I check it. The number is unknown. Student debt collectors, maybe? Did I forget to pay my loans this month? I don’t have those on auto pay and sometimes they slip my mind.
I shove the phone back into my backpack. I’m not dealing with loans right now. I’m not dealing with anything right now. In fact, maybe I’ll skip the TV and go right back to bed.
Eryk sits on the couch, already living out my plans with Comedy Central and a steaming mug of joe sitting in front of him.
“Hey,” he says, his voice sounding feeble and weak.
“Hi.” I stretch my arms over my head and walk into the kitchen to pour myself a cup from the half full pot. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time I get out the half and half, swirl it into the coffee, then put it back in the fridge. When I look up, his eyes fall to the carpet.
I wrap my hands around the cup and join him on the couch.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he says, finally looking at me.
I nudge his leg with my toe. “Thanks. We’re not trying to hurt you or be mean. We’re really worried about you. Especially Crystal.”
“Everything I’m doing is normal.” He avoids my eyes when he says that, looking at the coffee table instead.
I purse my lips. His statement is a point to be argued, but I won’t do it right now. At the moment, all that interests me is stretching my legs out and half sleeping while I stare at the television screen.
“Crystal said you took Brendan to the airport.”
“Yeah.” I take a sip of coffee. “What? No ‘good riddance’?”
Eryk’s shoulders lift a millimeter and for the first time, I notice just how tired he looks.
“Where is Crystal?” I ask.
“She said something about a hike with someone named Sean.”
“Bean? Astin?”
“I’m sure it was one or the other.”
I smile at him, glad to have our old joking mood inserted into the conversation.
Someone knocks on the door, interrupting the moment.
“Ugh.” Eryk groans and lets his head flop back. “If it’s Dominica from down the hall again, I’m going to freak out.”
“Why?”
“She’s fund-raising for her school. I already gave her, like, twenty dollars, but she keeps coming back.”
“Tell her to get a job,” I giggle.
“Since when do you advocate child labor?”
I set my coffee down. “I’m kidding.”
“Can you make her go away?” he whines.
“I’ll give her the change from under the couch cushions.” I stand up, yanking my tank top down so ten-year-old Dominica doesn’t have to be exposed to a grown woman’s bare stomach so early in the morning.
Pushing my bangs out of my eyes, I open the door without looking through the peep hole. With it halfway open, I halt. All I can do is stare at the person standing in front of me.
“Is it her?” Eryk calls. “I’ll pay her a dollar to go down to the store and get us some skim milk.”
“I can get your milk,” Simon says. Surely it’s a joke, but he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
“Uh,” I mutter, still staring at him. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and there’s stubble on his cheeks. His skin is slightly tanner too. Wherever his “business” trip was, it must have been in a place with beaches.
“That sounds like a man,” Eryk suspiciously calls.
I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “It-it is a man. It’s Mr… it’s Simon.”
The corner of Simon’s mouth perks up the slightest bit, and I’m tempted to lick the entire length of his lips… and then push him down the stairs.
“Invite him in!” Eryk calls.
I still can’t move.
Simon peeks over my shoulder. “Sounds like your roommate wants me to come in.”
I suck in a breath and step aside. “Okay. Why the hell not?”
He waits patiently in the hall while I close the door, then follows me to the living room. Eryk is sitting up straight, beaming at us. “Oh, hello,” he says like he’s a regular debutante. “So nice to see you again.”
“You too, Eryk.”
“Can we get you anything?” he asks, still using his phony I’m-The-Perfect-Host voice.
“No, thank you. I just came by to speak to Sydney.”
I grab my coffee mug from the table and because it’s cooled down, swig half of its contents. I look at Simon over the rim of the mug. He looks back at me, then glances at Eryk. Eryk looks at him and then stares at me. Simon looks back at me… and I stare at my coffee.
Simon speaks first. “Can we do it, um…”
“In private,” Eryk offers.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Sure. This way.” I turn my back to him and head for my room. Everything about the living room and hallway is different with Simon in them. I feel as if we’re swimming underwater.
God, why is he here?
As much as I want to kick him out and tell him to never return, I also want to beg him to stay. This is exactly the reason I needed to separate myself from him in the first place — to get a clear head about things.
And now he’s intruded in my apartment, and just like with work, taken away the sacredness from my own home.
I’m pretty angry by the time we get to my room. I’m also slightly embarrassed over the unmade bed and the clothes from yesterday laying on the floor. Nothing says I’m a kid and not as mature as you than a messy bedroom.
Walking across the floor, I quickly kick a pair of socks under the bed, hoping I’ve spared Simon’s eyes from at least one humiliating object. Or, rather, spared myself from the judgment stemming from him seeing my crap all over the place.
I sit down at the vanity with my arms crossed. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Only his eyes move, sweeping across the room and taki
ng in my bed, my shelves of books and DVDs, and pictures of friends from high school and college.
“Speak,” I say, the word coming out a tad harsher than I meant it to.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Hello to you too.”
I angrily shake my head, my fingernails digging into the flesh of my arms. I have to keep my wrists locked in front of me, because if I don’t, I run the risk of reaching out and touching him. No matter how annoyed I am with him, he’s still just as attractive as he was the first day I saw him. Maybe even more so now that we’ve had sex.
“Don’t do that,” I say, partly to him and partly to myself. “Don’t act like everything is normal between us.”
“Why did you quit?”
“I got a different job. I want to be on set.”
He narrows his eyes. “That’s all?”
I sigh in exasperation. “No, that’s not all. Of course that’s not all!” I wave my hands around like a crazy person. “Look, I’ve been doing a good deal of thinking since I met you, and one thing I’ve figured out is that I ask a lot from men. I don’t want to do that with you anymore. It’s exhausting, and it doesn’t make either one of us happy. So I’m putting space between us, and just like I’m going to be me, I’m going to let you be you. You have…stuff. Reasons for being the way you are. We all do. I get that. But I’m not your therapist. It’s not my job to try and guess why you do the things you do. Why you’re so hot and cold.”
I pause for a breath. “That seems like it’s the only right thing to do. I’m not going to force you into anything… Simon.”
The name still feels slightly odd on my tongue, but I also love it. A big part of getting over him will be erasing the sweetness of his first name from my memory.
“Wow,” he breathes. He takes his hands from his pockets and walks across the floor, studying the DVD titles on the wall.
So many times I’ve fantasized about him being in this room with me, and now that it’s actually happening, it’s nothing like I hoped it would be. For one thing, I imagined it cleaner… and maybe with some candles lit.
Such is life.
He turns back to me, his eyes set on my face. “I wasn’t expecting any of that from you.”
“Well… there you have it. Do what you will with it.”
He glances down, and when he looks back up, his face is softer. “I’ve been spending my own time thinking as well.”
“Huh.” I’m curious of course, but I don’t want to appear too interested. If I want to leave this exchange with at least part of my heart still intact, I need to get him out of my apartment as soon as possible.
“It’s funny that you say you need to stop asking so much from people.” He pauses, his eyes flitting around as he gives some thought to his words. “I have things I want to change about myself too. I don’t like the direction I’ve been going in, Sydney. I haven’t liked it for years. I just haven’t known how to change course.”
I watch him, waiting for more.
“You made me want to,” he says.
My heart lifts at that, the warmth flowing out of it like it’s a flower blooming for the first time in years. God, I don’t want it to be that way, but it is.
“Can I take you somewhere?” he asks.
I warily tilt my head. “Where?”
“To my house. I want to show you something.”
I make a show out of ruefully laughing. “What’s going to happen if we’re alone at your house?”
“We’re alone in your bedroom,” he replies. I flush under the intense tone. “And I like flannel, by the way.” His eyes flick up and down my legs.
I gulp. “Okay. Let’s go. I need to change first.”
He nods and, surprisingly, goes to wait in the hallway. I shut the door halfway, aware of his presence on the other side the entire time I pull clothes out of the wardrobe. I excavate a pair of tight blue jeans and an old high school volleyball t-shirt and yank them on, my hands shaking slightly the entire time.
I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I need to be careful. Just because Simon says he’s ready to chart a different course, doesn’t mean the two of us are sailing in the same direction. Hell, we could be in different seas.
I open the door all the way. He’s standing right where I left him, like a watch dog guarding my room. We silently look at each other and I resist the urge to just throw myself into his arms. If I go ahead and give myself over physically, all the things I want to say will be forgotten. Then we might end up back in this vicious cycle that’s so hard to escape from.
But, God, I want him in my bed. Smelly clothes on the floor be damned.
“I’m not a plaything,” I say. The words come out gentler than I had expected them to. Or maybe that’s the fear in me showing. His presence is tearing down my defenses, just like it always does.
“I know,” he responds in a voice so soft it curls my toes.
I study him, trying to figure out whether he truly means it or not. Slowly, I nod. I believe him. He’s made mistakes, just like everyone. And maybe he is trying to be better but is just having trouble figuring out how to do that.
He leads the way, taking me down the hall. I can’t help but stare at his back, the broad shoulders and tall frame. I press my lips together and suck in a breath through my nose. God, how I want to touch him again; to relive what happened in his dad’s library…
He stops so suddenly that I bump into him. A second later, he’s rushing forward into the living room.
“Eryk!” he shouts.
And then I see what made him stop. Eryk is laying on the floor next to the coffee table, rolled over on his side. His eyes are closed and he looks unnaturally pale.
Simon drops to his knees next to him and lifts his head. I try to take a step forward, but my veins are full of ice, holding me frozen in the spot where I stand.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask in a weak, scared voice that sounds nothing like my own.
“I don’t know.” Simon lightly smacks Eryk’s cheek. “Eryk! Can you hear me? Wake up.”
I look at the coffee table only a couple feet away from them. “Did he hit his head?”
“I don’t know.” He lifts Eryk’s head into his lap, and Eryk doesn’t so much as sigh or flutter an eyelash. An icy hand squeezes around my heart, killing all hope left in it.
What if he’s dead?
Simon checks for a pulse and then bends his face close to Eryk’s.
“He’s breathing. Sydney, call an ambulance.”
I push my feet across the room and grab my backpack. Thank God I always put it in the same front pocket. My fingers shake as I dial 911.
The dispatcher comes on.
“My roommate is unconscious,” I quickly say. “I don’t know what happened.”
I glance over at the floor, where Simon is snapping in front of Eryk’s ear. I rattle off the address and apartment number and hang up.
“An ambulance is on the way,” I tell him.
“Hand me a pillow.”
I grab one from the couch and pass it over. He slips it under Eryk’s feet, propping them up high.
“What are you doing?”
“This helps get blood flow back to the brain.”
Eryk’s eyes open slightly and I gasp. “Simon!” I say.
Eryk blinks groggily then closes his eyes again.
“Hey!” Simon says, grabbing his shoulders. “Stay awake! Eryk, can you hear me? Stay awake.”
Eryk mumbles something incoherent. It sounds like babbling coming from a one-year-old.
“Sydney.” Simon points at the kitchen. “Get a glass of water.”
I clear the living room in a few leaps. The trickle from the fridge seems to move glacially slow. When the glass is half full, I carry it back to Simon and crouch down next to his side. Eryk’s eyes are almost fully open, but there’s something fuzzy about them. He looks around the living room like he’s uncertain about where he is.
“Can you drink this?” Simon asks.
“How long was he unconscious?” the tall one asks Simon.
“We don’t know. We were out of the room for not even ten minutes. When we came back in, we found him like this.”
The short EMT begins talking to Eryk, shining a light in his eyes and asking him his name. Simon backs out of the way, coming to stand next to me in the hallway by the door. His hand slips into mine, and I weave my fingers through his, not giving the action any thought.
Eryk’s awake. He’s not dead.
The tall EMT comes over to us. “He’s speaking, but we’re going to take him to the hospital just to get him checked out. Since you don’t know how long he was unconscious, it’s best not to take any chances. We’ll take him to Hollywood Presbyterian.”
“We’ll go there now.” Simon squeezes my hand and we move out of the way. The medics put Eryk on the cot, strapping him in before lifting him up and carrying him down the stairs. A few neighbors stand in the hall, watching with great interest. I snatch my backpack and pull on my shoes, hopping towards the door while doing so.
“Come on.” The words are a half gasp, half sob.
Simon goes ahead of me and I follow, remembering last minute to shut and lock the door. My hand shakes against the railing and I try to focus on each step.
Make it down the stairs, then across the courtyard. That’s all I have to do. One thing at a time.
The ambulance is pulling away by the time we get to where Simon’s car is parked on the street. He’s got the key in the ignition and the engine going before I’ve barely buckled my seat belt. I pull my phone out and send Crystal a text detailing everything that just happened.
After pressing send, I close my eyes and drop my head against the head rest.
“It’s going to be all right,” Simon says.
I open my eyes and look over at him. “Thank you.”
“What for?” He takes a turn, almost running a red.
My eyes burn. “For being there,” I croak.
He glances over at me, and I know he understands what I can’t find the strength to say. If it had been just me there, I wouldn’t have known how to act or what to do. I would have just fallen apart.
Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) Page 47