by Eli Lang
Micah took a small step back, rocking on his heels like I’d slapped him. He was flushed and flustered. “I thought . . . I mean, when we had that . . . thing, at my apartment, when you pretty much told me to go and get Bellamy, be a better boyfriend, I thought . . . we had a moment there? Like friends?”
I crumpled my brow up, frowning. I was seriously confused. “We did.”
“So . . . don’t you think that might have been a good time to tell me you were . . . what, gay? Bi?”
I shrugged. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a label for me, but then, I hadn’t ever really searched for one, either. I liked what I liked. When I liked it, which wasn’t often. “When? In the middle of your crisis, I should have been, ‘Oh, by the way, sometimes I like dick’?”
He took a full step back this time, horrified. “Maybe not like that.”
I sighed and slumped into myself. “It’s not about that, anyway. Not about . . .” I waved my hand. “Dick,” I finished, softer. Well, this could not get more embarrassing.
A sigh escaped him, and he nodded. “I know.” He brushed his hand back through his hair, letting the short strands fall over his fingers. It startled me, how familiar the gesture was. So similar to the one I did when I was stressed, or nervous. It was a common gesture, I supposed, but there was something about the line of his hand, the way he tugged his hair, that reminded me of . . . me. “I . . . You know what I went through, with Bellamy. I guess maybe I thought you might want to tell me about yourself? In solidarity?” He held up his hand. “But you’re right. It isn’t any of my business.”
He started to turn away, and I reached out and grabbed his arm, making him turn back to face me.
“Micah,” I started, but then I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“I’m not your little brother,” he said, gently. “I’m your friend.”
I nodded, even though that stung in an odd, semisweet way. Like it was wonderful and terrible at the same time, to be made to acknowledge that. “I didn’t think it would matter.”
Micah smiled. “If it matters to you, then it matters.”
I was still holding his arm, and I let my hand drop. I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Also, Quinn.” His smile went wide. “Nick? Holy shit.” He reached out and tapped my shoulder playfully. “Well done, man.”
I snorted. “Like you can talk.”
“Well.” He puffed up a little bit, his shoulders going straighter. I loved how proud he was of Bellamy. Not, I knew, because Bellamy was rock star attractive, although he was. Or because Bellamy was famous. But because Micah loved Bellamy’s heart and his mind. And I liked that he wasn’t ever afraid to show how much.
We stood there, grinning like fools for a second. Then Micah sobered. “Did Eric know?”
I took a deep breath. “About Nicky? Or about . . .?”
“Either.”
I shook my head.
“Why not? You know he wouldn’t have cared.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry and tight. “I met Nick right before Eric died. And . . . before that, I hadn’t ever met anyone I liked enough that it seemed important to tell Eric. I wasn’t ashamed,” I added quickly. “I’m not. And I’m not in the closet. But it didn’t ever seem important. I didn’t think . . . there would ever be anyone. And if there was, I figured I could tell him then.”
Micah opened his mouth, but then he stopped himself and shut it. It didn’t matter. I knew exactly what had been about to pop out. I couldn’t tell Eric now. There would be no future when I would get to introduce my brother to someone I was dating and try to explain my sexuality to him. There wouldn’t ever be a conversation like that now, because I had left it too late, and now the opportunity was gone for good.
There were a lot of things I wished I’d gotten to do or say with Eric. Things I regretted, things I wished I hadn’t held back. I hadn’t considered this in particular, though. But Micah was so right—Eric wouldn’t have cared who I slept with or dated, or how I went about it. And Nicky . . . Eric would have liked Nicky. He would have liked the way Nick made me smile. The way he made me feel easy and carefree, like everything was simple. I could have told Eric, whether or not anything more ever came of me and Nick after that tour. We could have talked about it.
And now we couldn’t.
“I wanted to be there for him,” I said, my voice almost a whisper, so low I wasn’t sure Micah would hear me. “I wanted to be the big brother. I didn’t want . . . to lay anything heavy on him.”
“This wasn’t a heavy thing,” Micah said. “He would have wanted to know.”
I knew he hadn’t said it to be cruel, but it cut, deeply. “I know.”
“I’m sorry.” Micah’s voice was harsh and rough.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. Oh god, Quinn. I didn’t mean to make it sound like . . . like you’d made a mistake with him.”
But it had sounded like that, and it was okay, because maybe . . . maybe I needed to hear it. Maybe I needed to be reminded of that. It was something I told myself, tried to be logical about—Eric had been his own person, a grown adult, and he hadn’t needed me to take care of him or baby him. But it didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. From wanting to have been there for him in any way possible. It had been my job, whether Eric was an adult or not. No matter how old he got. I was the big brother. Caring for him, making sure he was okay, was my job.
I swept my hand over my face, trying to gather myself. It didn’t work. “I don’t know how . . . how to be with anybody anymore,” I admitted, my voice low. Micah took a step forward. “I don’t think I want to have that . . . responsibility on me. Because I’m not good at it. At caring about someone. At taking care of someone. I forgot how.”
Micah touched his fingertips to my arm again. “Is this about Nick? Or something else?”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Neither.” I had to stop this. I couldn’t lay this on Micah, or anyone else. This was my own shit, for me to deal with.
“Quinn,” he said, drawing out my name.
I gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long day and it’s getting to me.”
He nodded slowly, but he still looked skeptical. Like he was trying to peer through me and decide whether I was telling the truth. “You’re good at taking care of people, Quinn. You take care of me all the time.” He waved his hand around, taking in the studio, but maybe he meant more the band, and the way I’d gotten him the job, and Bellamy.
I didn’t think that was really true. Micah took care of himself. He was talented and he made things work for himself. I didn’t have anything to do with that. But instead of arguing with him, I reached out again, this time to gather him up into a tight hug. I didn’t think I’d ever hugged him before, or touched him in a way that could really be considered close. Not even at Eric’s funeral. We’d shaken hands, and done an awkward standing-close-to-each-other-but-leaving-space thing. But this felt right, and Micah went along with the hug, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing the daylights out of me. I always forgot how big he was. I had proof right in front of me on a daily basis, but I still thought of him as a scrawny kid with big feet, who hadn’t yet grown into his body. But he was as tall as I was, and built, and he felt strong and warm when he held me.
We let go and stepped back from each other, and it was, if possible, even more awkward. I pushed at his shoulder, turning him around, pointing him toward his bedroom door. “Go. Go be with your boy. I’m fine, I promise.”
He nodded and, after one more backward look at me, went off to find Bellamy. I headed in the opposite direction. There was still soft guitar music spilling from the living room. I glanced in and saw Tuck by himself. He had his phone next to him, and he was talking, so I figured it must be on speaker. A second later I heard a light, high woman’s voice, and realized he was on the phone with his girlfriend. He laughed at whatever she was saying, and when his head til
ted up, he caught my eye. I smiled and waved, and he nodded back.
I kept walking to the room we shared. When had we all paired off so neatly? Well, when had everyone but me paired off so neatly? Not that it was always neat. Everyone was happy, though, for the most part. In love. Everyone had someone they could count on.
That had been me, not so long ago. I’d been the person everyone in Escaping Indigo counted on. I’d been the person Bellamy asked for when he was practicing a piece of music, the one Tuck looked to when he needed someone to listen to him when he got angry or frustrated. I’d been that guy, the guy holding stuff together, the guy people turned to. Now I wasn’t. It wasn’t a bad thing. Everyone needed that particular one or two people who held them together, who supported them, in a way no one else did. Tuck, Ava, Bellamy, and Micah all had that now. It was just that I didn’t. I didn’t have a person like that, and I wasn’t that person for anyone anymore, either.
I didn’t want to take away from that by being envious. I was thrilled for them. They were my friends, all of them, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing any of them this . . . alive and happy and just fucking glowing from within. Maybe when they’d gotten the record deal. But this was a different type of happiness. This was simple and overwhelming at the same time, lasting and deep and intrinsic to who they were as people. It was almost awing to see.
Wanting that wasn’t something I was sure of. It should be obvious, should probably be something everyone wanted. But I’d seen how much work it took. And I didn’t honestly know if I was capable of that.
It was dark, but I didn’t bother to turn on any lights in the bedroom. I shut the door, blocking out the light from the hall, but there was enough moonlight coming in through the windows that I could get undressed and find a pair of sleep pants to put on. I climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up over me.
Trying not to think about the things Micah had said was impossible. Micah was right. I should have told Eric, if for no other reason than it was a part of me, and he should have been the person to know all those parts of me. But I hadn’t, and now I never could. Just one more way I’d fucked up with him.
Not thinking about Nicky wasn’t something I could do, either. Nicky, his weight on me, his tongue in my mouth, the way his fingers dug into my shoulders. How much I wanted it to happen again. And how nervous it made me. Because it felt different this time. It felt like a conscious thing—not a purely physical attraction, not something brought on by proximity. But something we might, consciously, carefully, decide to try again. Maybe it was because this would be the second time. Maybe it was because this time it was more deliberate. Maybe it was because, being together again, by accident, felt a tiny bit like fate.
I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. It took a long time.
In the morning, when I walked into the kitchen to grab a yogurt for breakfast, Micah met me with a cup of coffee, done with exactly the amount of milk and sugar I liked.
“I’m sorry,” he said, soft enough that probably no one else could hear. Ava was sitting at the table, and Bellamy was at the island, watching us. I doubted Micah had told Bellamy what I’d said—he wouldn’t have—but I bet Bellamy had some idea of what had happened anyway.
I took the coffee out of his hands, wrapped mine around the hot mug. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”
Micah shook his head, more at himself than at me. “No. I mean, I thought about it. Eric . . . he wouldn’t have cared. Like, that stuff, it didn’t mean anything to him. He was . . .” He waved his hand in the air, almost over his head, and I got what he meant. Eric had been . . . different. Wrapped up so tightly in music it was like sometimes I couldn’t see the person underneath. Like he had existed on a separate level, and normal human things weren’t part of his day-to-day. Like Micah had said, stuff like that wouldn’t have bothered him because it wasn’t in his realm of thought.
“I messed up in a lot of ways with him.” I didn’t mean the way Eric had been—I hadn’t ever wanted him to change, hadn’t ever wanted him to be someone else.
Micah sighed. “Bellamy says I have a habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
I glanced over at Bellamy, who was very carefully staring at his piece of toast. But I caught him watching us out of the corner of his eyes. I turned back to Micah. “You mean, he thinks that because you stuck your nose in his business.”
Micah shrugged. “Probably.”
“Worked out pretty well for him, didn’t it?”
Another small shrug, and a slightly embarrassed smile. “I guess it did.”
I patted his shoulder and raised the coffee cup in thanks. “Don’t worry about it, okay? Don’t think about it again. I’m fine.”
Micah didn’t look completely convinced, but he nodded reluctantly, and when I moved around the island, he went back to Bellamy. They started up a hushed conversation, heads close together.
I went over to the table and sat down next to Ava. She didn’t pick her gaze up from where she was contemplating her half-full mug.
“Gonna drink the rest of that?” I asked, half-curious and half-nudging her to do it.
“I know,” she said, sounding almost annoyed. She really wasn’t a morning person.
“You recording drums today?”
She shook her head, the movement exaggerated. Then she straightened her shoulders and stared right at me. “Hey. I caught you kissing Nicky in the studio yesterday.” A slow smile crept across her face.
God, my cheeks must be on fire. If Bellamy didn’t know before, he sure knew now. I was desperately glad there wasn’t anyone else in the kitchen to overhear her.
“Yeah, you did.”
She blinked, and I hoped the caffeine was kicking in. “You going to go for that?” she asked, only a bit softer.
I pulled in a deep breath. “I don’t really . . . We’re only here for a few more days.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I was pretty sure she was waking up now. At least a little. She took a long sip of her coffee. “And we only live a couple hours away from him.” She lowered her voice some more.
I shook my head. “Ava . . . I’m not . . .” I loved Ava. She was . . . this constant fixture in my life. Not in a way that meant I could take her for granted, but she’d placed herself in my path and had never stepped out of it. And I’d never tried to walk around her. Had never wanted to. I knew things about her—the way she brushed her teeth before she washed her face, the way she took a long time to wake up, the way she always tapped her kick drum twice, once soft, once hard, to get a feel for the sound before she played, the particular type of green salsa she liked on her tacos—that only a handful of other people knew. I’d lived with her for months at a time, taken care of her, gotten her to work on schedule, made sure she had whatever she needed. We were close in ways I couldn’t begin to describe. But we didn’t really talk. I didn’t really talk to anyone. It wasn’t my thing. And I didn’t think I could start doing it here and now, either.
“You are,” she said, quickly, although I was pretty sure she had no idea how I’d been trying to end that sentence. I didn’t know. “You deserve something good, Quinn. You deserve a little bit of happiness that’s just yours.”
She stood up, not giving me any chance to reply. She wandered over to the coffee maker, running her hand across first Bellamy’s shoulders, then Micah’s, on her way. She filled up her cup, dumped in an ungodly amount of sugar, and headed straight down the stairs to the studio.
I glanced over at the guys. Bellamy raised his eyebrows at me. Micah was hiding a laugh behind his hand. “I love her,” he mumbled, and Bellamy leaned over and kissed his forehead.
I might as well head to the studio too. I told Micah and Bellamy I’d meet them there, and made my way down the stairs. Music was already drifting up from below, which was unusual. Someone must have left a door open somewhere, because the place was otherwise pretty well soundproofed. I couldn’t tell if the music was Rest in Peach or someone from Escaping Indigo. It was muffl
ed and indistinct, and I followed where it was loudest, until I came to the closer recording room. Escaping Indigo, then. As I came up, someone shut the door. I could still hear the music, now that I was this close, but it was much softer. I stepped into the room with the soundboard, then shut the door behind me, closing all the sound in with me.
It was Tuck, playing around on a guitar. Ava was settling behind her drum set, placing her coffee by her high-hat pedal. She stayed quiet while Tuck played, moving her seat around, getting comfortable, and picking up her sticks. Then she found a measure where she could come in on the one. They played something I hadn’t ever heard before. I was pretty sure they were making it up mostly on the spot from the way they watched each other, careful of the other’s cues. It was a graceful, precarious dance, without words or even too many gestures. Without ever pausing, missing a beat, or stumbling. A practiced thing that was completely unpracticed. Something that went beyond body language and sound.
I turned away from that two-thirds of the band, and went to sit on the couch in the back of the room. But someone was already sitting there.
Nicky wasn’t watching Tuck and Ava. Or maybe he had been, but when I saw him, he was already staring right back at me. He patted the cushion beside him, and I moved without thinking, like he was a magnet. The couch was slightly elevated, so when you were sitting on it, you could still see over the soundboard. I stepped up, then sat beside him. Maybe not as close as his “come here” gesture had indicated, but pretty close.
“Are you not recording or something this morning?” I asked, because it was safe, and because I didn’t know what else to say.
He shook his head and threw me a smile. “No. I did scratch tracks last night. They’ll record over those today. Then I’ll do the final take later.”
“Shouldn’t you be there?” I realized, as soon as I said it, that it came out sounding like I wanted him to leave. I curled my hand into a fist on my thigh, willing myself not to say anything else and make everything awkward.