45. Arlo
I can’t believe this day has come. For months, it’s been looming, part savior and part wraith.
I don’t look at my cleared-out room as I set my duffel by the door. No, I have to look at something far worse. Hota’s packed-up room and his sad, beautiful face.
I pull my shoulders back and stride through the bathroom we’ve shared for the past three years. The small room that holds so many memories. Some terrible, but mostly the best of my life.
Without knocking, I push into Hota’s room.
He’s sitting in the chair, my chair, with his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands.
“A lot of memories in that chair.”
“Yeah.” His voice is deeper than normal as though he’s been crying. His gaze is on the ground.
“A lot of memories in this room.”
He nods but still doesn’t look at me.
He’s been distant the past few months. I know something is going on with him, but he won’t let me in. I haven’t pushed. What right do I have? Especially after the way I’ve treated him.
“Look at me, Hota.”
His long, elegant hand wipes at his nose. “I can’t.”
My knees give, nearly buckling under my weight.
No. No. No.
I don’t want to leave Hota. No part of me does, but I can’t leave things like this. With no goodbye. With no… I don’t know what. Since I can’t fucking touch him and he can’t touch me.
Apparently, I have to be on the verge of a mental break or a broken skull to allow it, even for a little while.
Someone find a rock!
“Why not?” I try my best to keep the sting from my tone.
“If I look at you…” His jaw tightens, and his shoulders tense. He shakes his head. “Just go, Arlo.”
“No,” I snap. “Look at me."
His whole frame shakes. “If I look at you, I’ll tell you that I love you. If I look at you, I’ll throw myself into your fucking arms and hold you so tight, you won’t be able to breathe or leave.”
Goose bumps erupt along my spine. They run up my arm and down the backs of my legs. That is the goodbye I want. I don’t know what the repercussions will be, but I’ll pay them for this goodbye.
I make my voice as strong and as clear as I can.
“Then look at me, Hota.”
He blinks up at me. His dark, wet lashes cling together. He jumps to his feet and barrels at me.
My arms open. His chest crashes into mine a split second before his arms wrap me tight. I catch his momentum with a grunt and tie one arm over his shoulder while the other hooks around his ribs.
“Arlo!” His sob bursts against my neck, hot and soul-rending. It shakes his entire body. It shakes me to my core.
My fingers clutch at his back and dive into his hair, holding him close. For this moment, my uncle is nowhere in sight, overridden by Hota’s presence. By the trauma of extending the cord that binds us together for too many miles.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble against his shirt.
His face, buried in my neck, rocks back and forth. “No sorries, Arlo. No sorries. I love you too much to be sorry for anything.” He hiccups. “I’m so happy to know you. You are the best person I know. You are the most important person in my life. You will be, as long as I live.”
It’s my turn to cry. I burrow my face in his hair and cry like I haven’t cried since my parents and brother died. Only, somehow, this is worse. He’s still alive, and I still can’t be with him.
“Hota.” I swallow. “You are the best part of me.” I pull his hand from my back and place his hand over my heart. “You’re right here. Every second of every day. Forever.”
“Fuck.” He squeezes my shirt and presses into my skin.
I want to toss him over my shoulder and bring him with me. The hottest, biggest carry-on ever.
“When you hit it big, don’t forget about me,” Hota sniffles.
I grip the back of his head and pull him impossibly closer. “You’re the one going places.” To a school with the only guy he’s ever fucked and to the Olympic trials.
“I’m serious.”
“Me too.” I breathe him in and press my lips to his skin. It’s not a kiss as much as a mark of my devotion to this man. “We’ll talk, right? You’ll call me after you get settled?” Hysteria laces my voice.
“Yes, and you’ll call me too,” he demands.
“Yes.” I nod.
“Okay, do it.”
I shake my head and burrow deeper in his hold. His thighs brush mine, and our hearts thunder together. I take all the comfort he offers, the comfort he’s always offered, and store it deep. I know there will be none. Not where I’m going.
“You’ll miss the bus and your flight.” Hota’s voice is stronger now. Because it has to be for me. I know it’s only for me.
I press my cheek to his and drink in his warmth. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too.” He speaks the words against my skin. They seep into my soul.
I pull his arms from me, rub my forehead across his, and then turn and rush out the door toward a future that scares and excites me.