CHAPTER 35
TRENT
I knock on the door to the president’s suite, still surprised that the girl at the front desk gave me access to it. I guess it’s handy that I know Kian’s birthday, since that was the only question she asked me.
I wait with my heart in my throat, because what the fuck am I doing here? I should be downstairs, in my hotel room with my boyfriend, enjoying the comfort he brings me. Not knocking on the door to my ex-boyfriend’s suite.
But after dinner, and then forty-five minutes of pacing the room, Hunter suggested maybe I should do it. He told me I'm subconsciously looking for closure where I didn’t receive it before. And that’s it. That’s got to be it, because it can’t be anything more. I’ll close the door on that chapter of my life and I will finally be able to move on.
I also need to know why Kian never reached out when I told his boyfriend that Mitch was sick. Mitch wanted Kian to come home, but he never called. He never showed up. But Mitch never gave up hope.
I can hear someone on the other side of the door so I knock again, really hoping that it’s Kian and not his boyfriend. That would make it awkward to explain what I’m doing here.
The door cracks open, and I’m hit with a stench of booze so strong I have to take a step back. Kian’s eyes are bleary where he stares at me through the crack in the door. His heavy mouth breathing puffing enough alcohol off his breath alone, I’m surprised I’m not drunk.
Kian doesn’t drink, he never has. That’s always been my M.O. The smell of alcohol on his breath takes me back to a time I try to forget. The hazy memories flood to the forefront of my mind until I force them back in the box where they belong. That’s not me anymore.
“Hi, Ki.”
The nickname slips out of my mouth like old times, and he opens the door a little more, staring at me with furrowed brows.
“Is now a bad time? I can come back.” I gesture over my shoulder to the elevators.
He huffs an annoyed laugh, but pushes the door all the way open and steps out of my view. I guess that means I’m invited in.
The suite is nice, nicer than anything I’ve been in. The wall of windows across the living room provides a stunning view of the snow capped mountains. The stars are shining brightly above, making the whole scene feel like something out of a movie. But this isn’t a movie, and it doesn’t have a happy ending for us.
There’s an empty bottle of whiskey tipped over on the floor in front of the couch. Kian lies on his side on the ground beside the bottle and yanks the blanket off the couch, covering himself up with it.
He’s drunk. I should leave. Nothing good will come out of this. Nothing.
But I’m a weak man when it comes to Kian.
I sit down beside him, lifting his head gently and resting it in my lap. He doesn’t fight against it as he sinks into my touch. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling the curly strands dancing across my fingers in a motion so similar to how it used to be.
“How have you been?” I cringe at my own question, because small talk is already not my forte. But it feels forced trying to make small talk with Kian.
“I’ve been okay. Busy working and all that. You?” His words are slightly slurred, but he’s talking to me, so that has to count for something.
“I’m doing good, really good.” I miss you. I love you. Please come home.
“Yeah, still writing?”
I shake my head, then realize he can’t see it. “No, not really.”
Not anything like before. Not poetry with underlying feelings of love for you. My words now are formed together from pain, longing, and need.
“Why?” His voice is quieter now, like it’s sucking up all his energy to talk.
“I lost my muse.” And an artist without his muse is like a cloudy day. Gloomy, and knowing that better days are coming, but you never know when.
“Where did your muse go?”
I pause for a moment, trying to think of what to say. I had all of this planned out, what I would say to Kian when I got the chance. But all the planning in the world couldn’t prepare me to look down at his wild curls and the defined line of his jaw.
“I missed you.” My mumbled words sound faint in the quiet room. I look down to see his eyes are closed, and his breathing remains steady.
How did I ever think I was going to be able to look at him and feel nothing? Well, that’s not right. I knew I would feel something, but I didn’t expect my feelings toward him to still be this strong.
It’s quiet, and his breathing is deep. He fell asleep because I took so long to answer.
I need to get up, and I need to get back to my boyfriend. I came up here to get closure, and I’m obviously not going to be able to do that while he’s like this.
My eyes slowly slide shut, the weight of the day slowly dissipating while the lull of his breathing coaxes me to follow him under…
“Trent?” Kian’s voice cracks, and I have to lift my head off the couch to look down at him. The crick in my neck from the uncomfortable position sends an ache through my head. He rolled over at some point and turned his body up toward the ceiling. The wild mass of curls framing his head like a halo. His bright green eyes are beautiful, even with the remnants of sleep left in them.
I lean forward, like I’ve done so many mornings before to press a kiss to his pouty, pink lips.
Wait. No.
Shit.
What time is it?
I look around frantically for a clock while Kian sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I fell asleep. I fell asleep with my ex-boyfriend. Hunter is going to be so disappointed in me.
“I need to go.” I quickly stand up and rake my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my face and trying to gain back a little bit of the control that I lost.
“Wait– Trent–”
“I can’t, Kian. Okay? I can’t. ” I plead with him to understand, but the Kian in front of me isn’t the same man I used to love. He’s not the same man that laid his head on my lap last night and let me find comfort in him, if only for a miniscule moment.
“Then go , Trent. Fuck, I’m not going to beg you to stay here when it’s obvious you would rather be anywhere else. Just go,” he says. Which is also not like Kian. I’ve never heard him say the word fuck.
The chasm between us is too wide to bridge now, so I head for the door. We’re two different people, walking two different paths. But no. I need to know one thing before I walk out of here, because as soon as that door closes behind me, I’m done.
“Why did you never call Mitch?” I ask, turning back to look at him.
The nap did him some good, because he looks sober enough now to at least have a semi-decent conversation.
“Why would I?” he replies. “Neither of you wanted to talk to me, so I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“You blocked mine and Mitch’s numbers. How else were we supposed to contact you?”
He’s stubborn, so goddamn stubborn.
“If you wanted to talk to me, you would have found a way.”
“So even after I told your boyfriend what was going on with Mitch, you still didn’t reach out?” That pisses me the fuck off. Because how dare he? How dare he turn his back on the one man who saved us, who put clothes on our backs and food in our bellies?
He walks to the kitchen, but my temper has flared now and he’s not walking away without us having this conversation.
“Are you fucking serious Kian? What the fuck happened to you that you would do that to Mitch? I understand you hating me, I hate myself for what happened, but Mitch never deserved that from you. He needed you and you weren’t there.”
Kian keeps his back to me while he fetches himself a glass of water.
“You are so selfish,” I continue. “And you know what?” My face is red, my blood pumping hard through my chest. “Fuck you, Kian.”
His eyes widen, but I’m on a roll now, and I don’t care what I deconstruct in my path.
“I’ve watched you, you know? Living your life and doing all these great and amazing things. And while you were off gallivanting around the world, I was at home taking care of Mitch. Driving him to his appointments, making sure he had medicine, working twice as hard as everyone else so I could pay for a nurse to stay with him when I wasn’t able to.
“You are not the man that I loved. I don’t know what happened to him but this”–I wave my hand up and down in front of his body–“is not him. I thought we could talk. I thought I could explain myself to you. But you’ve made it obvious that you don’t care.”
I turn and walk back toward the door. My only goal is to leave this room and go back to my boyfriend. To let him hold me, comfort me, and tell me everything will be okay.
“Goodbye, Kian.”
I open the door, and wait as it shuts behind me. This isn’t the closure I needed, but it’s going to be the closest I’ll ever get. I have to accept that.
The sound of the door shutting is what spurs me to move to the elevators. When one door closes, another one opens.