Chapter Nine #2
He said it gently, so River couldn’t have said why it made him shut his mouth so hard. “Yeah?”
“I’m a big boy. I can entertain myself for a few hours.”
He really had to put it like that, didn’t he? “I don’t want to be a bad host.”
“You’re not.” Jem stood up. “You’re a normal fake boyfriend hanging out at home. So go do your music thing. I’ll find some paper and do a lesson plan or raid your fridge or something. Maybe both.”
Shit, yeah, it was almost one o’clock. “But—”
“You are literally paying me to hang out with you doing the same thing I’d be doing at home. Let me make lunch.”
I would pay you to do literally nothing, River thought. I would pay you to sit beside me while I write you love songs for the rest of my life. I would pay you to fall in love with me, even though the whole time I’d worry you didn’t mean it. I would do it anyway if it meant you’d stay.
He didn’t say any of that. He just said, “Okay,” and showed Jem where the music room was in case he needed River for something.
And then he sat down with his guitar and entered a fugue state during which he composed an instrumental etude inspired by the soft curve of Jem’s neck when he lay on the couch, a patter song enumerating all the things River wanted to give him but hadn’t yet, and a protest song about people who wouldn’t just let other people like things.
“It’s after four,” Jem said, poking his head in.
River blinked. This wasn’t the first time Jem had interrupted; there was a plate on the table with crumbs on it that hadn’t been there earlier, along with two empty glasses of water, so apparently Jem had brought him lunch.
River had vague memories of him asking if River needed anything while River was facedown in his guitar.
He hoped Jem hadn’t come in during the third verse of the patter song.
“Oh shit.” He tried to blink his way out of the brain fog. “Do you need me to take you home, or—”
“Do you want me to make dinner?” Jem asked at the same time.
“You cook?” River asked.
“I mean, I prefer not to starve, so….”
“Marry me.”
Jem laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes on dinner.”
Can I take that as a yes on marriage? “It’s a yes,” River said. As if in emphasis, his stomach growled. “I can help?”
“You can keep me company and stay out of the way,” Jem offered.
River knew better than to say no to a deal that sweet. He grabbed his guitar and made to follow, but an idea occurred to him halfway down the hallway. “Be right there,” he said and pulled out his phone.
It only took a minute to arrange what he wanted. Then he shoved his phone back into his pocket and pulled up a stool at the kitchen island to watch Jem work.
“Do you take requests?”
River did a quick tuning check. “Depends if you flatter me.” As though he’d ever miss an opportunity to affect Jem the way he’d been affected earlier. Of course, that would make it difficult for him to cook, but they could order takeout.
“You want me to give you a challenge, or am I limited to the Flat Tires’ greatest hits?”
River played a few bars of “Dueling Banjos” just to be a dick. “Do your worst.”
He spent the evening singing bad power ballads in the kitchen while Jem cooked and occasionally joined in, head thrown back as he immersed himself in the moment. That segued seamlessly into setting the guitar aside—normally a hated necessity—as they ate and talked, guessing at each other’s secrets.
“Your favorite album—that you haven’t written yourself,” Jem amended. “Those don’t count.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m that self-absorbed,” River teased. “Go on, then. Guess.”
“Hmm.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s got to be something old—”
River kicked halfheartedly at him under the table.
“Like Blink 182—”
River clutched his chest and pretended to fall off the barstool. Jesus Christ. “I am crumbling into dust.”
Jem propped his chin on his hands. “Californication,” he said finally.
“Not old enough,” River said wryly. “Although I want it on the record that my choice is actually older than I am.” He paused for a moment. “It’s Rumours.”
“Oh, of course.” Jem smiled. “An album made by a band in the middle of a breakup.”
“Hey!” River protested. “It’s not a breakup album.
I mean, okay, the relationships within the band were disintegrating, but they made a lot more good music after this.
” He paused, trying to organize his thoughts.
“The record was my dad’s, actually. I still have it.
Listening to it made me feel close to him.
But that’s only half of what I love about it. ”
“Tell me.”
“It’s—timeless, I guess. The album tells a story, and the story resonates. Almost every song has a powerhouse lyric that hits you like a punch, even almost fifty years later.”
He didn’t realize he was rhapsodizing until he caught Jem’s fond, indulgent expression. “So how come you didn’t play me one of those?”
River huffed. “You think I’m going to be out here trying to cover Stevie or Christine?”
Jem blinked at him. “I don’t know what that means.”
River decided to believe he was joking. “It’s not an easy album to cover with just one guitar,” he said finally. “Or just one voice, really. There’s a ton of great harmonies. I used to listen to ‘Songbird’—”
He closed his mouth before he could finish the sentence.
Jem reached across the table and touched his hand. “Yeah?”
I used to listen to that song and wonder what it was like to know everything was okay just because I was with the one person who could make that true.
Shaking his head, River cleared his throat. “I love to play it, but I could never get it right. The emotion of it. Great song, though.”
Mercifully, Jem let him leave it at that, and the conversation turned to favorite childhood meals as they finished their dinners.
“Did you figure out my sport yet?” Jem asked when they were loading plates into the dishwasher.
River sighed dramatically. He hated to admit to being stumped, but…. “I don’t know. It’s not a team sport, and it’s not swimming or track or weight lifting or shot put or long jump or any of that stuff. So unless it’s, like, golf—”
Jem froze and his ears went red.
Oh. River’s chest filled with glee. “It’s golf?”
“Why are you saying it like that?” Jem complained with the world’s most adorable pout.
“Golf is barely a sport.”
“Hey!” Jem laughed and tossed a detergent pod at him. River caught it and put it in the compartment. “It is too. It’s on ESPN and everything.”
“Yeah, during the daytime, when no real sports are around to take up valuable air time.”
“What do you know about real sports, River the Flat-Assed?”
River gasped in mock outrage. “Jem! I can’t believe you would use that against me.”
“Don’t start it if you don’t want to finish it, Mr. Golf Isn’t a Real Sport.”
What a little shit. River was keeping him forever.
Unfortunately, their time for the night was up unless River wanted to relinquish driving duties. “All right, all right. Did you get your lesson plan stuff? The sun’s going down. I gotta take you home before my eyeballs turn into pumpkins this time.”
But what if I didn’t, River thought.
Tonight he couldn’t walk Jem to his apartment; there were no visitor parking spots open. He had to make do with watching him go into the building, with biting his lip waiting to see if Jem would look back over his shoulder.
He did.
But what if he didn’t have to look back over his shoulder to wave goodnight to River one last time, because he wasn’t leaving, because he lived at River’s house and slept in his bed and would wake up next to him in the morning with his face mashed into River’s shoulder and one leg slung over his?
It was too soon for a thought like that, and even River, with his zero-percent success rate in dating, knew it, but now that he’d started thinking it, he couldn’t stop.
Eric and Ward had partners, families, places and people they belonged to that weren’t River.
River had his mother, sure, but she still refused to leave Arizona for more than a week at a time.
He’d never really had anyone else. Just his mom and the band.
And he wouldn’t have the band much longer, because they wanted to spend time with their real families.
If River didn’t want to be left behind, he needed to make a family of his own.
And he thought maybe Jem was in the same boat.
He didn’t have any family close by. His friends were all married.
It was fate, right? Well, fate and Amanda’s meddling.
River might not have much experience dating, but he knew a sign from the universe when he saw one.
He wasn’t about to take this gift for granted.
Jem didn’t notice anything amiss until he put his phone in his pocket as he left the house Monday morning. Out of habit, he glanced at his notifications first. One text message—from River.
Enjoy your morning commute, sunshine.
That was… sweet but odd. Jem heart-reacted the message, put his phone back in his pocket, and reached for his keys.
Even then, it didn’t register until he was walking through the parking lot on his way to the bus stop to get to Tori’s and something about the topography of the lot just seemed… odd.
Jem paused midstep and ran his gaze over the assembled vehicles. No, he was losing his mind. Nothing was amiss.
Except that wasn’t his car in his spot.
On autopilot, Jem approached, reaching for his phone as he did. Did he need to call the police? Where was his Prius? It might not currently be working, but it was still his. He didn’t have a….
A white Subaru SUV with something taped under the driver’s-side doorhandle.
Numbly, Jem reached for the envelope and opened it.
Good morning sunshine! Don’t call the cops. Your car has gone to a better place (an auto shop where it will be repaired). It will be returned to you in due time. But please accept this Subaru as an apology for forgetting your present yesterday.
Xxx River
“Oh my God?” Jem said out loud.
How the fuck?