25. Hayden
Chapter 25
Hayden
Pope misses practice, Jules going to Ian and telling him Pope is so sick he can’t get out of bed. “Must be the flu that’s going around,” I pipe up, pretending to have just randomly overheard them instead of being the one who called Jules beforehand to tell him to do this.
Ian grumbles about his team getting sick and gives the guys a lecture about taking their goddamn vitamins before releasing them after practice. I force myself to stay as long as the team does, checking my phone between every task. Jules offers to go check on Pope for me, keeping his voice low to avoid any eavesdroppers, but I can’t stay here any longer without losing my mind. I thank him and promise to give him an update later before giving Maggie a longer-than-usual list of tasks and leaving.
Pope is still asleep when I get home, his hood up and the covers cocooned around him. It’s the same position he was in when I left, left cheek pressed to the pillow and all. He’s going on thirteen hours of sleep. Should I wake him? Does he need to pee? Drink water? I want him to get as much rest as his body demands, but I don’t want him getting sick because of it.
I decide to give him one more hour, sneaking out to the kitchen where my tablet and notepad are from this morning. I’ve been researching major depressive disorder. I’ve been keeping in mind that I can’t definitely make that diagnosis, but I figure if it’s something else, a lot of the same advice will still apply. I’ve found some good information on doctors and therapists in the area, but I’ve also found some amazing blogs written by people diagnosed with the disorder and people who love someone diagnosed with it.
I’m immersed in a blog post about creating action plans when movement to my left draws my attention. I lift my chin and find myself looking into pretty green eyes rimmed in red. His hair is a mess, sticking out of the front of his hood in tufts. God, he’s beautiful. “Hey, you.”
“Hey.” He rests his elbow on the counter, placing his cheek in his hand. “I think I missed practice.”
“Jules told Ian you’re sick with the flu. We bought you a few days.”
“There’s a game Wednesday.”
I shrug. “We’ll cross that bridge later.”
“Okay.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Drained. A little achy.” He rubs at his eyes. “Thirsty.”
“Hungry?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Not really.”
“Okay. Let’s handle the other ones, then. You want to take a warm bath? I could bring you some water to sip on.”
His teeth play with his bottom lip before he drops his gaze and asks, “Will you come with me?”
“In the bath? Sure. I’d love that.” I curl a finger beneath his chin, lifting it until he’s looking at me again. There’s still exhaustion etched on his face, but it’s not as bad as before. His eyes are a little brighter too, I think. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” He eyes the laptop, then the notepad. I don’t try to hide anything. There’s nothing here I’m ashamed of. His chest expands with a deep breath before he slides off the stool and nods toward the hall. “Meet you there.”
Worry gnaws at me as I gather the ice waters and a container of mixed fruit in case he manages to find his appetite. I try to keep the anxiety at bay, though. We have time. He’s safe for now. That’s what matters.
Pope looks up as I enter the bathroom, seeming to have gotten as far as taking his shirt off before collapsing onto the closed toilet lid. I place the water and fruit by the sink and start the water before reaching for him. His movements are slow, almost like he’s dazed, but he stands on his own as I slide his pants down to his ankles. He steps out on his own too, putting a hand on the wall to brace himself.
As I start stripping myself, he averts his eyes. “I usually can’t get hard when I’m like this. Just so you don’t, like, get your feelings hurt or something.”
“I don’t care about any of that right now, baby. Don’t worry.”
His lips move like he’s trying to form words before he just nods instead. His hands are shaking, so I don’t hand him the glass of water or fruit yet. Lucky for us, I’m a bit bougie when it comes to my baths, so I have a wooden shelf that fits over the sides. I have him get in before placing it down, adding both our water glasses and the fruit, then climbing in after him. With the two of us, the water is plenty full, so I turn the faucet off and chuckle as we awkwardly try to fit our limbs together in the slightly too small tub.
When he finally sinks back against my chest with a tired sigh, I hook my chin over his shoulder and grab one of the waters. “Here. Take a drink.”
His hands come up to grab it, but I don’t release the glass. He doesn’t complain, just shifting his fingers until he’s guiding me until the two of us are carefully tilting the glass against his lips. He drinks a few gulps before nudging the glass away.
It’s not until we’ve done that twice more and both eaten a few pieces of fruit that he says, “You don’t have to do that.”
“Take care of you?”
“Like I’m a kid or something. It’s silly.”
“Does it feel silly, or does it feel nice?”
He relaxes against me with a sigh. “Nice…”
“Then I’ll keep doing it until you tell me to stop. Besides, I like it too.”
“Really?”
“I’m a control-freak, remember?”
“But this isn’t sexual.”
“No, but it still makes me happy. I like knowing you’re okay. Knowing you’re taken care of.” I kiss his temple. “I also really like being the one to make those things happen, even when you are feeling fine and are capable of it yourself. It doesn’t matter if it’s a good or bad day, I’m going to cook you food and bring you water if it’s been too long since I’ve seen you have any and make sure you don’t forget your jacket. Sure, I’ll be more hands-off on your good days, but it’s all the same goal.”
“And that really makes you happy?”
“The way I feel when you lean on me and let me help you, or when I do something that obviously calms or soothes you, or anything like that—it’s just right . It’s that feeling in your gut when you know you’re exactly where you belong, you know? This feeling of this is it. This is what I’ve been looking for.” I chuckle. “That was cheesy. Sorry.”
“No. I mean, yeah, it was, but in a good way.” I can’t see him, but I swear I can hear a smile in his voice. “I feel like that too. Settled, sort of. Safe.”
“I’m glad.”
Grinning like a total idiot, I grab the soap and start getting some suds built up. I figure we might as well wash up while we’re here. He relaxes further, softly humming as I start, but he squirms when I get to his armpits, getting a fit of giggles that no one would guess could come out of the jock. I keep the information tucked away for later and move on from the ticklish spots.
It’s as I’m running a soapy hand down his inked side that I realize I’ve never had the time to really appreciate his tattoos.
“I like this,” I tell him as I outline the wolf that’s stretched across half of his ribcage. I’ve seen glimpses of it before, but I’ve never taken in the details. It’s not just a normal wolf. This wolf is angry. Fierce. It’s teeth are slightly bared, it’s nostrils flares. Pieces of rope wrap around his body. Or— ribbon .
“From Norse mythology, right? The name starts with an F. I can’t remember—”
“Fenrir, yeah.” He tilts his chin to look over his shoulder at me, but stops halfway before dropping it again. “I should’ve known the nerd would recognize him. Most just think he’s a random wolf.”
“There was a traveling exhibit that came to my college, full of artifacts from the Vikings and art related to them. I only know what the little plaque by a statue of him said. I remember it was sad, his story. I remember feeling sad.” I touch my fingers to the ribbon around the wolf’s throat, thinking of all the sadness inside of Pope. “He was trapped, right? By the gods?”
“Chained,” he whispers. “Over and over. He’d fight until the chains broke and then they’d try another set. No matter what he did, he was never free for long. They just kept bringing more and more until they got the magic ribbon.”
“He couldn’t break it?”
“No.” Ethan’s shoulders drop. “He lost.”
“Ethan.” I turn our bodies, not caring about the water that sloshes all over. I don’t stop until I have both hands on his cheeks, his eyes on mine. “You’re not him. You won’t lose, okay?”
His chin wobbles, but he nods. He trusts me enough to try to believe it.
I won’t fail him.
“Ethan?” I ask, my heart already starting to pound.
He must be able to hear something off in my voice or see it in my face because he tenses. “Yeah?”
“How does it feel, now that I know?”
“It’s—it’s good. When I realized you’d figured it out, I was scared, but then… I was so fucking relieved.” He relaxes then, his lips curling at the edges. “I’m still relieved. I don’t have to hide from you anymore. I don’t have to expend all that energy when I’m already running on empty. It’s a huge weight off my chest.”
“Good. I’m really glad, then.” I brace myself. “Have you thought about getting help?”
He looks away, his chest shuddering with how deeply he inhales. “Not yet.”
Don’t rush.
All of the blogs say not to rush them, just support them. As long as they’re safe, there’s no reason to push them harder than they’re ready for.
I’ve never been a very patient person. Especially when it comes to a situation I desperately want to control.
But just like before when I realized I might need to stay in the closet for a while, I’ll do this for him.
I think I’ll do anything for him.
It’s Wednesday morning when I decide to push the issue again. After spending the last two days mostly in bed, usually with me listening to a podcast and doing work on my table while he curls up warm and safe by my side, I’m going a little out of my mind.
When he wakes up, finally looking like he has some energy and dives into a particularly large breakfast, I figure it’s a safe time to at least try again. I settle in the seat beside him with a coffee and a smile. He tenses the moment he looks at me before ducking his head. “I’m still thinking.”
Damnit, Pope.
I tread carefully. “Okay. Have you decided if you’re going to play tonight?”
“I should.” He frowns at his plate, pushing the remainder of his eggs around with his fork. “But I shouldn’t.”
“You should for your career, shouldn’t for your health?” I guess.
“Yeah. I know it’s not smart. Missing practice for two days is one thing, but a game is going to get Coach Mattheson’s attention. But I know when I get like this, when I start feeling better, that I have to be careful. If I take advantage of the surge of energy, I end up wiped out on my ass pretty quick.”
“Then you’ll stay home,” I decide, trying to put as much authority in my voice as I can.
His raised eyebrow is amused. “Bossy, much?”
“You were definitely warned about that.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He stabs an egg, then shakes it off his fork. Then stabs it again. “I’ll stay home. I’ll call Coach in a little while. He should be at the arena for morning skate soon.”
I wince, looking over at the clock. “Yeah, I need to get going, too. You’ll be okay here?”
He rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. Sassy, even. It makes my throat tight seeing his personality starting to come back, like I might start crying if I’m not careful. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”
“Good.” I watch him continue his torture session of the piece of egg before trying one last time. “You said you feel relieved now that I know. Like there’s a huge weight off of you now. Right?”
His fork stops, his jaw ticking. “Yeah.”
“It’s nothing compared to how you’ll feel when you get help, Pope.” When he says nothing, I try a different route. “Maybe we can find a way to keep it a secret. Then it doesn’t get out and you don’t even have to worry about your dad.”
“No. I’ve tried. I’ve thought about all of the options. There’s no safe way. Even just having pills with me on a road game could be enough. I won’t risk it.”
“So, what? You’ll just live the rest of your life with the secret weighing you down like a cement block chained to your chest? Is that what you think your dad would want?”
His fork clatters to the table before he turns angry eyes on me. “Why don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter! He’ll never know, so what he wants doesn’t matter. I’ll take the cement block if it means he doesn’t have to, okay? I’m not going to ask him to sacrifice his happiness just because he’s a dad and that’s what parents do.”
“So, you’ll just sacrifice your happiness, then? Your health? Your safety?” He looks away, glaring daggers at the oven across the room. “What if neither of you have to carry the weight? Have you thought of that?”
His eyebrows pull together before he slowly looks over at me again. “What do you mean?”
“Times have changed. Just you getting help is more than your mom did, right? And the amount of help out there is amazing. There are so many drug regimens you can try, so many different ways to approach therapy. We’ll find something that works for you.”
“It can’t be cured,” he whispers, looking sadder than I think I’ve ever seen him. “All of that helps, but it doesn’t make it go away.”
“No, but it makes it manageable, baby. It makes it safe. And that’s all that matters with your dad. He doesn’t have to hold his breath. We’ll keep him updated on everything that we’re doing to help you. We’ll do weekly check-ins—or even daily ones, if he needs. We’ll make an action plan for if you ever slip into a bad episode and I’ll keep him updated and make sure you’re safe until you dig your way out of it again.” I stand, wanting to be closer to him. He lets me settle between his parted legs, his hands immediately clinging to my waist. His pretty green eyes are wide with hope and fear. “You can be depressed and safe, Ethan. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. We’ll teach your dad that. We’ll show him. And then neither of you have to walk around carrying a cement block.”
He swallows hard, his eyes glassy now. I watch as his bottom lip wobbles. Then his nose wrinkles. Then his eyes squeeze shut and his body shudders and he sobs. I catch him against my stomach as he wraps his arms around me and presses his face to my chest, crying into my shirt hard enough to send vibrations through my torso.
Oh, Ethan.
I cradle his head, murmuring comforting words as I hold him through this. He must be drowning in so many emotions right now. I can’t even imagine what his head must feel like. I wish I could take some of the mess for him. I wish he didn’t have to do this part alone. It’s the only part he’ll ever do alone, I promise myself. Inside his head is the only fucking place he’ll ever not have me.
“You did so good keeping your secret, baby,” I tell him once his sobs have turned into soft cries and sniffles. “You’ve worked so hard. But you can be done, now. You get to let go.”
“I don’t know how,” he says, his voice raspy and low. “I don’t want to be like my mom, Hay. She refused to get help and it killed her. I—I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to hurt you like that. I don’t want you not sleeping, always worrying. But I—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to—I don’t know how .”
“We’ll figure it out together.” I guide his head back until we’re looking into each other’s eyes. Moving slowly so he knows what I’m doing, I kiss him. Soft. Slow. An I love you . An I’m here for you . An it’s going to be okay. When I pull back, my lips are damp and salty with his tears. “You and me, Ethan. All you have to do is trust me, okay?”
He sighs in what sounds like relief. “Okay. You and me.”