Chapter 27
MYLES
Sanding stair railings officially sucks.
For what feels like the fiftieth time in the last hour, I straighten up, trying to stretch out the kinks in my spine from craning my neck at a weird angle to make sure I’m getting all the spots along the outside of the banister.
Those kinks’ll be back again in five minutes, and I wouldn’t have even bothered, except a corner of a piece of molding’s just torn a rip in my sandpaper, so now I have to load a new one onto the sander.
Even with safety goggles, there’s dust in my eyes, and every inch of my skin and clothes are covered with a powdery coating of the stuff.
Sanding. Fucking. Sucks.
I don’t have to look too deep inside either though to know that most of what’s put me in such a crappy mood has nothing to do with dust in my eyes or a sore back. For the past four days, Charlie’s been weird as hell around me.
Here I am, supposed to be working up the courage to tell him how I feel about him (or some version at least, because the full-blown, I’ve been in love with you forever, just didn’t know it, and hope you love me too, feels like way too much) and instead, now I’m trying to work out whether he’s realized it on his own, and the truth has already pushed him away.
Sunday, I didn’t hear a word from him all day. I’d wanted to text him. So freaking badly, but I hadn’t. I’d known I’d needed time to sort through everything Rachel made me see and everything I’d realized the day before.
When he’d turned and ducked into his classroom without saying a word to me on Monday morning, I’d written it off. He just hadn’t seen me.
When I’d bumped into him in the hall later that afternoon and he’d barely said hello? Well, a student needed him. He’d had to run.
But more of the same all day yesterday and again today?
I’ve got the sander reloaded with a fresh strip of sandpaper and am trying not to spend too long in any one spot, but the trouble is, my mind keeps spiraling back to Charlie, and I know I’m grinding flat, weird spots along the outside of the railing.
No matter how hard I try to keep my focus on what my hands are doing, it’s impossible not to be distracted by thoughts of how maybe, instead of confessing my feelings to Charlie, I should be coming up with some other explanation for why I was so fucking weird on Saturday.
Maybe, rather than risking making everything worse, I should take the safe route and try to salvage things between us and move on,
I’m halfway through miserably working over a deep gouge I just ground into the wood, stubbornly ignoring the fact that I know I’m only making it worse with my efforts to fix it, when I just catch the sound of a knock on my door over the buzz of the sander.
Goddammit, that’s got to be the carpet store delivering the new runner for the stairs.
Originally, I’d scheduled the delivery for today, but when I’d realized it was probably going to take me the rest of the week to get the damn railing and banister sanded and painted, I’d called back and asked them to hold off.
Last thing I need is rolls of carpet cluttering up the place, just waiting to get paint spilled on them.
Quickly, I brush off enough of the sawdust from my hands and clothes so I won’t leave any more of a mess than what I already know I’m going to track through the house on my way to the door.
I’m sweaty and gritty and I know I look like shit, but what’s that matter?
These guys have got to be used to delivering to people doing exactly what I’m doing, so it’s not like they’re going to care.
I’ve already made up my mind not to say anything about them mixing up the delivery date when I pull open the door.
They’re already here with the stuff, and it’s not like I’m going to make them take it back and bring it all the way out here again on a different day, so there’s no point in pointing the mistake out just to be a dick.
I’ll just leave it in a corner and—
“Charlie—”
My vision instantly tunnels to focus on him. Just him and nothing else, because he is not okay. Something is wrong. Very, very wrong and—
“Can I come in?”
His voice is raspy and as thick sounding as when he’d been sick, and I can tell with just one look at his face that he’s been crying.
Not a little, but a lot. Fuck, there are tears clinging to his lashes now, like he knows if he wipes them away, they’ll just be back and he can’t even be bothered to try anymore.
“What happened?” I hold the door open for him, thinking he’s going to walk past me into the living room. Instead, he just kind of throws himself at me, arms around my shoulders, face pressed into my neck as I catch him around the waist.
It takes him a moment to answer, and in that moment, my mind’s spinning off to a thousand horrible places. Accidents and someone hurting him and—
“Cyril died.” He barely gets those two words out before they turn into a sob. He’s squeezing so tight to me now that it feels like he’s going to choke me, but I don’t give a shit.
“Oh Charlie.”
My own throat’s going tight and aching and tears are gathering in my eyes.
How much of it’s that he’s hurting so much, shaking with silent tears as I hold him and I cannot, out of anything in the world, handle Charlie’s pain, and how much is that I fucking loved that sweet, adorable old cat too, I don’t know.
What I do know is that it doesn’t matter what Charlie sees or guesses right now, all I want—no, fuck, all I need—is to be here for him.
Charlie feels shaky in my arms, like his legs aren’t holding him as well as they should. I’m half tempted to scoop him up and carry him to the couch, but I hold back. Instead, I guide him with me until I’m pulling him down, halfway in my lap, onto the cushions. He barely even looks up once.
What might be a minute or could have been twenty goes by, just me holding him. At some point, my fingers started stroking through his hair all on their own, while my other hand rubs soothing circles over his back. Across his shoulders.
His arms are still wound around my neck and his face is still pressed to my shirt, but he feels a little calmer now.
“Would it help to talk about it?”
He shrugs limply.
My fingers don’t want to give up their stroking through his hair, and he’s not pulling away, so I don’t make them. Just keep touching him.
None of it’s even the littlest bit about me right now though.
How damn good it feels to have him so close again means nothing.
If my touch can just give him even the smallest bit of comfort, he can have it.
As long as he wants this, I will let him have it.
He can read whatever he wants into it and pull away from me however much he needs to when this is over. I’ll give him anything right now.
Fuck, I’d always give him anything, no matter what it costs me.
Long seconds pass before— “He seemed fine when I left for work this morning, except I was late, and I fed him on my way out the door, so I didn’t see that he didn’t eat.
” He blows out a shaky breath. Sniffs. Swallows a sob.
“When I came home though, he didn’t come greet me like he always does, and then I saw his food… all still in his bowl.”
Without really meaning to, I wrap my arm a bit tighter around his waist, pulling him closer.
He sighs another ragged breath and lifts his head from my shoulder.
It puts our faces so close, I can count his damp, auburn eyelashes and make out each beautiful freckle on his blotchy cheeks, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to try to force down the insane urge to close the inches between us and kiss his tear-swollen lips.
“I knew something was wrong, and when I went to his bed, he was there. Just lying there, breathing all wrong, like he was in pain—” His lip trembles and he pitches forward, burying his face in my neck again.
“I took him to the vet,” he mumbles, and I can feel the words against my skin. “They said we could do diagnostics, try to find out what was wrong, but—”
“You didn’t want to put him through that,” I whisper into his hair, and he shakes his head.
“Nothing they were going to find would have been good.”
“Do you know how lucky he was, Charlie?” I lean in, letting myself press a kiss that I’m not sure he feels to the top of his head.
“He lived his whole life—eighteen years—with you. He was the luckiest cat in the world. The happiest cat. You gave him the best life, and you did the right thing for him today.”
He nods, accepting my words with a quiet sob. A few of my own tears fall into his hair as I rest my cheek on the top of his head.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried,” he hiccups. “It just rang. I’m sorry if you were busy—”
Stomach sinking, I shift enough to yank my phone out from my jeans pocket. Sure enough, six missed calls, all from Charlie. And the damn thing is still set to vibrate from work. I’d been using the fucking sander and hadn’t heard—
“I’m never busy if you need me.” The words are harsher than I mean them to be as I cup the sides of his head and lift until his eyes meet mine again.
“I’m always here for you, Charlie. No matter what you need.
I let you down once, and I will never, never do it again.
I promise. I just didn’t hear my phone.”
He nods, eyes scanning my face. I don’t know what he sees there, but it’s probably more than I should be showing him right now, when the only focus should be on him and poor Cyril, because his eyebrows pull together, scrunching up in this curious, confused sort of way.
Then, like he’s forcing himself to break whatever tension’s just settled between us, he sits back, pulling away from me enough that my arms fall from where I’d still been holding him.
“What have you been doing?” His nose wrinkles just the littlest bit as he runs his red-rimmed eyes over me, and it suddenly hits me that I’m filthy.
And I’ve just spent the last god only knows how long with the amazing smelling, always so tidy, incredibly sexy, perfectly pretty man of my goddamn dreams with his face pressed up against my disgusting, grimy, sweaty shirt.
“Sanding the banister.” I’m already edging away from him, backing up to put as much distance as I can between the two of us. It’s too late though because there’s already sawdust sticking to his pale salmon button up. A little Cyril hair too…
Fuck, I’m going to miss that cat.
Charlie is going to miss him.
“I can go clean up though. If you want to stay? I’ll make you dinner and you can just zone out. Watch a movie or something?”
He looks uncertain, and I rush on. “You shouldn’t have to be alone right now, Charlie.”
“You don’t have anything else you have to do?”
I don’t know what he means by the question. Does he actually think I have something more important to do than to be here with him tonight, or is he trying to get out of hanging around with me?
My stomach drops so fast, it makes me nauseous. I’d rather mess up by pushing too hard right now though than not pushing enough, so even though putting myself out there like I’m about to has my adrenaline spiking, I shake my head. “Nothing. Please stay? Let me be here for you.”
His smile is enough to break me. Watery and sad, and he kind of looks like he’s about to cry again, but it’s a real smile as he nods.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.” He reaches out across the space between us and, just for one second, gives my hand a squeeze.
My heart kicks against my ribs so hard, I swear it’s going to leave a bruise.