Chapter 14 #2
“Do you live with someone?” I asked. It felt strange that I didn’t already know this when I’d gathered all these other details about him—the way a real smile pressed dimples into his cheeks and that he had an unfortunate habit of reheating coffee gone cold, how he clasped his own elbow when a parent consult got to him, that his go-to treats from the vending machine were subpar lemon bars, that New York had yet to feel like home, and how badly he wanted to make his dad proud.
Scraps and tells I’d written down between cases, as if that could trick my brain into letting them go.
“Two roommates,” he mumbled.
“Either of them nice enough to bring you tea and check your temperature?”
“Think so, yeah. If they’re home.”
“Good.” It was more than what I’d had last time I’d gotten really sick—Shane stopping by every couple of days with soup and meds, keeping a safe distance because for all his many wonderful qualities, he was strangely anxious about germs. And yet he worked with small kids, go figure.
The elevator stopped with a little jolt, the door sliding open.
I caught Finn again as he stumbled slightly, half-distracted by fumbling for his keyring that came with a tiny Red Sox bottle opener.
When he failed to fit the key in the lock twice, his fingers too unsteady, I covered his hand with mine to help.
Justified concern, intimacy excused by circumstances.
Together, we got the door open. A cluttered hallway opening into a small but clearly well-loved living room that housed a secondhand couch with a fleece blanket tossed over it. Light spilled from a nearby doorway. Kitchen?
“Sam?” a voice called just as I kneeled to get Finn’s shoes off—another intimacy I could defend, even if it was just to myself. Slumped back against the wall, he watched me through a feverish haze, cheeks pink.
Before I could rise again, a guy in a hoodie poked his head into the hallway. Reddish-blond curls, cereal bowl in hand, he seemed to split-second assess the picture we made and started to grin.
“Not what it looks like,” I told him quickly, just this side of too rushed. “He’s sick. Bad flu. I brought him home from the hospital.”
“Hiya, Neil,” Finn managed, the words raspy.
“Jesus, man.” The guy—Neil, apparently—sobered immediately. He set down his bowl and came closer, already reaching out to help. “You look like shit.”
“Feel like shit, too,” Finn mumbled.
“And yet you kept insisting you were fine.” I toed off my own shoes, stood, and helped Finn out of my coat before slinging my arm back around his middle. “Come on. Let’s get you horizontal.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Finn’s quick, tired laugh came out scrapy, barely awake, but hey, sense of humor—still intact. Promising.
“Not into necrophilia, babe.” I got him moving with effort, Neil grasping one of Finn’s elbows to steady his other side.
“You a friend?” Neil asked, his tone layered with faint suspicion. I wondered what Finn had told him—if anything.
I hesitated. “Something like that. I’m Jesse. He’s… We work in the same department.”
“Neil. Roommate, obviously.” He gave me a brief once-over across Finn’s head, lolled onto my shoulder, then jerked his chin toward a short hallway. “His room’s that way. But I can take it from here.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got him.” Too fast, too obvious.
Neil’s mouth tilted, slightly lopsided with amusement. “If you say so.”
We shuffled along, one foot in front of the other. It seemed as if Finn, now that his bed was close, was sagging into me more by the second, drained of the adrenaline that had kept him running on empty.
His room was small and bare—a twin bed with rumpled sheets, cheap furniture.
Looked like he hadn’t gotten around yet to putting up any pictures, nothing beyond a family photo on the desk, next to a half-drained glass of water.
A rolled-up yoga mat sat in one corner. It looked hardly more personal than that hotel room from our first night.
Together, Neil and I eased Finn down to sit on the mattress. He seemed to sway a little, chin tipping toward his chest, eyes drooping. I took a step back because I had to.
“You gonna be around tonight and tomorrow?” I asked Neil.
“Yeah. I can handle meds, temp, fluids.” His lips curved up. “Don’t worry—I’m a qualified nurse.”
“Oh. Good.” No reason for me to linger, then. I still did—touched my palm against Finn’s forehead, then checked his pulse with a thumb against the side of his throat. Perfectly unnecessary. He blinked up at me through glassy eyes.
“Stay?” he asked, voice small and rough.
Fuck. Like falling through a mirror and landing in quicksand. A week ago, he’d been the one to leave, and now… God. He was out of it. He wouldn’t have asked otherwise.
I swallowed around glass. “Wish I could.”
His breath hitched, but he didn’t reply.
“Sleep,” I said after a beat of silence, traffic humming in my head and heart. “Hydrate. If you feel worse, just… call me. Yeah?”
His nod was faint. “Thank you, J.”
The familiarity hurt, like the scrape of a palm over rough concrete. I drew a breath and smiled. “Anytime, Finn.”
When I turned away—made myself, draping self-discipline around my shoulders like a too-tight jacket—Neil was hovering, eyes sharp but not unkind. “I’ll look after him.”
I nodded, then glanced back at Finn who was fumbling with his scrubs, trying to pull the top over his head.
Everything in me screamed about wanting to stay.
But I couldn’t. Last week, Finn had made his choice and left.
I needed to respect that, especially when he’d done what was right for both of us. Rationally, I knew that.
It just didn’t feel like it.
With one last look at Finn, I finally left. Retraced my steps to the door, put on my coat and shoes, let the door click shut behind me. In the hallway, I stopped and exhaled, lungs shriveled to the point where breathing seemed a chore.
I couldn’t save Finn from a virus.
I sure as hell couldn’t save myself from this.
Sunday stretched sunny and empty, with Shane out of town for a family birthday and my laundry staring at me from the bathroom floor. I stared back, knowing that I needed to do something about it yet utterly reluctant to do so.
When did my life get so… limited?
Mostly because it was better than checking in on Finn. Which I shouldn’t. Right?
Limited?
All I do is eat, work, sleep, repeat.
I read it over, thought about deleting it. Jesus, I wasn’t usually built for melodrama.
I sent it.
That’s not true
Shane replied just as I’d finally talked myself into shoving all my dirty laundry into the washing machine.
Sometimes you play sports or meet me for a beer.
Mixed cycle—seemed about right considering I’d thrown everything in without sorting. Functioning, barely. Hopefully my clothes would come out looking less rumpled than I felt.
Wow
What a rich and varied life.
It took a few minutes before Shane answered.
Okay, what’s going on with you?
Ah, damn. He was meant to celebrate his dad’s sixtieth, and here I was demanding attention like a toddler pulling on the hem of his sweater.
Sorry
Just having an off day. Ignore me.
What happened?
He asked, and yeah, I hadn’t really thought he’d buy my deflection.
I’ll tell you over a beer
Enjoy the party, give your mom a hug from me.
Tomorrow at 8. You, me, usual spot.
You’re on.
I inhaled, a shade lighter than before. My laundry was spinning in circles and so was my mind—but unlike the jeans I’d worn when I brought Finn home, I couldn’t just wash myself clean of memories. I didn’t even want to. And that, right there? Might be a problem.
I pulled up his name. Something in me quivered, as if I’d done a heavy abs workout and could still feel it the day after.
This was… Jesus Christ. I didn’t do this.
I didn’t get hung up on guys, didn’t lose myself in useless what ifs and if onlys.
Yet that was exactly what I’d thought that first night, too, when I’d followed him to that hotel room thinking he charged by the hour—I don’t do this.
But with him, I had. I did. The constant exception to all my rules.
Fuck it.
How are you feeling today?
Took a breath and sent it.
Five minutes of air. That’s all I needed—five minutes of air that wasn’t the stale, recycled kind, wasn’t weighed down by the smell of antiseptic.
Pale, cloudless sky arched above me, midtown glittering like someone else’s dream.
An early October chill made the rooftop feel sharper—different from the first time Finn and I had met up here, when sweat had pooled between my shoulder blades, the sun beating down as if to punish us.
A little over two months ago, back when he’d been barely more than a stranger I’d happened to see naked. A complication.
Now?
Yeah.
Little better
He’d finally answered this morning.
Less like I got run over by a truck. Maybe just a van. Twice. And then again.
Temp?
I’d asked instead of offering to bring soup, tea, anything.