Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
L eslie
“Hi.”
God he’d missed that face, that voice. His eyes burned so bad he pinched the bridge of his nose for a minute to make it stop. He was done with crying for-freaking-ever.
“Oh God, a migraine? Are you okay? Where are you?”
Leslie laughed and it came out a sob. “No, I’m fine. I’m okay. How are you?”
Joe’s face was lit up on one side, but the phone was shaking so Leslie couldn’t get a bead on the background.
“I’m cold. Where are you, Leslie? What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong? I’m fine.”
“They said you left,” Joe stammered out. His teeth were chattering. “Why?”
“I’m out of town, yes,” Leslie said, confused. “ Why?”
“Oh. But you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “I’m fine. I’m working on something, that’s all.”
Working on the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
After everything blew up with Joe, Leslie had his last scheduled interview with Malcolm Darling and Malcolm had brought up the biography again.
“We can do it a number of ways. Either you can write down what you think is important, I can research on my own and you can fill in the details, or we can have a series of conversations…whatever you are comfortable with. Most people find the process a bit cathartic.”
And boy, had Leslie needed some catharsis.
He’d been shattered by his breakup with Joe.
Destroyed, and it had been his own damned fault.
He’d held onto this lofty ideal of what their relationship would be, ignoring the possibility of a grim future, and he’d held on so tight he’d let his fear choke the life out of what was the most important relationship in his life outside his family.
Many times he’d found himself walking toward Higdon to find Joe and talk it out, but he realized he had a lot of work to do on himself.
He couldn’t just pretend like he didn’t have cause for concern for his future, but he also couldn’t hide from the real possibility of living with the effects of CTE.
He’d let fear drive him so hard, drive him so far, he’d left Joe on the side of the road wondering what the hell had happened.
It wasn’t fair, but Leslie knew he needed to take a time-out and regroup. If that meant Joe moved on, he’d have to deal with that.
He’d had a glimmer of hope, but that was it. He couldn’t hope for a life with Joe. He needed to plan for a future that involved working on himself and taking care of his family.
He and Malcolm had been holed up at the Hawaii compound for the past two weeks talking for hours every day.
Leslie had also found a fancy-pants cognitive behavioral therapist who was willing to do some intensive work with him, which had brought up a ton of stuff from his past that he’d shoved so far down into his mental locker he’d been shocked when it resurfaced.
To round out his new dream team, he was doing a series of televisits with a migraine specialist in Seattle who had recommended a local nutritionist in Maui who was teaching him how to eat in a way that might minimize his headaches.
His previous dream team, his family, were told to stay away and leave him be. He depended too much on them and he needed to do this alone. He’d agreed they could come for Christmas, but that was it. He needed…time. Time to figure his shit out, time to learn how to be better, time to tell his story.
He had no idea where Joe fit in all that, whether he fit at all. Whether he wanted to fit.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Leslie said, his stupid, hopeful heart warming at the thought Joe was worried about him.
“Can I…C-c-can we…I miss you, Leslie. I’m—”
“I miss you too, Twinkle Toes.”
Joe smiled when Leslie used his pet name.
“Well, I’ll let-t-tch-ch-oo g-g-et back—”
“You need to get out of the cold, Joe. I’m fine, or I’m getting there. And I want to…talk, if you want. I need a little more time.”
“Oh.” Joe wiped at his eyes and his nose. “Okay, it’s o-k-kay. I don’t want to b-b-other—”
“No. No, Joe, you’re not… Where are you going to be for break? Are you staying?”
“LA. Rehearsals,” he said, the phone shaking more violently now.
“Can I call you there? Can we talk?” Because seeing his face, hearing his voice, it was all Leslie wanted, and it was killing him to wait.
“Yeah, if you have t-t-time. Merry Christmas, Leslie. I—” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Merry Christmas. I b-b-better g-g-ive this back to Randy. I’d leave him with an inappropriat-t-te p-p-picture but he’d probably enjoy that.”
Leslie barked out a laugh and he wiped at his own eyes. Stupid tears. “He’d probably sell copies. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“You’re right.”
“Hey, Joe? I…I love you. I’m so sorry.”
“S-s-st-t-top it,” Joe whispered. He smiled wider.
“That’s my line,” Leslie said. He’d practically curled his whole body around the phone, wishing it was Joe in his hands instead.
“I love you, t-t-too. I’m turning into a J-j-joesicle, though. C-c-call me later.”
“I promise.”
They hung up and Leslie took in a deep, shuddering breath .
“Everything okay?” Malcolm asked. He’d gone to the kitchen for snacks and returned with arms full of food.
Leslie’s cook had been trying out all the recipes from the nutritionist and Leslie had gained ten pounds already sampling the goods.
Okay, maybe five pounds, but it felt like his pants were a little tighter anyway.
“Yes and no,” Leslie admitted. “It’s probably time I tell you about Joe.”
Malcolm hopped over the back of the couch and crossed his legs. He turned on the recorder and grabbed the big bowl of popcorn. “I’ve been dying for this part of the story.”
Leslie shook his head. “It is a good story. One of the best parts of my story.” Now if only he could make things right.
“So where does it start?”
“It started fifteen—almost sixteen years ago at the Goalpost on Spring Fling weekend. I was the returning hero, he was the current big man on campus, and we spent an entire night talking. And that’s what we did.
For fifteen years, we talked. And then when I finally had him where I wanted him, I screwed it up. ”
Malcolm frowned. “The end to that call didn’t sound like you screwed it up, or at least not in an unfixable way.”
Leslie had given Malcolm unlimited access to his life, well, after he signed a tightly worded nondisclosure agreement that gave Leslie all the master recordings when they were finished and final approval of the manuscript.
“Let me explain all the ways I screwed up and then you can be the judge…and maybe help me fix it.”
Malcolm popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “I’m all ears.”