Chapter Thirteen #2
The sinking feeling in Arthur’s stomach turned sharp, and the pain inflicted by the blade of regret nearly caused him to curl into a little ball right there in the middle of the print shop.
Despite the fact that Arthur had already realized, thanks to Charlotte, that he’d handled Thursday evening’s situation poorly, he hadn’t realized just how poorly until now.
Jesse must not have only been mildly irked by Arthur’s behavior—which, to him, must have read as either callous or cruel or both—but seriously hurt by it.
Because Jesse O’Connor was not the type to shy away from conflict.
Arthur had learned that after only a few minutes, or perhaps even seconds, of their first meeting.
Knowing what he knew about Jesse, Arthur had expected Jesse to be waiting for him in the shop, if only to yell at him for how he had behaved.
Arthur had expected Jesse to confront him, to demand that Arthur explain himself. But Arthur had not expected this.
Arthur cupped a hand over his mouth. Good God, he needed to fix this. Now.
Arthur hurried out of the shop, only barely remembering to lock up before sprinting over to the spot where the streetcar stopped.
Thankfully, he only needed to wait for five minutes before the next one came.
As soon as it halted, Arthur hopped inside.
He stayed toward the front for the entirety of the ride, holding onto one of the bars overhead while praying that Jesse would let him into his home so that he could explain himself.
When he reached his stop, he exited the streetcar and hurried toward Jesse’s home.
He circled around to the back of Walsh’s Clothing before beginning to pound on the door with his fist, unable to bring himself to care whether people passing by on the street heard him or not.
Neither did he care if patrons of the clothing shop heard him, or even Mrs. Walsh herself.
If need be, Arthur would help Jesse and his friend find a new place to live.
He had no patience for civility right now.
What was most important was that he speak with Jesse so that they could move past the events of that horrible evening and be Arthur and Jesse again.
“Jesse!” Arthur cried out, still hammering his fist on the wood.
“I need to speak with you!” He rotated his fist, first knocking with the side of his hand and then switching to his knuckles and then back to the first position, his heart slamming into his rib cage seemingly in time with his furious strikes. “Jesse! Come outside!”
After what felt like two or three minutes of frenzied knocking, Arthur heard footsteps on the stairs. He removed his hand as he waited for Jesse to answer, but he couldn’t keep the whole of his energy contained, and so he began to bounce on the balls of his feet.
Arthur’s muscles tensed when the handle finally turned.
Someone answered. Someone who wasn’t Jesse.
“You must be Mr. Hughes,” the man said, his voice tinged with obvious irritation.
“Yes, I am. And I must speak with Jesse. It’s important.
Extremely important. Are you Jesse’s friend, Giuseppe?
” Arthur asked, to which the man only pursed his lips.
“Giuseppe . . . Caputo?” One of the man’s eyebrows ticked up.
Arthur took that as a “yes” and pressed his hands together pleadingly.
“Please, Mr. Caputo, I need to speak with Jesse. I’m not sure what he may have told you, but the other night, the two of us had a misunderstanding and—”
The man threw his head back and laughed.
“Misunderstanding?!” he spluttered. “Sorry, Mr. Hughes, but from what Jesse told me, there was no misunderstanding.”
“Argument, then,” Arthur said instead. “I came here to apologize.”
“Jesse isn’t interested.”
He began shutting the door, but Arthur caught the edge.
“Giuseppe, Mr. Caputo, please, I have to make things right between us. I know I was wrong. I know I hurt him. I simply want to explain the reasons behind—”
“Excuses, excuses,” Giuseppe said before beginning to pull on the door.
He seemed intent on shutting it, even if that meant crushing Arthur’s fingers. Determined not to be turned away, Arthur lunged forward, wedging his shoulder between the door’s edge and the frame.
“Mr. Caputo, it’s imperative that I speak with my friend. I refuse to leave until I see him.”
Giuseppe curled his lip and spat, “Every one of you in Chicago’s upper crust is the same. Overly privileged hypocrites. Jesse respected your wishes when you asked him to leave your house the other night, and yet here you are, shoving your way into our home.”
Giuseppe’s words knocked Arthur back a step, their immediate truth curdling in his stomach like spoiled milk, but then he thought of Jesse and realized that he couldn’t let Jesse’s friend prevent him from making things right. Even if it made him a hypocrite.
“It’s not the same,” Arthur rationalized. “I had company. Important company.”
“Jesse isn’t important?”
“Of course Jesse is important! He is the most important!”
“And yet you sent him away.”
Anger flared to life in Arthur’s chest, setting his heart ablaze, its flames fed not by the fury he felt toward Jesse’s roommate and his uninformed rebuttals to every little thing Arthur said but by the fury he felt toward himself for having hurt Jesse in the first place.
He pushed forward, squeezing more of his body between the door and the frame while Giuseppe continued to try to close it.
“Mr. Caputo, please—”
“Arthur.”
The sound of Jesse’s voice fell from the top of the landing, cutting him off, and the raw pain in the one simple word he uttered crashed onto Arthur’s shoulders with the force of a heavy stone. Arthur winced. All three men were silent for a moment, and then Jesse heaved a sigh.
“Just let him in, Giuseppe,” he said.
Giuseppe let out a huff as he took a step back, and the sudden lack of resistance caused Arthur to stumble forward. Giuseppe started up the stairs. He patted Jesse’s arm twice as he passed. Arthur waited to be invited up, but instead, Jesse came down to meet him.
“Why are you here?” Jesse asked, his voice wrought with such exhaustion and pain that Arthur had to fight to keep its weight from sending him to his knees.
“Because I know that I was wrong,” Arthur said.
“And I needed to tell you that I was sorry.” Hesitantly, Arthur took a step forward, meeting Jesse on the same stair.
“My God, I never meant to hurt you. I was simply following a stupid, invisible set of rules. Blindly. And I shouldn’t have.
Not without explaining them better. Not without promising to make it up to you, either.
” Arthur took Jesse’s hands. “And I want to, Jesse. I want to make it up to you somehow.”
Jesse lowered his eyes and ripped his hands away.
“Arthur . . .” He paused to inhale a shuddering breath. “I’m not . . . interested.”
Arthur’s breath caught, the harsh finality in Jesse’s words cracking his heart in two.
“What?!” he blurted out, his eyes immediately filling with tears. “Come on, yes you are. Don’t tell me that your feelings toward me have changed simply because of one simple, terrible misstep.”
Jesse’s eyes flickered up to meet his, and then he immediately slammed them shut.
“Just leave. Please.”
Panic flooded Arthur’s veins. He snatched Jesse’s hand once more.
“Jesse, please, I—”
Jesse tore out of Arthur’s hold. “It’s over, Arthur.”
Arthur’s heart shattered. His knees buckled, his vision becoming hazy, and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself as spots began to form in front of his eyes.
Faintly, he heard the sound of Jesse’s retreating footsteps, but he was too shocked by the certainty in Jesse’s words to stop the man from leaving.
Forcing an inhale, Arthur tried to steady himself, tried to piece his heart back together enough to fight for what he and Jesse had. But he couldn’t.
Oh, God, he hadn’t felt pain like this in over sixteen years.
Slowly, Arthur sank to his knees, his body trembling as he settled on the cold, hard steps.
Sitting there, pathetically falling to pieces over a relationship that had only lasted a few short weeks, Arthur’s face began to burn.
He knew how silly this would seem to most people.
But, then, most people hadn’t had the pleasure of falling for Jesse O’Connor.
Arthur had met scores of people in his life, and no one else had ever left such an impression on him within the first minutes of their encounter.
Jesse was special. He was kind and intelligent and funny.
Reserved while still somehow managing to be bold.
Confident in himself, without ever being conceited.
Sweet but never overly so. Never saccharine or venturing into the realm of insincerity.
Jesse O’Connor was so many wonderful things.
And now, Arthur had managed to lose him.
Burying his head in his hands, Arthur choked back a sob.
He let himself cry, inwardly, for a few very long seconds.
And then he stood. And forced himself to return home.