17. Henry #2
I wake up the next morning, sweating, my skin sticky beneath the fleece and thick comforter. My old place was cold, but apparently this apartment is a lot better insulated, and I won’t need to sleep in as many layers as I’m used to.
Searching for my cell in the covers, I remember that I didn’t bother bringing it to bed with me last night. Getting up, I head for the bathroom, pee, then take a blissfully warm shower before I open my closet and peruse my clothes all hanging from a rail.
Instead of picking my usual pants and button-down, I choose my only pair of sweatpants and a soft, well-worn white T-shirt. When I glance at my reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door, I’m surprised at how hollow I look.
Rejecting Anders’s apology last night feels like the most painful, right decision I’ll probably ever have to make. Survival has always been my biggest priority, and I won’t survive not being loved by him if he keeps invading my life.
In the short time I was with him, he made me feel more seen and more abandoned than I’ve ever felt before, and even though I love him, a part of me hates him a little too. He told me I was his. He told me he owned me, that I belonged to him, and then he left.
I feel stupid for allowing myself to fall in love with him, but he made it impossible not to.
I knew he had some insecurities about his need for control, but those were his issues, not mine.
The parts of his controlling nature that he showed me only made me want to sink deeper into his intense, consuming needs.
I’ve never been desired. I’ve never had anyone care about me or worry about me and want to take care of me.
The fears he had of taking over my life made me feel safe.
Yesterday morning when I woke up in his arms, I was ready to hand my life to him so I could focus on just being happy for the very first time.
Now I need to forget the romanticized notion of a grand love and instead focus on survival and this new life I have a chance to make here. For the past twenty-two years, I’ve shied away from connection, preferring to be alone, but now I have Parker and Bay and Penn and all the rest of the Barnetts.
All of them insisted on giving me their phone numbers before they left yesterday, and the girls had added me to a group chat before they even got to the car.
Apparently being a twenty-something gay man means I’m allowed to join the ladies for Mexican food and cocktails.
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about being one of the “girls” but it’s nice that they want to include me.
Once I’m dressed, I leave my bedroom and head into the living room.
It takes me a moment to figure out how the gas burners work, but I make myself eggs and bacon and eat it sitting on my new couch.
My cell is still charging on the gorgeous side table that matches the coffee table, and when I tap the screen, there’s a notification that I have twenty-eight new messages.
I’ve probably had less than twenty-eight messages total in the last six months, but I still click into my messages to see what they are.
Twenty are from the group chat with the Barnett women, Parker, and three other women whose names I don’t recognize, and the remaining eight are from Anders.
Swallowing thickly, I ignore the ones from Anders and instead click into the group chat, scanning the never-ending message stream until I see the latest one that was sent only a few moments ago.
Parker: Hey guys, I need your help.
Immediately typing out a reply I hit send.
Me: Are you okay? Also, we need to talk about how a certain person got my address!
It could only have been Parker or the Barnetts who told Anders I was living here, but as the Barnetts have no idea that Anders and I even know each other, it must have been Parker.
I’m not mad. Well, I’m a little mad, but in her defense, she didn’t know that he and I had a short-lived thing, or that it’s over now.
A slew of messages pop up on the group chat with offers of help before a new message from Parker appears again.
Parker: I need help to start thinking like a Barnett.
Parker wants to throw Danny a surprise wedding. I wait for the others to tell her how insane that is, but unexpectedly, all the other women think it’s both hilarious and a brilliant idea.
I learn from the group that more than one Barnett has sprung a last-minute wedding on their significant other, and that Oz, one of the firefighters who works with Anders and Danny, married his wife five days after she came to town, and now, only a few weeks later, she’s already pregnant with his baby.
After spending a lifetime avoiding getting to know people, it’s startling to suddenly be bombarded with a lot of personal information about a lot of people I don’t know that well. But apparently that’s friendship—who knew?
From the constant stream of gossip from the ladies, I learn that Anders, Danny, and the rest of their team are now on shift and based at the fire station located up the mountain for the next four days.
I doubt that Anders will come here again after I rejected him last night. But it’s nice to know that I have at least four days to shore up my resolve and figure out a way to be around him without letting myself be affected by him.
By lunchtime it feels like his unread messages are taunting me from my cell phone, but I refuse to look, not even long enough to delete them. Instead, I throw myself into getting acquainted with my new town.
Even though I’ve been working at the garage for months, I’ve rarely had a chance to explore the town itself. I know where the diner and bus station are, but beyond that, everything else here is new and uncharted territory.
When Tori—who is engaged to Nero, another of Anders’s colleagues—learns that I’ve moved into the apartment above the garage, she insists on dropping in with a housewarming gift. Which is how I end up with another person knocking on my door later that day.
I’m still cautious as I open it, but with Anders miles away up the mountain, it feels safe. Tori is a ball of smiling, infectious energy. When I invite her in, she bounces through the door carrying a basket full of baked goods.
After introducing herself and getting a very quick tour of my new place, she insists on becoming my tour guide, and we spend the rest of the day and well into the evening wandering the quaint streets and window shopping in the touristy shops.
“We’re meeting the others for dinner. Us smoke jumper WAGS tend to hang out when the guys are at work.”
The air in my lungs thickens until I can barely breathe. “I’m not—” I start.
“Knight and I are good friends and neighbors, I saw Anders leaving Knight’s place, he looked a mess. I kind of bullied Knight into telling me what happened. He didn’t give me details, but he said Anders had met someone. Parker mentioned you guys had dinner with Danny and Anders and well…”
“I’ve never met Knight,” I say stupidly.
“I think you’ll like him, he’s intense. So, you and Anders, huh?” she questions.
“No. I barely know him,” I protest weakly.
“I barely knew Nero. Things happen differently here. It’s weird, but even when it feels impossible, things have a way of working themselves out in Rockhead Point, you’ll see. But first, dinner, our treat as a welcome to town.”
“You already brought me all the cakes and cookies,” I try to argue.
“Resistance is futile.” She laughs. “Just accept it. Welcome to the family.”
That’s the second time someone has said that to me in the last couple of days, and once again emotion fills my throat and tears prickle at the back of my eyes.
Dinner with Parker, Tori, James, and Etta is…
fun. They welcome me to the group like they’re genuinely excited to include me, and I find myself enjoying their company.
I don’t understand how I could have gone all these years without ever connecting with anyone, only to be collecting friends left, right, and center since I agreed to move to this town.
No one else mentions Anders, or me and Anders, and I’m grateful, although it’s clear from Parker’s pointed looks that she wants to ask me about my comment about a certain someone knowing where I live.
When talk turns to Parker’s crazy wedding idea, things start to get out of hand, and pitchers of some kind of cocktail start to appear on the table. I’m not a drinker, but margaritas are gooood. The first glass is delicious, but at some point, the night goes from fun to…hazy.
Some time and a few pitchers of margaritas later, someone calls in the cavalry, and an amused Barnett turns up, pays the bill, then herds us all toward a minivan that’s parked at the curb.
“I can walk,” I protest, slurring my words a little.
“Barely,” the Barnett, whose name I’m not entirely sure of, says with an amused chuckle. “I’ll take you home before I run the girls up the mountain.”
I think I must take a quick nap, because when I open my eyes, we’re outside the garage. I fumble with the van’s door handle, finally getting it open just as the Barnett appears at the window.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says gruffly.
“No, no, I’m fine.”
Ignoring my drunken protests, he follows me as I slowly climb the stairs to my apartment, helping me turn the lock and open the door before he follows me inside.
“Does your man know you can’t hold your liquor?” the Barnett teases.
“I don’t have a man.”
“That’s not what I heard. Nor what he said when he asked me to make sure you got home okay. I think he’d rather me take you to his place than here, but I thought I’d give you the choice.”
“I’m not going to his house,” I hiss. “He left me. He’s a…a dick,” I say, struggling to find an adequate insult in my drunken state.
“Sometimes love can make us all a little crazy. From the way he’s been freaking out about you drinking, I’d say it’s pretty clear that he hasn’t left you and that he’s thinking about you and is worried.
Maybe you should reply to one of the messages he’s sent you, then even if you just tell him he’s a dick again, he’ll know you’re okay. ”
“Which one are you?” I ask bluntly.
His soft chuckle makes me feel odd. “I’m Cody.”
“I think I’m going to be sick, Cody.”
Cody’s eyes go wide, and grabbing me by the arm, he drags me into the bathroom and positions me in front of the toilet. I puke so much it feels like all that’s left of my body is a pile of dehydrated mush.
Cody doesn’t leave. Instead, he brings me a glass of water and stays at my side, placing a wet washcloth on the back of my neck while I throw up everything I’ve ever eaten.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when the sound of someone knocking on the door makes me blink and lift my face from where I’d be resting it on the edge of the tub.
“Thanks,” a familiar, gruff voice says, a moment before I hear the front door closing.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to convince myself this is all a bad dream.
“Fucking hell, Boy, what did you do to yourself?”
His voice is poison and paradise rolled into one. I don’t want him here, I don’t want him to see me like this, but knowing he’s here, that he came, even though I didn’t ask for him, thaws some of the ice I’ve been trying to encase my heart in.
“When was the last time you puked?” he asks, stepping into the bathroom and kneeling at my side, his warm fingers pushing my hair back from my forehead.
I shrug.
“Do you think you can stand?”
I nod, but honestly, I’m not at all sure I’m telling the truth.
Curling his arm around my waist, Anders slowly climbs to his feet, half helping, half carrying me along with him. When I’m fully upright, I try to open my eyes, but the room immediately starts to spin, and I squeeze them shut again.
“Can you walk?”
I shake my head. Standing was hard, walking is impossible.
“Sleep on the floor,” I slur.
“That’s not happening, Kitten. Let’s get you into bed. Do you have any Tylenol?”
“No, not know,” I mumble, mixing my words up. “I know not. Not know, I…” I try for a third time, then giggle at the nonsense I’m saying.
My feet are suddenly off the floor, and I’m moving, making my spinning head spin even more. Just when I’m about to puke again, the movement stops, and I’m lowered onto the bed, feeling the familiar cotton sheets beneath me.
“Boy, I’m going to get you more sweatpants, you look fucking hot in them,” Anders says quietly as he starts to undress me, pulling my shirt over my head, before he works my sweatpants down my legs.
With my eyes still closed, I fumble with my briefs, pushing them down until they’re caught on my feet. Losing interest, I reach out and grab the comforter, wiggling my way into the bed until I give up, flop onto my back, and cover my still closed eyes with my arm.
“Fucking perfect,” Anders whispers, carefully working my briefs off my feet. “Where are your pj’s?” he asks, like I’m a child.
“Hot,” I tell him, sounding…like an overtired child. The last thing I remember before sleep takes me is reaching down and gripping my dick, telling myself not to come, over and over again.
When I wake up, I’m naked, sprawled across Ander’s broad, comforting chest, while he strokes my hair with one hand and tightly holds my hard cock with the other.