Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
CONNOR
Ugh. I’m hot. Sweaty. I’m trapped in a tangle of blankets and uggghhh. Oh, wait.
I open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. I’m not at home. This is not my bed.
It all comes flooding back into my head. Going home. Finding Miles and Wyatt. Running out of the apartment and somehow ending up at Mars.
Donnie.
He brought me to his house and everything after that is kinda fuzzy. There had been salmon, incredibly soft pajamas—the ones that are currently trying to smother me—and getting wrapped up in something that felt so comfortable and safe.
I kick the blankets away and reach down to strip the fuzzy socks off my feet. I immediately feel ten degrees cooler. The flannel I put on last night had been warm and cuddly, but now it’s damp and every inch of me feels gross. I push myself up and a jackhammer goes off in my head.
“Ah, fuck.” I press the heel of my hand against my forehead, waiting for the pounding to fade. I haven’t had a hangover like this since… film school? Nope, no, not going there. No thinking about film school or anything to do with Wyatt or Miles.
Moving slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and notice a bottle of Gatorade on the nightstand. Of course, hydrate. Donnie did say something about needing to drink more Gatorade. I down half the bottle, the sickly-sweet liquid clinging to my morning tongue. “Yuck.”
I need to brush my teeth, but I only make it as far as the floor. My ankle flashes with pain when I try to step on it and I end up in a pile of limbs and sweaty flannel beside the bed. “Fuck, Jesus, what the hell?”
Footsteps fly up the stairs. “Are you okay?”
Donnie is on me, running his hands all over me like he’s searching for injuries.
“Yeah, I think so?” I’m holding my ankle with one hand and bracing my head with the other, waiting for the spiky throbs to die down.
“What happened?” Donnie takes my foot into his hand and gently moves his fingers over the joints of my ankle. “Your ankle wasn’t injured yesterday, was it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” The flash of pain is familiar though. Oh, right. “I think I stepped on it wrong when I was… running down the stairs.” Trying to escape the horror show that was unfolding in the apartment.
“It didn’t hurt yesterday?”
“It did, initially. And then it didn’t until just now.”
Donnie nods. “Probably the adrenaline. It masked the pain so you could deal with it later. Can you get up?”
“Yeah.” I take the hand he offers and let him pull me to my feet—foot. I sit down on the bed and wince as my head throbs again.
“Headache?” Donnie asks.
“Yeah.”
“It’s because you’re de—”
“Dehydrated. I know.” I smile and point to the half-empty bottle on the nightstand. “Thank you for that.”
Donnie gives me a stern look. “Finish the rest of that while I get you some Aspirin and ice.”
I really want to brush my teeth first to get rid of the fuzz on my tongue, but I do as he says and polish off the rest of the bottle. Now my bladder is protesting and I shift uncomfortably. Fuck it—I need the bathroom.
I’m cautious as I test out my ankle. It’s not so bad if I step on it gingerly and don’t put too much weight on it. I hobble to the bathroom without falling on my face and even manage to pee standing up.
Donnie’s waiting for me in the bedroom with a glass of water, a bottle of Aspirin, and a bag of peas. He shakes two tablets onto my hand and holds out the glass of water for me. He eyes me while I swallow the pills down.
“Do you want to shower before we ice your ankle?”
I must look as gross as I feel. “Yeah, please.”
He stays close as I inch my way toward the bathroom, like he’s afraid I’m going to collapse under my own weight. “You’ll be okay in there? You’re not going to slip in the shower?”
“I’ll be fine. It doesn’t even hurt if I’m standing still.
” Although, if he’s offering to come into the shower with me…
“Really, I’m good. Thanks.” I give myself a mental smack in the head.
No coming on to the spin instructor. Not when he’s been nothing but kind and generous.
It’s like I’ve completely forgotten that I had a boyfriend as recently as twelve hours ago.
“Okay, shout if you need anything. I’ll bring your breakfast up.” Donnie shuts the door for me, maybe a little quicker than necessary.
The shower feels fucking amazing. It’s one of those rainwater showerheads that pour water directly on top of my head and I stand there letting it wash everything away.
All the icky sweat and all the fuzzy shit on my tongue.
I wish I could wash Miles and Wyatt away too, the hurt, the betrayal, the rejection. If only.
Even then, I feel about a thousand percent better when I get out of the shower. Except now my choices are to hang out in Donnie’s house naked or wear yesterday’s clothes. I really don’t want to wear yesterday’s clothes.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I go back to the guest room and find a pair of sweats and a t-shirt waiting for me on the padded bench. Donnie again, always thinking of things two steps ahead of me. I’m pulling the t-shirt on when there’s a knock on the door.
Donnie has a tray of food. Coffee, orange juice, a banana, an apple, and omg, a stack of pancakes. There’s even a little jar of what looks like milk and a packet of sweetener on the tray. This is legit room service level of pampering.
“Whoa.” I step back and let Donnie in. “Is that all for me?”
“I figured you’d be hungry.” He sets the tray down on the spot where he left the clothes, then goes to rearrange the pillows on the bed. “Sit down and prop your foot up on this.”
I really don’t think I need to ice the ankle, but it’s his house and he’s the spin instructor, so I do as he says. He balances the bag of peas over my ankle, then brings the tray over and slides it carefully onto the bed.
“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.”
“With lots of milk and sugar.”
He stares in shock as I dump all the milk and sweetener into the mug. “That’s more milk and sweetener than coffee.”
“Just the way I like it!” I take a sip and yeah, that’s the spot. Honestly, I’d be happy with just this. He didn’t need to bring up all the extra stuff. Still—pancakes. I pick up the fork and knife and cut into the small stack.
“Those are protein pancakes.”
I stop with the fork in my mouth. Whatever I’ve taken a bite of, it’s not a pancake.
Donnie snickers from where he’s sitting at the end of the bed. “Egg whites, low-fat cottage cheese, rolled oats, and a honey drizzle. You can slice the banana on top if you’d like.”
I chew. It’s not bad. It’s not a pancake, but I’ve eaten worse shit as a college student. I swallow and wash it down with my milk and sweetener with a dash of coffee.
“It’s healthy for you. You get used to it.” Donnie says with a smirk.
I mean, if eating protein pancakes every day gives me a body like Donnie’s, then… yeah, no, I’ll stick with my chonky figure, thanks. I cut another piece of pancake because now that I know what to expect, it’s pretty decent.
“I have to go to work in a bit,” Donnie says, sobering. “Do you have any plans for today?”
What day is it today? It kinda feels like a week’s passed since my life got upended, except that was only yesterday. Which makes today Saturday. “No, not today.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be going anywhere on that ankle anyway.” He adjusts the bag of peas to keep it from sliding off my foot. “Will you be okay staying here by yourself?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll start looking for a place to stay so I can get out of your hair.”
A look comes over Donnie’s face, a little dark, a little annoyed, almost offended. “You don’t need to do that. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. It’s not like I’m using the space for anything else.”
That’s true. The place is freakishly large for just one person. Except Donnie’s wearing a wedding ring and he’s twirling it around his finger. Has he always worn the ring? I’ve never noticed it before, but then, I’ve never made a point to look.
“Do you… live here by yourself?” It’s the nicest way I can think of to ask. I haven’t seen anyone else in the house and I’ve never heard of Donnie, The Spin Instructor, having a husband, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one.
Donnie slides his hand under his thigh, like he’s forcing himself not to toy with his ring. He looks off to the side before speaking. “Yeah, I do. My husband… died almost four years ago.”
Jesus fucking Christ. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
Donnie’s smile is tight. “Thank you. It was… a long time ago.”
From the set of his jaw and the way his brows are drawn slightly together, my guess is it doesn’t feel like it was that long ago to Donnie. The sadness coming off him is making my stomach churn and the protein pancakes aren’t sitting so well anymore.
“Anyway...” It’s obvious he’s forcing his smile. His voice is artificially high and bright. “We inherited the house from Roger’s great aunt. It was so dilapidated it was practically condemned. We spent two years remodeling the whole thing. That was ten years ago.”
His gaze shifts back toward me, to my chest, then stomach, then legs. There’s no heat in his eyes and his lips are pressed into a thin, straight line. He’s not checking me out, he’s… the clothes. He’s looking at the clothes I’m wearing.
I glance down. They look like every day t-shirts and sweatpants. Really nice material, way nicer than any of the stuff I own. There’s nothing special about them. Unless—oh, shit.
I pluck at the shirt. “Are these… were they…” Ugh, how do I ask the question without sounding like an ungrateful ass?
Donnie nods. “You’re almost the exact size as Roger was. I… still have some of his old clothes.”
“And the PJs from last night?”
“Those too.”
I swallow around the ball of emotion that’s suddenly in my throat.
Maybe I should feel weird about wearing a dead man’s clothing, but it feels more like an honor.
Donnie’s clearly still grieving his husband and he’s still wearing his wedding ring.
It can’t be easy handing over Roger’s things for a stranger to wear.
“Thank you,” I say, getting all choked up. My situation with Miles and Wyatt doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore, not compared to Donnie losing his husband. And here I was yesterday, bawling all over him when he’s gone through real heartache and real loss. “How long were you together for?”
Donnie takes a deep breath and blinks away the moisture in his eyes. “About eighteen years.”
Miles and I had been together for just over two.
What was two years next to eighteen? Nothing, that’s what it was.
Absolutely nothing. Donnie and Roger had owned a house together.
They were married. Me and Miles? Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure if I even loved him that much or in that way.
I cared about him a lot, enough to move in with him. But enough to marry him? I recoil at the thought. I don’t know if I would’ve married him. Certainly, not where we were in the relationship. And now, I can’t imagine ever wanting to marry him.
“Well, I need to get going.” Donnie stands from the bed and I kinda don’t want him to go.
I feel more out of place in the house now than I did before I knew about Roger.
It feels like I’m trespassing on his territory or something, like I’m taking advantage of him somehow.
He’s the one who inherited the property, who spent money and time making it into what it is today, but I’m the one walking around and enjoying it.
It doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t feel right.
At least with Donnie here, I don’t feel like one of those home invaders who squat in empty houses while the owners are out of town.
Donnie’s by the door, tapping on the doorframe, running through a list he’s made in his mind.
“Try not to walk around on your ankle too much, but obviously, I’m not going to force you to stay in bed all day.
There’s food in the fridge that’s easy to heat up.
Help yourself to anything that’s in there. ”
He furrows his brow, like he’s forgetting something. “Oh, and there’s a theater room in the basement if you want to watch movies or whatever. There’s a home gym down there too, but I wouldn’t recommend you use it.”
My ears perk up at the mention of a theater room and maybe I’ll work up the courage to go use Donnie’s things when he’s not home.
“Do you need anything before I go?”
I shake my head, then stop. “What time do you think you’ll get back?” I ask, voice small. It’s such a stupid question, something a child would ask when they want to know how long they’ll need to look out for themselves.
But Donnie smiles, warmly this time. His eyes go soft and they crinkle at the edges. He looks at me like he wants to walk over and hug me. I wouldn’t object if he did.
“Around six. I can make dinner when I get back.”
Six o’clock. Eight hours. It’s a standard work day and yet it feels like eons. I push down the seed of fear and nervousness that’s suddenly implanted itself in me. It’s only eight hours. I have work I can do. There are movies to watch. I’ll be fine.
I smile and try not to look like I’m afraid of being alone. “Have fun at work.”
Donnie half turns to leave, but hesitates.
He glances back at me for a moment, then he’s closing the distance between us.
He pulls me into a hug and we hold each other, neither one of us saying a word.
It should feel weird—two grown men, practically strangers, giving each other a hug goodbye—but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
He holds me until that seed lodged in me dissolves. I can do this. Donnie will be back in no time.