Chapter 11
ELEVEN
ev
It was way too early for someone to be calling, which meant my stomach curled up with anxiety. It had to be my parents, or something job-related.
A sign that I was spoiled rotten, but I really didn’t want to be my glorified mother’s errand boy today, of all days.
For one thing, my dick still hurt. For another, I hadn’t even read all of Sir Ismael’s texts, but the number kept adding up—as well as the missed calls—and that all didn’t bode well for when I decided to actually check what he had to say.
And then there was the stuff with Santos. Santos, who was keeping stuff from me.
I couldn’t prove it. He didn’t have one specific tell or anything like that. I just knew there was more. He’d been more withdrawn, too, so clearly, there was something there.
My parents hadn’t given me any details. They were more subtle about their gossiping than Santos’s, but I still couldn’t tell if they’d known or not.
It felt wrong to ask them anyway. It hurt that my best friend wouldn’t tell me, but I supposed the ship for getting upset about that had sailed with all the kink and everything else I’d kept from him as well.
Truthfully, I didn’t know how he was managing. I wouldn’t, if I were him. I’d be curled up in a ball and thinking that there was no point in trying because the world kept spinning and I couldn’t hold on to anything.
Instead, he was spooning me and squeezing me tighter as the phone kept buzzing.
I sighed.
Did I really have to check?
The connection here was spotty sometimes. I blamed the thick walls. I could just give it five minutes, see who had called, and proceed accordingly.
My stomach cramped up in knots before I could give that option any serious thought.
I’d never be taken seriously if I avoided responsibilities, even if they were as silly as picking up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart.” My mother’s voice made me plop back down against the pillow.
I lowered the phone’s volume before she could say more.
I didn’t know how Santos hadn’t woken up yet.
He was always up before I was. What time even was it?
“I thought for sure you’d be sleeping. I knew Santos would be a good influence for you. ”
“Uh-huh.”
It was hard, but I didn’t squeak. I could behave like a completely functional adult that wasn’t about to be squished to death by his best friend. The best friend his mother was talking about as if it was no big deal.
“Anyway, I called to ask if it’s okay for us to stop by the house for a few days. I want to go through a couple of contracts in person for the new landscaping company we’re hiring, and it will be good to check in on Santos.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “Sure. That’s fine.”
Had we entered some kind of Twilight Zone? My parents never asked for my permission or gave me any heads-up when they were visiting. I just came back home from wherever I’d been, and suddenly the kitchen smelled like a professional chef was in charge of it and they were here.
“Perfect. I’ll book the flight, then. Love you, Everest.”
“Yeah. Love you.”
The words left a weird taste in my mouth, but it was nothing new. I just ended the call and turned around until I was face-to-face with a still sleeping Santos.
It was weirding me out. He had been sleeping more fitfully these past few days, but I hadn’t brought it up. I wasn’t sure why, but it had felt like the thing to do. Or, not do.
Ugh.
I had to get out of my head, stop getting distracted by my own shit, and figure out how to help him, stat.
Why couldn’t anyone in the inner circle be a therapist?
That would speed up the process. I’d already reached out to Carlos, and I knew he’d given him the contact for a therapist or something like that, but it wasn’t like I could push more.
Could I? I’d seen all the posts on social media that said therapy worked best when the person wanted to go.
Not that I thought he needed therapy, per se. But he needed something, and I didn’t know what it was or how to give it to him.
I knew the second he woke up, though, his muscles clenching before stretching, a low rumble caught at the back of his throat.
His eyelashes clung to his eyes as he tried to orient himself, a bit of a scruff shadowing his jawline.
He was perfect.
“Hey,” I whispered.
My heart raced. It was a stupid greeting, wasn’t it? I could’ve just said good morning. Or gone beneath the covers to give him a more proper wakeup.
That seemed scary, though. Not something I could ever do unprompted.
“You think too loud.”
“I don’t.”
I totally did.
Santos stretched more properly, letting out more of that grumbling sound that sent shivers down my spine, before he turned again to face me. His hand fell on my hip. I pretended I wasn’t holding my breath.
“My parents are coming next week, I think. They called.”
Santos hummed. “That’s fine.”
Was it?
Well, he’d always liked them more than I did.
Probably because they had always seen him as the golden child.
I didn’t know if it was that halo effect because of the blue eyes and blonde hair, or he’d always portrayed as a man better than I could, but through it all, they’d always had more positive things to say about him than they did me.
Even when his family all but banned us from spending time together, and mine accepted it and even pretended they had a point, Santos had still been placed on a pedestal.
I’d love to say otherwise, but I’d resented him at times. Resented my parents, too, but…
“I don’t know what they know.”
Santos tensed right away. I shrank.
“Can we not? Please.”
“Okay.”
I’d just get out of bed. I had to hit the bathroom, anyway. If I went before him, I could be the one to make breakfast. I had this theory that he thought I couldn’t fend for myself just because my fridge had been a mess when he’d arrived, but I could cook breakfast.
Yeah.
I’d just focus on him and pretend that everything was fine. Between us. Within me.
Nothing to see here.
“How are you doing, Ever?”
Uh?
What was I just thinking?
Pretending everything was fine didn’t go together with him asking how I was doing over the stupid breakfast table while he ate the mug muffins I’d made like they were a delicacy instead of the one thing I wasn’t too nervous to fuck up.
The contents of the fridge might have been more lacking than I’d thought when Santos had first teased me about it.
“Uh, good.” I swallowed through my bite of fluffy muffin. “I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You had that thing with your Dom.” I hated how slowly he spoke, as if he didn’t want to spook me. “Has he reached out since?”
“Yeah.”
I hadn’t read what he had to say or picked up his calls, which meant the longer it passed without me doing it, the more likely it was that he’d put an end to everything.
That would be a problem for future Ev to figure out, though. Present Ev was all about the present. And his best friend duties, which did not include a man I knew very little about, even though I felt like he knew me better than most people. It was just sub frenzy.
That was what Erika would say, and I trusted her judgment more than I did mine.
“Okay…” He nudged my thigh with his knee. “What has you so in your head, then?”
I huffed. “I told you. I’m going to be a good friend now.”
“You said that,” he hedged. “Doesn’t mean I understood what you meant by it. Still don’t.”
I scowled. It wasn’t aimed at him, but I needed to let out the frustration somehow. “I don’t want my parents here.”
“Okay.” Was he going to stop saying okay to everything? It was beginning to grate on my nerves. “Why?”
“Because,” I grunted. “First, they’re going to have opinions on me, and my new wardrobe, and all that. They’re going to look disappointed, and probably voice it, too. And then, they’re going to forget I exist and just treat you like the long lost son they think you are.”
Lashing out was an incredibly healthy coping mechanism. Who thought the opposite?
“You know I never let them do that.”
He sounded wounded, too. Of course I was going to keep fucking up.
I shook my head. I had to… I didn’t know.
Figure out a way to not be my shitty self, who couldn’t hold conversations like a normal person.
“I’m sorry.” I sighed. “I’m…not good company right now. I’m going to text the group chat. Maybe they can come.”
“What, because I need babysitting?”
“No?”
Kind of, though. He was sad, and I was only hurting him more.
And I wanted him to like my friends, and I wasn’t good at bringing different groups of friends together because it wasn’t anything I’d had to do before.
It had always been Santos, and then the people at Plumas.
No one else had been there to act as training wheels.
“Ever.” He pushed the muffin away. I couldn’t see past the rim of the mug.
Maybe he had finished it already. He ate faster than I did, and it didn’t make my stomach churn too much if I thought of it in terms of he’d already finished it, rather than he had pushed it aside because he didn’t like it. “Babes. Look at me.”
“I’m looking at you.”
I was looking at the spot where his shirt was all wrinkled on top of his sweatpants, but it was technically him.
“Fine. Wanna snuggle some more?”
“I just said—”
“Okay. I’ll be in my room, then. You can do whatever.”
Doing whatever was not a phrase I ever knew how to interpret.
As soon as he rinsed the mug and put it in the dishwasher, though, that was what he did.
There might’ve been some hesitation in his step, but he took the stairs two steps at a time, and I heard the retreating footsteps into the room that was farthest from the stairwell.
Fuck.
I wasn’t good at social stuff. Clearly.
What made me think that this would be good? This stuff didn’t happen when we were in school. Mostly because we were both equally scared kids away from everything, and there was nothing standing in the middle. Now, Santos was a fully fledged adult, and I was just me.
Not enough and too much, all in the same breath.