26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
I wasn’t lying when I told Tobias I enjoy bottoming sometimes, even if I generally prefer to top. And I definitely enjoy it with him, because watching him come alive—taking control of himself and what he wants—is absolutely exhilarating.
I am surprised by the way he’s seemed to grab hold of it with both hands and refuse to let go since that first time. Metaphorically and literally, I suppose. It feels like the more sex we have, the more he wants it. Like he’s burying himself in it.
Of course, I have no idea if it’s a healthy way to cope, or if it’s even my place to make that judgement. For now, I’m going along with it. He’s telling me straight up what he needs, and it’s something I can give him.
That doesn’t mean I’m not keeping an eye on him, though. He’s treading water. Anyone can see that. He’s still drinking every day, but choosing when and how much very carefully. I think that’s mostly to appease me, even if I haven’t said anything out loud since we first spoke about it.
He comes down to the bar with me. Every time he looks just as on edge as the last. It never fades, and neither of us ever forgets the looming threat that’s keeping him from settling, whether it’s real or not. The cops have absolutely nothing to help us, except their blind conviction that Eamon skipped town.
I want to talk to Sav about it just so I can get anyone’s fucking opinion that isn’t my own, because there comes a point where you’re so deep in a situation the words don’t even make sense anymore. He’s called out so many times in the past couple of days, though. I haven’t seen him apart from the first night I brought Tobias downstairs, when he was covered in bruises and even more taciturn than usual.
I can’t get Tobias to feel less uneasy when he’s outside the apartment. I can’t get any actual information from people on either side of the law. And no matter what my fantasies are telling me, I’m probably not capable of tracking Eamon down wherever he’s hiding and strangling him to death so Tobias can finally know some peace.
The only thing that seems to make him feel calm is sex. It feels counterintuitive. Like sex should be the last thing he wants, and especially the kind of visceral, heart-pounding sex we’ve moved on to since the first time. But after we’re done, once we’ve cleaned up, and he curls into my chest to finally fall asleep, is the only time I see him look truly tranquil.
This morning, he’s anything but tranquil. From the second he wakes up, there’s a deep groove etched in his forehead and mountains of worry behind those honey-brown eyes. He rests on my chest, his head rising and falling steadily as I breathe, letting me card my fingers through his hair. But I can feel the disquiet seeping through him like a toxin.
I can’t push him. If I push him, he gets even more withdrawn. Instead, I try to keep myself as steady as possible. I’m not sure if he’s even aware of it, but I’ve finally figured out that whenever I’m physically the most predictable—calm, still, breathing slowly and doing nothing or some kind of repetitive, mundane activity—those are the times he finds it easiest to open up to me about things. It makes sense when I think about it. I kind of feel stupid for taking so long to get to this point. Conveniently, I’m generally a calm person whenever the world isn’t burning down around me, so Tobias can hopefully take some comfort in my natural state.
“Can we go see my lola today?” he asks, shattering the silence.
I frown down at the top of his head, even though he can’t see me from this angle, but I don’t stop running my fingers through his hair.
“Of course. We have plenty of time before the bar opens. Is that what’s bothering you?”
Silence. I can practically feel all the guilt and anxiety churning in his brain, but none of it comes out in the form of words, no matter how much time I give him, so I keep talking.
“Tristan’s been taking care of her, like I told you. He’s buddy-buddy with all the nurses there and he goes to visit her literally every day. I know she’s worried about you, but she knows you’re not there for a good reason, and she’s not all alone. Everyone understands why it’s been hard to go back.”
Tobias keeps silent for a little while longer, before turning over to prop up his chin on his hands, still on my chest but able to look me in the eye now.
“I appreciate it. I really do. I know that she and Tristan are weirdly close for a random old lady and her paramedic.” I huff a laugh, because it’s true. But Tristan is that kind of person. He doesn’t make a lot of friends, but whenever he does, they’re the most unlikely kind and he seems to latch on and not let go. “But it’s my job. I’m supposed to be there. I don’t even know when she’s getting released or what care she needs. Taking care of her is probably the only thing I’ve ever done right in my life, and now I’ve let it all fall apart, to what? Lie around here all day? So what if the hospital fucking terrifies me? I’m fucking terrified here, too. At this point, I’m pretty sure you could bring me Eamon’s head in a cardboard box and I would still be terrified, even though there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s like it’s baked into me.”
He shivers as he says the last part, and I pull the blankets up around his bare shoulders before hugging him to my chest as hard as I dare.
“It’ll get better, honey. I promise. Everything gets better eventually.”
Tobias turns his face into my skin again so he’s not looking at me, and his words are muffled when he speaks. “Or maybe I’ll just get so used to it, it’ll seem normal. I don’t really care anymore. Let’s just go, so I can do one productive thing with my life.”
It takes all I have not to sigh, because this is starting to feel like a conversation we’re going to have ad nauseam.
He needs to talk to someone about all this guilt before it weighs him down so much he can’t breathe.
Tentatively, I broach the subject.
“Baby, I know there’s a lot going on right now, but can we please talk about therapy? I think it might help. I went for a long time after everything with my dad and Lukas, and I honestly think it’s the reason I’m here right now as a functional human being.”
Tobias snorts, still not looking up at me, his breath hot and damp against my skin.
“Sure. With all the money I have lying around. And all my legal, marketable skills.”
“I’m sure we can find the money,” I say, already knowing I’m edging into dangerous territory.
Now his head does pop up, and there’s fire in his eyes.
“No, there’s no ‘we’ here. I’m not letting you take care of me all day and drain your bank account at the same time. It’s just me. I need money to live, and money to pay Lola’s medical bills. I need to find a job and some way of sustaining myself that doesn’t involve organized crime. The last thing I need is to start throwing money away, talking about things in the past that I can’t change. I might as well put cash on the lawn and set fire to it for all the good it’s going to do me.”
He ramps up in intensity as he speaks, even though he’s not pulling away from me. I can see the fear simmering just below the surface of all this anger, though. Not just the anxious, residual fear of his trauma, but his fear of an unknown future. Which bugs the shit out of me, because that’s the part I can help with, if he’d just let me.
I can keep him from getting too in his head about it, I guess. We can revisit the other stuff later.
“Tobias,” I say, smiling even though he’s scowling at me like a drenched kitten right now. Or maybe an angry porcupine. “We don’t have a lawn.”
His eyes narrow. Okay, it wasn’t that funny, but it was better than nothing. Eventually, he makes a huffing noise that’s in the vicinity of laughter, but at least the tension of the conversation is cut off at the knees.
Crawling off my body, he starts looking around for something to wear.
“Why don’t we stop by your grandmother’s place on the way and get some of your stuff. Then you won’t constantly be drowning in my old clothes. We can get you a new phone, too, while we’re at it. Pick up your bike and bring it here. All the things.”
Tobias freezes, a long-sleeved henley in his hands that he’s been wearing for the past two days. As much as I love him in my clothes and haven’t pushed him on this because I know he finds it comforting, we have to step out of this post-crisis bubble, eventually.
If only so I can stop doing laundry every day.
“Tobias? Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah. Does that mean—” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard before turning around to look me in the eye. “Does that mean I’m staying?”
His expression is hard as he says it. Like he’s challenging me, or daring me to say no. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the pendulum swings of Tobias’s personality. He has so much strength, including this kind of feral intensity whenever something really pushes his buttons to make him angry. But life and circumstances have also taught him how to wilt and fade into the background. It’s a dichotomy he never seems to have a firm grasp on, jumping from one to the other without realizing it.
I’m fucking here for it. He can swing from one extreme to the other to his heart’s content. I just love getting to witness any moment that seems like it’s the real him shining through, instead of what he was conditioned to be.
“Yeah, baby,” I say, keeping my voice quiet and my expression gentle as I reach for him. “You’re staying. As long as you want to.”
He lets me pull him into a hug, but stays stiff and unyielding in my arms.
“And if I want to leave?” he asks.
“You can always leave. I’ll help you, if that’s what you want. You can go home to your lola, and I’ll still help you find a job and all the rest of it. You’re not obligated to stay.” Even if the thought of him not being here every day breaks my fucking heart. “But baby?” Tobias leans back to look up at me. “Please stay,” I continue. “I’m asking you, not telling you. Please, please stay. If you want to. I want you to.”
It’s not the most elegant way to ask someone to officially move in with you, but the emotion brimming in Tobias’s eyes tells me it resonated with something inside him.
He opens his mouth, like he’s about to speak. Honestly, for all my begging, it had never occurred to me that he might say no. I thought this was a done deal. I thought we were in love, even if we weren’t quite saying it yet.
Then a shadow passes over his face and he tears his gaze away from mine.
“We should go, before it gets too late,” he says.
That’s it. Conversation closed. I have no idea what I said wrong, and even less of an idea when he’s going to be willing to talk about it again.
The drive to the hospital is quiet. Tobias seems pensive, and I’m trying—no matter how fucking unbearable it is—to give him the space to work through his thoughts.
Initially, I was going to stop by his grandmother’s place on the way to grab some of his stuff, but I decide to leave that for the time being. I don’t want to spark something he’s not ready to deal with after the awkward turn the conversation took before we left the house.
Maybe he just needs to see Anika. That might make him feel better. Tristan told me she’s doing much better, and seeing her looking well might make Tobias ease up on some of the self-flagellation.
As soon as we get there, I can feel the tension mounting in him. It looks a lot different in the day than at night. It’s a big regional hospital, so there’s lots of hustle and bustle. The parking lot is full and everywhere you look there are nurses, doctors, patients, family and whoever else coming and going. The lights are bright, so there are no dark corners, and the security presence is much more visible now than it was when he was taken.
Still, I can feel him practically vibrating with nerves. His eyes dart around constantly, like he’s assessing for threats, although he seems to be consciously keeping his body still and smooth as we walk through the building. The guilt that’s coursing through me at not being able to help him is almost overwhelming. Every second is like a cheese grater on my skin, with all my nerve-endings screaming at me to do something .
But I can’t. This is something we both have to face.
I do thread my fingers through his hand, though. It makes him jump, but then he settles and squeezes my palm, even though he’s not looking at me.
It’s a long walk up to her floor. There are a lot of elevators and winding hallways to go through, and with the thick layer of stress sitting over us, the whole journey seems to take forever. I’m worried he’s going to snap.
Then, just as we’re approaching the unit she’s on, something does seem to shift inside him. Not in a good way, but not in the panicked or destructive way that I was worried about, either.
He just… shuts down. He’s still walking and holding my hand, but his eyes are suddenly far away instead of examining the world around us for threats, and he’s loose-limbed as he moves, like a marionette with unattended strings.
Nothing has changed by the time we reach her room, and he’s so silent I’m only certain he’s breathing because he’s still conscious. He reaches for the door handle, but I gently take his hand to turn him toward me for a second.
“Tobias? Are you alright? We can come back another time if you need to.”
He listens to me, then nods slowly, like the question took some time to process.
“I’m fine. I want to see her. Let’s go in.”
“Okay. But I’m here if you need me.”
I make sure to trail behind when he finally opens the door and steps inside. I’m here for him, but I don’t want to intrude on their moment. I probably should have asked him if he wanted me to wait outside, but it’s too late for that now.
Plus, he’s not the only one with irrational-hospital-kidnapping anxiety. I’ll go if he wants me to, but I’d much rather keep him where I can see him until we get the hell out of here.
As soon as Tobias and Anika see each other, things get emotional. I almost tear up as well, like I’m watching one of those YouTube videos of dogs being reunited with person after years of being apart.
They hug and huddle close, whispering to each other in intense tones, with voices too low for me to hear. I don’t want to intrude, so I try to look away as well. I think Anika is speaking to him mostly in Tagalog, while Tobias is answering her in English, but even if I can’t make out the words, the choked-up emotion in their voices is unmistakable.
I’m pretty sure I head Tobias whisper, “I’m sorry,” over and over, and it breaks my fucking heart. Part of me wants to tell his grandmother everything that happened to him. She deserves to know how much of a fighter he is, and how much he survived just to come back here for her. I know it would hurt her too much to know the truth, though.
After a few minutes, Tobias looks up at me. His eyes are bloodshot and bright with tears, but I’d take this any day over the shut-down version of him I saw just a few minutes ago. He’s sitting, perched on the edge of her bed with her soft-looking hand held in his, and gestures to me to come closer.
I can’t repress the small smile that takes over my face as I move toward them.
“Lola, you remember Gunnar. He came with me when I visited before,” he says, before chewing at his bottom lip as we both think of all the unsaid things that followed that visit.
Anika nods. “I remember. Hello, Gunnar. Are you the one who’s been keeping my apo so busy all this time?”
I wince. “Yes and no, ma’am. It’s been a difficult couple of weeks. I’ve been trying to help.”
“None of that,” she says, shaking her head at me. “No ‘ma’am’. It makes me feel old.” She looks me up and down, not bothering to hide the evaluation in her gaze, but not unkind with it either. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-six,” I say, barely swallowing the ‘ma’am’ that almost came out at the end. I feel too much like a teenager right now, showing up to pick up my date for the prom. I haven’t been nervous like this to meet someone’s family in ten years. It’s unsettling, and it’s making my brain get all its wires crossed.
She seems to consider this, and I worry for a second she’s about to tell Tobias to stay the fuck away from me because I’m too old for him. I wouldn’t judge her. But I’m way, way too deep in this to let go that easily now, so for everyone’s sake, I hope she doesn’t. I’m not sure what exactly Tobias told her we are, but it’s clear that she knows I’m more than just a random friend who gave him a ride to the hospital, and she’s evaluating me accordingly.
“That’s good,” she says in the end, letting me release the breath I was holding. She squeezes Tobias’s hand before reaching out with her other hand, trailing an IV line, to chuck him under the chin. “He looks like a grownup with a good job. I like it. You deserve someone to take care of you. There’s more to life than taking care of me all the time.”
Tobias frowns, stealing a glance at me before leaning in closer to her. “I’m still taking care of you, Lola. Nothing’s changed.”
She smiles, but doesn’t answer him directly. Instead, she turns to me again.
“You can call me ‘auntie’.”
I nod. I’m not sure what this means, but I feel like I’ve been accepted. At least in a probationary way.
“Auntie,” I say, before Tobias interrupts to get her attention.
“I told you, nothing’s changing. You’ll get better and then I’ll come home with you.”
A knock at the door interrupts the conversation, but no one says anything before it opens and someone steps inside.
A doctor, I’m guessing based on the white coat, stethoscope, and iPad. She’s in her fifties, with pale skin and the lost look of the chronically overworked, but there’s an inherent friendliness to her expression that offsets my sudden anxiety at seeing a stranger in the room.
“Mrs. Tanikon, how are you feeling today?” she asks.
“Better, doctor. My grandson is here to visit.” Anika points at Tobias.
The doctor freezes for a second before smoothing out the shock on her face.
“The famous Mr. Tanikon. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you. But your paramedic friend said that you were temporarily unavailable.”
Tobias grimaces, his gaze darting to the floor before he looks at the doctor again. Clearly, the connection between the police report I filed at this very hospital a week ago and his mysterious absences hasn’t been made. While I’m sure he’s glad not everyone knows his business, it’s probably also humiliating to seem like an absentee grandson.
“I’m sorry. It was an emergency,” he says, tripping over his words a little. “I’m here now. I’m back. I just don’t have a phone yet. I’ll get one, though.”
“Alright,” she says, that professional, plastic smile not moving an inch. “We should talk about your grandmother’s care after she’s discharged, though.” The doctor turns to me before saying, “And you are?”
“He can stay,” Anika interrupts. “Everyone can stay. I don’t care what you need to talk about. Just tell them whatever it is so we can deal with it and I can finally get out of this hospital bed.”
She smiles through the brusque interruption, but it’s clear who’s in charge of this room, and it’s not the doctor.
It doesn’t seem to matter. I’m sure she has other patients to get to and just wants to get on with her day. As soon as she opens her mouth, an incomprehensible torrent of information spills out. Tobias looks shell-shocked, and like he’s barely taking any of it in, so I try to pay attention. Anika looks unfazed, so I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.
Words like ‘necrotic wound’ and ‘almost amputated’ seem to put a chill in Tobias, as well as ‘chronic atrial fibrillation’. But I think what rocks him the most is when the doctor recommends in no uncertain terms that Anika doesn’t go home, but instead transfers to a skilled nursing facility for wound management and rehabilitation. The doctor implies that she could recover enough mobility and independence to eventually go back home, but there’s not a lot of optimism in her voice as she says it.
It’s a lot of information. There are pamphlets and some generic reassurances before the doctors whisks out of the room again. I can see Tobias winding right back up with guilt, but so can his grandmother. Before he gets the chance to talk to her about any of it, she tells him very kindly that she’s tired. She suggests we go home to talk about it, and come back to visit her again tomorrow.
And thank you, Anika. I need a minute to breathe. Because the amount of care she’s going to need is intense if Tobias refuses to let her go to a facility. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get him to take care of himself, and if he’s throwing all his energy into doing something that sounds unmanageable for any one person, let alone someone in his position who is supposed to be recovering from their own shit…
I don’t know. I’ll think of something.
We say our goodbyes, and the ride home is just as silent as the ride there was. At least Tobias does ask to stop at the trailer for some clothes, although he won’t let me come in. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed by it, even though there’s nothing to be embarrassed by. I live above a bar, and even from the outside I can tell that it’s a nice, well-kept little home the two of them have.
His bike is still here. It looks just as rundown and crappy as I remember from watching him pull up to the bar on it a million times, and I quietly hope that I have longer before having to watch him ride around on that death trap again.
I add ‘find money for a safe car’ to my mental Tobias list, along with everything else. If he’s okay with it.
While I’m waiting for him, I order a new phone for him to be delivered and realize I’m an idiot for not doing it sooner. It’s not like we haven’t been distracted, though.
We barely exchange any words until we’re in the parking lot of the Feral Possum. He has an old duffel bag on his lap and an exhausted expression on his face. I turn toward him with no idea of what to say to make it better, but still filled with the desperate need to try.
“Tobias—”
“Can we just go inside first?” he asks, cutting me off. “I think I need a minute before I can deal with this.”
I pause, then push through anyway. “I was going to say I love you. I know you’re scared, because this is a lot, but don’t forget that, okay?” I take a deep breath in, because even though this isn’t technically the first time I’ve said it to him, it still feels like a landmark moment for us, and I don’t know how I’ll survive if he turns away from it. “I love you. We’re in this together. No matter how fucked up you feel sometimes. I’m fucked up too, remember? It’s still a team effort.”
Tobias looks at me, tears welling in his eyes for what isn’t even the second or third time today. God, no wonder he looks so exhausted. He doesn’t say anything, but he does lean across the center console to press his lips to mine.
It’s not a passionate kiss, but I can taste the desperation in it. I can feel how much he wants to say it back. He pushes his tongue in my mouth instead, and I answer in kind, because I know exactly what he means by it.
Like always, I can be patient. I’ll stay quiet and still, and when he’s ready, he’ll come to me.
We break apart, Tobias still silent but nodding at me. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and I brush away the tears that are starting to leak out of his eyes.
With a few deep breaths, he seems to shake himself out of it, and we both get out of the car. We walk into the bar instead of using the outside stairs, because I want to check and see if Sav actually showed up for morning prep like he said he would.
He’s here. He’s here, and as soon as we walk in, he turns to look at us. Both of his fists are resting on the bar as he leans his weight into it, and the expression on his face is enough to make me stop in my tracks.
“What’s wrong? Is he here?” I ask, suddenly on red alert.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Sav gestures to both of us, ushering us inside. “It’s just…” he trails off, staring off to the side before snapping his attention back to us. “We should talk. I think it’s time that I tell you Eamon’s not coming back.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, hoping he means what I think he means, but not willing to jump the gun.
Sav looks at me like he doesn’t want to spell it out, but I keep staring at him.
“Okay, fine, you want to hear the words? He’s dead. Eamon’s dead. You’re fucking welcome.”