Chapter 25
COVEY
Idon’t want to get up.
Scratch that. I’m incapable of getting out of bed.
The gravity in my bedroom is holding me down, forcing me to stay curled up under the covers.
It’s the same position I’ve been in since I came home last night.
I stopped by the bathroom long enough to make sure all my stage makeup had been removed and that I showered off the worst of the day, but since then, I’ve been right here.
It’s anyone’s guess how many hours of sleep I got last night. Mostly, I stared at the inside of my eyelids, trying to make sense of yesterday.
Everything started out perfectly. I had the Power Ranger ready to go, nestled in my bag.
And then Aidan gave me a beautiful snow globe.
It’s the kind of tourist crap that I usually make fun of, but coming from him, it meant a lot to me.
Plus, it says exactly what I feel. This is my home, where I’m meant to be.
And then he listed off the people who missed me, who wanted me back here. Everyone except him. The one person I really care about. The person who makes this place feel like home. Not where I grew up or where my family is, but truly home. Where I belong.
If I needed a sign to know that he’s not interested in anything beyond this hoax we’ve put together for my family’s benefit, that was it.
After that, I couldn’t go through with my plans. It’s exactly like I told Leo. I’m not willing to risk losing the friendship that we have, even if it’ll kill me to watch him walk away.
And if I don’t find some way to break the pull keeping me in bed, very soon he’s going to be here, banging on the door, and wondering how I somehow fell into a dark depression overnight.
The thought of trying to explain my mood to him is what finally gets me moving. Shower. Shave. Tea. Yoga. I go through all the motions of starting the day, but with none of the usual energy. Even yoga has minimal effect on my mood.
When my alarm goes off to signal it’s time to leave the house, I look like a functional person, but I don’t feel like one.
And if I thought my mood was foul at home, it doesn’t improve even the slightest when I get to my parents’ house and find Aidan’s car parked out front.
We agreed to come separately, mostly because of my time constraints today with performances.
I’m even more grateful now. Being trapped inside a vehicle with him, our bodies close together, with no escape—even for ten minutes—is a nightmare.
Being in the same house will be hard enough.
I need to get my shit together. I need to figure out how to get over this if we’re going to be friends.
But right now, I can’t do any of those things.
All I want is my duvet back so I can cry for the next few hours, hoping it’ll exhaust all my emotions before the performance this afternoon.
“Merry Christmas, Covey,” my mom practically screams at me when she opens the door.
She’s wearing a ridiculous sweatshirt covered in sequins, rhinestones, and little pompoms. “Come in, come in.” She grabs the tote bag I have stuffed full of gifts for everyone.
Well, everyone except Aidan. The gift I wanted to give him is safely tucked into my dance bag in the trunk of my car.
Even though I should probably shove it in a closet or donate it to a kid, I can’t let it go. Not yet.
Once the holidays are over, I’ll figure it out.
“You made it,” Aidan calls as he rounds the corner.
It takes all my energy not to stiffen at his presence.
I knew he was here, but seeing the bright smile on his face is too much for me this morning.
Will it always be like this? Greeting him at parties and bars, seeing him beaming at me while I break into a million pieces?
God, that’s a form of torture I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
“Aidan.” My voice wavers, but if anyone notices, they don’t say anything.
He comes close and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into the best and worst hug I’ve ever had. I try to relax and be natural, but I’m not sure it works. Just as he pulls back, he gives me a quick kiss.
It reminds me of that first kiss, on his couch, our lips barely touching. I remember how he leaned in, chasing after me. If I did that now, would he give me what I want? What I so desperately need?
He takes a step back before I can find out.
“Come save me.” He laughs. “Everyone else is three drinks into their morning.”
Jesus. My mom could at least wait until noon to start serving her deadly cocktails. At this rate, everyone will be drunk or sick before the presents are even opened.
So, exactly how I remember it from childhood.
“Let me put these under the tree first,” I say, motioning toward the tote bag my mom is holding. I need a few minutes to pull myself together before I sit next to him, pretending he’s mine. Pretending that everything I want isn’t some nightmare of my own making.
“I’ve got these. Go keep Aidan company.” My mom holds the tote bag out of my reach. She’s being kind. Thoughtful even.
I hate it.
“Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth. It’s not her fault that I single-handedly destroyed everything good between us. Not her fault that I lied about having a boyfriend or that I pulled Aidan into this web of deceit. It’s not her fault that I’m in love with my best friend.
Aidan takes my hand and leads me to the living room. It’s all I can do not to stare at the point where our bodies connect, wondering if this is the last time he’ll hold my hand.
If it is, I want to savor it. I hold him a little bit tighter, giving him a little squeeze.
“You good?” he asks.
No. “Yeah, just tired.” More lies. These days, it seems like my whole life is one big lie.
Even I’m not sure which parts are genuine anymore.
Probably a good thing to bring up to my therapist. “Shall we?” I motion toward the living room, afraid the tight leash I have on my emotions will snap if we’re alone for too long.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “You should know that your mom is going hard on the drinks this morning. I’d say I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but I think it’s because they’re all so happy to have you here for Christmas.”
The knot in my throat returns, making it hard to swallow. Maybe I can fake an emergency? Say the artistic director needs me urgently. It’s ridiculous, but I doubt any of them know enough to call me on it.
Aidan grabs my arm and leads me toward the rowdy laughter. The good thing about being with my whole family is that they carry the conversation with ease. Now that Aidan and I are old news, they’re far more interested in discussing the latest gossip than hearing about us.
Exactly what I hoped would happen.
AIDAN
The morning has been slow. Even with all the drinks—most of which I turned down—and the constant barrage of conversation, I keep checking the clock above the mantle. It’s a liar, because there’s no way I’ve only been here for an hour. My phone traitorously says the same thing.
Fiddlesticks.
Now that Covey’s here, I thought things would be better.
They’re shockingly worse. He’s physically here, but mentally, he’s somewhere else entirely.
It takes me multiple tries to get his attention.
“You sure you’re okay? Can I get you anything?
” Worry fills my chest when he looks at me.
It’s obvious he didn’t get enough sleep last night.
“Not right now.” He gives me a half smile that sends a cold shiver down my spine. Something happened yesterday. All I want is to drag him upstairs and interrogate him until he breaks and tells me the whole story.
Except we’re stuck here, listening to a story about a fight that occurred in a yarn store of all places. Usually, I’d be thrilled to hear all the sordid details, but today I want to go back to the quiet comfort that Covey and I had yesterday morning while watching Elf. Before whatever happened.
“You boys ready for breakfast?” Covey’s mom asks, giving me flashbacks to my childhood. Somehow, I doubt they’ll ever stop calling us boys.
“Sounds great,” I say, trying to be excited enough for the both of us. Covey has two more shows today, which means he needs all the sustenance he can get.
Everyone crowds around the dining room table for a non-traditional Christmas feast. Since Covey leaves in a few hours, his mom has loaded up the plates with pancakes, bacon, hash browns, and some quiche dish.
There’s more than enough to keep everyone happy, at least until she breaks out what she’s calling “the real dinner” later this afternoon.
“Don’t forget, Covey,” Aunt Kerry says between bites, “we’ll all be in the audience tonight.”
He nods. “I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure we will, son. It’ll be good seeing you dance on that stage again,” his father says.
“You’re going to love it,” I butt in when the silence drags on too long. “He’s so good in all of it, but my favorite was watching him as a soldier in the fight scene. It’s so cool seeing all the battle choreography.”
“That sounds very exciting,” his mother says.
I look around the table and find Covey examining me closely. “What?” I mouth to him.
“Nothing. It’s—nothing.” He shakes his head and goes back to his pancakes. “I won’t be in the fight scene today.”
Did I get it wrong? My memory of the specifics might be a little off, but I remember him in that role so clearly. It was when I first took a look at all those muscles and the way they flexed beneath those ridiculously thin tights. That’s not something I’ll ever forget.
“Did something happen?” Edith asks.
“No, there are always slight adjustments to casting.”
Suddenly, my appetite is exchanged for nausea. Does he know that I came to the show by myself? Without the students?
Maybe he knows I was staring at him during that scene?
There’s no way. He wears similar things later in the show, during the Hot Chocolate dance. Covey can’t read your mind. I say it, but it doesn’t seem true. Multiple times in our lives, I’ve come to the opposite conclusion. He tends to know exactly what I’m thinking, sometimes even before I do.
Which would be helpful lately. If he knew how much I cared about him. That I don’t just love him; I’ve fallen in love with him.
And then a thought occurs to me. What if he does know? What if, despite all my efforts to conceal my true feelings and maintain our friendship, he’s seen through my facade?
That would explain why he’s acting the way he is, trying to devise a plan to let me down easy, to make our New Year’s Day breakup a real break.
If I thought my heart was breaking before, it’s now splintering into tiny pieces. Ones I’m pretty sure will never be put back together, no matter how hard I try.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing away from the table. The tears burn behind my eyes, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to keep from crying. The best I can hope for is a little privacy while I fall apart.
Away from the group, I take the stairs two at a time, tears falling down my cheeks. Once safety in the upstairs bathroom, I let myself go, sobbing into my hands.
It takes several minutes before I’m able to pull myself together enough to reach for my phone.
“Silas,” I gasp when he picks up.
“What happened?”
I can’t even answer that question. “I—he—”
“Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. Make an excuse to leave. Tell them that I had a kitchen emergency and need help. You can be vague, but make it sound important. Lie as much as you need to. When you’re out, come straight over. I’ve got your favorite beer and plenty of food.”
“I can’t—” I said I would be here. It’s part of the deal I made as his fake boyfriend.
“You can and you will. Ten minutes. I’ll be waiting.”
I splash some cold water on my face, but it does very little to hide the fact that I’ve been crying. My blotchy face and swollen eyes will give it away in a heartbeat. If I’m quick, maybe no one will notice. That’s probably too much to hope for, but a quick getaway is my only option at this point.
“You okay?” Covey startles me when I open the door. He’s leaning against the wall in the hallway.
“Yeah, just an upset stomach. Probably too much candy yesterday.”
“Do you want me to get you something? Pepto? Ginger ale?” The concern on his face is apparent, replacing whatever it is that I’ve been looking at for the past hour. “You can lie down in my room if you want. Or I can drive you home?”
“That’s okay.” I clear my throat. “I have to take off anyway. Silas had a bit of a kitchen mishap and needs help.”
“Can he call someone else? You’re sick.”
And this is why I tell my kindergarteners not to lie. I have two lies going, and they’re not playing well in the sandbox together.
“I’ll be fine. He cut his finger and needs stitches.” I can’t take my own advice, choosing to stack up as many lies as possible.
“I’ll go with you then. I can help get him to the hospital.”
“No.” The exclamation comes out more forcefully than I expected. Covey pulls back, a look of shock on his face.
“Text me later to let me know you’re doing, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I make my way out of the house, sharing only the tiniest bit of that story with the rest of them. If they want more details, they can get them from Covey. All I can think of is getting out of there, somewhere I can think straight. Silas better have a lot of that beer, because I’m going to need it.