31. Silas
31
SILAS
I ’m shocked to see Graham with Avery as I’m about to leave Hanover Gardens at the end of my shift.
He’s home.
Avery looks pale and blank, but she’s walking with her hand in his.
She reaches out for mine as she passes me on the way to the elevator. “Thank you,” she tells me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. I’ve done quite a bit of research tonight, and while water breaking at her gestational age usually ends in a miscarriage, it doesn’t always . She gives my hand a squeeze before dropping her eyes and letting me go. I meet Graham’s troubled gaze. “I’m glad you made it,” I tell him.
He nods, swallowing hard. He’s even paler than she is.
Jesus Christ, I can tell how much he needs me, and it hurts not to be able to reach out for him, too.
Avery may know Graham has a lover, but we decided it’d be too weird to know it’s me. I can see why Graham cares so much about her, though. She’s genuine and kind. Beguiling in the way she seeks casual touches and isn’t shy about showing her feelings.
It’s hard not to know what’s happening—I’d like to know—to be prepared. But in this, I respect their need for privacy. This has nothing to do with me, which should sting, but instead it aches.
As I leave the building, I understand there’s no chance he’ll be headed to Chelsea, so I take the subway to the East Village, skipping my run. The night was exhausting enough, waiting and wondering. I feel heavy and depressed, but I don’t want to be alone.
I wind up snuggled up next to Christian who is dead asleep, which puts me to sleep fast. I wake up to a text. The light outside the curtains indicates it’s afternoon. Christian is now in a fitful sleep, maybe dreaming. I reach for my phone.
Graham
We’re back at the hospital. She’s miscarrying.
Me
I’m so fucking sorry.
I mean, what else is there to say? Fuck. I cover my face with my hand and breathe heavily into it.
“You okay?”
Chris’s hand is on my back, and I shake my head.
“What’s up? Can you talk about it?”
“No.” My chest hurts. It’s so fucking tight, I don’t know how I’m still breathing.
I want to text Graham again. Ask if Avery’s okay. Not that I think she’s okay , but if she’s physically all right, but I don’t know how.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on with you, Sy. You know I won’t judge.”
He would definitely judge, and I’m not ready for the conversation. But who knows? After today, it might be a completely different conversation. It hits me like a brick—I could lose Graham over this.
Grief is a pernicious motherfucker—I know because I’ve been grieving my mom while she’s still alive for years now. It’s closed me off in a way I never used to be, especially after what happened with Ben. But Graham’s loss—the loss of a child—a dream—is different. Far more profound than any I’ve ever had to deal with. It’s the kind of grief that changes someone.
Avery will need him. What will he need?
I get myself under control and take my hand off my face. I sit up, my back to Christian, running a hand through my bed head. “A friend of mine got some bad news.”
“Anyone I know?” he asks.
“No.”
“Sorry,” he says in the gentle, unassuming way he has that makes every word sound sincere.
“Thank you.” I check the time on my phone, but before I register it, I see another text from Graham.
Graham
Can I see you?
Me
Whatever you need.
Graham
We’re at Lenox Hill.
He wants me to come to the hospital where his wife is miscarrying?
Me
Are you gonna be there awhile?
Graham
Overnight.
I can see why he’d want company. If I leave in the next few minutes, I’ll have about an hour to see him before my first client at the gym.
Me
I’m on my way.
I’ll let him worry about the details.
Graham finds me in the emergency department waiting room. He’s dressed in jeans and a green henley. His eyes are red-rimmed and vivid, the shirt making them truly sparkle like emeralds. I wish I could say he looks like shit, but the truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever found him so beautiful.
Everyone’s looking at him— at us as I fight my urge to put my arms around him. He looks like he’s doing the same.
“What’s going on?” I ask him quietly.
“She’s sleeping,” he says. “She asked to be knocked out once they took the baby away.”
“Oh my God,” I say, his words hitting me like a brick.
“He was perfect,” Graham says, voice rough and stoic.
My chest fills again, all that tightness returning. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Yeah.” He turns, and I follow him. We take the crowded elevator to what I assume is the maternity floor, but when the doors open, and he steps out, he says, “I paid for a room up here for when she wakes up. They want to watch her overnight, and they need her out of the labor room. Anyway…” He opens the door to an empty, private hospital room. It’s small with a square window, a white bed, and a sofa that looks like it pulls out into a sort of futon for a visitor to sleep on. I walk in, and he shuts the door.
Before I’ve even fully turned to face him, he’s in my arms, and my mouth is on his neck. He grips me tight and sobs hard. I hold him to me and let him get whatever needs out— out .
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”
“There was nothing I could do.”
“I know, baby.”
“It happened so fast.”
“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” What a stupid fucking thing to say, but he only holds me closer.
“She keeps asking what she did wrong.”
“Neither one of you did anything wrong.”
“Then why did this happen? Is this punishment?”
“No. Of course not.”
“I think it is. I think I didn’t deserve him and this is what I get.”
This is what I was most afraid of. “I don’t believe that.” It’s all I can say. I’ve never been altogether clear on Graham’s relationship with God or the church, but I can definitely see how some sliver of him believes he deserves to be punished for being gay. No one who likes a cock cage as much as he does is a stranger to shame.
I shouldn’t be thinking about that.
He pulls away, wiping his face on his sleeve. He hooks one hand in my waistband like he’s afraid I might run. I wrap a hand around his wrist to remind him I’m here and not going anywhere until he tells me to. I rub my thumb along his exposed skin. He takes several deep breaths until he’s got himself back under control. “Thank you for coming,” he says in what’s not much more than a whisper.
“No problem.” I’d do almost anything to change the circumstances, but it’s good to see him. Good to know we’re in the same town. I’m also terrified that this might be the last time I ever see him like this. In private with both our guards down.
He slides his hand into mine and meets my eyes. “I don’t know what to do now. ”
“You’ll take care of each other,” I tell him, trying to sound optimistic.
“What about you?” he asks.
I work like hell to swallow. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t make me do this without you.”
Frowning, I tilt my head. “I’m right here, Graham.”
“I can’t believe it’s been less than twenty-four hours…”
Since we were having phone sex, and he told me he loved me? Yeah. Funny how life has a way of turning everything completely fucking upside down like that. “Nothing’s changed for me,” I tell him.
“It might be a few days before I can see you.”
“Don’t worry about that. Please.”
“No, I do worry about it. You’re the only thing…” He presses his mouth closed and shakes his head, a few tears falling silently down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
I step close to him and put my hands on his hips. He wraps his arms around me again, and I do the same. We stay like that a long time. His tears dampen my shirt on the shoulder, but I don’t mind. I’ve found some steadiness inside me, allowing me to be strong. To be a safe place for him to fall—or fall apart.
It’s not remotely sexual. Even when we eventually kiss, there’s nothing firm below either of our waists to grind against. Our kisses are tender and soft. Lips mostly, and breath.
It’s enough.
“I love you,” I whisper, reminding him.
“I love you.”
My hand holds the nape of his neck, and I press my forehead and nose to his. “We’ll get through this.”
He nods, his eyes closed and his breath heavy.
“Whatever you need, I’ll understand,” I tell him. “No judgment.”
“I need you ,” he whispers urgently.
“I’m a given. I’m yours. Please don’t doubt that. ”
“I have to go, but I don’t want to.”
I kiss him softly again. “Call me. Text me. Whenever. Whatever you need.”
“Silas, you don’t need this shit…”
“I want it,” I tell him. And then I admit something enormous. “There’s nothing I want more than you.”
His answering kiss is firmer, open, and I sink into him. My dick notices this one, but I refuse to try anything here. It’s evidence of our chemistry, for sure, that I can get hard for him under circumstances this horrible.
When I notice he’s hard for me, too, though, it makes the kiss nearly impossible to stop. “ Fuck ,” I groan helplessly just before his tongue enters my mouth again.
“Give me one good thing,” he says, his hands now moving beneath my shirt, up my sides.
Noooo … It’s not right. No orgasm in the world is good enough to turn today into anything less than the worst day of his life. It’d be more likely to make us both feel like shit than help him feel any better. “We can’t.”
He kisses me again, like a plea, and Jesus, he’s hard to resist when all I want to do is shove him to the bed and make him forget everything bad that’s ever happened to him.
He pulls away first, apologizing.
After taking a moment to splash some cold water on his face and take a few deep breaths hunched over the counter in the bathroom, he peeks outside the door. “All right, we’re good.”
We walk out, maintaining a respectable distance on our way back to the elevator. The hallway is quiet save for a housekeeper pushing a cart past us, and suddenly, fiercely, the only thing I want in the word is to reach out and hold his hand.
But we both know that won’t ever be possible.