Chapter 14 #2
Lennox’s pointed comments were not only annoying, they were unhelpful. If they’d been alone, he’d have told Lennox just what he thought of his interference.
But they weren’t alone.
This should be about Dave, and the horrific injury he’d experienced, not about Seth and his control issues.
Seth cleared his throat, reached out and gripped Dave’s hand.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, to Dave, even though he couldn’t hear him, because anything else was unacceptable.
He wouldn’t tolerate it. “You promise that you’ll call us,” he said, raising his eyes to Bianca, “if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I will,” she said, sniffing. “I appreciate you two coming down here. I’ll make sure to tell Dave that you were here.”
“Thanks,” Lennox said warmly.
For awhile, right after he’d gotten out, and his life had fallen apart, Lennox had often felt like an approximation of a human. Going through the motions, knowing he should feel this, and say that, but it hadn’t felt genuine.
But he’d gotten better. Learned to actually feel again. To say what was really on his mind, not just what someone wanted to hear.
Seth knew that he was going to get a painful dose of that kind of honesty when they left Dave’s room.
“You need to get your head on straight,” Lennox said as they walked to his car.
It was not as harsh as Seth had expected, but because he’d tempered it with kindness, it stung worse.
Seth almost never lied. It was almost never the right thing to be dishonest. But he lied now, anyway. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Lennox said, his dark brows coming together as he frowned, clearly concerned. “You should take the rest of the day off. Play hooky with Ren, if Gabe can spare him.”
Ren. Seth hadn’t thought about him once, not since Bianca had called Lennox.
If he checked his phone, he’d probably see a handful of messages from him.
They often texted back and forth during the day, and checking his watch, Seth realized he’d been in a fog for hours.
Had he eaten lunch? He vaguely remembered Lennox setting a sandwich in front of him.
Usually they talked after lunch, after Ren made it through the lunch rush at the truck.
But they hadn’t today.
He hadn’t even checked his phone once.
“I don’t want to see Ren,” Seth said. Another lie.
He did want to see him. Desperately.
But what he didn’t want was for Ren to see him like this.
Hurting and angry and full of self-recrimination.
“Now,” Lennox said as he started the car, “you’re going to tell me that you don’t want Ren to see you like this.”
“I was right,” Seth said through clenched teeth. “You are annoying as hell.”
“Maybe.” Lennox smiled. “But I’m still right. You should call him. I can even drop you off at the food truck lot.”
“I’ll take the afternoon off but drop me off at home. Maybe I’ll go for a run.” Seth would accept that; after all, he wasn’t sure he could work today, anyway. Not in his usual, methodical, organized way, anyway. The rest? He wasn’t ready to deal with Ren or even the possibility of Ren. Not yet.
He’d go home, try to re-center himself, try to deal with all this anger, all at himself for failing Dave, and then maybe when he’d exhausted it, he could talk to Ren.
Lennox shot him a look. “I thought things were going good between you.” He paused. “He makes you really happy. I know, because I recognize it.”
“And so does Bianca,” Seth said.
“Oh for God’s sake,” Lennox retorted. “You’re not to blame, and she certainly doesn’t blame you. It was a freak accident.”
“Because he was rushing.”
“Except we don’t even know that,” Lennox said. “I’m not going to argue with you about this, because you’re not listening.”
“It would be nice if I could just listen to you and ignore everything else,” Seth said sarcastically
He hated sarcasm.
Probably because he knew it was always the harbinger of the spiral.
“Maybe it’s better that you don’t see Ren,” Lennox said, making sense for the first fucking time today, “because you’re being a stubborn ass, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even an enemy.”
Seth stared out the window. Wishing he wasn’t seeing the ghosts of all the men who’d never be stubborn again.
Lennox dropped him off at home.
He went for his run, punishing his body, and himself, for what had almost happened to Dave.
He’s lying in that hospital bed because of you. Because you had to be a goddamn stickler for stupid rules that don’t even matter anymore.
They had mattered. The rules were what had kept everything and everyone together, in one piece, back when they were in the Navy. They were what had helped Seth return his teammates to their wives and partners and children.
The run didn’t help though, not as much as Seth had needed it to.
He’d gotten home, exhausted and aching, and even after a long, hot shower, the thoughts—and the ghosts—wouldn’t stop coming. He settled down on the couch, and tried to watch TV, even though the words of the ESPN commentators grated.
It was rare that he drank just to drink, especially alone, because when he’d first gotten out, he’d almost gotten lost in a haze of booze, and he was always afraid of falling back into that hole.
But today, there was nothing else that would silence the screaming in his head.
Not running. Not a shower. Not television.
Seth hit the power button on the TV, and got up, heading to the kitchen.
He found the bottle in the back of a cabinet, where he’d put it an age ago. There was dust on it, but he unscrewed the top anyway and forced himself to go find a glass.
That would be more . . . controlled . . . he decided.
He would pour it in a glass, and take it to the couch, and sip like a normal person. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon.
Wait.
Seth checked his watch again. Not his phone, because he was a little afraid of what he might have missed, what texts Ren had sent that he’d never replied to. Realized that it wasn’t the middle of the afternoon like he’d thought, but it was growing darker.
It was actually past seven.
He hadn’t eaten dinner either.
Probably, Seth thought, staring at the amber liquid in his glass as he poured himself a few inches worth, he should eat something.
But instead, he took his drink to the couch, as he planned. Hoped that maybe the booze would drown out the ghosts for long enough that he could focus on something else.
Food, maybe.
Or Ren.
Ren.
The bourbon on his tongue, trickling down his throat, reminded him of the man he loved. Reminded him of the drinks they’d shared together. Of the night that Ren had admitted that he’d brought Seth on a date.
Because the happiness he felt—the lightness, the trust, the belonging he’d been chasing for more years than he’d been out of the Navy—that was all Ren.
He nearly went to find his phone, which he’d tossed in his bedroom before his run. At the very least he shouldn’t leave all of Ren’s texts unanswered.
But before he could decide for sure, there was a knock on the door.
A particularly insistent knock, the persistence easily recognizable.
Of course Ren would come looking for him if he ghosted him.
For a second, for a single moment, Seth considered just sitting here on the couch. Not answering the door. Ren didn’t have a key. He didn’t know Seth was home.
But hiding, Seth couldn’t deny that was the ultimate cowardice, and while he might be more of a fucking wreck than he wanted to be, at least he wasn’t a coward.
He stood and went and opened the door.
“What the fuck,” Ren said, but between Seth taking a deep breath, ready to try to explain what he could, and him letting it out, his arms were suddenly full of Ren.
“Damnit,” Ren said, burying his face into Seth’s shoulder. “Damnit, I was worried about you all day.”
A pulse of guilt resonated through Seth. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “something happened, and I didn’t know . . .”
Ren pulled back, a thousand emotions in his dark eyes.
“I really hate feeling this way,” he said.
“I thought I would, and I do, while I fucking love it at the same time—but you can’t just .
. . leave me alone to feel it, okay? You just can’t.
Not when you persuaded me to feel it in the first place. ”
“I’m sorry,” Seth said. The words didn’t feel like enough, but they were all he had. “Did . . . did Lennox send you?”
“No,” Ren said firmly. “I fucking sent myself.” Then he took a step back, and Seth watched as his gaze took in the dark living room, and the bottle and the half-full glass on the table. “You’re drinking. Alone.” He turned to Seth. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“I . . .” Seth took another deep breath and it turned out that didn’t help either.
Tell him, a voice inside insisted, and it sounded exactly like Lennox.
He’d trusted Lennox forever. Long before they’d ever left the Navy. He’d relied on him on missions and to help protect his men.
He’d trusted him with his professional reputation when they’d started the business together. And he’d convinced Lennox to trust him, when Lennox had been alone and hurting.
What kind of friend—what kind of person—did that make him if he was unable to reciprocate?
“Come sit down,” Seth said to Ren. “You want a drink?”
“No,” Ren said. The look on his face said it clear enough, you’re drinking enough for both of us.
“I haven’t actually had more than a few sips, yet,” Seth admitted. “Sometimes . . . sometimes it helps when the rest of my mind won’t quiet. That’s why I don’t drink a lot.”
He didn’t say the rest. Wasn’t sure he had the courage to say the rest. Who wanted to tie themselves to a man who would have to worry about losing himself to liquor for the rest of his life?
But Ren was smart. And even more, Ren was smart about him.
“Because you did, at first, when you got out of the Army, right?” Ren asked, sitting down not on the couch with Seth, but across from him, in the big club chair. He leaned forward. “You are going to tell me that you have PTSD.”