Chapter 4
FOUR
CALLAHAN
I don't know what to do with myself. I'm not sure any of us do.
We can't even practice bouting--no weapons--and no one seems to feel like doing conditioning or drills.
I did all my homework before we left for St. Ignaty's.
Classes don't start again until tomorrow.
It's too cold to swim in the lake and I don't feel like going to the field house and maybe seeing other students in the pool.
So that's how I end up in the dim quiet of the parlor, surrounded by nothing but oil paintings and wood paneling, reading The Michelangelo Matrix.
I got the paperback on our way home, when we were killing time at the airport in London and I couldn't sit still any longer.
It's actually kind of good, I think. I mean, the writing's probably not that great, but I don't really read a lot for fun to know good writing from bad.
I'm pretty sure Gwenna was just reading it as a joke.
But the story's interesting enough. And I like to think that she and I could have something to talk about when things get back to normal.
If they ever get back to normal, I mean.
A few feet from where I'm sitting on the couch, the logs snap in the fireplace grate, and I jump a little.
"Good book?"
I jump again, almost drop it in my lap. It's Lanz, leaning in the doorframe.
"I don't know," I say quickly, lowering it.
He looks...
I don't like how he looks.
Hollow, kind of. Drawn. Like he hasn't slept.
But he still manages to crack a smile. "You don't know?" He cocks his head from across the room. "You're like, halfway through it."
I stare down at the book. "Oh. Yeah."
"They made a movie, you know," he says, taking a step into the parlor itself. "You could just skip the middleman."
"I like reading," I say.
Lanz lifts an eyebrow.
"I mean, I don't not like it." I retreat a little into the corner of the couch, which is hard, because it's not very big and I...am.
"Listen, I'm sure she'll be thrilled," Lanz says. "You guys can have a little two-person book club."
God. Am I that transparent? I can feel my face getting hot. But Lanz is smiling.
Then he shivers.
"Freezing upstairs," he says. "I smelled woodsmoke, figured I'd come here and warm up a little." He nods at the space beside me. "Can I sit?"
"Yeahofcoursesure," I say. It all comes out like one word. I move over, or try to, not that there's really any more space.
Lanz sits.
I try not to stare at him, but it's hard not to.
We haven't really been this close since, I don't know, the airplane, maybe?
I can't even remember. We certainly haven't been, you know,together.
No one has, actually, except Kingston and Gwenna.
I think they think they're hiding it, but it's not like the rest of us are blind.
It seems like something they both need, and after what they've been through. ..
Well, to quote Pope Francis, "who am I to judge?"
Except I do miss it. Her. Can you miss someone if they're still around you? I don't even know. But the thought that the one time we were all together, in my room, that that would be it forever--that hurts to think about.
I hope it's not true.
The fire snaps again. Now it's Lanz who jumps.
Without even thinking, I set down the book and put my hand over his.
Just like that.
There’s no reason to hide anymore. They know. They know, and it doesn’t matter. Crazy. Amongst all the other crazy things, and yet.
Lanz's hand stirs a little under mine, then settles. Stills. Like he’s just realized it too.
It's nice. So nice.
And yet I feel a kind of panic rising. The strange thing is, I don’t even know what to do now.
How to be…affectionate, I guess? I don’t even know what word to use.
Despite the heat of the fireplace, I sit like I’m frozen, staring into the middle of the room.
Then, all at once, it feels like I’ve been still for too long, so I startle back to attention and glance at Lanz.
He looks at me, too. Those wide, clear eyes of his on mine.
I swallow. And swallow again. My heart beats faster and faster and faster, my throat very dry. God, I feel like I’m twelve years old again. Except for the part where I have to make myself stop thinking what I’m thinking.
Because I guess it’s okay now.
Maybe it’s always been okay.
Slowly, I slide the tip of my thumb under his palm. Stroke it, once, twice.
My pulse pounds in my neck now, my skin prickling everywhere. Is this what I’ve been missing? I think. Because if this is what it’s like, just casually touching without worrying about jumping away at the slightest noise--
I look at him again. Really look, this time.
“You’re frowning,” Lanz says. “What’s wrong?”
“I should be asking you that,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I've been worried about you.” I can’t keep eye contact when I say it, didn't even realize I was going to say it until the words come out of me. “You look…” I can’t even find the right adjective. “…exhausted,” I finish.
But really, it’s worse than that.
He looks sick.
“Gee, thanks.” Lanz presses his lips together and stares into the fire. The orange-gold light warms up the gray in his skin.
“It’s just been a lot,” he says at last.
“I know,” I say. “It’s been a lot for everyone.”
And yet you look the worst, I want to say. But don’t.
What’s wrong, Lanz? Tell me.
Lanz breaks his gaze from the fire and looks back at me.
“I missed you.”
He edges across the couch, closer to me.
“I’ve been right here,” I say.
“You know what I mean.” He’s at my side now, our hips almost touching.
I nod. Because I do.
Slowly, carefully, I take his face in my hand—my right, the rings on my thumb and forefinger brushing against his skin. He’s warm—flushed—and my hands are cold. His bright eyes flutter shut.
“That feels good,” he murmurs.
Good. Do I say it, or just think it? I don’t even know. I lean my forehead against his.
“I missed you too,” I mumble into the inches of space between us. “I missed you my whole life.”
I don’t know why I say that. I don’t even know what that means. It doesn’t make sense.
Or maybe it does. Because Lanz tips his face up to mine and kisses me.
Damn, I think. My hand finds his jaw, pulls him closer, and his lips part so easily, like always.Damn, I missed you, damn, I want you, damn, I--
“Guys?" A voice rings in the foyer. "Is anyone--"
We break apart. It’s Gwenna.
“Oop,” she finishes. Hand to her mouth, skidding to a stop. "Sorry, I--"
“No, no,” Lanz croaks. “I mean, um, yes. Hi. Anyone...is. We're here."
Seeing him, her expression changes from embarrassed to concerned.
“I’m fine,” Lanz says, before she even asks anything. “I’m just feeling a little—”
He winces—winces like he’s in pain.
“Lanz—”
“I’m fine.” His eyes are still shut when he says it, and his voice is steely. He breathes out, opens his eyes, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer. “What’s up, Gwenna?”
“Oh, nothing.” She hugs one arm to her body, looking uncomfortable again. She’s wearing a big, thick sweater, nothing fancy, and...no pants? No, she has on leggings, I realize. Tight and black.
“It's just, there’s flowers,” she says. “Roses? In my room. A bouquet.” She fusses with the ends of her hair. "And I was wondering if one of you--"
"Ah, yeah." Lanz ducks his head. “That was me.”
Gwenna softens. “Really?”
He shrugs. He isn’t meeting her eyes, I notice. “I heard you telling Morgan your room looked like a prison cell."
Damn. I never would have thought of that. Flowers. But he would have. Of course he would have.
Kinda love that about him.
Gwenna's blushing.
"You didn't have to do that,” she says.
"You don't like them," Lanz says, voice flat. "I'll get something different. I wasn't sure what you'd usually--"
"Of course I like them," Gwenna interrupts, sounding almost exasperated. "Who doesn't like getting flowers?" She tucks her arms back into her sweater sleeves. "I've just never gotten flowers before," she says softly.
"Oh." Lanz nods. "Ha. Well, me neither, so." He shrugs.
Gwenna sweeps over to the couch, leans in, and kisses Lanz on the cheek. "Thank you."
As she straightens, Lanz's face goes stark and stiff, wracked with some emotion I can't quite parse.
And Gwenna sees it too.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, her voice barely a breath. “I shouldn’t have just...done that.” She glances at me, for some reason.
My eyes go wide. Like I would mind?
“No,” Lanz rasps, shaking his head rapidly back and forth. “No. No.” He swallows, and actually manages a laugh.
“What?” Gwenna and I say in unison.
Lanz shakes his head. “It’s just, I don’t think you know how desperate I am for you to touch me, Gwenna.”
Surprised, stunned, Gwenna tilts her head, like she’s studying him. Then she reaches out and gently takes his face in one hand, her thumb stroking his cheek.
A little gasp escapes her lips. “You’re hot,” she says.
“Likewise,” Lanz croaks. Gwenna scowls.
“You know what I—”
“No, I do,” he interrupts. “I do.”
His eyes close. His breathing visibly slows, evens out. He leans into her touch, pressing gently into her.
And I swear to God, it’s like he transforms.
The color comes back into his face. The gray, pallid sheen on his skin fades away. It’s like he’s back to life. Like he’s him again, now, with her.
And…well. It’s embarrassing to say. But it turns me on a little, seeing him light up like that.
I shift in my seat, trying to hide it as Gwenna lets him go, but she notices. Of course she does.
“You all right, Cal?” Her voice has gone dark and deadpan. Like she's teasing me.
Oh, no.
“Hm?” I say. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
“Huh?” I clutch the arm of the couch. “No, I’m not.”
“You absolutely are,” Lanz says—and he sounds different, too. More like himself again, clearer and stronger. “We both know you can’t lie to save your life, right?” He darts a glance at Gwenna, who smiles and shrugs.