Chapter 8 #3
His boots came off next. Jasper watched Ryan place them on the shoe rack and his body stiffened.
For years, he’d wanted those shoes gone.
He’d despised them and how they never moved because Ryan was never home.
Seeing them again now, after weeks of being missing, was like reopening the same scab of grief that never seemed to stay closed.
He swallowed down whatever words were trying to work their way out and moved back to the kitchen to pour himself a drink.
“Could I get one of those?” Ryan asked, pointing at the liquor Jasper had in his hand.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”
After pouring Ryan his own drink, they made their way into the living room.
Ryan was stiff, hovering by the couch and biting his lip, refusing to look at Jasper directly.
Jasper would blame the alcohol tomorrow, but for now, he encouraged Ryan to sit down on the loveseat and took the seat next to him, tucking one leg under his body.
“Relax,” Jasper said.
Ryan nodded and swallowed half his drink. “This is good. What is it?”
Jasper took a sip to buy some time. The truth was, he’d been given the bottle by a couple of old teacher friends who were sick of listening to him complain about Ryan’s schedule.
They’d bought it for him as a joke—a congratulations-for-finally-walking-away gift.
Jasper had laughed, promised them they were being ridiculous, and tucked it away in the bar cart.
But every so often, he’d see it sitting there and wonder if they’d been right. If maybe everyone else had already seen where his life was headed before he was willing to admit it to himself.
He’d finally opened it a couple weeks ago. But, of course, that was all too mean to admit, especially after Ryan had rescued him.
“Dunno. Just found it on the bar.”
“It’s pretty good.”
“Yeah. So, um. How are you?”
Ryan huffed out a laugh. “Uh…”
“Okay. How are you other than the obvious? Enjoying retirement?”
Ryan leaned his head back, and Jasper hoped the pained expression was from his skull bumping the back of the couch rather than his retirement not going well. “Not particularly.”
That was fair. Jasper had sort of ruined Ryan’s plans.
But in his defense, he’d agonized over when to end things.
It felt like the right thing to do, waiting until Ryan was home from his tour.
The alternative was potentially destroying Ryan’s farewell matches by forcing him to fight with a broken heart.
“Yeah,” was all Jasper could think to say.
“But now that my heart has stopped actively shattering into smaller and smaller bits every day, I’ve been able to really appreciate how pointless my life is. That’s new.”
New, and dramatic, Jasper thought. “Your life isn’t pointless.”
“No? What do I have going for me, exactly? Is it the family I love and worked to support the last ten years? Or the career I poured myself into, destroying my body three hundred days a year so I could reach the top? Or is it the house I love and worked on every chance I got after we bought it? Or maybe the cat I found in the woods, covered in ticks and underfed, who offered me nothing but love?”
“I said you could take Calliope,” Jasper mumbled.
Ryan swallowed the rest of his drink before sighing and putting a pillow over his face. He mumbled something Jasper couldn’t understand.
“What?”
“I said, if you want me to be honest, I never expected retirement to be this difficult.”
“Really?” Jasper didn’t get that. If he was as rich as Ryan, he would quit his job tomorrow—no notice, no apologies. Sure, the timing was rough with Jasper’s departure, but not working seemed great.
“Wrestling is all I’ve known my entire life. I love wrestling. I love you—”
“Ryan—”
“I loved my life. And now I’m… living someone else’s. And their life blows.”
There wasn’t much Jasper could say. He wasn’t sure he was the right person to offer comfort, anyway.
“You’ve got a lot going for you,” he tried.
Ryan grumbled.
“You’re rich. You’re multi-talented. You’re good with your hands. You could, like… build a wrestling studio with your bare hands and then train the students,” Jasper said, grinning, hoping to get Ryan to crack even the smallest smile.
He didn’t.
“Sure.” Ryan yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“Tired?” Jasper asked stupidly.
“Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping great,” Ryan said. “Listen, I promise I’m not asking for any reason other than safety, but can I stay in the guest room? I’m exhausted.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jasper said. “Of course. I’ll go get some bedding. It’s not set up right now.”
Jasper took longer than he meant to, but he couldn’t find a good blanket and pillow.
By the time he remembered where they kept the guest bedding, five minutes had passed.
When he passed through the living room to get to the guest room, he found Ryan stretched out on the couch.
Jasper’s unzipped hoodie was draped over him, the sleeves hanging off the side, and his face was buried in a pillow.
It felt like Jasper had walked backwards into an old version of his life.
His breathing lagged, like he couldn’t get the air into his lungs.
Before he could do something idiotic, like brush a hand through Ryan’s hair or press a kiss to the top of his head, Jasper tossed the blanket over him from a safe distance and retreated to his bedroom.
When he woke up the next morning, the blanket was folded on the couch cushions with the sweatshirt draped beside it.
There was no note or message, no indication Ryan had been there at all.
Jasper stood in the quiet for a moment, wondering if Ryan’s absence was welcome, then nodded to himself.
It was. That was the Ryan he’d come to know—present when he wanted to be, absent when it served him better.
Whatever confusing feelings had warmed to life the night before could be ignored, blamed on alcohol and nostalgia.
Outside the window, the sun was shining, warming the snow from the night before. The melt removed all evidence of Ryan’s car, and with it, the urge to second guess any of his past decisions.