Chapter 44
Rhys
The Eldridge game is in six days.
Six days and I can feel every single one of them sitting on my chest like something with weight and teeth pressing down on me. I wake up Saturday morning with Jamie's arm around me and his heartbeat under my ear and for about thirty seconds I'm fine. More than fine. I’m giddy.
Until my brain catches up.
Six days. Fuck.
I lie there and stare at the wall and run through the Rhys Callahan patented self-talk routine. You're fine. You're stronger. You're not that person anymore. You’re not alone. It's working less and less the closer we get.
Jamie stirs behind me and his arm tightens slightly around me.
He doesn't say anything, doesn't ask if I'm okay, just holds on, like he knows and is trying to comfort my anxiety the only way he can.
I want to turn around and just stay here for six days until the game is over.
Instead I say, "Cooper's having people over tonight. "
"Okay," Jamie says, hesitantly.
"I want to go. With you."
"Sure."
"I want to get absolutely obliterated."
A longer pause. His arm doesn't move. "I’ll take care of you." I turn over and look at him. He's watching me with that steady green gaze, hair messed up, pillow crease on his cheek, unbothered by this conversation.
"You're not going to tell me that's a bad idea?”
"Is it going to make you feel better?"
"Temporarily and irresponsibly, yes."
"Then it's not a bad idea and I support it."
I look at him, hopefully. "You'll come?"
"I already said yes."
I look at him for another second.
"You're different than I thought you were," I say, mostly to myself.
He blinks. "What?"
"Nothing. Shut up." I sit up and hit him in the face with a pillow. "Let's get breakfast."
――――――――
Cooper's is already loud by nine.
I take a shot of something clear immediately.
Jamie gets water.
Obviously.
I make my rounds. Talk to everyone. Be the version of myself that fills rooms — loud and funny and oh I’m fine, thank you for asking, everything is great, no I'm not panicking about playing my traumatic ex-captain's slash ex’s team, why would you even ask that.
Shot two. Shot three. Somewhere around shot four the noise in my head has simmered down to a dull sound and I think — oh.
There it is. That's the thing I came for.
I find Jamie at the kitchen counter talking to Kowalski and I lean against the counter beside him and tip my head back against the cabinet, gazing up.
"Hi," I say to the ceiling.
"Hi," Jamie says. "How many have you had?"
"Four."
"How do you feel?"
"Like Marcus Hale is a completely made up person." I shoot him a dopey look. "It's wonderful. You’re wonderful."
Kowalski looks between us. Says nothing and leaves.
Shot five happens because Bennett is there with his big hopeful face and how am I supposed to say no to that.
I end up on the couch next to him, explaining to him at length why my music taste is a gift to this world that nobody has properly appreciated.
"The thing is," I say, pointing at him, "most people just hear music.
I experience it. Deeply. In my body. It moves through me. "
"That's so true," Bennett says.
"You get it."
"I completely get it."
I grab his face with both hands. His cheeks squish and he just lets me. "You're my favorite. Has anyone told you that recently? You should hear it more. I love you, goalie." Bennett looks moved and very present in this moment.
Jamie appears from nowhere and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Okay, that’s enough, hands off." He pushes me back against the couch, placing several pillows between me and Ben, building a tower in an impressive thirty seconds.
"Jamie Nash." I turn to him immediately and the room does a little rotation I wasn't expecting, so I brace myself and grab his arm. "I was just telling Bennett he's my favorite."
"I heard,” he says, tight between his teeth.
"But you’re my real favorite,” I whisper, very loudly.
He looks at Bennett, satisfied. "He means it."
Ben makes a sound like a sigh. "I opened my heart for nothing again."
Jamie steers me toward the kitchen and I go because his hand is on my back and I have about zero resistance to that right now, as long as he stays touching me I’ll go wherever he wants.
"I'm okay," I say.
"I know."
"I'm having a great time."
"I can see that."
"You're not having a great time," I pout.
"I'm having a good time."
I look up at him and pout some more. "You're babysitting me."
"I'm watching you to make sure you’re okay."
"Same thing."
"Is it bothering you? Do you want me to back off?" He actually looks unsure of himself for once.
I think about it. Really think about it. "No, not at all," I say. "It's actually really nice." He hands me a water and I drink it because apparently I do whatever Jamie tells me now and that's just who I am.
By eleven I am fully, completely, magnificently drunk. The good kind. The kind where everything is soft and blurry and funny and the thing that's been eating me alive all week is somewhere very far away and somebody else's sober problem.
I find Kowalski leaning against the bar and tell him, very seriously, that he’s underrated as a human being.
He looks at me for a second like he’s deciding whether I’m making fun of him.
Then he nods once. “I know.” Complete sincerity.
No irony. No humor. Just a man who has always known exactly what he is and has been patiently waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
I point at him. My guy. He’s Jamie-adjacent, which means he’s family now. He nods and drinks his beer.
Cooper I find later. Or he finds me. Doesn't matter.
"Okay wait," he starts.
"What?"
"No but actually wait—"
"I'm waiting."
He tells me a story. I don't remember what it's about. Something involving a topless girl, a parking garage, campus security, and a locked car.
At one point there are apparently two locked cars.
At another point he might be the topless girl.
The details stop making sense about halfway through, but I'm laughing too hard to ask questions and Cooper's laughing because I'm laughing and eventually we're both sitting on the floor.
"You're actually so funny," he says.
"I know.”
He thinks about this.
"Like actually though."
"Cooper, I really do know. I hold this team together. I’m the glue."
"I'm being so serious."
"I know you're being serious. So am I."
"If I get up I’m kissing you," he says.
We stay on the floor.
It's a perfect evening.
Jamie is always somewhere nearby. Never hovering.
Just — there. Whenever I look up he's there.
Talking to someone, watching the room, holding his water glass, making me take sips here and there, always looking at me.
Always finding me when I look for him. At some point the room starts doing more than tilting and I carefully navigate my way back to him through the crowd and put my hand on his arm to steady myself.
He turns immediately. Eyes doing that quick sweep over me.
"Hi," I sigh.
"Hi." He looks at me carefully. "You still good?"
"I'm still wonderful." I lean into him slightly. "I think I'm done though."
His hand finds my back. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I look up at him. Up close he's even more — just perfect. A lot of jaw and green eyes and the care he’s been giving me that comes so easily now, that I have been thinking about this entire party. "Can we go to yours?"
"Yeah," he says, without hesitation. "Let's go."
The cold air outside hits me like a wall.
"Oh," I say. "That's a lot of cold. Rude." I pull my jacket tighter and fall into step beside him. Or near him. I'm walking in a relatively straight line which I think counts. "Jamie."
"Rhys."
"I had a really good night, thanks for taking care of me."
"Good, but don’t think you’re not in trouble."
"Fine, I happily accept my punishment." I look at the path ahead. A few steps pass. "I didn't think about it for three whole hours."
His hand finds my back again as we walk, steadying me over a patch of uneven pavement. For a second, his thumb brushes against my jacket.
"That's great," he says, trying to hold me upright.
"It's the most I haven't thought about it all week.
" I look up at the sky. The stars are doing a gentle spin, a dance I can’t quite keep up with.
"He takes up so much space in my head. Like even when I'm not thinking about him, I'm thinking about him.
" I pause. "That sounded insane. Not in that way. Not how I think about you."
"It didn't. It made sense."
I peek over at him. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Make me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t embarrass you."
He looks back at me and stops me cold. “Rhys,” he says, holding onto me, “I don’t think there’s anything about you I could ever be embarrassed of.”
I've finally learned what this look is — it’s the way Jamie Nash looks when he’s deciding to be brave about something. After fighting himself.
"You can stay," he says. "This whole week. If that’s what you need."
"Jamie—"
"I know I'm not—" He exhales. Tries again.
"I don't always say the right thing. I know that.
I know I have a hard time saying what I mean.
What I feel." He looks at me then. Green eyes in the dark.
Fixed on me with an intensity I don't think he even notices.
"But I showed up yesterday and I'm showing up now and I'll show up tomorrow. I need you to know that."
I look at him. At the man who grew up being told soft was weakness. Who is standing on a dark path trying so hard to say you matter to me in the only language he was ever allowed to use, trying so hard to stay on the path with light.
I think I love him.
The thought arrives so quietly it takes a second to realize it's there. But it doesn’t rattle me. It feels right.
"I know," I say. "I know. It means everything to me."
He looks away and starts walking. I fall into step beside him and don't say another word because I don't want to break whatever this is. I want to stay in it as long as he'll let me.
We make it to his room after a short drive.
I drop onto his bed face first and stay there for a moment taking stock of my body which is doing several things at once, most of them fine, most of them spinning.
"More water," Jamie says. Already at the sink.
"One minute."
"Now."
"You're so bossy."
"Drink the damn water."
"What if I don't want—"
"Rhys."
I roll over and sit up. He's holding out a full glass with a very fake patient expression that I know is wearing thin. I take it and drink enough that he’s satisfied.
He takes the glass, refills it, and sets it on the nightstand without being asked.
This routine, this completely simple thing that he just — does now. Taking care of me.
"Jamie," I say. "Last night." I stop. Start again. "I want to make sure you know it wasn't — it wasn't just a thing to me. It wasn’t me just trying to feel better or trying to use you." I'm aware I sound like a drunk person trying to be serious which is exactly what I am. "I don’t regret it."
I don’t regret you.
He cuts me a serious look. "I know. I don’t either," he says, honestly.
"Okay." I nod. "Good."
He sits on the edge of the bed. I lean sideways until my head finds his shoulder. He goes motionless for a second and then just — stays there. Gets closer to me until we’re both settled in, cuddling. My phone is in my hand before I've decided to do anything with it.
I open my contacts.
Find Blake.
Call him immediately.
"What are you—" Jamie starts.
It rings twice.
"Hello? Everything ok?" Blake sounds like a man who was deeply asleep and not happy about being woken up.
"Blake." I sit up slightly. Very serious. "I need to tell you something."
"Rhys it's past midnight—"
"I had sex with Jamie last night."
Silence.
"I'm sitting right next to him," I add helpfully.
More silence.
"Blake?"
"Hold on, I'm processing," Blake says.
Jamie has his face in his hand beside me. His ears are red. I find this extraordinarily endearing. "I just thought you should know," I say. "As my closest friend."
"You called me at midnight to tell me this? Why not yesterday?"
"It felt important now."
"It—" Blake stops. I hear him exhale. "Are you drunk?"
"Magnificently."
"Is Jamie there?"
"Right here." I hold the phone toward him. "Say hi."
"I'm not—" Jamie starts.
"He says hi," I tell Blake.
"Oh my god," Blake says.
"I know, right." I bring the phone back to my ear. "Anyway. Just wanted to update you. You always say communication is important."
"I have never said that in my life."
"It's implied." I nod at nothing. "Okay. Goodnight, best friend. I love you."
"Rhys—"
I hang up.
Three seconds later my phone starts ringing.
Blake.
I decline it.
"Absolutely not," I say. "I'm about to sleep."
My phone immediately starts ringing again.
Jamie laughs.
The hardest I’ve ever seen him laugh.
I stare at the screen.
"He's obsessed with me."
I pick up quickly. "Blake. Boundaries. Go to bed."
I hang up. Put my phone on the nightstand and turn to Jamie.
He's sitting there with his hand still over his face and his ears still red.
"He needed to know," I say.
"He really didn't."
"He worries."
"About what?"
"About me." I sneak a look at him. "He's been worried about me and you for a while. This is good news for him. He’s overjoyed right now."
Jamie finally drops his hand.
"You're insane," he says, but I know he loves it.
"Little bit." I lie back on his pillow, realization suddenly creeping in.
"Shit, are you mad he knows?" He looks at me for a long moment.
Then he reaches over and pulls the duvet up over me, tucking us in.
"No," he says, honestly. "I'm not mad. I know you trust him.
And I don't want to be something you have to hide from your best friend. It’s okay. "
He clicks the lamp off. The bed dips beside me. His arm comes around me. I find the place on his chest where his heartbeat is and put my ear there and relax.
"Jamie," I say into the dark.
"Jesus Christ. Go to sleep."
"I just—" I stop. I'm drunk enough to say the true thing. "You’re the best thing that’s happened to me here."
"Yeah," he says back. "Me too. Best thing that’s happened to me, probably ever."
I close my eyes to soak it all in and the spinning stops along with my heart.
For the first time in six days, I don't feel like I'm drifting away.
Right now there's just this.
His heartbeat.
His arm around me.
I'm asleep before I can ruin it by saying anything else.
Before I say something stupid like I love you.