Hesitant Hearts

by Jerry Cole

  Fuck hangovers.

  Patrick groaned, face mashed into the pillow, and fumbled for the phone on his nightstand. Except it wasn’t on the nightstand, it was on the floor, in the pocket of his pants. Shit. The alarm was blaring through what little sleep he’d managed to catch, and he needed to shut it the hell up. He rolled over, closing his eyes against the glare from the windows, and groaned as he reached for his jeans.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, managing to get his fingers around the phone. Shutting off the alarm, he collapsed onto the bed with a groan. He had been hoping to sleep the day away, but his alarm had put paid to that, and now that he was awake, his body was making itself known.

  “You gotta stop doing this, Wright.”

  Patrick stumbled out of bed, head banging, and managed to get to the bathroom without wounding himself or knocking anything other. That had to be some kind of record. He went through the motions of pissing and cleaning himself up and stared at himself in the mirror. He always looked like shit after a night drinking. There was only one thing that could help.

  Coffee.

  If he was going to shift the hangover, he definitely needed coffee. All right, so what if he also needed to kick the drinking thing, coffee was also good.

  “You have a shit coffee maker,” Gary informed him, giving Patrick a heart attack and a headache simultaneously.

  “What the fuck, Gary.”

  Gary looked over his shoulder, unimpressed. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing last night, and his phone was on the counter next to his elbow. Ignoring Patrick’s outburst, he waved an empty mug. “I can put on another mug if you need one.”

  Patrick scowled, padding across the room to get to the aforementioned coffeemaker. Piece of shit or not, it had helped Patrick get through some tough times. Mostly hangovers, but also work binges that lasted way too long. “Is there a reason you’re still in my apartment?”

  “Isaac wanted me to make sure you didn’t die,” Gary informed him, holding out his cup.

  Being the great friend that he was, Patrick actually poured him a mug. Not that he deserved it. As soon as he said Isaac, Patrick made a face and leaned against the counter. “Isaac can go fuck himself.”

  Gary snorted. “I’m sure he’d rather fuck you.”

  Patrick would have been impressed on any other day. “As much as I love you for that, Gary, I’m currently pissed at Isaac and can’t handle this bullshit on a hangover.”

  “Tough shit,” Gary said, looking Patrick in the eye. “You’re angry because Isaac fucked up? I know this has happened in your relationships before, so surprise, you’ve hit your first bump.”

  A bump? Patrick didn’t feel like they’d hit a bump more than a great big fucking wall. “He lied to me.”

  “He fucked up,” Gary said, waving a hand. “It’s not as though he was out making out with someone else. Michael’s his best friend.”

  “That I knew nothing about,” Patrick pointed out. “Did he think I was just introducing him to all my friends for the hell of it?”

  Gary shrugged. “I dunno man, you’d have to ask Isaac. Talk to him. Like an adult.”

  Patrick was getting real fucking tired of people coming into his space and telling him how to behave. “I have a hangover and I really don’t wanna talk about this right now, so feel free to fuck off when you’ve finished your coffee.”

  Unlike most of Patrick’s friends, Gary actually knew when he’d crossed a line he clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere near again and held up his hands. “Just call Isaac.”

  “Fuck off,” Patrick repeated, and carried his mug back into the bedroom.

  It wasn’t that he was still mad at Isaac. It was – fuck, it was mostly hurt. Maybe his friends were right, and he should talk to Isaac, or get over himself, but he’d thought they were making progress. Unless this was one of those things he was overreacting about. There was clearly a reason Patrick didn’t do relationships; he’d forgotten how confusing and downright exhausting they were.

  Still, he picked up his phone from the bed and wasn’t surprised to see a series of text messages, at least three from Isaac, the rest from various other friends.

  I’M SORRY.

  GARY SAYS YOU’RE OKAY TEXT ME SO I KNOW.

  I’LL CALL YOU.

  Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. All right, so he felt like crap that he’d let Isaac worry about him and shot off a text to let Isaac know he was awake, but that he’d call him later. He ignored the rest of the texts, even the ones from Eddie telling him not to be an ass to Isaac. As if it’s Patrick’s fault this whole thing went down. What the fuck ever.

  Patrick heard the door close, Gary obviously taking the hint and getting out, and collapsed back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He clenched his jaw, fingers clenched around the phone, and he sighed, tapping against the screen. He should probably call Isaac, call Rebecca, call someone who would be able to talk him down. Not that he was going to do anything stupid.

  He wasn’t surprised when Eddie called him a few moments later.

  “I could see you read my texts,” Eddie said, without waiting for Patrick to acknowledge the call.

  “Hi Eddie,” Patrick said, mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Nice to hear from you too.”

  Eddie sighed. “You sound like shit, which means you probably look like shit.”

  “Jesus,” Patrick snapped. “Anything else you wanna berate me for?”

  It took a while for Eddie to answer, and when he did, his voice had dropped an octave, actually sounding sympathetic. “I know Isaac hurt you last night, Tones.”

  Patrick rubbed at his face. “I think I overreacted.”

  “No,” Eddie said and fucking finally, maybe someone was actually on his side for once. “You had a right to be mad.” Another pause. “You still have to talk to him.”

  And it was ruined. “Why?”

  “Stop whining,” Eddie said, and Patrick could picture him rolling his eyes. “You know you have to act like an adult when you’re almost forty and in a relationship.”

  Nobody wanted to hear that kind of shit about themselves, and Patrick was no exception. He clenched his free hand into a fist, running his tongue along his bottom lip.

  His silence must have been a pain in the ass for Eddie, but Patrick wasn’t going to try and make him feel better.

  “Patrick,” Eddie said eventually. “I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

  “You never do,” Patrick snapped. “I get that I’m a pain in the ass sometimes, but why do I have to be the one fixing everything? I’m not always in the wrong.”

  Patrick hung up before Eddie could say anything else. He was being a child, sure, but he didn’t give a fuck. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and hungover and he didn’t have time to worry about everyone else.

  Shuffling over, pressing his face into the pillows, he grunted, shifting so that he was more comfortable, and allowed himself to nap. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until someone was buzzing into his apartment, and Patrick scowled, shoving up from his bed. He padded out to the living room and yelled, “What?”

  “Patrick?”

  Fuck. Isaac.

  “Uh,” Patrick said, and even though he didn’t want to, he threw open the door.

  Isaac stared at him, mouth opening slightly, eyes raking Patrick’s face and hair. Patrick reached up, realizing his hair was stuck up on one side, and sighed, rubbing it down. “Can I–”

  “Come in,” Patrick said, abandoning Isaac at the door to make up his own mind. He went back through to the kitchen, needing another coffee now that he was awake again, and leaned against the counter, watching Isaac shut the door behind him, and walk quietly into the apartment.

  The silence dragged out between them, Patrick not wanting to be the first to speak – mostly because he was an asshole – and Isaac, who was staring down at the counter as if it held all the answers.

  Eventually, Patrick sighed, dropping
his mug onto the counter. “Why did you never say anything about him?”

  Isaac blew out a slow breath. “I didn’t mean to keep him from you.”

  “So?” Patrick said, waving a hand. “What do I need to know about Michael?”

  “We’ve been friends since we were kids,” Isaac said. “Went into the army together and after we discharged, he moved back to New York with me. He hasn’t been in the country, so he wasn’t around to meet you, and I didn’t think – I didn’t think it would matter.”

  Patrick felt the tension recede, leaving him clutching at the counter and feeling even more of a dick than he had before. “I was jealous.”

  Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Shut up,” Patrick groused. “You don’t get to mock me yet, Carter.” Isaac’s smile was small, but warm, and Patrick couldn’t help but return it. “I thought that, I didn’t think you wanted to tell me.”

  “I want to tell you everything,” Isaac said. “It scares me a little bit.”

  “Yeah, well, join the club.” Patrick rounded the bar, leaning his hip against the counter and nudging Isaac with his shoulder. Isaac swiveled on the stool, resting his hands on Patrick’s waist, and Patrick shifted so that he was standing between Isaac’s legs.

  “I’m sorry,” Isaac said, leaning in to kiss Patrick’s temple.

  “Yeah, me too,” Patrick replied, nudging Isaac’s face so that they could kiss properly. Fighting was a normal part of relationships, Patrick wasn’t stupid enough to think anything different, but he couldn’t deny the make up afterward was a good feeling. “Wanna stay for a movie?”

  Isaac hesitated, and Patrick was expecting a brush off, but then Isaac was grinning. “I did take the day off work so that I could make up with my boyfriend, so I’ve got time.”

  The word boyfriend sent a fission of joy up his spine, and Patrick tugged Isaac off of the stool, smiling against Isaac’s mouth as he backed them up toward the living area.

  “Just some time?”

  “A whole lot of time,” Isaac assured him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  SORRY CAN’T MAKE IT TONIGHT. RAINCHECK? :)

  Patrick was still staring at the text when Natasha dropped next to him on the couch, cradling a bucket of popcorn. Jake had his legs thrown over the arm of the loveseat, tipping his head back to stare at Patrick. “What’s with that face?”

  “Isaac’s not coming,” Patrick said, trying to keep his voice even.

  Natasha looked at him sharply, brow furrowed, but Patrick was already sinking back into the couch, tossing the phone on the cushions next to him. “Say why?”

  “Nope,” Patrick said. He was tired. It was the third time in two weeks that Isaac had cancelled on him, but he always made sure to make up for it afterwards. Patrick didn’t know if he had done anything wrong, but Isaac never said anything, and was always attentive and loving when he turned up again. “I’m not worrying about it.”

  “All right,” Natasha said, looking disbelieving, but it must have been Patrick’s lucky day because she let it go, turning back to the television.

  Patrick wasn’t sure what movie was playing, some romance that Jake had probably chosen, wasn’t really following it. He wanted to grab his phone and demand an explanation, but he doubted Isaac would give him one and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. What if Isaac said he was sick of him? Or that he had other priorities that he hadn’t had before (and Patrick was deliberately not thinking Michael) and was figuring out how to balance them both.

  The last one was probably the truth, but Patrick didn’t want to test the theory. Isaac might end up choosing Michael, and Patrick felt sick with it.

  “He could just be an idiot,” Jake pointed out. “Doesn’t know he’s being a dick until you tell him.”

  Patrick snorted. “I know I’m not the best at figuring this shit out, but even I know I shouldn’t have to hold his fucking hand.”

  For a long while, the only noises in the room were the movie and the crunch of popcorn. Patrick kicked his legs up on the coffee table, closing his eyes and letting the sounds wash over him. Sometimes it helped to just have company.

  Unfortunately, Natasha was only willing to leave him be for so long. “Maybe you should ask if he wants to meet up for lunch tomorrow.”

  She had her phone in her hand when Patrick looked over and he bit back an angry retort. He had no doubt that she was texting Isaac and fuck it all, Patrick didn’t need the interference.

  “Or maybe I’ll wait for him to come to me without your input,” he said, feeling a sense of triumph when Natasha inclined her head in acquiescence. Patrick could be petty.

  Isaac didn’t text for the rest of the night. Patrick didn’t bother to text back, appreciating the fact that both Natasha and Jake let the subject of Isaac drop, focusing on the movie and shit-talking the rest of their friends.

  “-and that’s why you should never challenge Sven to a drinking contest,” Jake finished.

  “I didn’t plan on it,” Patrick pointed out. “I do know better than to challenge anyone to a drinking contest.”

  “Because you’d win?” Natasha asked, tossing a piece of popcorn at Patrick’s head.

  Patrick caught it mid-air and popped it into his mouth, grinning at Natasha’s surprise. “That hurts me, Tasha.”

  “What did I tell you about that?” Natasha said, narrowing her eyes.

  Blowing her a kiss, Patrick scratched at his arm and sighed, picking up his phone and flicking through to Isaac’s number.

  Patrick: Tomorrow?

  Patrick could be benevolent as well as petty.

  Isaac: PLEASE. IM SORRY. :(

  It would be so easy to say something cutting back, but Patrick wasn’t lying about being tired. He couldn’t be bothered to keep it up, just wanting to continue seeing Isaac without anything getting in the way.

  Patrick: Whatever. Just show up tomorrow and I’ll forgive you <3

  Isaac replied with an affirmative and a heart. Patrick tucked the phone under his thigh and shuffled further down in the couch. Jake was asleep, propped up against some pillows, but Natasha was awake, playing a game on her phone.

  “We’re meeting up tomorrow,” Patrick said, keeping his voice low.

  “What happened to waiting for him to come to you?”

  “He actually did,” Patrick admitted, leaving out the part where he initiated contact. Isaac had texted him after all, and sometimes it paid to be magnanimous. Not that he was going to tell Natasha that. “I’m trying to be the bigger person, here.”

  Natasha’s lips quirked up and she leaned an elbow against the back of the couch, resting her chin against her arm. “That’s surprisingly self-aware.”

  Patrick wasn’t impressed by that. “I can be self-aware.”

  “Not always,” Natasha pointed out. She scratched at her eyebrow. “You know that’s the truth.”

  Patrick didn’t want to admit that yes, it was. “Michael just,” he started, then cut himself off. “We’re having problems now, is all.”

  “You can tell me, you know.”

  “You’re friends with both of us,” Patrick said, skeptical. “I’m not gonna just start shitting on Isaac in front of you.”

  Natasha smirked. “You think we don’t shit on you in private?”

  That was actually a little too close to home, and Patrick didn’t know what his face must have done, but Natasha leaned away from the couch, resting a hand on his thigh.

  “Patrick, it was a joke.”

  “Sure,” Patrick said, wincing when Natasha dug her nails into his thigh. “Hey.”

  Natasha smiled sweetly. “If you’re gonna shit on yourself, do me a favor and listen to what I’m saying.”

  Patrick tapped her wrist and thankfully, she shifted back away from him. There was a telling silence, and Natasha blew out a breath, looking unhappy.

  “Sometimes I wonder what the fuck you two are doing.”

  “You and me both,” Patrick s
aid, laughing self-deprecatingly.

  “Are you even talking?” Natasha asked seriously, and Patrick didn’t know what kind of dog she had in this fight, but it was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn’t waiting for him to fuck up. He loved Eddie and Rebecca both, but they’d known him too long and too well to expect anything less than disaster from him. It was a fair assumption.

  Patrick shrugged. “We do talk. Not sure we’re saying what matters, but we talk.”

  “That’s something.” Natasha’s tone was gentle, and she was looking at Jake as she spoke. To be fair, Patrick didn’t think there was anything between them, and couldn’t imagine them ever working, but perhaps she was drawing on something. Unlike his friends, Patrick wasn’t a nosey bastard who needed to get involved with his friends’ love lives. Natasha gave him a wry look. “Maybe try and get to the good stuff, Tones?”

  “As if I haven’t tried,” Patrick said, knowing as he did, that he wasn’t being particularly truthful. How many times had he told himself to let it go? Hadn’t he just given Isaac an out instead of discussing where their problems laid?

  From the look Natasha was giving him, she knew it too. “Don’t come crying to me when this implodes.”

  “Nice to know you have faith,” Patrick said, unwilling to contemplate what the tightness of his chest indicated.

  “I have faith.” Natasha squeezed his thigh once more and fumbled for her phone and the empty popcorn bucket. “Faith can’t build on what doesn’t exist.”

  It was surprisingly insightful, but then Natasha had a tendency to be that way.

  “I’m stealing your bed,” She said, standing up and stretching. She was dressed down, something Patrick didn’t always get a chance to see, and she flicked her hair over one shoulder. She was unfairly attractive like most of Patrick’s friends, and he figured he could probably say the same about himself, but he tried not to be self-absorbed. Apparently, he failed to be self-aware most of the time as well.

  The sins, he supposed, of being Patrick Wright.

  Those sins, apparently, led to Isaac blowing him off the next night and Patrick was pissed enough to call as soon as he got the message.