Shadows You Left

by Jude Sierra

  “Of him?”

  “Of being left. Being leaveable.” It was a quarter of the story. But it was a thing that hurt, deeply. How Erik’s back looked, slipping through his door. How his hands felt like silence without Erik in them.

  After Brigid, River had learned to run, to leave before being left. But with Erik, he couldn’t walk away. These were things he couldn’t say, not without Val knowing. Erik’s eyes, wide and not quite focused, the way his body held itself differently, the cold sucker punch of understanding.

  “You love him.” Realization pushed through her whisper.

  River nodded.

  It was about the fear of leaving, but from both sides.

  His mother and Brigid were people he’d loved. Differently, of course. But when they were at their worst, River had hated his own thoughts. Hated the whisper of helplessness.

  Someday, I’ll get out.

  Unbidden, unasked for, ugly and selfish, River had still thought them. At his most hopeless, at his most torn, he couldn’t find steady ground in his own contradictions.

  “You remember how Mom used to say that she was going to leave us?”

  “Yeah,” Val said. Her laugh was sarcastic and bitter. “I wanted her to.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Val’s eyes were steady on his, asking for honesty.

  “Okay. Sometimes I did. That was the worst part. Being scared that she would even when I wished for it. It seems stupid now, but then… I was so sure her leaving meant she would stop loving me. I couldn’t breathe when she’d say it.”

  “And she said it to you the most.”

  Resentment, an old scar, throbbed. Val had taken shelter in anger. Val had acted out. She lashed out, she locked herself in her room, ran away. River had held his mother’s hand. He would sit in the garage and beg her to stay. Tell her over and over that she wasn’t a bad mother. Those wishes still tasted like poison.

  “You know, sometimes I wanted it so much.” River sighed. “I wanted her gone. And then, when she’d cry, I felt so guilty. Like she knew. And I didn’t—I didn’t know how to be both. I didn’t know how it was possible, to want two different things in the same space.”

  Val and their father had given him a terrible responsibility at a young age. It took years to understand that nobody had meant to hurt him. He also understood that it didn’t matter. Because he had been hurt. He had learned that love came at a price, and he’d loved Brigid like that. Sure, two years was enough to get over her. But years of being hurt by people he loved, who were supposed to love him, would take much longer.

  “What if it is me, though? What if I’m the common denominator?”

  River didn’t want to leave Erik. But he couldn’t see the rest of his life in this cycle, always trying to save someone who refused to be saved. The nights he’d spent in the last few months, on the cusp of calling his mother and telling her to clean up her own goddamn mess but ultimately backing down, only served as reminders of his own inability to save himself, much less anyone else.

  “River,” Val took his hand. Startled by the tears in her eyes, River squeezed hard. “You are the most lovable person I know. You deserve it. You settle because you doubt it, I think. You turned yourself inside out for them; you made yourself invisible.”

  River shook his head. When he tried to pull his hand away, she gripped harder.

  “It’s okay to fight for love, River. If he’s what you want, do it. But not at your own expense. You should support a partner, but they need to do the same for you. And it’s not wrong to want to be with someone who can do that. Who is willing to learn if they don’t know how.”

  “It’s not about him—”

  “Well, then.” Val stood. The corner of her lip curled, and her eyes went sharp with knowing. “It’s good advice regardless.” She kissed the top of his head. Val wasn’t given to affection; he soaked it in.

  In the end, they might fall flat. Maybe no matter what he did, it would happen. River wouldn’t be alone, but Erik would be. River didn’t want to make himself invisible, but he wasn’t willing to break Erik’s heart, either. He was almost sure Erik had loved him—still loved him. He had no idea how to make anything work, but he was sure he had to try.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Erik folded his hands around a steaming mug of too-sweet coffee. Warmth pressed into his palms through black, fingerless gloves. Hushed chatter filled the coffee shop, accompanied by an acoustic cover playlist. Fingertips clacked keyboards. Friends sat close together and muffled their laughter.

  It was the beginning of spring, but Seattle couldn’t shake winter. Cold spells bit into the city, reminding Erik that starting something new didn’t always bring an ending to what was left behind. He couldn’t stop thinking about River, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about River for days and weeks and months. This time, he couldn’t stop replaying the look in River’s eye, the silent understanding and abrupt disappointment. Erik should stop. He needed to stop. There was no good reason to use, yet he constantly found himself circling back to a powder or a pill, a door he could walk through and lock behind him.

  River’s attentiveness spoke of untold stories. His hesitation, his carefulness. The quiet Erik had fallen in love with had turned River into someone with secrets. He couldn’t fault River for keeping them, not when Erik was the one with ghosts. A breath gathered in his chest, but he held it, letting it fester until it ached.

  Last night, Erik had texted Beverly for the first time in four years.

  Erik: There’s a coffee shop a few blocks away from my apartment. When are you free?

  Beverly: Now. Tomorrow. Yesterday. How are you?

  Erik: tomorrow?

  Beverly: Sure. Send me the address.

  Erik sent her a pin with the address when he got to the coffee shop that morning. He’d ordered something sweet with a ridiculous amount of espresso and wished he had whiskey to mix with it. Nerves lit beneath his skin, crackling and popping. He needed to do this. He had to.

  His phone buzzed.

  Beverly: Be there in five.

  He picked at his cuticles. His hands shook and his head spun. Erik remembered River’s soft voice, his index finger resting against Erik’s mouth. Don’t. He remembered the last smile Lee wore on the night he died, eyes narrowed and mouth pinched. We should slow down, man. Erik grinning when he shook his head. Live fast. And Lee’s response, built on the steps of his laughter.

  “Die young,” Erik whispered to himself. His eyes burned. He finished his coffee, set it in the bus bin and almost knocked into someone as he rushed out the door.

  He didn’t text Beverly. His heart pounded, threatening to run right out of his chest. He paced down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. There was nowhere for him to go. River was at work—Erik didn’t want River to see him like this, anyway. He didn’t trust himself to be alone, and he didn’t trust himself with Jadis.

  His phone fit against his ear.

  “Des,” Erik said, her name coming out choked.

  “Where are you?” Desiree said.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. “I don’t know what to do—where to go, I’m just… I can’t do this anymore, and—”

  “Honey, where are you?”

  He swung his arms and sighed, glancing around. “Next to the record store, across from Starbucks.”

  “This is Seattle. Specifics.”

  Despite the burn in his throat, Erik laughed.

  Desiree said, “Just meet me at the troll, yeah?”

  Erik licked his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Do not call Jadis.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  …

  The Fremont Troll was, in fact, a gigantic troll.

  Long stone knuckles attached to a massive one-eyed troll dug into the dirt under the Aurora Bridge. The sculpture was a Seattle landmark, and even though it drew crowds of tourists, locals still flocked to the wise, strange beast. Erik pace
d in front of the stone hand curled over a sculpted VW Bug. Desiree leaned against the troll’s giant knuckles.

  “Okay, spill,” Desiree said.

  “I’m completely in love with him,” Erik said. His fear wore anger like armor. “Like, no looking back, totally, completely, stupidly in love with him. And I don’t know if he loves me, but I think he might.”

  “No offense, sweetheart, but you’re no bundle of sunshine. If he’s still here, he’s gotta love you.”

  He flipped her off and continued pacing. “Beverly is in town, and I ditched her this morning, and now she’s texted me”—he glanced at his phone—“eight times, and I’m…”

  Desiree sighed.

  “This is the part where I’d normally be breaking my lease and packing my shit.” He stopped in his tracks. “I’d be buying the next bus ticket to Austin, and I’d be gone.”

  “Austin, huh? You’re still thinking about taking Pete’s offer?” Desiree’s smile was patient and soft. She crossed one foot over the other, legs wrapped in leather boots and black pants.

  “Yeah…” He shook his head and glanced from her to the troll. “Figured it’d be a good place to crash for a while. The money’s good, and….”

  “You’re running, aren’t you?”

  Erik’s lips thinned. He didn’t answer.

  “Because you’ve been found?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I just wasn’t prepared for River to find me first.” He leaned against the other stone hand and breathed deeply through his nose. “And now…”

  “Now you’re stuck not knowin’.”

  “Yes.” Erik closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped, and he sagged against the troll’s knuckles. “I can’t… I can’t do this forever, Desiree. The fighting… The…”

  “Drugs?”

  Erik startled.

  “C’mon, Erik, you’re not that subtle.”

  Erik peeked at her from under his lashes. “It’s not a big deal. It was a couple times, that’s it.”

  Her hands were covered in fuzzy white gloves. She held them up and shrugged. “No judgments here. You don’t need to tell me what happened between you and Beverly. I get it. We’ve all got shit. We’ve all done shit. But skeletons aren’t for carrying. We keep them in closets for a reason.”

  He opened his mouth, but Desiree held up her hand, signaling for him to be quiet.

  “You don’t need to tell me what you’re running from, all right? But you do have to tell River if you’re staying in Seattle or not. And after you tell him, you gotta let that shit go. You understand?”

  “I don’t know how to,” he confessed. That was the truth of it. He didn’t know how to be the person he was becoming, because it wasn’t who he imagined he’d be. It wasn’t someone he thought he could be. “I’m… The fights are…”

  “Killing you,” Desiree said. “Why do you think I only fight once a month, huh? I could never do what you do, week after week, barely any breaks.” She shook her head. “And if you’re letting them kill you, then you need to ask yourself why.”

  “I know why,” he bit.

  “Then you need to be brave enough to stop.”

  The words punctured Erik, every organ and every vein. He closed his eyes, teeth set hard, and slid his fingernails across his palms. Bravery was in his blood, sure, but the kind she asked for lived in the places he kept out of reach. This was bravery he’d buried.

  “You say it like it’s easy,” Erik whispered. “If I let myself have this… If I just…”

  “Pain and penance will only last for so long,” Desiree said. “You wanna keep getting in the cage? Keep getting hurt? Be my guest. But what you’re running from won’t change because of it, and River doesn’t seem like to type to stick around and watch you do it to yourself.”

  “He isn’t,” Erik mumbled. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe he is.” That would be worse, somehow.

  “You hold the cards.” Desiree stepped toward him. She touched his cheek, dragged her thumb along his scarred brow. “I need to go prep the bar. You gonna be okay?”

  He nodded. “Thanks for listening to me freak out.”

  Desiree’s fist-bumped his shoulder. “Anytime.”

  Erik watched her go, the long tail of her beige sweater waving around her ankles. The truth nagged at him—a truth he couldn’t shake or peel away.

  Erik O’Malley didn’t want to fight anymore. Not like he had, at least. He didn’t want to run, or hide, or pretend. He wanted to take a chance.

  Wolfbite013: Hows your day been?

  Watermarked: Good.

  Wolfbite013: clients giving you good tats to work on?

  Watermarked: A few are interesting.

  Wolfbite013: can I see you?

  Watermarked: Later yeah.

  Erik read the texts again and again.

  He typed I miss you and deleted it.

  He typed Where did you go? and deleted it.

  Wolfbite013: Are you okay?

  Watermarked: Yeah I’m good. You okay?

  Wolfbite013: yeah I’m okay

  Watermarked: Just okay?

  Wolfbite013: I’d be better if I was with you

  Watermarked: Soon.

  Wolfbite013: tonight?

  Watermarked: Sure. I’ll come over.

  Wolfbite013: okay

  The texts glared at him, short, to the point, and devastatingly unfamiliar. Erik thumbed over the message bubble, debated asking what was wrong, and then closed it. He already knew.

  …

  River canceled on him a few hours later, citing exhaustion from extra hours at Styx. Three days came and went before he called Erik and asked if he wanted to go to lunch.

  “What’re you in the mood for?” Erik pulled his jacket on then straightened River’s collar.

  “Not-Thai and Not-Pizza,” River said around a smile.

  “Is that right?” Erik’s lips quirked. He watched River’s nimble fingers work the key into the lock, and took his hand once they hit the sidewalk. The sun had made itself busy since dawn, burning off a lingering haze. Blue skies remained, and Erik noticed the way River turned his face toward them, welcoming light on his cheeks and nose and mouth.

  River was beautiful, and Erik was breathless because of it.

  “What?” River glanced at him as they walked.

  “You were smiling,” he said, but there was more to say than that. It was a new smile, a reminder that they hadn’t been at this long enough to know what hid behind every curled lip or furrowed brow. Some things, like that smile, were still mysteries.

  “The sky’s blue.”

  Erik’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to tell him the truth. Spring meant blue skies and warm wind and a choice. Seattle and River, or a bus ticket to Austin. Committing to River, or running. The inevitable sat on his chest like an anvil. He kissed the corner of River’s mouth, squeezed his palm, and tried not to think about it.

  “Does it have to be takeout? I’ve been craving a salmon sandwich. How do you feel about Matt’s in the Market? I haven’t been in ages,” River said. He tugged Erik close, breathed against his mouth, and kissed him softly, a kiss as rare and new as his smile—as if the three days of silence hadn’t happened.

  “I’d love it.”

  They walked to the market hand in hand and were seated on the second floor at a square table between the bar and a tall glass window, tilted open to let the ocean breeze drift through. Chatter filled the air. Silverware clanked against dishes, and laugher chimed from patrons seated at the bar. A neon red sign stood high above the market beside a glowing clock, each tick of the hand another minute closer to Erik’s decision to spill the truth.

  River pointed at the menu. “Deviled eggs,” he said, and flicked his eyes to Erik. “Should we start with those or salad?”

  “I like deviled eggs.” Erik followed the ridge of River’s knuckles with his index finger. “But either works.”

  River watched him, lips pursed and brows knit with worry
. There was no denying the unspoken. Questions buzzed in the minuscule space between them. What’s happening to us? Where do we go from here? What do you want to tell me? He saw it clearly on River’s face—those same questions, that same caution. Erik opened and closed his mouth.

  I’m leaving. No, that wasn’t right. I have to go. But he didn’t, and he knew it. Pete wants me to fight in Austin, says I’ll bring in the big crowds. That was the beginning of the truth. I don’t want to go. There. That was it. Still, his breath caught, his jaw slackened, and he stayed silent.

  “Are we okay?” River’s voice was as unsteady as Erik’s heartbeat. He turned his hand over and tickled Erik’s palm. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s just…” Erik swallowed hard and met River’s eyes. “I need to tell you—”

  “Erik O’Malley.”

  Everything stopped. Erik’s heart. His breathing. His thoughts.

  He knew that voice, a little raspy, a little low. He knew her soft chuckle, recognized the floral notes of her perfume and the chipped black polish that tipped her fingers. Erik’s throat cinched. There, standing at the edge of the table, was Beverly.

  “Surprise,” Beverly said. She set her hand on his shoulder, as if she could sense his disbelief, and squeezed. “Small world, huh?”

  When Erik’s voice refused to surface, River said, “You must be Beverly.”

  Her bright eyes shifted to the other side of the table. “Someone talks about me,” she teased. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just—”

  “No, please, sit.” River stood and slid a chair from the empty table beside them, gesturing to it with a nod and a smile. Erik tried to kick him under the table but missed. “We’re not in a rush,” River said. “We were about to order an appetizer.”

  “I’ve got friends waiting downstairs, but I can stay for some coffee, maybe?”

  Erik sipped his water and licked his lips, caught like a wolf with its paw in a trap. When he finally mustered the courage to look at her, he saw a refined, wiser version of the girl he’d left in California. Her hair was still black, shaved on the left and draped over her shoulder on the right. A silver bar decorated her eyebrow, and she stood with loose confidence Erik admired.