Shadows You Left

by Jude Sierra

  “Erik,” Beverly said, softer, more serious, “I can go if you don’t—”

  “Sorry, no, I… It’s fine, I’m just…” He paused to chew on his lip. “I feel like a dick,” he blurted, because it was the truth and one of them had to say it.

  “For ghosting me the other day?” Beverly’s smile stretched. She plopped in the seat beside him and shrugged. “It’s not like you haven’t been dodging me for years, asshole. I’m used to it.”

  He caught the furrow of River’s brow, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes flicked toward the window. Erik had chosen this particular pain, this inescapable haunting. River hadn’t, and Erik doubted he would understand it.

  The server brought them coffee. River ordered deviled eggs, and Erik tried to calm his racing heart.

  “This is River,” Erik said. He finally met Beverly’s eyes, rimmed in black liner, and jerked his chin toward River. “River, this is Beverly.”

  “Cool name,” Beverly said. “Nice to meet you.”

  River smiled. “You, too.”

  Erik’s fingers tightened around his glass. He stayed still, preparing for an onslaught of questions. Why’d you leave? Where the hell have you been? Don’t you know people needed you? How could you do this? Or an explosion. Everyone looked for you. You just disappeared. It was your fault. Everything inside him trembled. River placed his hand over Erik’s knuckles, a single, steady touch. The quiet swelled around them. Somehow, Erik found himself looking at Beverly, silently hoping she wouldn’t say too much.

  Beverly clucked her tongue. “Look at you, O’Malley,” she whispered. When she reached for him, River’s hand slipped away. Slowly, she set her fingers on his cheek, feeling across the seam of a scar. “Things are always breaking against you, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe I’m always breaking them,” Erik said.

  Things were always breaking inside him and around him, not just against him.

  Beverly huffed out a laugh.

  “So, Beverly…” River floundered to pick a conversational thread from the heavy air.

  “Bev is fine.” Her eyes never left Erik’s face.

  “Bev. How long are you in town for?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m doing a wandering sort of vacation. Wanted to make sure I caught this one before he skipped town again. Isn’t your boss sending you somewhere soon? Texas, right?”

  Panic unraveled inside Erik, long, thick strings of it that wrapped around his bones and squeezed. His breath caught, and he shook his head again, desperate for an escape. This wasn’t how Erik wanted River to find out. He glanced at River, and his eyes softened, but River looked back at him with fierce, startled recognition. The expression someone wore when they finally understood a secret they’d been kept from.

  “No.” Erik bit down on the word. “I don’t know what’s next, honestly.”

  Beverly hummed. “What have you been up to these days?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but River got there first.

  “He fights,” River said. “In a cage.” There was ice in his voice. Distrust. Unfamiliarity. He glanced at the table, the window, the bar, at anything but Erik. “And he bartends when he’s not busy taping himself back together.”

  Erik deserved that. He cleared his throat and kept his mouth shut.

  “But he’s kind of a shit bartender,” River teased, painting on a wide smile to mask the hard set of his shoulders and hurt in his eyes.

  Beverly smirked. She kept her hand on his face, thumb on his scar, and said, “Fighting, huh? Sounds rough.”

  “It is,” Erik said.

  “What about you, Bev? What do you do?” River asked.

  “I’m a drug counselor,” she said, and smiled at the server who brought them coffee. Erik’s knuckles were white, hands wrapped around the edge of the table. “After Lee died, I wandered a bit. You know how it goes.” Her eyes shifted to River. “Well, maybe you don’t. When you lose someone like we did, young. Eventually, I pulled myself together, put myself through trade school. And here I am.”

  She said Lee’s name casually, but it hit Erik like a bullet.

  “And you?” Beverly kept her attention on River.

  “I’m a tattoo artist.” River plucked the napkin from his lap and folded it on the table. His movements were uncoordinated and twitchy. He offered another tight smile as he stood. “I’ll give you guys a minute to talk—it’s fine,” he said, hushing Beverly’s quick protest. “I need some air, anyway.”

  Erik didn’t watch River walk away. He inhaled, exhaled. Stay steady.

  “He didn’t know I was leaving.” Erik’s voice fluttered over his lips.

  “Are you leaving?” Beverly tilted her head.

  “I don’t know—I mean, no, I just…”

  “Hey, look at me.” Beverly placed her knuckle under his chin. “Self-destruction is my job, Erik. You can’t fool me. What’s going on?”

  He’d never been able to fool her. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even fool himself.

  Beverly let the silence fester before she finally said, “You can’t keep doing this.”

  “I know, Bev. You don’t need to remind me.”

  “Someone has to,” she said. “Lee would’ve.”

  Erik’s heart ruptured. He flinched like he’d been struck, recoiling from her with a hard jolt. Heat climbed into his throat, gathered behind his eyes and settled high in his nose. Around them, the restaurant swelled with chatter and laughter, noise Erik wished he could flee from.

  “Erik, no,” she whispered. She clutched his wrist. “He never would’ve wanted this. Look at you. At this…” She touched the scar again. “Look at…”

  Erik blinked at the ceiling, face hot and at his limit. He pawed at his eyes, rubbing the sting away. “Please, Bev. Enough.”

  A server set their appetizer down. Erik sipped his water. Cleared his throat. Breathe. Wondered if River had left for good or not. Breathe. Wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t come back. Keep breathing.

  “He doesn’t know.” Erik swallowed around the lump in his throat. “About Lee. And I don’t know how to tell him.”

  “It’s not your fault, Erik. It was never your fault.” Beverly squeezed his hand, but he couldn’t erase the hurt that crossed her face when he yanked it away. “It wasn’t,” she said again, sounding out each word slowly. She glanced over his shoulder then back to his face. “Your boyfriend’s coming back. Can I see you again before I leave? Please?”

  “Yeah, yes, I’ll be here.”

  “You should probably tell him that.”

  “I know, okay? Fuck, just…”

  River touched his shoulder, and Erik almost shattered under the weight of his palm.

  Beverly stood. “It was good to meet you, River.”

  “Yeah, likewise.”

  “I’ll see you around. Erik promised me a date.” She tapped the table next to his hand. “Right?”

  Erik nodded. It was all he could do to keep it together, to stop his voice from breaking and his eyes from burning. Beverly stepped behind his chair, wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders, pressed her cheek to his, and held onto him.

  “I miss you, Erik O’Malley,” she whispered. “I miss you every day.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  Erik listened to her heeled boots hit the floor as she left. He turned toward River, hoping his eyes weren’t glassy. They stayed like that, looking at each other. River deserved the truth. Erik intended to give it to him. But not like this. Not when he was three words away from falling apart.

  Silence squirmed between them. Finally, River forked a deviled egg onto his plate. “She’s nice,” he said. “So, what sounds good? I’m still craving the salmon sandwich.”

  The sky outside was still blue. The wind was still warm.

  River looked down at the menu but reached across the table and took Erik’s hand.

  “Yeah, I don’t…” Erik cleared his throat. River traced his palm again. “I don’t know. The ch
owder looks pretty good.”

  Maybe this was mercy, Erik didn’t know. But he tried to smile, even if it was small, and River smiled back, even if it was hollow.

  …

  After a day spent walking the city, Erik brought River home with him.

  Erik’s legs were wrapped around River’s waist. He clutched the sheets above his head, back arched and mouth trembling, and gasped when River’s fingernails dug into his hips.

  “C’mon, babe,” River whispered. He slid his arms under Erik’s legs and fell forward, hands on either side of Erik’s shoulders. He felt River’s breath on his temple. Heard the catch in his voice that meant he was close, and left red streaks down River’s back. They devolved into a shivering mess, tangled and impossibly close. River kissed him through the aftershocks, and didn’t stop until they were both spent, trembling and exhausted.

  “That was…” Erik panted, swallowing hard around a deep breath.

  The bed dipped when River flopped next to him. “Good?”

  “Intense.” He rolled onto his side, taking note of the ache settling in his hips. He scoffed. “It’s always good.”

  A small smirk graced River’s mouth. He kissed Erik, once on the cheek and again on the lips. “You’re the most intense person I know,” he teased. “Dinner tomorrow?”

  Erik’s brow furrowed. “You’re not staying?”

  “I have to be up early,” River whispered. “And if I stay we won’t get any sleep.”

  “What…?” He traced River’s cheekbone with his index finger, caught the strange distance in River’s eyes, and smothered the urge to ask about it. They’d done this enough to both know they’d get plenty of sleep if they wanted to. Erik knew an excuse when he heard one. “Okay. I— I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

  Erik looked at the ink on River’s back, the black map and geometric shapes, the compass staring back at him. He watched River get dressed, watched him slide on his shoes and run his hand through his hair. River stopped to meet his eye after he kissed him again, a short, strained pause that twisted in Erik’s gut.

  “Good night,” River whispered.

  Erik sighed through his nose. “Good night, River.”

  River left. Erik didn’t sleep at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  You’re not being left if you’re doing the leaving.

  Brigid had whispered that once, pressed the words into River’s ear when she was sure he’d been sleeping. Her breath had been the only warmth in the room, even when they’d been curled together. River didn’t understand then—especially when she kept coming back.

  He did now.

  At one, he lay on his bed, still dressed, Erik’s scent and touch still viscerally clear.

  At two, he gave up and changed his sheets, then showered.

  At quarter to three, he stepped from a billow of steam into a chilled hallway, and one very annoyed roommate slouched against the wall.

  “Jesus, fuck, Pax! What the hell are you lurking out here for?” River picked the towel from the floor and rewrapped it around his waist with as much dignity as he could muster.

  “To tell you and Erik that it’s impossible to sleep when you’re banging around in your room making a shit-ton of noise and then banging around in the bathroom.” Pax’s blond hair stuck out at odd angles.

  River bared his teeth. “You’ll be happy to know that he’s not here.” He stepped aside, and the last vestiges of heat escaped the now empty bathroom.

  Pax crossed his arms, defensive posture offset by the furrow of his brow. At a slight five foot seven, he wasn’t much for intimidating. His small body, vibrating with annoyance, was enough to trip guilt, though. “Well, you were making so much noise—”

  River turned away and closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose and paused. “Sorry, that was a dick way to speak to you.”

  “Something going on?”

  River shook his head without making eye contact. “Yeah. I open with Cheyenne, and I can’t seem to settle. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Pax lingered. River mustered the best smile he could, lying through his teeth. They weren’t close enough for Pax to call him on his bullshit. They shared an apartment, sure, and they both knew Pax was keeping secrets, but they still weren’t what River would consider friends.

  His room was cold and empty, sheets crisp with the scent of Downy, and so, so lonely.

  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, he typed, then deleted it. I need to be the one walking away right now. He deleted that as well. It wasn’t true, because River didn’t want to leave. But Erik already seemed to have plans to. Their relationship had many highs—Erik’s kiss under a small circle of blue sky in River’s favorite place, his hands on River’s as he playfully laughed at River’s abysmal pinball skills. River thought of those. He closed his eyes and tried to replay every time they laughed, every good moment. Thrown popcorn and a kiss in the dark, waffles in the sunlight. Erik was so sweet sometimes. He was careful and rough, he let River have him and, often, owned River with pleasure. Sometimes they shared unguarded and simple intimacy.

  Erik was a brutal fighter in the cage; no fear, no hesitation, no mercy. But when it was just the two of them, there was an uncertainty in his words and touch when they skirted wounds too deep to heal, too big to expose in a relationship with no promises. Erik changed course. Erik deflected. Erik came to him, again and again, even when, apparently, he knew that what they’d started together would come to an end.

  Maybe if River were more open, maybe if he tried harder. If he’d stayed. If he hadn’t ignored the flash of hurt when he’d rolled out of Erik’s bed and slunk into the night, both ashamed and righteously angry. Wishing that everything was different was impossible now, anyway, and River no longer dealt in impossible wishes. It was bad practice, one he’d sworn off of years ago.

  Though, to be fair, he’d sworn off love, too.

  Loneliness was a whispered song, his bed too large, and his skin utterly chilled. River curled around Erik’s pillow. Perhaps the action spoke to the mess of simple wants River became with Erik. Someone to be loved. Someone to be cared for. Someone to be trusted. Someone to be fought for. But in the end, what River became was someone too afraid to keep taking chances with his heart without promises—without Erik’s honesty—without the truth no longer heavy and bound in silence on both their parts.

  Sleep well, okay? River’s thumb paused over the send button. Simple, but the most heartfelt River had been with Erik in days. Knowing he wouldn’t get any rest, he sent it, because Erik probably needed it, too.

  …

  River ignored his phone for as long as he could the next day. He didn’t want to see a message from Erik, but couldn’t bear the chance that there might not be one. He unrolled his yoga mat and contemplated the quiet, stretched into the stillness, falling into well-known choreography of sun salutations that aligned his intentions and body. Muscles warm and mind settled into calm focus, River transitioned into a vinyasa flow, one breath per movement, each deliberate and graceful.

  River ended, as always, with Savasana. With one loud exhale, he settled into his fatigued muscles and clear mind. Most non-practicing people thought this pose was the easiest, that it meant lying down and resting after a workout. Really, Savasana was a moment in which one needed to learn how to be both aware and at rest.

  He needed to surrender. Not to his mother’s demands or the tumult of being in love with Erik, but to himself. To his faults, to his pain, to his strengths and gifts. With each breath, River focused on one muscle group at a time, letting his body settle heavy and relaxed onto his mat. Life, like yoga, was about conscious practice. Unlike in yoga, River had very little control over what the world might throw at him. All he could do was try.

  Instead of folding into anxiety and unease, River rolled up his mat and started a shower. After, he unwrapped a premade breakfast sandwich and microwaved it while refilling his water bottle and checking his messenger bag—wallet,
sketch pad, Prismacolor pencils and ink pens. A stolen glance at his watch told him he was running short on time; adjusting anything would have to wait. He had an appointment in an hour on the books.

  He rushed out of the apartment, and the city welcomed him with miserable, gray skies. River ignored the rush of cars and people taking up sidewalks. Instead, he opened Instagram.

  Watermarked: You working tonight?

  Wolfbite013: til ten

  Watermarked: Come over? I’ll feed you

  A slow mist blanketed the air. River turned up the collar of his jacket and wished for the umbrella he’d left at home. When mist began to collect on the screen of his phone, he pocketed it, ducking into a Starbucks for an extra jolt of caffeine. He was almost at the shop when his phone rang. He juggled his bag and coffee, then cursed when he saw it was his mother. River had been ignoring her for a week. He couldn’t put off the conversation for much longer.

  “Mom.” He tried and failed to keep the weariness out of his voice.

  “River, I’ve been trying—”

  “I know. I know, Mom. I just—” He held in a breath and swallowed the rest of his words.

  “Hey.” Her voice softened. “Honey, are you okay?”

  He shook his head and ducked under the awning in front of Styx to get out of what was rapidly becoming rain. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Just walking to work.”

  There was a long pause. “Do you want to do lunch—I mean, can you?”

  Inevitability was a stone heavy in his chest. “Sure. I have a break at one. We can go to that diner you like, the one downtown.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  …

  Megan was there before him, and when he slid into the booth, he saw she’d already ordered him coffee. Her hair was in a high ponytail; her look, surprisingly young.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, gesturing to the coffee.

  “Thank you.” River shrugged out of his jacket and busied himself with the menu. “It’s perfect. One of those days when you just can’t get enough caffeine. Must be the weather.”