by Jude Sierra
River’s fists were balled so tight his nails dug into his palms. It focused something sharp and hard and angry into one small locus of sensation. “No, but the truth would’ve been a lot better than living with lies.”
Erik pulled away. Something barbed and defensive came and died on his lips as he physically held words in. He motioned for River to continue.
“Everything devolved into these crazy fights. My mom was brilliant at making everything about her. Always. Every time. Every time she was backed into a corner or questioned, her defense was to threaten to leave. And I don’t know why, or how, but it was always me trying to keep us together. I was so scared she would actually do it—leave.”
“Isn’t that… Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“This started when I was a kid, Erik.” River couldn’t help the vicious frustration, the knives in the words. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what any of it really meant. All I really understood was how to be scared.” River let that sink in for a bit, tasting the words, fighting for some semblance of reason. “I used to sit with her in our garage. Hold her hand and tell her she wasn’t a bad mom. I lied and let her cry on me and make me feel like shit for accusing her of drinking in the first place. I hated her, and I loved her, and I was scared all the time. I tried so hard to hold everything together.”
Erik stayed quiet. River’s hands were over his face. Maybe that too-big feeling, that cramping in his chest and the throbbing pain in his head would amount to tears. He took a deep breath, then another, and tried to focus on Erik’s fingertips on the back of his wrist. He kept his eyes closed but took Erik’s hand.
“My dad stayed for so long. As soon as I was out of the house, he left her. I left. I told myself it was over. I—I came out.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen. I wasn’t scared that they’d disown me or anything. I just, I couldn’t add to the mess. I learned in that house that my job was to hold it together. I didn’t know how to be me without orienting myself toward what other people needed. But he left, and I left. Val was long gone; she left the state for college. And I thought, ‘Wow, I’m free.’”
“Everyone left you,” Erik said. River eased the troubled frown from Erik’s brow with his thumb.
“They didn’t leave me,” River said. “We were all just doing our best.”
“You mom didn’t clean up, though?”
“Well, sometimes. Off and on. She’ll swear she’s sober now. Sometimes I’m sure she isn’t, but she’s so vehement she is. She gets pissed. It’s not hard for her to make me doubt myself.” River looked at the small space between them. He didn’t know how to say the rest—not really. Uncertainty crept into the room with them, and River had to swallow a thick breath to keep from back-peddling. It’s fine now. I’m fine now. But those were lies, and they were here for the truth. “And this whole thing, with her needing money—in a way it doesn’t matter what she says, because when things fall apart, I’m the one to pick her up. And things fall apart because she’s an addict.”
“So, she’s still fucking you up,” Erik said. The words were harsh. “That’s what you meant at your apartment, wasn’t it? When you said I was fucking you up. You think I’m like her, that I—”
“I never said that,” River snapped.
“Not exactly, but you implied it.”
A sharp, cold prang shot through River’s chest. “You’re not in a cage right now, Erik,” he said, too gently for how rough their words had been, too close to Erik’s mouth. “Don’t make this a fight.”
Dark, hazel eyes stared back at River. Erik swallowed hard, vulnerability creeping over him in increments.
“Sorry,” Erik said, low and unsure. “But that’s how it felt, River.”
“Yeah, and I fucking hated myself after I said it, okay? Because it was a half-truth. I kept things from you, just like you kept things from me. We’re moving on from that, right?” River whispered.
Erik touched River’s arm and tugged until he shifted closer. Until their foreheads touched and River’s thighs were around his hips, until Erik’s arm was looped around River’s waist, holding him there, near and safe.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Erik said.
River sighed. “I’ve done the work, I’ve tried. I do better. Especially after Brigid. Because she wasn’t an alcoholic or an addict. But she wasn’t okay, either.” He glanced at Erik and found Erik looking back at him. “And no matter how much I promised myself I wasn’t doing it or going to do it, I did the same fucking thing. Everything was about her. My accusations hurt her. My anger when she cheated on me. My ultimatums. She manipulated it all, and I fell into it. She was so good at it. She had this ability to make me doubt everything I knew was right.”
“Isn’t there a word for that?” Erik’s thumb slipped under his shirt.
“When you grow up in a house as toxic as mine, sometimes all you have are promises and comparisons. I was never physically abused by my mother. Despite everything, she loved me. Loves me. My dad, too. And I got through it with white knuckles and by telling myself it could be worse. I didn’t know what emotional abuse or gaslighting were, Erik. No one talks about that—”
Erik tipped his head back, brows lifted and mouth set. “Well—”
“You heard my fight with Steve,” River interrupted. He didn’t need placating or someone telling him how to define what happened. It was his fucking story, and no one else got to tell him what it was. He knew enough to know that he was the authority on his experiences.
“Yeah, the friend that hates me,” Erik said.
River licked his lips. “Isn’t that what you want? Everyone to hate you? I bet it makes being a dick a lot easier, right?”
Erik scoffed. A smile twitched on his lips, but he smothered it. “Aren’t you observant.”
“When it comes to you,” River said, eyes steady on Erik’s, “yeah, I think so.”
“You sure that’s not just wishful thinking?”
River touched Erik’s lips. “Maybe. I may not have known what your ghosts were, but I could see the weight of them.”
“Tell me more,” Erik demanded. “Isn’t this about your ghosts?”
River swallowed. “Steve and Val were there for everything with Brigid. For the times after her when all I did was walk away from someone before they could hurt me. They’re too protective, probably, and they don’t trust my judgment, which sucks. But it’s because they love me. I know I tend to get defensive, too, and end up pushing them away. Doing that to Steve…it’s just as much a part of the problem as the rest. I just have to work to make him see—”
“Steve saw what he saw and it wasn’t… That’s what I am. You can’t work to make them see anything else. What’s done is done.”
“You don’t hurt me, you hurt yourself. That’s what hurts me.”
“Same difference. I am hurting you,” Erik said softly. “I have. I do.”
“If you’d stop trying to fight with me about every little thing I say then—”
“It’s all I know how to do,” Erik interjected, voice timid and far away. “You should know that by now. I’m good at fighting. I’m good at being cruel and hurting what’s good for me and leaving when things get hard—”
“No.” River touched Erik’s neck. “I mean, yeah, you’re good at those things. Someone should give you a trophy for it,” River said, sarcasm masking anger. “But trust me, you’re good at other things. You’re kind and funny and sweet, and, yes, sometimes we still hurt each other. But it’s not the same. You said you loved me, right?”
“You said the same.”
“And I’ve never felt this, never. Not the way I do with you. So maybe you’ll hurt me. We’ll probably still hurt each other. It happens. But we can try to work it out together. Get out of bed long enough to talk when things are shitty,” River said, with a failed attempt at a smile and the masquerade of humor falling mostly flat.
Erik didn’t speak for a long, long time. River chewed on h
is thumbnail, sure his heart pounding spoke through the silence, telltale and aching. They were close enough that River could feel Erik breathing, see the tension draw his shoulders tight.
“Look. I’m not stupid,” River said, breaking the silence. “We’re not solving this all right now. But I’m telling you I want to work on it.”
Erik hooked his fingers through River’s. It wasn’t a promise; River couldn’t read its meaning. “And?” Erik asked.
“I need…” River swallowed the anxiety shredding his lungs and voice. “I need some boundaries. And I’m fucking scared to death that you’re going to turn them into a narrative of being too fucked-up or selfish to be with me.”
Erik scoffed then closed his eyes. Tightened his hold on River’s fingers until they ached. “You’re probably right, but let’s give it a shot.”
“If you’re high, you can’t come over. I can’t tell you to stop using. But I can tell you it’s not good for you and it’s not good for me to be around it.”
“What else?” Erik asked, words shells of inflection, impossible for River to orient toward.
“The fighting… It’s not… I don’t know how to make this a boundary, because I can’t tell you what to do. And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me. But when you do and you’re messed up, all I know how to do is try to fix things.”
“Fix me.”
River leaned into the words, tried to read anger or loss, promise or potential heartbreak.
“I told you, it’s not that I think you need fixing, it’s—”
“I know, I get it.” Erik’s eyes blazed, whatever he’d extracted from his words kindling a fire somewhere deeper.
“Trying to fix things for people I love—it’s an instinct. I know I need to work on it.”
“River,” Erik said, shaking River’s hand a little. He unlaced their fingers and scrubbed a hand through his hair, annoyance or anxiety turning his movements jittery. “You don’t need to tell me I should stop fighting. I’ve known that since I started.”
River chewed on the inside of his cheek and waited for Erik to lash out or self-combust. Maybe both.
“Getting stabbed might’ve made an impression.” He paused to arch a brow at River. “Desiree wasn’t shy about telling me to stop, either. Even Jadis mentioned it.”
“Even Jadis,” River said, and rolled his eyes.
“But you trying to patch me up, you being there, just…you,” Erik said softly. “You made me wonder if I could be good at something other than fighting, if I was capable of being more than…” He stopped to shrug. “Alone,” he decided.
“Well, you’re not alone. And you have to stop pushing me away.”
Erik snorted. “This isn’t easy. Hearing your story. Knowing I’ve been nothing but a fucking reminder of the awful shit you went through.” He shifted his gaze back to River, jaw sliding back and forth. “Doesn’t mean I’d take it back, though.”
“You weren’t…” River stopped and shook his head, deciding not to argue. “Take what back?”
Erik leaned closer. Their lips grazed. Hands drifted under River’s shirt and settled on his ribs. River’s heartbeat skittered in his chest, his body suddenly hyperaware of every place Erik’s skin touched his own. “You. Us. Going home with you, staying with you, you showing up at the Warehouse, fighting with you, this—right here, telling you about Lee, you telling me about your family. I wouldn’t take back any of it.”
“Yeah?” River breathed out unhelpful hopefulness before it spread into a smile.
The tension was still there, tight as a tripwire, but River didn’t think it mattered. Erik nodded and didn’t let him go.
“I’ll be in the ring less.” Erik arched a brow. “Less,” he repeated sternly, making it impossible to ignore. “I’m cutting down to once a month. But I’m still good at fighting, and I still like fighting. Just maybe not at the Warehouse.” A wolfish grin curved his mouth, too playful, too honest. “Desiree offered to train me behind the bar, so I’ll be pouring at Gem and Virgo full time.”
“God help us all,” River said, shocked into laughter when Erik laughed first.
“Fuck you. I’ll be great.” He pulled on River, just enough to make his back arch. He thumbed the line of Erik’s neck, read the staccato beat of fear in his pulse. “I don’t know how to do this. There’s some part of me—I’ve trained myself to be that guy. The fuckup. Fucked up in general. Ruining everything around me, deserving that. And no matter what you say about Lee, he’s on me.”
River shook his head.
“He is,” Erik whispered, mouth soft on River’s cheek. “And I have to deal with that. But don’t be surprised when it doesn’t happen next week, all right?”
“All right,” River said. “But you don’t ruin everything.” He rested his lips against Erik’s for a breath, then two. “I want to be with you. I wouldn’t if you weren’t worthy of it. Don’t question that, okay?”
“Okay.” Erik rested his palm on River’s cheek. River watched Erik’s defenses crumble, each one falling away, making room for soft eyes and easy hands, slouched shoulders and a defeated, tiny sigh. “You’re still here,” Erik said, barely a breath.
Despite the fights and their ghosts and the emotional blood they’d drawn, River and Erik were still there, loving each other anyway. The unspoken still squirmed between them. Something heavy and daunting. River looked at Erik from under his lashes, lips parted, breath hard to find. “Yeah, I am. Are you?”
Erik’s nostrils flared. He pulled River closer until their chests touched and River’s arms were around his neck and there was no more space between them. “I didn’t take the gig,” he said. “I was never going to. Not after meeting you, not after falling in love with you, not after this. So, yeah. I’m still here. I’m staying here. I think I always knew I’d stay, but I had to figure out how to tell you the rest before I told you that.”
“I would’ve chased you down, Erik,” River bit out. His voice trembled, too worn, too true. He gripped the back of Erik’s head and kept him there, as close as he could. “I would’ve found you because I love you too much to just…let you run from me. You know that, right?”
“River.” Erik’s voice broke around his name. River let himself be gathered and buried his face in Erik’s neck. Had they ever done just this? Something as simple as a hug? Erik’s fingers gentled him, read the story of each vertebra, the tension between River’s shoulder blades. Translated the deep hunger River never allowed himself to acknowledge—the ravenous need to be loved simply, easily, just as he was.
“I love you, too.” Erik’s lips dusted River’s ear.
It wasn’t perfect. But they’d try. It was as simple and as impossible as hope that the fight they were signing up for would get them there.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Erik tapped River’s nose with a chocolate-covered index finger and left a bit of frosting behind.
River swatted his hand. “Can you not?”
A smug smile turned the corners of Erik’s mouth. He prodded River’s cheek and left another chocolate stain on his skin. River pawed at his hand, a spoon full of ice cream stuffed in his mouth, and narrowed his eyes. He kicked Erik in the leg. Erik dipped his finger in the leftover frosting on the plate between them.
“Nuh-uh,” River slurred. The spoon clattered on the plate when River dropped it. “Don’t,” he said, choking back a laugh. “Erik, do not. No, no—stop.” Laughter flew out of him, genuine and rough and overdue. After their talk, they’d settled into a heavy silence that lingered even as they ate the dessert River insisted they share.
It’d been a white flag, Erik knew. River had climbed off his lap and grabbed a plate, set the decadent piece of chocolate cake on it with a scoop of ice cream and handed Erik a spoon. They were scraped raw. Honest and vulnerable and sore in front of each other, but understood, Erik thought. In love. Strong. Starting.
Erik swiped the plate off the couch, and it hit the ground, a loud, jarring sound
.
“Don’t break shit,” River said through another laugh, hardly resisting when Erik tugged on his legs and pulled.
“It’s not broken,” Erik said. He touched his chocolate-stained finger to River’s mouth. The couch dipped beneath his knees as he crawled over River’s hips, taking shelter in playfulness. Trust. Intimacy. All the things Erik had found in River that he hadn’t found anywhere else.
River’s lips parted. His gaze was hazy and warm and unapologetically fixed on Erik. River dragged his tongue along Erik’s finger. His breath was hot on Erik’s hand, teeth sharp when Erik hooked his finger behind them.
“We’re good at this,” Erik said gently. “We might not be good at the rest of it, at moving on or healing or being better to ourselves, but…”
River wrapped his lips around Erik’s finger. He opened his mouth and tugged back until Erik’s finger slipped away. “But?”
“But we’re good together,” he said. He kissed River’s temple, his brow, kissed the chocolate from his cheek. River swiped at his nose with the back of his hand before he palmed the nape of Erik’s neck. “Don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” River said through a sigh. He craned into Erik’s mouth on his jaw, his throat, the place where his shoulder met his neck. “This isn’t fair. I can’t concentrate. I told you, no touching.”
“You said we needed to get out of bed for long enough to talk when things are shitty. For one, we’re on the couch.”
River barked a laugh.
“Two.” Erik’s hand disappeared beneath River’s shirt. He touched his hipbone, his soft skin and the ladder of his rib cage. “Things aren’t shitty, are they? We talked. We’ll keep talking. We’ll make this work.”
A breath gusted from River, light and stunted. He threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of Erik’s head and tugged, pulling him into a messy, sweet kiss. River’s mouth was cold from the ice cream, flavored with vanilla bean and chocolate. The longer Erik kissed him, the more he wanted to know River’s life. Everything. The good. The bad. His nightmares and daydreams.
