And every single one of them had Blaine’s name on the return address.
“These are…” Eric said, voice failing as he brushed a finger over the top envelope.
“Everything,” Sean said. “Everything he ever sent.”
“He...told me he sent letters. But I had no idea what he was talking about,” Eric admitted. “It was you? You kept them?”
Sean was staring at him, lip trembling. “Yes.”
Eric closed his eyes, unable to look at Sean. “Why?”
“For you.”
“How was this for me? Jesus, Sean. He told me what he tried to do in these letters, and you...kept them from me?”
Sean sucked in a breath. “What the hell was I supposed to do, Eric? You were a mess after he left. You slept all the time, you never stayed at the house, and don’t think I didn’t know about the drinking.”
Eric snapped his eyes open. “Because I was heartbroken! And he tried...he tried to explain everything in these letters. They could have made it better, they could have...we could have…”
His chest clenched, and Eric gasped for his next breath. He clutched the box of letters to himself, wondering just what might have happened if he’d had these letters all along. The letters his brother had kept from him.
“Sean,” Eric breathed, unable to keep his voice steady.
“I almost lost you,” Sean whispered.
Eric continued to stare at the box. “No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did. You were drowning, Eric, and you wouldn’t take anyone’s hand, you wouldn’t talk to me. You were even worse than when mom and dad died. You just locked yourself down and suffered, killing yourself slowly. If it hadn’t been for this job, this...this passion you found, I don’t know where you would have been.”
“And what right does that give you to keep this from me?” Eric barked, gripping the box tighter.
“You never told me what happened, Eric. I saw you as friends, and then I saw the way you lit up, brighter than you’d ever been in that last year before he left. When he left and you...God, Eric, I was terrified. You were already spiraling, you were in so deep. When the first letter came, I told myself that you couldn’t take it, that you didn’t deserve to have him making it harder on you. They kept coming, and I just…” Sean’s voice petered off, growing faint and desperate.
“What have you done?” Eric asked, shaking his head slowly.
“What I thought was best.”
“You were wrong!”
“Read them. Prove me wrong.”
“That doesn’t change what you did!”
Sean’s shoulders sagged, his voice thick. “No, it doesn’t. I love you, Eric, and I was terrified of losing you.”
“I can’t believe…” Eric’s eyes drifted to Blaine’s unconscious shape. “He knew you had them.”
“Yeah, like I said, that’s why he called me.”
“I hope he gave you hell. You unbelievable bastard.”
“He didn’t, not when I told him why, not when I yelled at him for being the chickenshit who ran away.”
Eric’s eyes flashed open. “What do you know?”
“Not enough,” Sean admitted, looking down at the floor. “He asked that I give them to you because they were yours in the first place. And he’s right.”
“Get out,” Eric said hoarsely.
“Eric.”
“Get. Out.”
He wasn’t going to raise his voice, he wasn’t going to let loose the scream boiling away in his chest. This was Sean, and he loved Eric, would do anything for him, but damn it all, he was the last person Eric wanted to see right now. He couldn’t stand the sight of his guilt-ridden, fearful features anymore.
Sean was at the door when he spoke again. “For what it’s worth...I hope I was wrong.”
“About what?” Eric growled.
“That those letters would have made it worse. I hope I was wrong, and that they would have brought you out of that pit.”
“Why?”
“Because it means they could help you now too.”
Sean was gone, and Eric felt his breath shudder out of him. He bowed his head over the opened box, gently touching the top letter. Flipping through them, he could see the dates stamped on the envelopes. They were all in order.
Eric’s eyes shifted to Blaine as he pulled the first letter out, carefully unsealing the envelope and drawing the paper out. It was two sheets of lined paper, written in Blaine’s messy, barely legible handwriting. Eric had always teased Blaine, telling him that it would take an expert in hieroglyphs to read Blaine’s chicken-scratch. Blaine had always responded that the important people could read it, and that was all that mattered.
Turning the bedside lamp on and facing it toward him, Eric began to read through the letters.
Hey!
I know you’re still pretty pissed about how things went before I left. Honestly, I don’t blame you. I kind of (okay, I really) dropped things on you at the last second, and I shouldn’t have.
I was scared, Eric. Scared of what my life would be if I stayed there, and what it would do to you. We both know my parents would find out about us eventually, and I hated hiding you, hiding us. I was scared that we’d be stuck in that town, with nothing but each other, and as happy as you make me, we deserve more than that.
I should have talked to you, I should have told you. But I knew how you’d react, and it scared me that you’d talk me out of it. I had to commit to it first, to doing this thing for us. I mean, that whole Don’t Ask Don’t Tell thing is gone, right? Maybe when this is all over, you can come with me, be with me. I know we can’t get married yet, but it’s possible.
I wanted us to have a chance at something more, Eric. I love you, with everything I have, and I’m going to keep on loving you. So I’m sorry that I hurt you, but I would never leave you. You are with me, always.
Eric’s hands shook as he carefully tucked it away. The second letter was not much different than the first, with Blaine earnest in his attempts to explain himself. And the third, more of his love sent Eric’s way.
And the fourth.
Hi,
I’m not sure if you’re getting these or not. This is the fourth one, I think? I don’t know, it’s hard to keep track. They’ve been running us ragged (surprise, I know) and I’m so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep my eyes open most nights, but I have to try to make sure I get these done.
If you are getting them and just aren’t writing back, well, I understand. I know I didn’t give you the time you needed to understand. And I’ll never stop being sorry that I didn’t talk to you about it first.
For what it’s worth, you’ve been on my mind every night. Even the nights where I’m so damn tired I pass out in seconds, I think of you when I fall asleep. I wish I were right there with you right now, curled up behind you. You always smelled like the trees around your house, and I miss that smell so much. I miss the sound of you laughing at some stupid joke I made, and the way you smiled at me when you’d see me.
I love you, Eric, and maybe you’ll forgive me one day. I hope you will.
His eyes stung as he tucked it away and added the envelope to the growing pile of opened ones. It was growing harder to breathe as he moved through the letters. There were a few updates, enough to know when Blaine was moving toward the end of boot camp. But mostly, they were letters to Eric, for Eric, about Eric.
About them.
Had a dream about you, hope you’re sleeping well.
I hope we can have the life we both deserve after this.
Please be okay, Eric, I’m getting worried.
I love you, Eric. I didn’t say that enough before everything fell apart.
The words seemed to fly from the page, slamming into him every time he opened a new letter. Blaine’s words were desperate, earnest, and filled with the love he’d shown Eric constantly before disaster had struck. For the weeks he was in boot camp, and as the dates showed, even afterward, Blaine had never given up o
n Eric, he’d never let them go.
And then the final letter, a year after Blaine had left.
Eric,
They tell me that I’m going to be deployed, but not exactly where. Doesn’t matter, even if I knew, I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. At this point, I know you’re just not responding, but the selfish part of me hopes you’re reading these at least. I know you’re done, and that you can’t stand the thought of me at this point, but you’re what I’m holding to right now.
I don’t know if I’m going to make it through whatever I’m getting tossed in. Anything could happen. I won’t say exactly what, but you know what I mean. Maybe I’ll only be gone a handful of months, or maybe I’ll be gone longer. Maybe I just won’t come back.
But I don’t want to go without telling you the truth one last time.
I love you, Eric. I love you, I love you, I love you.
No matter what happens, no matter what you think, believe that. And if I get through all this, maybe I’ll have a chance to make things right with you again. Things were right when I was with you, and if I get to the other side of this alive and in one piece, I hope I can have you there too.
You’re what I choose, Eric, what I’ll always choose.
Be safe, be happy, and maybe we’ll see each other again.
Eric bowed over the last letter, clutching it to him. It had been a goodbye letter, and Eric might never have known it. While Blaine was being tossed into a warzone, Eric had been doing his best to forget his life with Blaine. While he’d been drinking his life into a stupor, Blaine had been fighting tooth and nail to survive, hoping against hope to get back to him.
“Fuck,” he croaked, eyes stinging as the tears slipped free. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He took a shuddering breath, reaching out to Blaine’s hospital bed. Eric curled his hands around Blaine’s hand, squeezing it gently.
Throughout everything, this man, this stupidly patient, stubborn, and foolish man, had never let them go. Even after Eric had thrown everything they were back in his face, even when Eric had broken both their hearts, Blaine had never stopped believing. Eight years later, and Blaine had still been trying to find Eric, to finally reach him.
“You did it, Blaine,” Eric whispered hoarsely. “You found me.”
Blaine
The first conscious thought he could muster was a very simple ‘ow.’ Blaine’s head throbbed as he struggled to open his eyes, wincing against the brightness of the room around him. The light only served to make the throb in his head grow stronger, and he forced himself to close his eyes and think slowly, carefully.
Right. The device, the explosion. Quite a lot of pain. Eric’s face, streaked with ash.
There was beeping, a soft blanket over him. Hospital, he had to be in the hospital.
A warm weight pressed against his thighs, and he realized someone was holding his hand. Cracking his eyes open again, he ignored the agony spiking through the center of his skull. His vision shook, blurring the dark shape lying half on the bed.
It cleared little by little, and his breath caught as he realized it was Eric. The man was still sat in a chair, his upper body on the bed, head on Blaine’s leg. Eric’s hand was clutched around his, tight even in his sleep as though Blaine might slip away. The dark circles under his eyes were thick, his features drawn.
A box sat on a small table behind Eric’s seat. His pulse jumped as he caught sight of all too familiar handwriting on the front of the pile of envelopes sitting next to the box. Blaine stared at them, amazed that Sean had actually followed through and brought them to Eric. He hoped he managed to say everything he possibly could in those letters, though it had been so long.
“Oh, Eric,” Blaine whispered roughly.
“He’s been sleeping pretty solidly for a couple of hours now.”
Blake’s voice brought Blaine’s head up with a snap. On the other side of the room, in another chair, shoved into the corner, sat his brother. Blake looked like he hadn’t slept very well either, and had yanked on whatever clothes he could find before dashing out of the house.
“You look like shit,” Blaine told him.
“Yeah? So long as I don’t look as bad as you, then I think I’m doing alright.”
“Add a few bandages and some bruises, and you could,” Blaine told him with a half-smile.
“Naw, it’s about time I ended up being the hot one for a little while.”
“Blake, we’re identical.”
“And you’re...big, scarred, and manly. You’re still the hotter one.”
Blaine shook his head. Blake might not be the same size or bearing countless battle scars, but he was by no means the ugly one. Blaine knew his brother too well, though, and knew the jokes were to ease his own internal tension. When Blake reached an emotional equilibrium again, he would grow serious.
“He was like that when I came in,” Blake said, nodding toward Eric.
“Should have gone home, he could have slept there. Stubborn,” Blaine grunted.
“Mmm, and if the shoe was on the other foot?” his brother asked.
Blaine frowned. “That’s different.”
“Sure it is, Blaine. Because you’re crazy in love with him still.”
“Pretty sure I’ve never said those words.”
“Right, because you have to. Any more than he has to.”
Blaine snorted, gently running his thumb over Eric’s fingers. “I...wondered. He was pretty pissed off. Couldn’t be sure if he hated me or loved me.”
His brother rolled his eyes. “Two sides of the same coin, and sometimes they exist on the same plane.”
Blaine squinted at him. “Can we pretend for a moment that I have a head injury and didn’t go to college philosophy classes?”
“All I’m saying,” Blake said, pushing to his feet. “Is that in order to truly hate someone, you have to have loved them. There’s a thin line between the two.”
“I never hated him,” Blaine said softly.
His brother came to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “No, you just saved it all for yourself. How’d you get him to stop hating you?”
Blaine wrinkled his nose. “Not really sure. He stopped after I yelled at him.”
“Yelled at him. You...yelled at him.”
“And then kissed him.”
“Oh. The one-two punch combo, I see.”
Blaine reached up, taking hold of his brother’s arm. “This is happening, right? He’s...he’s touching me, sleeping on me, right?”
He hated the fear in his voice, and it wasn’t just because he knew brain injuries caused some weird effects. Blaine had to be sure that what he was seeing was reality and not some heartsick fantasy his rattled brain had conjured up. That Eric was here with him, really and truly here with him.
“I can’t make promises about when he wakes up,” Blake said softly. “But that’s him, alright. He was wrapped around your leg instead of just using it as a pillow but changed about half an hour ago. Threatened a nurse when they tried to move him to check your vitals.”
Blaine’s eyes stung. “That’s Eric.”
“There’s something to be said that his love is as barbed and ferocious as his hate is,” Blake said wryly.
Blaine shook his head, agreeing but not. Eric held fiercely to what little he had, and he really could be a ferocious little bastard when he got riled up. But when he was alone, when there weren’t any perceived threats, he was gentle, soft, giving in to the moment as though it was second nature.
Eric jerked, head coming up to stare at Blake and Blaine. He squinted, and Blaine could see him trying to process what he was seeing.
“It’s alright,” Blake assured him. “You’re not seeing double.”
Eric’s eyes widened as he looked at Blaine. “You’re awake.”
“I am,” Blaine said, smiling gently.
Eric’s eyes shone with what looked like unshed tears. “You ass.”
Blaine’s smile never faltered. “I know.”
Blake snorted, the noise turning into a squawk as Eric’s chair pad slammed into his face. “Oi! What was that for?”
“You should have got someone in here the moment he woke up! Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Eric snarled at him, taking more swings with the pillow at Blake as he stomped out into the hall.
“I forgot how...Eric he is,” Blake said, staring at the open door.
Blaine chuckled as he heard Eric raising hell in the hallway. “That’s Eric.”
“You sure about this?” Blake asked, raising a brow.
Blaine closed his eyes, settling in as he heard Eric’s voice reach that special high pitch he reached when indignant. “As long as he is.”
His brother’s lips pressed against his forehead. When he spoke, Blaine could hear the quiver of his emotions and the shake in the fingers that lay gently against Blaine’s chest.
“And don’t you ever scare me like that again, or I’ll sic your old-new boyfriend on you.”
It had taken Eric a few hours to calm down enough to sourly sit in the corner of the room and glare at any and all people who walked in. Blake had lingered as well, though Blaine suspected it was more for the entertainment factor than for any support reasons. It amused but didn’t surprise Blaine to find that most of the nurses handled Eric’s mood with grace and no small amount of mirth. The doctors, however, ranged from confused to downright irritated.
“He said he wants to go home,” Eric repeated to the latest doctor.
“I understand,” the doctor said patiently. “But it’s important that we make sure that Mr. Edwards’ health takes priority over his desires.”
Eric sneered. “And how is anyone supposed to get better while in here? Place stinks of death and bleach.”
The doctor cocked his head, blue eyes shining with a new light. “Ah, I see.”
Unbreak My Heart (Heroes of Port Dale Book 4) Page 12
