by Nell Iris
Us Again
By Nell Iris
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2018 Nell Iris
ISBN 9781634867115
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
I could never do this without a great playlist, lots and lots of tea, and many late nights. Or without Addison’s invaluable advice, and Kris’s love for “her boys” and her constant encouragement. Without my great publisher.
But most of all, I could never do it without my family.
* * * *
Us Again
By Nell Iris
The shrill ringing of my phone wakes me. I pry open one eye and glare at the offender. I don’t recognize the number, and considering it’s in the middle of the goddamn night, there’s no way I’m answering.
“Who the fuck calls at two in the morning?” I growl as I silence the ring. Then I mute the sounds—but make sure the alarm will still go off when I need it—and toss the phone on the bedside table, making it skitter across the surface for a few inches. An annoyed huff escapes me. I pull the cover over my head and close my eyes.
“Sleep, Alex,” I mutter.
It takes only a few seconds before an intense buzzing noise, sounding more like a drill than a vibrating phone, penetrates my blanket cocoon. My face contorts into a grimace and I slap my wrist over my ear in the hopes of keeping out the goddamned racket. Eventually the vibrating stops.
Only to start right up again.
“What the actual fuck?” I throw off the blanket and swing my legs over the side of the bed before grabbing the phone and accepting the call.
“Yes?” I bark.
“Alexander Reed?”
“Speaking. Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is David Hayes.”
Hayes? Did he say Hayes?
“Samuel’s brother?”
“Samuel’s brother.”
We speak at the exact same time.
“Yes,” he confirms.
Well, shit. I shoot off the bed as if my ass is on fire and start pacing back and forth between the window and the attached bathroom, my naked feet silent on the thick carpet. Adrenaline floods my system, and I’m on high alert, making me feel like I want to crouch and look for approaching dangers.
He’s breathing on the other end, so I know he’s there, even though neither of us says anything. I don’t because I’m afraid to ask why he’s calling—it can’t be good news—but I have no idea why he doesn’t open his mouth and spill.
I stop by the window and stare into the pitch-black night. Not even the moon is out.
Is that a sign?
Where the hell did that come from? I don’t believe in signs.
I scratch my beard. Rub my neck. Inhale. “What do you want? Why are you calling? And do you know what fucking time it is?”
“I know. I’m sorry but I wouldn’t have called unless it was necessary.” He sounds nothing like his brother; his voice is full of confidence and authority, while Sammy…Sammy is soft-spoken and careful with his words. And he never ever raises his voice.
Except for that one time…
Get out. Go. Leave me the fuck alone, I don’t want to see you again.
I still don’t know what shocked me the most—his yelling, the cuss word, or what he was actually saying. I didn’t understand what he meant until much later when he refused to answer his phone or open his door. After sitting outside his apartment for an entire night, I finally got it.
Sammy had broken up with me. The realization hit me as a red-hot metal rod rammed through my heart and I’ve spent the following months since existing in a numb state, still having a tough time believing it. Probably because I never found out why. What I did wrong.
The memory makes it hard to breathe, and I rub my chest with my knuckles. Fuck.
“…can you do that? Please?”
David’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Huh? Sorry, got lost in thought. Can you repeat that?”
“I said Samuel is in the hospital. I need you to come. He needs you to come. Can you come, please?”
My world screeches to a halt and I swear my heart stops beating for several seconds.
My Sammy? In the hospital?
“What’s wrong with him?”
David sighs. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it when you get here.”
“Is he all right?”
“He will be.”
His assurance calms me. Somewhat. “He doesn’t want me there.” I have to force out the words and they taste bitter in my mouth. Poisonous.
“He does.” David sounds as sure as ever. Obviously, he has no idea what he’s talking about.
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard what he screamed at me.”
“He told me. But trust me, he wants you here.”
“Why should I trust you over his own words? We’ve never spoken before.” Sammy rarely talked about his family. Every time the topic of his mother came up, he grew stiff and closed off and his lower lip would tremble. There’s a story there, but I never got to know it. He was more open about his brother but reluctant to introduce us even after two years together. The fact that David traveled a lot on the job and was hardly ever around made it easy.
My legs itch and ache, and I have to move. I turn my back to my window and let my feet carry me to the kitchen, where I turn on the espresso maker. I have a feeling I won’t get any more sleep tonight.
David sighs in my ear. “I understand why you’re suspicious, I do. But…I just need you to take my word for it and get your ass over here.”
I make sure there’s water in the container, slip a pod into the machine, and press the button. Not taking my eyes off the tar-colored liquid pouring from the spout, I rub my knuckles over my chest again, hissing as I manage to snag a tuft of my fur between my fingers.
“You there?” he asks.
I grunt an affirmative answer, grab the coffee cup with fingers that are too thick for it, and down the espresso as though it is a shot of whiskey. Too bad it isn’t. “Where are you?”
“Memorial. I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
* * * *
I would recognize the man waiting for me outside the hospital doors as Sammy’s brother even if I hadn’t known he’d be waiting for me. They look so much alike, yet nothing alike at all. It’s unnerving. David is much taller and broader than Sammy. Maybe twice as wide across the shoulders. They have the same high cheekbones, dark, manga-sized eyes, and wide mouth, but David lacks the softness that I love so much about Sammy.
Loved. No
t love. Loved!
Fuck.
I offer him my hand. “I’m Alex.”
“I know. I’ve seen your pictures. This way.”
I follow him wordlessly through abandoned corridors. Am I even allowed to be here? My heart sinks deeper into my belly with every step I take, and my fingers tap a rapid tattoo on my thigh. A few minutes later, he stops outside a closed door, resting his hand on the knob as though he’s trying to keep me out.
An urge to shoulder my way past him overcomes me, to see for myself what he’s trying to hide, but I make myself stay put.
“You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” My voice is harsh and grates on my own ears, but I stare him down. I’m bigger. An inch or two taller. My chest and arms are larger, even though he clearly works out. His waist is slim to my rounded belly, but I could easily wrestle him to the floor and storm the metaphorical castle.
“Listen…” He rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “You know what? You’d better see for yourself.” He opens the door and steps aside to let me enter.
Except for the dim light of a wall-mounted lamp next to the only occupied bed, the room is dark. Sammy is a shapeless silhouette from here, and I take a step closer. Another. And another until I’m right by his side.
My knees buckle when I finally see him. His golden hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks hollow, his full lips dry and cracked. Long lashes fan out over black shadows under the eyes. His hand rests on his pillow and is so thin and bony, tears well up in my eyes.
A steadily beeping monitor surveils his vital signs. An IV bag hangs on a metal pole, and the line snakes its way into his hand.
My hand flies to my mouth and my shoulders shake. To avoid ending up in a sobbing pile on the floor, I sink into the chair next to his bed.
Sammy was always slender. Like a willow with long limbs, narrow hips, and a concave stomach. But now…he looks emaciated. Hardly there. Easily breakable and so fucking small I wouldn’t be surprised if a stiff breeze could snap him in two.
I reach out but hesitate to touch him. Instead, I lay my hand next to his on the pillow. My olive complexion seems dirty next to his pallor.
“Oh, Sammy.” I don’t even try to wipe the moisture from my face; I just let the tears flow. I want to crawl into bed with him, scoop him into my arms, and use my big body to shield him from the world. But all I do is move my hand closer, until my fingertips ghost against his pinkie. A jolt of electricity races through my body and a sigh slips out.
“Now will you tell me what happened?” I hiss to David, who’s sat on a chair on the other side of Sammy’s bed sometime during the last minute.
“His boss called me this evening. Apparently, he fainted.”
I gasp and can’t keep my hands off him any longer. Carefully, I lay my palm on top of his hand and something snaps into place in my chest when I finally touch him. He’s cold. I’d give him all my warmth if he would just open his eyes and smile at me and call me Care Bear again.
“Doesn’t he fucking eat?” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“He said he does. He said he was fine.”
“Clearly, he lied.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand at the IV pole.
“He was severely dehydrated so they’re giving him fluids.” He rattles on about vital signs and nutrition and how Sammy will need to see a therapist and a dietitian to straighten out his eating and I listen with only one ear. Even though I asked, I can’t absorb all that information.
“Don’t you fucking check on your own brother?” I interrupt. I’ve always had a foul mouth, and frazzled nerves make it worse, but I don’t give a shit if David is offended.
“I should have. I knew he was…sad. I talked to him on the phone almost every day and he said he was fine.” David’s voice trembles, saturated with guilt and remorse, but it just makes me angrier.
“Are you telling me you haven’t taken the time to visit him for seven fucking months?”
“No! That’s not true!”
“It seems that way to me.”
“Who are you to talk? You left him!”
His words sting. He might as well have thrown acid on my face. I tighten my muscles so I won’t jerk under his accusations. “He told me to leave. He said he never wanted to see me again. I did not leave willingly.” I shoot him an angry glare but quickly look away. I want to take out my fear and worry on him. Plant my fist in his face and roar out the pain that took up residence in my chest when I laid eyes on Sammy a few minutes ago.
Dear, sweet Sammy.
“I don’t even know what happened. I thought he loved me,” I whisper. My head is heavy, and I let it sink until it rests on his bed.
“He does. Listen, this isn’t my story to tell, but our mom did a number on us. Him especially. He’s always been sensitive.”
“Yeah.” I lift my head and look at Sammy. There’s something so vulnerable about his generous mouth and big brown eyes that used to look at me like I hung the moon. Even more so now, with his eyelids closed and his lips downturned in sleep. I move the chair closer and sweep my thumb over the back of his hand before carefully brushing his hair off his face. His hair used to shine like the sun, but now it’s dull and lifeless. “My God, Sammy,” I whisper.
David stands. “I’m heading out. I’ve informed the nurses that you are allowed in here. I’m staying in the hotel across the street.”
I tear my gaze from Sammy and cock my head, frowning at David. “You’re just gonna leave him?”
“It’s not like I’m abandoning him. I’m leaving him in your capable hands.”
“But—”
He stops me by holding up his hand. “If he truly doesn’t want you here—which I don’t believe for a second—call me and I’ll be right over. You being here is the best medicine for him.”
I want to believe him, I do, but the memory of Sammy screaming at me, desperate to get rid of me, is still fresh in my mind seven months after it happened. But David just looks at me, gives me a curt nod, and starts walking out.
He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. “This is just a theory, but I think he’s been punishing himself by not eating. Mom would often…withhold food…when she was in a bad mood.”
His words make my blood boil. What worthless piece of shit would do that to her own kids? “Punishing himself for what?”
“For pushing you away.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he opens the door and sneaks out, leaving me alone with Sammy.
“That better not be true, you hear?” I whisper to Sammy as the tears keep leaking from my eyes. “You could have just picked up the phone and called me, you know that.”
Of course, he doesn’t answer. He’s sound asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. Monitor beeping regularly. Everything seems okay, as long as I don’t look at him.
Sammy always had a precarious relationship with food. He forgot to eat when he was alone. The irony is that he loves to cook, at least he used to. He would invite me over after work and prepare elaborate meals for us, nothing like the regular, everyday stuff I make for myself when I bother to cook. That would often be the first thing he ate that day. He always ate with a gusto that was contagious. Food—all food—never tasted as good as it did in his company, and I loved taking him out to dinner and introducing him to new cuisines. I used to spend hours looking for the perfect restaurant, whether it was a hole-in-the-wall falafel place, or a fancy Michelin-starred restaurant.
I’m both surprised and not surprised at all by his condition. Not surprised because if no one is around to remind him to eat, this is inevitable. Surprised because, up until a second ago, I thought he didn’t want to be with me anymore. That he didn’t love me anymore.
I have tortured myself many nights with thoughts of him in the arms of another guy. Of his head thrown back in a passion caused by someone else than me. Of his huge brown eyes turned into melted milk chocolate as he cuddled close and used his han
ds and mouth to shower someone else with love.
What if David is right? What if Sammy did this to punish himself for breaking up with me? Then why do it in the first place?
We loved each other, of that I have no doubt. He showed me with his actions and his body even if he never said the words. Not even after I started saying them to him.
Then I asked him to move in with me—we spent most nights together and I wanted to make it official. I even told him I would propose to him one day; I saw myself spending the rest of my life with him.
At first, he hugged me tight and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I thought he wanted what I offered. But after a while, he grew silent and stiff and then…
I squeeze my eyes shut, unwilling to think about that day. I lay my head on his bed, next to his shoulder, and take a deep calming breath. Forcing myself to relax.
I really hope David is right when he says Sammy wants me here. I fear my heart will permanently break if he repeats the words a second time.
* * * *
It was a beautiful spring day, the first warm day of the season. So many birds were singing, chirping, cawing, and hooting, I wondered if every winged creature on the planet had showed up in my corner of the world after winter had finally let go of its strong grip. Tender, light green leaves covered every tree and shrub, and the air was fresh and alive.
I took advantage of the weather and dressed in athletic shorts and a T-shirt for my run, and even though it was a little chilly at first, I quickly warmed up. I didn’t run at my usual speed. Instead, I slowed down and allowed myself to enjoy the sunshine, its warmth on my face and how it reflected off the surface of the lake. I loved running along this path. The scenery was beautiful, and it was located a little outside the city, so it was never crowded.
As I came out of a sharp turn, I noticed him. Curled up on a bench next to the path with a magnificent view of the lake, was the cute blond guy I’d seen there before. Like all the other times, his nose was buried in a book and he seemed oblivious to the world around him.
Every time I ran past him, I wondered what was so captivating that he never looked up and admired the lake or the greenery, but I didn’t dare to slow down and take a closer look. I was a pretty big guy, muscly, with a broad chest and biceps the width of his waist. The last thing I wanted was to scare him.
