Relationship Status (Ethan & Wyatt)

by K.A. Mitchell

  He shrugged it off, but I knew he liked being appreciated. “I did first aid for my senior community project. Uh, in high school. Plus my ex-boyfriend played soccer, and I saw some bad injuries on the field.”

  “Well, his loss is our gain.” Christine nudged me. She didn’t have to tell me what a loser Blake was.

  “I’ve never had bologna like this. It’s very good,” Ethan did the proper manners thing pretty well, even if he said it while he was licking his finger and sitting cross-legged on the floor. I remembered he didn’t have anything on under those board shorts and tried not to check out his package.

  “Yes, it’s really good,” I said, though it had been eight busy hours since lunch and I was so hungry the food they served in juvie would have tasted good by then.

  “Thank you.” She gave Ethan a big smile.

  Ethan had cemented his keeper status by helping out with all the forms at urgent care. Uncle Owen wasn’t sure whether it was worker’s-comp related because it was a company picnic so we had three sets to fill out before he was allowed in the triage line.

  “I’m sorry you guys will miss the fireworks.”

  I’d seen a guy in urgent care holding his charred hand together with a bloody towel so I was pretty over fireworks. Ethan assured her it was no big deal and started another cousin story about a gemstone ring and a firework accident. I might never have to make small talk again—that is, as long as I was with Ethan. That definitely seemed like an advantage.

  He kept right on chattering as they cleaned up the paper plates and cups. “I’ll wash the pans so you can sit down.”

  Christine came back and sat next to me again. “Wyatt, if you don’t marry him, I will.”

  Jesus. Please don’t let Ethan have overheard her. It was a sincere prayer.

  If he did hear, he didn’t say anything when he came back in, wiping his hands dry on his shorts, showing another gap in his country club manners.

  Christine insisted on giving us money to cover our Uber back to the apartment since she didn’t feel comfortable leaving Uncle Owen all doped up and alone. “He’s stubborn enough to forget he’s not supposed to put weight on it, and I don’t know if I’ll get him off the floor by myself.”

  I immediately offered to stay, but she said she had planned tomorrow as a vacation day anyway.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch in case he needs anything. You boy—guys have been so incredibly helpful already.” She hugged me, then turned to Ethan. “I hope Wyatt knows how lucky he is.”

  “Oh, I’ll remind him later.” Ethan said it lightly, with the same kind of teasing she was doing, but his words still made my shorts tight. It was worth putting up with some micromanaging, because confident Ethan really rocked my world.

  Neither of our worlds got rocked because when we got back to the apartment, we were both too tired.

  I flopped on the bed. “I should probably shower the rest of the moss out of my ass crack.”

  Ethan burst out laughing as he collapsed next to me. “Fuck it. I’ll change the sheets tomorrow morning,” he got out through fading giggles.

  We were both at that state where we were drunk from exhaustion, because I hadn’t been that funny.

  I toed off my sneakers and crawled to a more vertical position on the bed to make room for Ethan. He snugged up against me and pulled the sheet over us.

  I listened to his breath in my good ear, his body warm and reassuring against mine. It was just a broken leg, but when Christine had called, had said, There was an accident, in a shaky voice, I couldn’t help feeling like I was about to lose the one person who felt like family—or at least like family was supposed to feel.

  Ethan didn’t—couldn’t—get what it was like to be all alone. Even if his parents weren’t completely thrilled with me, his mom had helped get him his internship, and they were still supporting him. He might not have siblings, but he had twelve cousins he saw at least a few times a year.

  My mom would always give me a place to stay and food to eat, but she made it clear I was a duty she wasn’t all that fond of. Uncle Owen was the first person who’d ever been interested in my life, in wanting me to be happy. I thought about all those stories online about people with freak injuries where something minor caused a blood clot or heart damage.

  Ethan ran a hand along my side. “You’re thinking pretty loudly. You okay?”

  I rolled into him and let him hold me. “Did I have a thought bubble?”

  “Yes. Little comic circles leading up to it. Also, all your back muscles tense.”

  “Right.” I tried to force them to relax.

  “I could blow you.”

  “As tempting as that is, I’m really tired.” Besides, I kept seeing Uncle Owen’s grossly lumpy knee. I wished I could turn my brain off. “Those soccer field injuries. Did you ever see one like my uncle’s?”

  He shifted a little, one hand rubbing my back. My cheek was on his shoulder so I felt his voice as much as heard it. “Well, I didn’t see any X-rays, but I saw bad knee twists, things that made me nauseous.”

  “Then how did you stabilize his leg? It almost made me heave to look at it.”

  His lips brushed my forehead. “I can’t stand watching it happen. As long as it’s over, and I don’t have to think about how it got like that, I’m able to deal with it.”

  I couldn’t believe I was going to do this. It was crazy to ask Ethan, who already puked sunshine on everyone—whether they wanted it or not—to turn it up a notch. But fuck, I needed it. My voice as flat as I could make it, I said, “Will he be okay?”

  “Yeah.” Ethan held me tight. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. Probably drive Christine crazy because he’ll be cranky about being on crutches for a while but he’ll be fine.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from asking him to promise. Ethan did a hell of a lot to make my life not suck, but no one could guarantee that. I threw my leg over his and tried to sleep.

  Ethan was a hundred percent right about one thing. Uncle Owen was cranky. But I could handle cranky. Even on three hours of sleep.

  During my lunch break, I texted him to let him know I’d talked to my boss, and I could take time away from my internship and make it up on Fridays if he needed anything. His answer was immediate.

  No.

  I was hiding a yawn behind my bag of chips when Christine texted, Come by any time you want. 1st available ortho apt is Friday. She followed that up with a miserable-face emoji.

  I was thinking of an answer when Uncle Owen came back with How did you make it to work?

  Bus. When I left the post office job for my internship at nine in the mornings, the bus trip from the sorting station to downtown only took half an hour. At four a.m. with the added route from our apartment, it took me almost two hours to get up there.

  If you had your license, you could use my car since I’m not allowed to drive myself around.

  I didn’t even have a learner’s permit.

  I knew I should go up and see Uncle Owen, but I was so tired after I left Travers, I told myself I’d just take a nap, then I’d get an Uber over the river to Fineview. I woke up fully dressed in the dark when Ethan crawled into bed with me.

  “Shit. What time is it?”

  “Almost ten. Sorry I woke you.”

  He had been quiet—for Ethan. Or I’d been that out of it. “I must have shut off my alarm.”

  “Well, yeah, that happens when you go to sleep at midnight and get up for work at two a.m.”

  I put my hands over my face. I had four more hours to sleep tonight. I could do this. I had to do this.

  “Maybe you could get a job closer?” Ethan suggested.

  Some of Uncle Owen’s crankiness spilled through me. “And maybe a genie could give me a magic carpet.”

  Ethan flopped on his side away from me.
>
  “Sorry.” I pressed against his back and kissed his neck. “Uncle Owen suggested I use his car but...” I shrugged. At college and here in the city, it wasn’t that weird not having my license like every other nineteen-year-old. But it still embarrassed me, because of the reason. When everyone else was getting their permits, I’d been in juvie.

  “But we could.” Ethan rolled to face me. “I mean, you could get your permit, and I could drive you to work in the morning. And then you could get your license.”

  Like most Ethan pronouncements, this was delivered with his cheerful insistence that it would work out perfectly.

  We went over to Uncle Owen’s house Friday morning before his orthopedic appointment. Ethan didn’t complain about the walk up the steep hill from the bus stop, though it was already steaming out, with shimmery waves floating off the pale concrete. We stuck to the shady sides of the streets, but we were both panting and sweating when we climbed the last cobbled street to Uncle Owen’s front steps. Ethan headed right for the door.

  Christine opened the door with a smile that turned to a look of alarm. “My God. Come in before you pass out.”

  They didn’t have air-conditioning, but it was dark inside and they had fans going.

  “What were you guys doing in this heat?” Christine waved us into the living room.

  Ethan had on a suspiciously bright smile for someone who’d just climbed a mountain in a heat index of a hundred and one. “Walking from the bus stop.”

  As she signed that to Uncle Owen, Christine’s brows drew together with dismay. “Where is it?”

  “At the bottom of Lafayette,” Ethan said.

  “That’s almost a mile,” she said as Uncle Owen frowned and signed, Bad road.

  I wasn’t sure if he meant the condition of the road or of the neighborhood at the bottom of the hill.

  “Sit down. Let me get you boys some water.” She added signs for Uncle Owen.

  How hurt is your knee? I signed to him.

  Uncle Owen waved that off. Want doctor to tell me I can walk soon. He didn’t look hopeful.

  The swelling around the joint looked worse, spilling through the brace he’d gotten at urgent care.

  He looked around me to Ethan. You drive?

  Ethan could handle that sign. Yes.

  I didn’t know the sign for license so I substituted, He drives legally.

  Accidents?

  Ethan shook his head.

  Tickets?

  I held my breath on that one.

  No, Ethan signed, then turned to me. “Not even parking tickets.”

  I passed that on, but Uncle Owen was already nodding.

  Want to teach him? he asked, indicating me.

  Ethan looked at me for approval. I knew my face was blank.

  “Sure,” he said, adding an emphatic nod and the yes sign.

  Uncle Owen smiled and made his heavy one-note laugh.

  Christine came back in with a glass of ice water for each of us.

  Ethan take my car, drive Wyatt to work, teach Wyatt to drive, Uncle Owen told her.

  Ethan smiled and nodded, the sneaky bastard. He’d never had to ask.

  And I’m the one who did two years for stealing a car.

  Chapter Nine

  Ethan

  “Put your hand on the knob, and I’ll show you how to work the shaft.” I leered at Wyatt.

  He shot me an annoyed look from the driver’s seat. “Seriously?”

  “Hey, if you’d made calculus this interesting, I might have gotten an A instead of a C plus.”

  “I got you from failing to passing. For anything else you’d have had to hack the professor’s computer. Also, you got to blow me when you got all the problems right.”

  “That was a bonus,” I agreed. “Now get a grip on the car’s dick and don’t squeeze it too hard.” I rubbed his knuckles, and they relaxed. “Put your foot on the clutch.” I guided him through the gears, naming each one.

  There’d been a momentary setback to my plan to borrow his uncle’s car—a car, sweet baby Jesus, a car—when Owen remembered it was a manual transmission, which was nothing to sneeze at in a city with as many steep hills as Pittsburgh.

  But I’d learned to drive on my dad’s Jetta, which had a stick shift, and I’d been a super quick learner. Back then, a car meant access to parties and the Wide and Wonderful World of Dick. It had only taken me a few minutes this morning to get a hang for the Civic’s clutch.

  “Don’t worry if you buck or stall. Just remember brake and clutch go together, and gas and clutch.” I moved my hands like the pedals to show the alternating. “Relax. There’s nothing here to hit.”

  I’d taken Wyatt to the empty parking lot of a middle school not far from his uncle’s house. No playground, a lone car parked in the back by the loading dock.

  After two stalls, Wyatt launched us forward with a jolt. He stayed in first as the car started to whine. “Okay, clutch in, shift to second.”

  He got it. We went around and around, first to second, second to first, stopping and starting. There wasn’t anything really for me to do but watch him, so I did.

  Bottom lip out a little, deep lines from his mouth to his nose, eyes focused. His shoulders were curved in, like he expected to be yelled at.

  “You’re doing great.”

  He took off from a stop without bucking and shot me a glance. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Actually my dad taught me. You might have noticed but he’s a bit more mellow.”

  He gave a hoarse laugh. “Yeah, just a bit.”

  “Okay, let’s try some right-angle turns.”

  I didn’t mention Wyatt’s joy ride and crash in the stolen van, but I’d figured if he’d been able to drive well enough not to get everyone killed at fourteen, he would be able to pick this up.

  He did. Until we practiced backing up.

  “It feels off,” he complained, jerking us so much I finally reached for the dash to keep from slamming into it.

  “Well, yeah. It’s backward.”

  “I keep feeling like I’m turning, even when I’m going straight.”

  “Um, you kind of are turning, but we’ll make it work.”

  He stopped suddenly and stalled. “Ethan.”

  I knew that disgusted tone from calculus tutoring and braced myself.

  “If you don’t tell me what I’m doing wrong, I’m never going to get better at it.”

  “And if I jump on you for everything then you’ll get frustrated.”

  He took his hands off the wheel and turned to me. “Is that how I act? Like I can’t handle criticism?”

  “No. But...” But what if you decide something is the last straw? That I’ve pushed too hard? I just wanted things to be easy for him. For us.

  He shifted to stare out of the windshield at the shimmering pavement. The inside of the car was deliciously cool. “I’m not going to give up. On learning to drive. Or on us. You don’t have to spare my delicate feelings.”

  He said that, and most days I could believe him. The more we were together, the less it felt like he’d run, or push me away.

  But I’d felt sure before. And I loved him so damned much. This wasn’t the way I’d felt about Blake. That had been about basking in the glow of being Blake St. Pierre’s boyfriend. I loved who Wyatt was, from his insanely hot public sex kink to his bitter sarcasm, loved his sharp edges and his soft full mouth. I even loved that things weren’t easy because the fact that we were still together meant more that way.

  He blew out a long breath. “You want to give me a clue here? You quiet and thinking is scary.”

  “Remember, clutch and brake together. Go hand over hand when you turn the wheel, it gives you more control. Let’s practice some more turns where
you don’t go over the lines, then we can try it on the street. Backing up is something we’ll save for a different time.” I paused for a breath.

  He rested his hand on my thigh for a second, then gripped the steering wheel. “Okay then. Let’s do it.”

  Wyatt did well enough on the street that he drove back to his uncle’s house, which was mostly downhill so he didn’t need to worry about rolling. We pulled into the graveled driveway, and Wyatt braked. He took his hands off the wheel and shook them.

  “Hanging on a little tight?” I asked.

  “Maybe.”

  I grabbed one and started rubbing. “So if you get blown for teaching me calculus, what do I get for teaching you to drive?”

  Wyatt pretended to think, working that sexy pout. “You get to fuck me before you blow me.”

  “I’m sensing a theme.”

  His phone went off. He dragged his hand free and mouthed Christine as he answered. “How is Uncle Owen’s appointment going?”

  With the car off, and his volume cranked, I could hear her. “He’s okay, but Dr. Mykola sent us to the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “They took new X-rays. It’s much worse than they thought. He’s going to need surgery, pins and plates. They have to rebuild and graft bone.”

  “Jesus.”

  Fuck.

  “They need to keep him in traction so the swelling goes down enough to operate on Tuesday.”

  Even if I hadn’t been able to hear Christine, I could have gotten the news from watching Wyatt. He was doing that thing where he tried to make himself invisible. He was still, breaths short and shallow, arms close to his body.

  Christine rattled off more bad news, rehab, physical therapy, two months before he could put weight on it. She gave us the room number at Allegheny General before she hung up.

  Wyatt’s hand fumbled for and grabbed mine. It was icy cold. He had just been holding the wheel, close to the a/c vents, but I thought it was probably fear.

  “It’ll be okay,” I murmured.

  He gave me his sarcastic laugh. “Promise?”

  I foresaw us spending a lot of our free time in hospital rooms rather than the amusement park Christine had suggested, but as long as we were together it would be okay. Although it really wasn’t going to be easy. “Yeah. I promise.”