02-Let It Ride (20 page)

The door of the truck camper was open, and inside were boxes. A lot of boxes. The cab doors were open, and two boxes sat on the ground of the passenger side. And pitched at an angle in the small front yard . . . a For Sale sign.

Bridge climbed down from his truck and had to hold on to the side mirror for a second because the ground under his feet felt like it was shifting. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and his legs shook as he crossed the front lawn. Eric stepped out of the house with another box in his hands, and Bridge stopped dead in his tracks. Eric met his gaze and stumbled to a stop, the color draining from his face and shock filling his wide eyes.

“The hell?” Bridge said by way of hello.

Eric just stood there staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, the box in his arms beginning to cave with the force of his grip as he hugged it to his chest. “Bridge.”

Bridge waited, not in the least bit patiently. Whatever Eric thought he was doing, he needed to step up and explain himself. Right fucking now. Because a week ago, they were in bed together, they were dating. A week ago, Eric had been inside of him. A week ago, he knew he was in love with a man who now seemed dead set on booking out of town without so much as an explanation.

A horn honked nearby, and Eric jumped, startling into action. “Ah. Why are you here?” He glanced away and then walked to the back of the truck, where he shoved the box inside then closed the door and locked it.

“Why am I here?” The edges of Bridge’s vision turned crimson. Hurt and anger dueled with each other, and both tore at his heart. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m sorry. I meant to call earlier, but I’ve just been a bit busy.” Eric dodged around the passenger side of the truck and picked up one of the boxes there, carelessly chucking it behind the seat like he was in a hurry. Pressure squeezed Bridge’s chest, making it harder to breathe, while a cold chill seeped into his bones.

“With what? Moving away and not telling me?”

Eric shot a quick glance at him, like he was afraid to hold eye contact. “I, uh. I got a job offer out of state. One of those too-good-to-pass-up deals, and well . . . we both know this thing between us isn’t going to work.”

“Isn’t going to work?” Bridge racked his brain, trying to figure out just what he’d done wrong, what signs he’d missed that he’d pushed Eric too far too fast. “No. We don’t both know that. I thought it was working. I thought we were on the same page. And if this is about staying in my RV, or even moving in at the end of the season, I’m sorry. You know me—all guns blazing. I didn’t mean to rush you. We can wait and see how things go, when you’re ready. Just . . . don’t leave.”

“It’s not that.” Eric leaned down to pick up the next box and still seemed set on not making eye contact. His movements were jerky, and his accent was the thickest Bridge had ever heard it.

“Then what?” Bridge pleaded. “Tell me, and we’ll work it out.”

Eric slammed the door shut and walked back to the house, disappearing inside and leaving Bridge feeling oddly bereft. Like losing sight of the man had meant he’d lost him for real. But Eric hadn’t closed the door behind him, so Bridge took that for the invitation he wanted it to be and followed.

He found Eric in a small bedroom, tossing items into a suitcase. His back was to Bridge, shoulders slumped, head down, and all Bridge wanted to do was wrap his arms around the man, tell him whatever the issue was they’d fix it. Together. He’d try to slow down and go at Eric’s pace if only he wouldn’t leave.

Eric sighed and straightened his shoulders, almost as if he were shoring up his resolve. He turned to face Bridge but didn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds before turning back to his hasty packing. “You make me want things I can’t have.”

What?
“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, it does. What you’re offering me? It won’t last. It might seem like it now, when things are all fresh and new, but before too long, you’ll realize I’m really not what you want, and I’ll be out on the streets again.”

Bridge took a step forward, quiet on his feet as if he were approaching a frightened horse. He only had one chance to calm Eric and win his trust before he’d be lost forever to the wilds. “Again with the not making sense.”

“I already told you!” Eric ran a hand over his head and spun around. He didn’t look at Bridge though. He eyed the doorway instead, like he was gauging the distance between it and Bridge and whether or not he could make it out before Bridge could head him off. Jesus, what the hell had him spooked so badly?

He finally looked at Bridge then, straight in the eyes, and took a shaky breath. “Every single person who ever said they loved me threw me out. My own parents who should have loved me unconditionally dumped me in a foster home the second they found out I was gay. I was thirteen. No one adopts kids that old, and every single one of my foster families tossed me out. The few boyfriends I’d had promised me the world but dumped me as soon as a better piece of ass came along. And the guy I thought could have been the one was already fucking married to someone else. A woman. He said he loved me but not enough to leave his wife. Nobody wanted me for long. Ever.”

“I do.” Bridge tried to think of what he could say or do to make Eric understand, but the man was in a state, didn’t seem to be able to hear. Keeping his voice smooth but firm and as articulate as he could manage, he said, “
I
want you.”

“No.” Eric shook his head in quick short twitches. “You think that now, and I might even let myself believe you. But you’ll change your mind too. Like everyone else did. It’s been fun, but before too long you’ll realize I’m really not what you want, or that you prefer women after all. I mean, they can give you the family I can’t. They’re not going to get you beat up walking down the street holding hands.”

“What the fuck is wrong with your head? You think this has just ‘been fun’? A little experiment I’m going to tire of? How many times do I have to tell you I’m serious here? That
you
are the one I want?” He chanced another step forward, had to make Eric understand. “I don’t want anyone but you, Eric. I
love
you
.”

Eric gasped, and Bridge’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t regret saying it, not for a heartbeat. He meant it, he felt it, but he’d envisioned a nicer scenario when he finally said it. But instead of the declaration inciting joy, or at the very least easing some of Eric’s fears, all the color drained from his face, his eyes widened, wild and unfocused, and his breath echoed in the small bedroom, shallow, hard, and fast.

“You need to leave.” Eric’s voice shook, but that didn’t negate the force with which he spoke.

Bridge’s heart clenched so tightly he thought it might shatter right then and there. The freezing cold continued to spread throughout his chest, up his throat, threatening to choke off the oxygen to his brain.

“Eric.” It felt like shards of glass had been dragged up his throat as he pushed out the word, the splinters of his heart forcing their way out too. “I love you. With everything I have, everything I am. I want you in my life, and if you want a family, we can have one. There are plenty of ways to make that happen. Please, don’t leave me.”

Eric shook his head. “Nothing good ever lasts. That’s the one true thing I’ve learned in this life. So let’s leave it where it is. Okay? Let’s leave what memories we have untainted by the bad that will come so they’ll always be golden.”

“Your past is not your future, Eric. I am not all those other people.” He didn’t know what he could say or do to reach Eric. It was like he was grasping at straws, drowning and the lifejacket was a finger-length beyond his reach, but he had to try. The alternative was unimaginable. “We can make this work. I know we can, if you just give us a chance. Deep down, I know you want this too.”

“Fuck!” Eric shouted. Now he had Eric’s full attention on him, but the violet fire in those eyes, the rage and hurt and fear were the last things Bridge wanted to see. “Do you know how many times I’ve been down this fucking road only to have it careen off a cliff? I can’t do it again. I will never survive you, Bridge. Oh, and the one time I thought I finally had a home for real, that I really was wanted, guess what happened? Guess! My foster mom had a fucking stroke and died! No.” Eric shook his head vehemently. His nostrils flared, and his breath sounded so spent, he may as well have just run a marathon. He turned back to the case on the bed. “Nothing lasts, so it’s best to get out while the getting’s good. Before anyone gets hurt.”

Bridge watched, stunned and speechless, as Eric closed up the last of his belongings in the suitcase.
You’re hurting me right now
, he wanted to say, but his vocal chords had frozen shut. Eric chanced a quick glance at him and then shouldered past him, out of the room, out of the house. Eric was halfway down the driveway before Bridge shook out of his shocked state and ran after him.

“So that’s it?” He reached for Eric, but the man maneuvered deftly out of his range. “If you keep running, you’ll never escape your past.”

“I’m not running. I have a new job.” Eric’s voice was flat, cold, emotionless. “Find someone else, Bridge. Someone who isn’t afraid to be what you need.”

“Don’t do this, Eric. Please,” Bridge pleaded, beyond caring if he got down on the ground and begged. Whatever it took to stop Eric from leaving. “You’re the one. The only one for me.”

Eric climbed up into the cab of his truck and slammed the door. The window was open. He fired up the truck and met Bridge’s gaze. His eyes were flat and hard and devoid of emotion. “I’ll never be anyone’s one.” Then he shifted the vehicle into gear and backed up, forcing Bridge to jump out of the way and let him go.

Bridge stood there in the empty driveway, dumbfounded, stricken, watching the only person he couldn’t live without leave without a backward glance. “But you’re my one and only.”

The shattered pieces of his heart ripped and tore from his body, crashing to the ground at his feet in thunderous cracks, until all that was left in his chest was a massive, hollow hole. His entire body began to shake uncontrollably, gripped in a chill he already knew would never thaw.

Eric had just left him.

Eric. Left. Him.

He almost laughed at the irony of it all. Everyone had thought he’d be the one to break Eric’s heart, but instead, Eric had not only broken Bridge’s heart, he’d crushed it beyond repair and left it dying on crumbling, weed-lined concrete under a hot California sun.

“Eric!”

He’d just stepped out of the Steamed Beans Café, next door to the Laundromat he’d been living above for the past five weeks, since his arrival in the small ski village of Steamboat Springs.

He turned to see Maggie Hewitt hustling toward him, her auburn hair dancing in the light breeze and a wide smile lighting her youthful face.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said when she reached him, slightly out of breath. “That was so kind of you to come by the center. My mother can’t stop talking about the handsome young man who brought her flowers, making all the other ladies jealous.”

He’d tended to Maggie’s mother when she’d taken a fall walking back from the grocery store the week before. She’d been so gracious and kind to him, when she was the one hurting, that he’d felt the need to stop by and check on her. He had noticed some of the other ladies at the center in a bit of a titter when he’d been there, and he smiled, remembering how bright Mrs. Hewitt’s eyes had glittered at the stir. “How is she doing?”

“Much better, thanks to you.” Maggie reached up and placed her hand gently on his cheek. “You’re a wonderful person, Eric. I hope you have someone to give you as much joy as you give others.”

His heart clenched, his throat constricted, and tears pricked at his eyes. One second he was fine and the next he was on the verge of breaking down and crying like a baby right there on Main Street in broad daylight. He did have someone, but he’d been too much of a coward to see that.

“Thank you, Maggie,” he managed. He gave her hand a light squeeze. “I’ve, uh . . . I’ve gotta go.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and practically sprinted the few feet to his building’s door.

He ran up the stairs two at a time and slammed his door behind him. His eyes tracked the room he’d rented when he’d pulled into town after making the biggest mistake of his life. There was a kitchenette, a bathroom big enough for a narrow shower stall, and a living room-slash-bedroom featuring an old pull-out couch, a secondhand coffee table, two end tables, and one lamp. The room looked as transient as he felt there, even though he had a good job, and now knew every local by name and they, him.

Maggie’s mother wasn’t the first person he’d ever followed up with after an accident, wasn’t the first person who thought he was so wonderful and deserving. But they didn’t know him, and that was part of his job. It made him feel good to have a positive impact on people’s lives in small ways, so why couldn’t he accept the same in return? Why hadn’t he been able to accept that Bridge truly had wanted to give him joy, had loved him?

Because through work or helping strangers there was a sense of safety in that detachment, but when that barrier was crossed and his heart came into play . . . Everyone had hurt him. How could he believe Bridge would be any different?