Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (20 page)

He was my best friend.”

The use of past tense did not go unnoticed. “When did all of that stop?”

“He died when I was fourteen. When I turned fifteen my queen bitch of a stepmother gave me a few hundred bucks and put me on a bus to New York City.”

James kept his face carefully neutral, while internally he was furious. Anger directed at a woman he didn’t know for a choice that, ultimately, led Romy to this moment. To a life where he saw himself in terms of what people would pay him—he didn’t have to ask Romy to know how he’d made his way in the city at such a young age.

“I’m not ashamed that I was a hooker for a long time,” Romy said after a moment of silence. His tone dared James to make a big deal out of it. “I got by. I’m clean. I got knocked around a few times, but nothing too major. The worst time of my life was spent with a guy who was supposed to be in a real relationship with me. Fucking figures.”

James debated his next question. “Do you want to talk about that today?”

“No.” Romy shook his head hard enough to make his black hair fly.

“Fair enough.”

“How come the people who are supposed to love us always hurt us the most?” The

question held extra weight to it. He was asking about more than the abuse heaped upon him by Carlos. The question also seemed to include the perceived betrayal by his friend Brendan.

James could also apply the question to his relationship with Nathan. Or Elliott and Doug, and damn it, he needed to keep his head in Romy’s problems. Not his personal issues.

“The people who genuinely love us don’t set out to hurt us,” James said. “Sometimes they think they’re doing what’s best, trying to protect us from something, and it’s only our perception that it’s hurtful.”

Romy seemed to take that in and turn it over in his mind. “Good intentions don’t make it hurt less.”

“You’re right. Why do you think Brendan beat up Carlos?”

“Brendan doesn’t like people getting hit. His father used to hit him when he was a kid.”

James waited. “And that’s the only reason?”

“Has to be. Brendan knew me all of two days when he went after Carlos. Donner told me that Brendan said Carlos needed to learn a lesson about hitting.”

“All right. So once you and Brendan did become friends, why do you think he didn’t tell you what he’d done to Carlos?”

Romy sank back into the sofa. “’Cuz he didn’t want me ever looking at him the way I did on Saturday.”

“And how was that?”

“Like I was afraid of him. Like I thought he’d hurt me, even though I know for real he never would. Not with his fists.”

“But he hurt you by lying to you.”

“Kind of. I mean, I never asked, so I guess he didn’t technically lie. But he also kept it a secret, and that hurt. I thought we could tell each other anything. I’ve told him so much.”

I always thought Nate and I could tell each other anything, and we nearly screwed that
up, didn’t we?

James scribbled some notes to keep his mind focused on Romy. “Does Brendan know

about the things Carlos did to you?”

“Only a little bit. It’s hard to talk about. I want to tell him, but it’s all so ugly. I need to get it out, you know? But I don’t want to tell it all more than once.”

“Listen, Romy, I don’t often suggest this so early on in therapy, but how would you feel about bringing Brendan to one of your appointments?”

Romy’s eyebrows jumped. “Why?”

“Sooner or later, we have to talk about your time with Carlos, and you expressed a desire to inform Brendan, as well. Would it be easier on you if those things happened at the same time?

During one of our sessions?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s an open offer, as long as you wish to keep seeing me.”

Romy shrugged, noncommittal.

James needed to reengage him in the conversation. “Tell me more about Brendan. Why’s he so important to you?”

A little light brightened Romy’s eyes, and he started talking.

Nate ran through the entire list of available cable channels on his television for the third time.

The digital clock mocked him with slowly moving numbers, inching through his evening with irritating slowness. It was barely after eight, but it felt closer to midnight.

After his first appointment with Dr. McMillian went off without a hitch, he’d spent the rest of the day cleaning his apartment. Again. The place wasn’t dirty because he’d spent most of his first two days back at James’s place, but cleaning was something productive to do. He’d done the same thing at his parents’ house once he was able to move around without too much protest from his ribs and wrist.

His first therapist told him it was normal to find something to fill his days—something he could control—because he’d lost control over his life and his body during the assault. Nate was fine with that, as long as the cleaning habit didn’t morph into an obsessive-compulsive disorder that had him turning locks five times and color-coding his M&M’s.

James had sent him a handful of texts throughout the day between patients, checking in without being obvious about it. Nate treasured each small moment of contact.

At five o’clock, he’d quit cleaning so he could follow Grace Taggert home from the bank. Nothing unusual happened, and no one appeared to be stalking her. Boring.

His hope for dinner with James had been dashed by a text about a patient emergency that would keep him late, so Nate had settled down to not watch television. He used to enjoy unwinding in the evenings with takeout and reruns of sitcoms on cable. Now, fake lives of fake people couldn’t keep his attention, but he continued to flip channels out of habit. He had nothing better to do.

Around eight thirty, his phone rang. Not James. He muted the TV.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, I promise.” He’d gotten into the habit of saying “I promise” now that he truly did feel fine. For a while, he’d lied when he felt like crap, until his mother gave him a long lecture about being brave doing none of them any good.

“Good, that’s good. How was your talk with Lieutenant Danvers?”

“Productive. I had my first department evaluation today, and after two more, I can go back to work next week.”

“And that’s what you want?”

“Definitely. I miss work. I hate sitting around with nothing to do.”

“I know you do. How many times have you cleaned your place?”

“Twice.”

“Only twice?”

The smile in her tone didn’t change the fact that his mother had nursed him through the worst experience of his life, and he still hadn’t told her about his feelings for James. Or that he’d spent most of his weekend in bed with him, rather than knocking around an empty house.

“Give me time,” he teased.

“And how are your friends? You’ve seen James since you’ve been back, right? He was so worried while you were away.”

His stomach cramped. “Yes, I’ve seen him.” Every square inch of him, oh, and by the way they were a couple. “We talked it all out, and we’re good. Better friends than ever.”

“Good, sweetheart, that’s excellent news. I knew you would be okay. You two are just too good of friends.”

“Yeah, we are. It’s been good catching up with everyone.”

“How’s that sweet boy Elliott? He lost his partner, right?”

“Right. He’s doing okay.” If getting drunk and stoned on Saturday was doing okay. “He has a lot of support here.” Elliott standing in James’s apartment with a sheet wrapped around his waist sent a pang of jealousy through Nate’s gut.

“Good, good. Well, I won’t keep you. Check in once in a while so I don’t worry too much, all right?”

“I promise.”

“And give James our love, hear?”

“I will, Mom.”

“I love you, sweetheart. You take care.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Nate dropped his phone on the couch cushion and unmuted the TV. He’d pass along his mom’s love if he ever saw James again. Not that ten hours apart was a huge amount of time, but it felt like forever after being in each other’s back pocket all weekend. He missed the sense of safety and rightness he felt when James was near. Without him, the house was huge and empty and hollow.

He flipped channels, alone, and wondered a little bitterly if this is what it felt like being a doctor’s wife.

By Thursday night, Nate was ready to climb the fucking walls.

He hadn’t realized how little time he used to spend in his house other than sleeping until forced to hang out there day after day with nothing to do. Without work as a daily distraction, the lack of substance in his life was smacking him in the face. He had no hobbies. His friends had jobs that kept them busy. He hated shopping, didn’t like seeing movies alone and museums bored him to death.

Nothing held his interest except work and James.

The past couple of nights, James had been spending his evenings at the hospital

counseling a patient who’d tried to overdose on her medication. He came over to Nate’s every night, too late and too exhausted to do anything other than crawl into bed with Nate and sleep.

Nate didn’t mind. Sex wasn’t nearly as important as the intimacy of being together and the sense of safety it gave him. He loved having James in his bed, a comforting presence he stared at for hours on end when he couldn’t sleep.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t sometimes wonder how James would react if Nate woke him up at 4:00 a.m. with a blow job. He missed the intense physicality they’d discovered last weekend. Without it, Nate felt as though they’d fallen back into their best friendship, and that brief trip to gay coupledom was over. He didn’t want it to be over.

At lunch on Thursday, Nate had finally given in to his inner sixteen-year-old and sent James a cock shot with the caption We Miss You
.

A few minutes later, James had sent back a text promising to be home by eight.

Nate tried not to pace the living room he’d vacuumed for the sixth time that week as the cable box’s digital clock ticked past eight. James had an appointment at six, but he’d promised to be home tonight. No hospital visit. Finally time for them to spend together without his work interfering.

He just had to get his ass home first.

At quarter after eight, headlights flashed across the front windows. Nate perched on the arm of the sofa, facing the door, annoyed. He didn’t want to start a fight over fifteen minutes, but he wasn’t used to this side of James.

Maybe because you never used to care when Single-Guy James got off work, even when
you’d made plans. This is Relationship James. You don’t want to lose a single minute of time
with him now.

James knocked twice on the storm door before shuffling in with a briefcase and a brown paper bag clutched to his chest, hunched over as if he’d been socked in the stomach. Nate stood up, alarmed.

“Are you all right?” Nate rescued the briefcase and bag—liquid sloshed inside of a slim bottle—and tossed them onto the nearest side chair.

“I need a fucking drink.” James glanced forlornly at the bag, then wrapped his arms around Nate and hugged him. Hugged him tight as if he needed him in order to stand, and Nate probably wasn’t far off.

He pulled James away from the door, over to the sofa, then dragged him down. James took over, twisting them so he was flat on his back. Nate wrapped him up in his body in a full-on hug, holding him as best he could, heart hammering with adrenaline and concern. How many times had James gone home after a bad day and had no one to sort things out with?

“I’m here, baby,” Nate whispered.

James mumbled something into his neck that might have been a thank-you. Might have been a deep exhale. Didn’t matter. Nate ruffled his hair and kissed his temple, giving James the time he needed to pull himself together. After a while, some of the tension seemed to melt away from James, loosening his arms into a gentler embrace.

“Patient?” Nate asked.

“Yeah.”

Nate turned his head so his cheek rested on James’s collarbone, his forehead pressed to the underside of his chin. James traced figure eights on his back with light fingertips.

“I’ve seen and heard about a lot of different kinds of abuse, but shit, Nate. It really got to me tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t ask for details. He wouldn’t get them.

“It’s different when it’s a stranger, someone set apart from your real life. It’s a lot more real when it’s someone you know.”

“Romy Myers?”

James sighed long and hard, as good as a yes.

“Do you think you can help him?”

“Yes. He’s one of the few that truly wants help.”

“That’s good.”

“The absolute cruelty that one human being can show another is horrifying.”

Nate tapped James on the chin. “Cop, remember? I’ve seen some shit too.”

“I know.” James gently tugged on Nate’s hair, prompting him to raise his head. “This is a lot better than calling to vent.”

“I’m here whenever you need me, Jay.”

“Thank you.”

James made no move to shoo him off, so Nate put his head back down, enjoying the simple comfort of being a human blanket for his best friend. Boyfriend? Lover? He didn’t know how to label himself or James, so he stuck with the familiar. He relaxed into the steady rhythm of James’s heartbeat and breathing, the heat of him below. The faint odor of cigarette smoke on his clothes. Offering peace and security because that was what James needed.

His left foot went numb first. Nate tried to flex his leg without being obvious.

“You okay?” James asked, his voice sleep raspy.

“Losing circulation.”

James chuckle-snorted. “I didn’t want to be the first to say anything.”

Nate peeled himself up and off, a bit dizzy from the sudden altitude. He shifted to the end of the sofa and twisted his ankle around a bit, pins and needles already setting in. James sat up rubbing his right arm with his left. His suit was properly wrinkled, but the weight he’d walked inside with was gone.

“Still need that drink?” Nate asked, tipping his chin at the bag.

James looked at it for a long moment. “Wouldn’t mind a slug or two.”

“But do you need it?”