Coda Books 01 - Promises (MM) (8 page)

“In some ways. But coming back here after college felt a little bit like failure. Like everybody else was moving away, and I was just coming back to my parents. It seemed like only the losers were still stuck here. Like Dan and Cherie.” I stopped short, realizing maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but he didn’t seem to notice, so I went on. “I guess I got used to it. I love it. I love Colorado. I don’t think I could ever live away from the mountains. Whenever I get far enough east that I can’t see them, it just feels wrong. I can’t explain it. It’s like losing sight of home base. Like I have a compass inside, but it points west instead of north.” I stopped short and wished I hadn’t said all that. “There. Is that better?”

He leaned back with a sigh, his head on my thigh, and looked up at me. “Yes. That did help. You were right.”

“Told you.”

“Thanks.”

But he didn’t move. His eyes had closed, and he seemed to be half asleep.

His head was practically in my lap. It didn’t seem to faze him, but it felt incredibly intimate to me. Suddenly, my heart was racing and my mouth was dry. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Nothing else existed at that moment. I had never seen anything as ruggedly beautiful as him. His jaw was strong and square, and at least a day’s worth of dark stubble covered his cheeks. His lips were soft and full. He never wore sunglasses, and there were small squint lines around his eyes, slightly pale against his tan face. His lashes weren’t long, but they were thick and jet black.

I could have looked at him all night. I was aware of some strange feeling which seemed to suffuse my entire being. It was overwhelming—almost painful yet not unpleasant. I felt that I must certainly be glowing with it. This current that was flowing through me felt like a fever through my skin. Surely he could feel it where his head was touching my thigh. How could he be so close to me, touching me, and not sense what I was feeling? I had always been attracted to him. I had always enjoyed spending time with him. But I realized at that moment that at some point over the past few weeks, it had become something more.

I loved him.

It was a painful realization—so painful that it took my breath away—discovering that I was totally in love with this man who would never love me back.

I wanted nothing more than to kiss him and was both annoyed and relieved that I could not possibly do it from where I sat. I knew I would not have been able to stop myself otherwise. My hand moved of its own volition and came to rest along his cheek, my fingertips just touching his jaw. His eyes drifted open, and he looked up at me, his green-in-gray eyes looking into mine, and I knew he could see it in my eyes. There was no way he could look at me at that moment and not know what I was feeling.

He slowly put his hand up, grabbed my fingers, and pulled them away from his cheek. He didn’t let go of my hand. His voice was very quiet but very gentle when he asked, “Are you sure you’re not making a pass at me?”

I couldn’t even answer at first. It certainly had not been my intention at the beginning, but at that moment, I didn’t think I could bear to not have him.

“Would it work?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.

He hesitated for a second, but whether it was because he was unsure of the answer or because he knew I wasn’t going to like his answer, I didn’t know. But then, just slightly, he shook his head. “No.”

It was the answer I expected, and yet I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I had to close my eyes, had to remind myself to take a single, shaking breath.

I could barely speak around the sudden lump in my throat. “I guess it doesn’t matter then, does it?”

I started to pull away, but his hand, still holding my fingers, suddenly gripped tight.

“Jared?” When I looked back down at him, he said, “Do you want me to leave?”

The question surprised me, and I answered honestly. “No. Not at all.” I pulled my hand away from his and stood up, not facing him, one hand over my eyes. “Matt, I….” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but what came out was, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said it with such gentle honesty, and it made me feel a little better. It was a relief to know that at least my desire for him would not cost me his friendship. But I still couldn’t look at him. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him get up and put his shirt back on.

He came over and put his hand on my shoulder, waiting until I finally looked up at his face. He gave me an almost-smile and said, “Come on. Let’s go make those nachos.”

WE SPENT the last Sunday of August on my couch watching football. We were as excited as kids on Christmas to have the season under way. For the morning game we cheered for the same team, but for the afternoon game we were cheering against each other. I had never experienced such a perfect feeling of camaraderie. We laughed at each other and insulted each other and occasionally threw things at one another and drank too much beer. And near the end, he sighed happily, leaned back next to me on the couch, and said, “I’m definitely coming here every Sunday.”

“Don’t forget there’s football on Mondays too.”

I RIDE my bike to and from work year ’round, resorting to my car only when there’s snow on the ground. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve always suspected that it’s the only reason I’ve managed to stay thin. Most of the time I enjoy it but not today. We were having one of our late afternoon thunderstorms, very common for Colorado in early September. The rain was chilly, and visibility was limited. The worst part was that I had originally planned to stop at the store on the way home since there was nothing edible in my house. But with the rain, I found all I really wanted to do was get home and get dry.

Maybe Matt would come by tonight, and we could order a pizza.

I had my head down and was pedaling down the sidewalk as fast as I could when a car hit me. It was coming out of a driveway, moving slow, which is probably what saved me. The driver was talking on his cell phone, not paying attention—just like Lizzy always predicted. I hoped she would be happy.

He hit me on my left side. I felt the front of the hood hit my head, and then I flew out into the street. Later, I would realize how lucky I was that no cars were coming. I slid a few feet across the asphalt on my right side before coming to a stop in the middle of the street.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking! Are you hurt?” The driver was already out of his car and leaning over me. I recognized him from around town. His name was Jason. Other than that I didn’t know anything about him.

“I think I’m okay.” Actually, I had no idea. I was stunned and trying to survey the damage.

Nothing hurt yet, but that didn’t mean anything.

“I think I better take you to the hospital.”

When I looked up at him, I was surprised to see how scared he looked.

“I think I’m okay.” I was actually more worried about the state of my bike.

“You’re bleeding.” Jason pointed toward my left ear.

I put my hand against my head, and it came away covered in blood which was quickly washed away again by the rain. “Oh shit.” I realized there was blood on my shirt and in the rainy water on the street.

Jason was starting to panic now. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

The pain was starting to come now too. It was either let him take me or wait here for cops and an ambulance. I got in his car.

“THE wound on your head looks worse than it actually is,” the doctor told me. “Of course, if you had been wearing a helmet, you would be home by now with only a few bumps and bruises instead of bleeding in my emergency room.” I knew he was right. Worse than that, I knew that Lizzy, Brian, and my mom were all going to give me the same lecture at least a hundred times over the next few days. “There’s no sign of concussion, so once we’ve got your wounds clean and bandaged, you’ll be able to go home. Do you have somebody you can call to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to get you some Oxycodone—”

“I hate that stuff. It makes me itchy.”

“That’s a fairly common side effect. Would you prefer Vicodin?”

“Definitely.”

“I’m going to give you a little bit now, plus I’ll send you home with a pretty heavy dose to take before bed. But only for tonight. You’ll probably be pretty sore tomorrow but try to make do with over-the-counter pain relievers.”

“You bet.” Everything was definitely starting to hurt, and I knew it was only going to get worse.

They gave me the first round of drugs and then closed the wound on my left temple with something that smelled suspiciously like super glue. Besides being covered with blood, my shirt had been shredded by my skid on the asphalt. They threw it away, painfully cleaned the giant patch of road rash on my right side, spread some kind of goo all over it and bandaged it, and then gave me a blue scrub shirt to wear home.

Cops were in and out, asking me questions. Matt apparently was not on duty. Jason gave me his insurance information and promised to bring my bike by my house the next day. It seemed to go on forever. It was almost nine o’clock when the doctor finally brought me the second dose of Vicodin. “You can take these in a couple of hours,” he said as he handed them to me. I nodded even though I knew I wouldn’t wait that long. He handed me a cordless phone. “Call your ride now. I’ll want to talk to them before you leave.”

I took the pills as soon as he left the room and thought about who to call. Lizzy would be a wreck, crying and trying to baby me. Brian would yell about me being an idiot. Mom would cry and give me a lecture on the same topic.

I called Matt.

“Hey Jared,” he said when he picked up. “Where the hell are you? I went by your house.”

“I’m at the hospital. Can you come get me?”

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asked with genuine alarm.

“I got hit by a car, but—”

Of course he didn’t let me finish. “What! Jesus, Jared, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But they won’t let me go unless I have a ride home.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

When Matt got there, the doctor took him into the hallway, and they talked for a while.

By the time we got in the car, I was already feeling better.

“Please don’t lecture me,” I said as we got in the car. “Just let it wait until morning.”

“Okay.” He said it like it hadn’t even occurred to him. I could have kissed him.

By the time we got to my house, I was dead on my feet. Between the Vicodin and the adrenaline crash, I felt like I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I sat down on the couch, leaned back and closed my eyes. I felt him sit down next to me. Nothing happened for a minute. Or maybe it was an hour.

The whole world was soft around the edges, not quite tangible. I knew I was in pain, but I was drifting on top of it, buoyed by the drugs, and comfortable back in my own home. I might have slept for a bit. I couldn’t be sure. At some point, I became aware of him again at my side, and then a feather-light touch near my temple, where the cut was. I cracked my eyes open a tiny bit. He was next to me but facing me, one leg tucked under him, looking at the cut on my head. His fingers were carefully pushing my hair back out of the way. My eyes closed again, and I drifted for a while, feeling his fingers moving in my hair. My head still hurt, but his light touch felt nice.

“Jesus, Jared.” Matt said, and it was not his usual bantering voice. It was almost a whisper, very strained, and it surprised me. My eyes opened a tiny bit. He was leaning close, looking at me, and the expression on his face was one I had never seen before. His eyebrows were down a little bit, and his eyes, not very far away from my own, were dark and troubled.

His fingers seemed to still be moving in my hair, against my scalp, almost like a caress, but my addled brain wasn’t sure. “You could have died.”

Even in my drugged state, I was surprised by how much raw emotion I could hear in those four words. I had no idea what to say, but what came out of my mouth was, “I’m okay.”

His eyes closed. His fingers were still in my hair but not moving anymore. “Thank God.” I couldn’t get my brain to work. Something about this was strange and wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. He finally opened his eyes, and I must have looked confused, because he suddenly smiled at me a little bit and said, “Just how much Vicodin did they give you?”

“Enough.” I could easily have slept there the rest of the night and was especially reluctant to move away from where his fingers were tangled in my hair, just barely touching my head.

He shook his head at me, still smiling a little, and said, “Come on. Time for bed.”

He stood up, pulled me off the couch, and pushed me toward my bedroom. Once we got there, he said, “Do you have any sweats that might fit me?”

That confused me, but I pointed to a drawer.

“Okay.” He started digging through the drawer. He glanced back over and raised his eyebrow at me in amusement. “Jared, I’m not going to undress you,” he said lightly. “You’ll have to do that yourself.”

I hadn’t actually realized that’s what I was supposed to be doing. I obediently took off my shoes and socks and pants, and I sat down on the bed. I wasn’t sure what to do next.

Matt came over and looked down at me with the pseudo-smile. “Close enough.” He pulled the hospital shirt off of me. His expression darkened again, that strange look I didn’t recognize, when he saw the bruises and giant bandage on my side. Then he pushed me gently backward on the bed. I turned onto my uninjured side and snuggled down into my bed with relief. He pulled the blankets up over me. When was the last time somebody had tucked me in? My eyes were already closed, and I was drifting again. Some time later, the mattress creaked. I opened my eyes a little. The room was dark, but I could still see him, wearing a pair of my sweats, getting into the other side of the bed.

“You’re sleeping here?” I managed to ask, although I seemed to be slurring my words a little.

“I’m not leaving you alone tonight. The doctor said to call right away if you started vomiting.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” I didn’t know why that mattered, but some part of my brain apparently wanted to know.