Defining Us: The Calvin & Eric Story (69 Bottles) (31 page)

“You know, if you have to go, the band will understand.”
 

“I’m not going,” he says vehemently. “I have nothing to say to him and no amount of apologizing can make what he’s done to me any better.”
 

“I know but…”
 

“What?” he says, looking at me, and I shrug. He drops it and leans his back against my car.
 

Deciding there is too much distance between us, I round my car, this time the front side and slide in next to him. “I don’t want you to regret it.”
 

He sighs. “Honestly, I’d come to grips that he was dead a long time ago. Between his heavy-ass fucking drinking, his desperate need to drink and operate machinery, shit like that, the motherfucker has had a death wish ever since my mother died. I figured that if the bottle hadn’t killed him, he’d killed himself or someone else.” We both take drags off of our smokes. “These things suck,” he chuckles.
 

“So are you more angry over the fact that he wants to see you or the fact that he’s still alive?”
 

He snorts. “Pick one. I think they’re both taking up the number one spot. Why is my seeing him so important to you?” The elephant I feel in my gut gets addressed.
 

“I guess, I’m afraid at some point you’ll regret it, and that I’ll be the one you blame and-”
 

He turns toward me, leaning his shoulder into my car. “Stop, right there. I would never blame that on you. You’re not forcing me to stay here, I’m forcing myself to stay here, though force is a pretty strong word. I have nothing to say to him, there is nothing he can do, or say to me that will make up for my life being the clusterfuck that it is. I can’t honestly imagine any valid reason he’d want to see me, unless he’s feeling guilty, finally, and for that he needs to suffer.” He takes one last drag and throws it down, stomping it out. “In fact,” he says with a heavy, cleansing sigh, “That is my salvation in all of this, knowing that he felt guilty enough to ask for me and knowing that I won’t be there, means that he will suffer, never getting to say goodbye before he dies.”
 

He pushes away from my car, standing a little straighter and a little more confidently than he was when he got here. “The only thing that would make it any sweeter would be forcing him to watch me kiss you before he goes.” He smirks. “That would be the ultimate ‘fuck you’.”
 

I can’t help but shake my head and return his little smirk. “Well, whenever you’re ready to stuff it to him, I’ll be there,” I tell him as I stomp out my own cigarette and he takes my hand. “Do something for me?” I ask him.
 

“What?”

“When the tour is over, if you haven’t heard anything more from Iowa, will you consider returning?”
 

He drops my hand. “Why would I do that? I mean it, Eric, it means nothing to me.”
 

“Just hear me out. One of two things can happen. One, you tell me again that you won’t go, at least then you’ll have had some time to process the information you have now.” He goes to speak and I stop him with my finger on his lips. “Or, you will want to go back just to stuff it in his face that his treatments didn’t work. Let him know that no matter what, you won, not him, not the doctors, not anyone in town. You, Calvin, you won, not him. Prove that to him.”
 

He smiles a little at what I’ve said. “And what if he’s gone before the tour is over?”
 

“Then we go back together and you can kiss me at his grave.”
 

“You’re an evil son of bitch, you know that?” he says with a laugh.
 

I laugh too. “I’m aware, but either way it serves a purpose.”
 

He raises an eyebrow at me and asks, “And that is what exactly?”
 

I smile. “Closure. One way or another.”
 

He nods his understanding and maybe a little bit of approval too.
 

“Good, now, let’s go inside.” I usher him toward my building and he takes the lead, but not before taking my hand back into his.

“WHAT are you doing?” I ask Eric as he grabs a couple pillows off his bed.
 

“I thought you’d want to sleep in the guest room?” His voice is gentle and unsure.
 

I shake my head. “No, I’d like to sleep in here, with you.”
 

His face lights up and he sets the pillows back on the bed. “I’d hoped that would be the case.” He pauses, pretending to straighten the sheets. “After all that has happened today, I didn’t want to push you.”
 

“Well, you’re not. But I do have one condition.”
 

His eyes meet mine. “Anything?”
 

“With clothes, please?” He nods his approval of my request. “I just… I don’t know how I would react to that, at least not while I’m asleep and I don’t want a repeat performance from this afternoon either.”
 

“I understand.” He puts his arm out, an invitation. “Come here.”
 

I smile and walk around the end of the bed and settle in against him. He slowly wraps his arms around me and I wrap my arms around him. He kisses the top of my head and the growing familiar tingle ignites within me and I want so badly to try again, but I’m scared to death of what will happen if we do. It’s with that thought that I resolve myself to behave. I truly don’t want to put myself back in that position twice in one day. I don’t know if I can handle it. Between what happened between us earlier and that fucking phone call, I’m a fucking wreck.
 

“Did you bring any clothes up from your car?”

I laugh nervously. “Uhh, no. I can run down and grab some.”
 

He kisses the top of my head again. “No need. Wear what you had on earlier.”
 

I nod and hug him a little tighter, he does the same and I release him, grabbing the sweats off of the bed from earlier, leaving the t-shirt. I catch his playful smirk when he realizes I’m leaving it there. “I’m just gonna-” I gesture toward the bathroom door and he nods his understanding. I don’t know why I feel shy about changing in front of him, maybe it’s just habit, or maybe I’m worried that I’m going to start something, indirectly, that I can’t finish.
 

Tomorrow will be a long day, flying to Denver from here isn’t that big of a deal, but we have a show tomorrow night, one we added at the beginning of the tour. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Then we’re hotel bound after what will likely be a night in the bar. I shudder at the idea of being in the bar, being around the guys, and…I swallow as the burn of acid trickles up my throat. Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to tell the guys yet, let alone be next to Eric in that fashion, fuck.

How the hell am I supposed to bring that up to him? I mean, I sort of did tonight, before we went to dinner, but this is different, this is the guys.
 

I sigh as I pull up the sweatpants from earlier and run a hand through my hair before taking a deep breath and walking out of the bathroom.
 

I can’t help but smile when I come out. Eric is lying on the bed, covers pulled down and he’s wearing his sweatpants, sans shirt. My heart flutters at seeing him shirtless. I have to be honest and tell myself that I’ve always found Eric, shirtless or not, attractive, though I’d never been able to dwell on it until now. Usually it was always a fleeting thought.
 

I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the door jamb, watching him fiddle on his phone. I smile at some of his facial expressions. Wondering what he’s looking at that would cause a scowl, then a smirk, and then finally a blush. I raise an eyebrow as something I’m unfamiliar with rolls through me while I watch him. “What you looking at?” I ask without moving. An overwhelming need to know allows the words to spill before I can stop myself.
 

He smiles wider and looks at me. “Our text messages.”
 

I scowl at him. “Our texts? From when?”
 

His smile doesn’t fade away even an ounce. “Oh, over the last week,” he says in a taunting voice.
 

“So why the scowl before the smirk and blush?” I chide.
 

He laughs. “I’m not the most eloquent with words sometimes.”
 

I roll my eyes. “Oh, on the contrary, I find your words very eloquent and very true to who you are and I like that.” I push away from the door and walk around the foot of the bed.
 

“I guess hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I thought it sounded good in my head, but I know what I was feeling when I wrote some of these and now, reading them, they don’t exactly sound, umm, good?”
 

“You know? I think that one thing we have going for us is that we’ve been around each other long enough to know what the other is trying to say or even how they’re saying it. I know when I read your texts that I always felt like you were talking to me, like I could picture your face, or hear your voice. My favorite image was when the chat bubble would hang out forever, I could see you staring at your phone,” I chuckle, “With your tongue pressed between your teeth, reaching for your nose.”
 

“Oh my god,” he says before he goes beet red, setting his phone down and covering his face. He is thoroughly embarrassed.

“I kind of like it when you’re embarrassed,” I tease him as I climb up on to the bed. I crawl over to him on my knees and sit back before pulling his arms away from his face. Okay fine, I try and pull his arms away. I start to laugh.
 

“I never knew you noticed that.” His voice is lighthearted and muffled by his hands over his mouth.
 

I laugh and place a hand on his stomach. He flinches but settles quickly, my touch taking him by surprise. He can’t see me, so I shouldn’t expect anything else. “I always knew when you were concentrating on something, whether it was guitar or even school work back in the day. Your tongue would get mashed between your lips and,” I chuckle again, “It’s pretty fucking cute. You were doing it in the car tonight too.”
 

“Gah,” he groans, but he moves his hands, placing one over mine on his stomach. I intertwine our fingers but he’s yet to make eye contact with me.
 

“I’m surprised you even know you do it. Something like that is a nervous habit most people don’t know they have.”
 

He snorts a laugh. “Oh I know, one, my mother used to always try and grab it between her fingers. Funny thing about that though, she does it too. But ultimately, I catch myself doing it and that’s usually when I pull it back in my mouth.”

I laugh and lay myself down next to him. He opens his arm for me to snuggle in and I do, sliding my hand across his stomach, holding him to me. He does the same with his arm, wrapping it around me. “I think it’s cute,” I tell him softly and he leans up, kissing the top of my head again.
 

“Well, then maybe I won’t pull it back in anymore.” His tone is light, friendly, the embarrassment seems to be gone.
 

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” I tell him as I start to trace my fingers over some of his tattoos along his side, over on to his stomach. He flinches, and I watch as his stomach muscles jump and I can feel him shaking.
 

“Ahh, that tickles.”
 

I smile wide and settle my hand. “Sorry.”
 

“Don’t be, for either. I guess I just didn’t realize that anyone had noticed my little quirk.”
 

“I guess it just means I’ve been paying attention,” I tell him and it’s true. “Though I couldn’t dwell on it, I noticed it, a lot. Though nowhere near as much as you’d done it in college. It still comes out once in a while. Like when you put your bass down and pick up your guitar.”
 

He laughs. “That’s because I don’t play it very much. I actually have to think more about what I’m doing in order to play.” He laughs again. “I also do it a lot while playing video games.”