Touch the Sky (Free Fall Book 1) (5 page)

M
y heart won’t calm
down; it’s pounding like crazy, thumping in my ears. I just told Lucas, whom I realize is still a significant person in my life, that I have bipolar disorder.

And what he thinks of me matters. It matters so fucking much. It shouldn’t, but it does, and now it’s finally out in the open. That initial look of fear in his expression, mixed with pity and wariness, makes me want to puke. To walk right out his door and never look back.

But then his eyes transformed a split second later. They softened and turned to warmth and affection and I felt like I could breathe again. Now he’s watching me like he’s seeing me for the first time and trying to soak me in—and I think maybe it’s going to be okay between us.

Hopefully we can even stay in contact. Maybe he’ll eventually open up to me too. He’s still holding back and that’s okay because my news is like a sucker punch to the gut.

Tell me everything.

Lucas finally sits down and relaxes against his bulky couch cushions, and it’s like we’ve switched positions. I’m pacing back and forth in front of him on the worn carpet, my confidence waning again.

“We don’t have to say anything more to each other. You can just ask me to leave.” Lucas’s eyebrows slam together. “I came here to tell you the truth because I wanted you to know that I didn’t ditch you. And I guess I needed to know that you’re okay.” I stop right in front of him and our knees almost brush. “You’re okay, right?”

He nods and swallows roughly but doesn’t say anything more, just stares into my eyes. It makes me anxious so I start pacing again.

“I mean, I can see that you’re all right on the surface,” I say in my rambling way. The guys on the job poke fun of me when I get like this, call me gabby Gabe. But I can’t help it. My thoughts are racing and I need to get them out. “You have your own place, a decent job. I don’t know if you’re studying to become an architect or engineer or whatever it was you wanted to pursue to make those skyscrapers...”

When I glance over at him, his mouth is hanging open as if he can’t believe I remember that about him. But I keep going, randomness spewing from my lips. “And God, look at you…you’re…you’re fucking stunning. I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. It’s just…after only seeing photos and imagining how you’d look in person, I…”

I stop and huff out a breath. I sound so fucking ridiculous. Rushing my fingers through my hair, I glance toward the door, thinking now would be the right time to make my exit. He doesn’t owe me anything. I came here for one thing and I already accomplished that.

“Don’t leave.” Lucas’s voice is soft and deep, and my head snaps in his direction. I glance at his mouth, those smooth lips, to make sure I heard him right. “Please, I…”

“I thought you had to work,” I say, motioning to the small clock on his side table. “You said to make it quick—”

“I just said that because I didn’t know what to expect,” he says, his cheeks coloring. “I was so pissed at you. I mean, damn, I took a
swing
at you. But I’m not mad anymore.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, relief shuddering through me. Thank fuck.

“And I meant what I said. I want to hear everything,” he says, adjusting himself on the couch. “You were really locked up?”

I bite my lip and shove my hands inside my hoodie, finally able to calm down a bit more.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Can you sit down? You’re making me nervous as hell.” He pats the seat next to him. “I can get you something to drink. Are you always this fidgety?”

I chuckle. His barrage of questions is pretty fucking cute. “Sometimes, yeah.”

It feels so natural to laugh with him and I wonder if he thinks so too.

“Do I make you nervous? Is it because I slugged you?” he asks, looking wary again. “Because I said I was sorry and I’ll never—”

“No,” I say, finally sinking down beside him. “You don’t make me nervous, at least not in that way.”

I push back toward the cushion opposite him and tuck my legs so that I can face him better. He’s quiet as his gaze maps the entire landscape of my body, and I wonder what he’s thinking as I look away.

“Not sure where to even start. I…I went up on that bridge after a huge fight with my parents about an English grade,” I mumble, but he stays silent, as if waiting on me. “The teacher had written that I was rushing through my assignments and making careless mistakes. It felt like everyone was coming at me at once but nobody was really seeing me, just talking over me, and I thought my head was going to explode.” I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. “I felt so alive on that ledge, full of possibilities—like nobody was going to lecture or yell at me or tell me to shape up. It was just me and the wind. And at least the wind was silent, listening and waiting. I could tell the wind my secrets and it wouldn’t fucking judge me.” I wring my hands. “And…and then I thought of you—that maybe you wouldn’t either.”

I have trouble making eye contact with Lucas as heat burns my cheeks. My confession is embarrassing and I probably just freaked him the hell out. Except his eyes are wide and compassionate and it helps me finish my thought. “But I was also terrified and so damn confused about everything. I didn’t understand what the heck was happening to me. I was pretty messed up but they got me evened out with meds.”

He draws his bottom lip between his teeth as if to hold himself back from any kind of strong reaction. “Those meds though—fuck. At first they made me feel like I was seeing the world behind some kind of glass wall, and I didn’t like it one damn bit.”

“But they help right?” he asks, his forehead scrunching. “I mean you seem…okay now.”

“They helped for the most part, along with therapy. And once they got the dosage squared, I was able to function a hell of a lot better,” I say, puffing out a breath, remembering how crazy those initial side effects were—the nausea and the constant dry mouth. I don’t tell him all of it though. I can’t give away everything. Not now. Not yet. I don’t even know if I’ll see him again after this. “Once I graduated high school, it took me some time to figure out what to do. I knew I needed to break away from my parents and try to make it completely on my own. Living there was not healthy for me.”

He nods, as if remembering all the things I told him about my fucked-up relationship with my mom and dad. He knew how strict they were with me. How they just wanted me to be the good son, probably so I could remain invisible to them. The idea of that makes acid churn in my gut.

“I thought about you, often, and wondered if you’d come here. If you’d made it,” I say, fidgeting with the frayed hem of my jeans. “I imagined you having this awesome life, maybe a hot boyfriend. In fact, I thought maybe…”

I shake my head, a line of heat crawling across my neck.

“What?” he asks, his voice sounding husky. “What did you think?”

I force aside how attracted I feel being in such close proximity to him and focus instead on repairing our friendship, our broken connection.

“I thought maybe you didn’t want me to touch you the other night because you were serious about someone and…” I hold up my hands. “For the record, I wasn’t trying to make a move on you or anything.”

“I didn’t think that…” He blows out a hard breath. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Relief rushes through me but it’s short-lived. He probably thinks I’m too much of a wreck anyway, given everything I shared with him.

“It’s just…” I say, rearranging my jumbled thoughts. “There you were right in front of me—my old friend, my
good
friend—and I guess I needed to see if you were real.”

His solid gaze latches onto mine and it gives me the opportunity to finally stare at him unguardedly. His unruly hair curls beneath his jaw, and his green irises are as bright as gemstones. The scar by his eye that I always noticed from his photos sits prominently on his square-shaped face, as if it’s a battle wound. And maybe it is.

On impulse, I stretch out my fingers. “How did you get that?”

Lucas stiffens momentarily, his eyes flashing with pain, but then he seems to lean into my touch. My fingers trace over the jagged scar and I can hear his breath releasing in small pants. I want to keep my hand on his face and outline his jaw and lips and ear, but I figure he’s only tolerating me. As far as I’ve gathered, touch seems hard for him, so I pull away before I make him too uncomfortable.

“It’s a long story,” he mumbles, effectively dismissing my question. That’s when I realize that I’ve told him quite a bit about myself while he’s shared practically nothing.

We have a history and I feel like I know him, so maybe he needs me to keep prodding until he finally opens up, like he used to when we were kids.

“Does it involve your fists?” I say, only half joking. “You’ve got a mean right hook.”

He laughs. “I guess I deserve that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just remembering what you told me all those years ago about school and getting in trouble,” I say, trying to form some kind a bridge between us. “I shouldn’t pry. You obviously turned out all right, so…”

“No, it’s okay. My fists have definitely gotten me in trouble,” he says and there’s that glint of pain again. Like a deep ache sitting just below the surface. “But how about we save that for next time?”

“Next time?” I say and my voice sounds too optimistic, but I can’t help it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Next time. I think we could probably both use some space right now to think about some shit.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I say. “That means you could see us possibly…keeping in touch?”

He stands up which I guess is my cue to leave, so I follow suit, stretching out my cramped legs. “I do want that…I mean, if you want to?”

“That would be great,” I say. “I’ve missed you.”

I resist the urge to hug him, to feel his body close to mine, to smell him again. At this point, I need to accept anything he’s willing to give.

I walk to his door and twist the knob. “Thanks for letting me come over. For letting me explain everything.”

“Glad you did,” he says as I step into the hall. “And Gabriel? I missed you too.”

The door shuts before I can turn and look his way. See his eyes. I brace my hand against the peeling paint on the opposite wall as my heart rises to my throat. Well damn.

I
spend
hours looking up information on bipolar disorder. It sucks doing it all on my phone, but I don’t have a computer. I never cared much before, but now it feels stupid. I should at least have a tablet or something to make it easier.

Everything I read scares me. It makes me a douchebag but for a second, I consider never talking to him again. It’s a big deal, something like this. There’s this fear clawing at my insides that somehow I’ll make things worse for him. That I’ll screw up, make mistakes and then Gabriel will suffer for them.

But I know I can’t walk away either. I don’t have it in me. Seeing him feels like getting the only good part of my teen years back. No, that’s kind of a lie. I loved my mom, loved her more than anything. She was a good part of my youth, when she didn’t let her addiction take over.

I fall back on my bed. Why can’t just one fucking thing be easy? We both had to come to terms with being gay. I grew up poor, and my mom was an alcoholic. Gabriel’s parents were fucked in their own way. I fucked up and got locked up. He was institutionalized for something he had no control over. It’s like one thing after another.

But then…he said they got it under control. He said he’s okay.

I should have asked him about flying. He asked me about skyscrapers. Why didn’t I ask him about flying?

So, I do. I open a new email and type his name in.

Gabriel,

Are you going to fly?

Lucas

And then I hit send before jumping in the shower to get ready for work.

It feels so petty, my previous anger at him, anger I had no right to feel. I think in a way I always saw Gabriel as this perfect fucking being. He made me feel better. I liked talking to him. His family had money. He wanted to be a pilot and even though I had dreams of my own, I saw his coming true, but not my own.

What do I know about anything? I’m a high school dropout, an ex-pot dealer who sometimes took things that weren’t mine if it meant paying bills or putting food on the table. And I solved everything with my fists.

I want you to be better than me, Lucas. You can be so much more than I ever was. That’s my one wish for you. I’d give anything to make that come true.

Turning off the water, I try to block my mom’s words out. I failed her. I’ve failed myself. I don’t want to fail in my friendship with Gabriel.

Conner’s off today. I work with a girl named Lisa. She’s in her early forties and reminds me of my mom. She has a kid at home, but she’s in the bar a whole hell of a lot on her days off.

We’re uncharacteristically busy for a weeknight. I pour beer after beer and make drink after drink, my reminder of what I don’t want.

When I take my break later that evening, I check my email and there’s a response from Gabriel.

Lucas,

There’s nothing I want more.

Gabriel

And then below it is his phone number. Calling each other wasn’t part of our friendship before. I’d never heard his voice until he came into the bar. Never seen his face. He’s even more gorgeous than I expected. A smile pulls at my lips when I think about him calling me stunning. There’s never been a time in my life someone called me something like that.

The hesitation is there, part of me wanting to call him now but the other part holds me back. It wasn’t that long ago that I told myself I hated him. We’ve seen each other twice and I punched him one of those times, leaving me at a fifty percent violence rate.

But this is what I’d dreamed of as a kid…making our friendship tangible. There have been two people in my life who I’ve given a shit about—my mom and Gabriel.

I can’t get her back, but I can have this. Maybe things can be that easy. Maybe I’m the one who makes them hard.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but my pulse speeds up as I make the call. The phone rings over and over and—
Hi, this is Gabriel. Leave a message
—of course he doesn’t answer.

I hang up the phone and start a text instead. I probably should have begun with a text anyway.
So why don’t you?
I ask him. I’m sure he’ll realize I mean fly.

An hour later as I’m pouring three shots of tequila my phone buzzes against my hip. It’s fucking ridiculous, but I feel that buzz inside me as well.

After handing the shots over, I take their money before pulling my phone out.
How about we save that for next time?
Gabriel uses my words on me. They’re not so fun on this side of it. Still, I realize I’m smiling.

Funny guy.

“Excuse me? Can I get another beer?” an older guy sitting on one of the barstools asks. We get a lot of construction workers and shit in here. I can tell he’s one of them and must have decided to call it a day early and drink instead. It’s then that I realize Gabriel probably should have been at work today. Or maybe not. How do I know his schedule?

“Yep. Coming right up.” I take his bottle of Bud before grabbing another and popping the top off.

The next time I have a chance to check my cell, his message says,
I’m actually not that funny. But I definitely have my moments. LOL. And, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.

But then if he doesn’t want to tell me, I don’t want to force him. The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable. I don’t know how all of this works. I don’t want to make him upset. Bipolar was never on my radar before now. I feel even more out of my element than I would becoming friends with someone else.

No…it’s cool.

But really, I want to know.

How’s work going?

Lisa’s voice pulls my attention away from my phone. “What are you smiling about?” Immediately I feel my lips stretch into an even line. I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling.

“Nothing,” I tell her.

Work picks up again and it’s not until I’m on my way home that I have the chance to text him again. It’s late, so I’m not sure if I should. I want to, I realize. I want to talk to him.

It was work. I fucking hate it there. Hey…are you busy this weekend?

I have to read the text over again to make myself believe I’m the one who wrote it. What in the hell am I doing?

No.
His response is almost immediate.

Do you want to do something?
I ask.

Yes.

Because suddenly, I really do want to know everything about him. I want to know what it was like when they locked him up, how good he must feel now that he’s better, and if he’s happy to have managed to get away from his family.

I want to know if he’s the guy I always imagined him to be.

What should we do?
I type back.

Surprise me.
It’s not the response I expected, but do I know him well enough to really expect anything out of him?

Okay.
I send back, even though I have no fucking clue what we’re going to do.

Btw, okay if I call you Gabe?

If I’m allowed to call you Luke.
I smirk at his response and realize how much I’m looking forward to getting to know him again.