Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Charlie began talking about tongue-and-groove joints, the load-bearing capacities of different woods, and Jack’s questions made it clear he knew what these things meant. Simon listened to every word, trying to move outside himself. Then he listened to every syllable, sense dissolving into sound. Then it was just two low voices, dancing, and Simon closed his eyes.
* * *
“Do you want to stay tonight?” Jack asked as they waved goodbye to Charlie and made their way to the car.
Do you want me to? Simon asked, but nothing came out. He raised his eyebrows in question.
“I’d love it,” Jack said. “But I get if you just want to go home.”
Simon shook his head. “No,” he managed to get out, shocked to hear that his voice sounded normal.
They drove in silence, Simon forcing himself to concentrate on the road even though his head felt swimmy and his eyes burned.
At Jack’s they were greeted with much yipping, barking, tail wagging, and licking. Simon put his arms around Bernard and pressed his face to the dog’s huge head. Bernard wriggled with joy.
“Let’s let them out for a few minutes,” Jack murmured. “I’ll just stand with them, okay? You want to take a shower?”
Simon nodded. The change of temperature sometimes did help him feel better.
Jack pressed a kiss to his temple and Simon closed his eyes.
You still have this. You didn’t lose it. He still likes you.
Under the sluice of hot water, Simon let himself cry. It was the overflow that usually followed a period of panic—not sadness but a kind of familiar hopeless exhaustion with a vein of self-pity and relief.
He dried off and pulled on a pair of Jack’s flannel boxers and the sweatshirt Jack had been wearing earlier. It was worn soft and smelled like Jack. Simon put the hood up over his damp hair and flopped into bed. Louis’ head popped up from the foot of the bed, so hidden in shadow that Simon hadn’t seen him.
“Sorry,” he murmured. Louis put his head back down.
Simon curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. He could hear Jack talking outside but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He heard Rat’s yipping bark and then the sound of the door opening. A stampede of furry feet followed, then Jack rambling around on his crutches, no doubt shutting off lights and stoking the fire. Every now and then he muttered or swore and Simon knew a crutch had caught on something or Jack had forgotten about his leg and hurt himself.
It sounded like home.
When Jack crawled into bed with him, smelling of toothpaste and displacing an irritated Louis, Simon realized he’d been half dozing.
“Hey,” Jack said. “How are you doing?”
Jack’s inquiry was sincere. He laid a soft hand on Simon’s back.
“Kind of bad,” Simon whispered.
He rolled over to face Jack in the comforting darkness. Jack took Simon’s hands in his own.
“I’m so sorry, Jack.”
He felt Jack stiffen.
“Darlin’, no. No way. Don’t you dare apologize. It’s my fault. You told me... I didn’t... It’s not that I didn’t believe you. I just, I thought it would be okay.”
“Same thing,” Simon mumbled. Jack had thought it’d be okay because he couldn’t imagine how it was possible to be as much of a basket case as Simon was.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Jack hesitated, then said, “Yeah. I guess you’re right. My fault.”
The air was thick with apology and Simon hated it. He hated that he’d let Jack down and he hated that he’d do it again if Jack spent any more time with him. And he was too tired at the moment to control his thoughts about it. He moved closer and threw his arm over Jack’s stomach.
“It’s not your fault. It’s just...how I am.”
“I like you how you are,” Jack said fiercely. “But I hate—I fucking hate—how bad you feel.”
Simon nodded and let Jack draw him into his arms.
“I’m used to it,” he said. “And it still sucks.”
The scent of outside clung to Jack’s hair and Simon buried his face in his neck. Jack stroked up and down his back. How was it possible to go from feeling so bad to feeling so good?
“Charlie’s nice,” he murmured.
“Yeah. Too nice for his own good,” Jack said affectionately.
“No such thing.”
Jack squeezed him tighter.
He was exhausted, but his comfort was being eroded by the thoughts that had plagued him earlier.
“What...what did you think of me when we first met?” Simon asked.
“I thought you were the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen,” Jack answered instantly.
“But what did you think about...me?”
“I thought I’d scared you or offended you because I was in such a bad mood. Here was this guy doing me a huge favor and I was all...grouchy and shit.”
“What else?”
“I thought you were awkward,” Jack said. His voice was so gentle, so fond. “I thought you were shy.” He kissed Simon’s hair. “I thought maybe if I didn’t fuck it up I could get you to... I dunno, stick around a bit.”