Page 76 of Pieces of Me

“What’s wrong?” he asked, arranging the towel back on the rack and turning to face him.

Scott crossed his arms over his chest. “Broke up with Lance a little while ago,” he said. “Actually, I can’t break up something that didn’t exist in the first place, can I? Let’s say I clarified things for him.” He was trying to look unconcerned, but Rylan could see the telltale whiteness around his lips that always meant Scott was upset.

“How did it go?” Rylan kept his voice neutral, heading back into the bedroom to grab his leather choker from the top of the dresser, fumbling a little as he tried to manipulate the fastener.

“Here, let me.” Scott took over, hooking the clasp easily, his warm fingers brushing over the sensitive nape of Rylan’s neck and sending a wave of goose bumps down his body. He shivered as his nipples hardened in reaction, the silky fabric of his T-shirt against them making them feel almost unbearably sensitive.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely. He gulped when Scott rested his hands briefly on his shoulders and squeezed once before letting him go.

“You’re welcome.”

Rylan led the way back out into the tiny kitchen. “You want some coffee? I was about to make some.”

Scott shrugged. “Sure.” He waited while Rylan put the coffee on to brew. “It went about how you’d expect. I hurt him.”

“I’m sorry.” Rylan leaned back against the counter and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I think that’s the nature of breakups, though. Someone is going to get hurt.”

Scott settled next to Rylan and mirrored his pose, the hissing and gurgling of the coffeemaker on the counter beside them comforting in its familiarity. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just―he’s a nice guy. Smart, funny, good in bed. He’s taking college classes in accounting, is going to have a decent future after he’s done with porn. He’s not a loser.”

The coffeemaker beeped as the coffee finished brewing, the fragrant aroma filling the small room, giving it a cozy, homey feel. Rylan pulled down some of the old chipped mugs he’d picked up at a yard sale and poured them both a cup.

They sipped in silence for a minute. “He brought me a present from Vegas, and he’d put a lot of thought into it. It wasn’t some random shit he grabbed at the last minute. It was something he knew I’d appreciate.” Scott put his cup down and paced restlessly over to the sliding door that led out to Rylan’s tiny balcony, pushing the blinds aside to stare at his own reflection in the glass.

“Letting me know he cared, that he listened. He wasn’t being unreasonable, Rylan.” He tapped his fist lightly on the glass door, his whole body tense with frustration. “He wanted more, and he was making sure I knew it.”

“You can’t force feelings―” Rylan began, and Scott let out a bitter laugh.

“But I didn’t even try. I didn’t care enough to try, and instead of letting him down gently when I realized what was going on, I kept having sex with him for the simple reason that I fucking wanted to. His feelings didn’t matter until they started to piss me off.”

Rylan didn’t know what to say, and suddenly Scott whirled, an expression of self-loathing flitting across his face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he rasped. “You more than anyone have reason to hate me, and here I am whining like a little bitch while reinforcing the idea that I’m an utter prick.”

Rylan was astonished. “Hate you?” he exclaimed. “I’ve never hated you, Scott. Not for one minute.”

Scott gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, right. I’ll never forget the look on your face when I drove off that night, Rylan. The tears in your eyes…the way you begged me not to go…” He began to pace in agitation. “I stole your money and, worst of all, left you alone with her.”

Rylan put his hand on Scott’s arm, and Scott shook it off, his tone harsh as he said, “Don’t try to tell me you don’t hate me, Rylan, because I won’t believe you.”

He strode for the door, and Rylan didn’t try to chase him, just called after him, “I’d like you to stay. Stay and finish your coffee. Please.” He moved over to the counter and picked up their mugs before carrying them to the table and sitting down.

Scott stood still, his hand on the knob, but he didn’t make any further attempt to leave. Rylan sipped his coffee, his voice calm as he said, “I was hurt and angry when you left, yes. I won’t lie about that. But that didn’t even begin to compare to how worried and scared I was, too.”

The muscles in Scott’s shoulders bunched as he gripped the doorknob hard, but to Rylan’s relief he relented and sat next to him, pulling his mug to him and hunching over it, his long fingers wrapped around it as if desperately seeking the warmth.

“I don’t hate you,” Rylan went on gently. “How could I? I was there that night. And I lived with you for months, saw what she was capable of.”

Scott pushed his mug away and dropped his head down to his folded arms. “You don’t know the half of it,” he whispered, the muffled hollowness of his voice sending a little chill down Rylan’s spine. “You really don’t.”

Rylan set his own cup aside and propped his elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of him and resting his chin on them. “My mom didn’t drink,” he said softly. “She popped Valium.” Scott didn’t move, but Rylan sensed he was listening. “She had severe anxiety and depression, sometimes to where she couldn’t even get out of bed. If my dad was on the road, it would be up to me to get myself up, fix breakfast, and get to school on time.” He shrugged. “If I didn’t do it myself, I wouldn’t be going. I loved school, so I learned how to set two alarms: one to get up and one to tell me when I should be walking out the door. It worked.”

Scott lifted his head from his arms, his green eyes somber, and Rylan said, “When I was a little kid, that was just…my mom. I didn’t know anything different. As I got older and it got harder and harder for her to function―” He gave another shrug, as if the years of watching his mother succumb to her demons hadn’t peeled the skin off him, strip by strip, leaving every raw nerve exposed. “I know she loved me, and my dad. But sometimes it took all her strength to get out of bed, and there wasn’t a whole lot left for anything or anyone else. Not to say there weren’t good times, because there were. Lots of them, but―”

Scott’s eyes held his, and Rylan went on, the words spilling out of him as he shared things he’d never shared with any other human being, including his own father. “But there were days, when things were not so good, that I’d get home from school and stand on the porch taking deep breaths before going inside, bracing myself for what I might find. I’d call for her, and if she didn’t answer right away, I―” He swallowed hard. “I kept this old stuffed dog next to the front door, and I’d grab it and hold it as I went to look for her. She was always there, always―alive, even if she was in a drugged sleep because of her ‘happy pill.’”

Rylan started as he felt Scott squeeze his fingers, and he looked down, noticing that his hand was gripping Scott’s; he hadn’t even remembered them reaching out for each other. He squeezed back. “But one day, she was―she wasn’t there. Some of her things gone, her promise ring on the dresser―”

“I remember you showing me those pictures.” Scott’s voice was soft.

He threaded his fingers more firmly with Rylan’s, the warmth, the touch, giving Rylan the courage to say, “My dad was convinced she ran off with another man, that she was happy somewhere with a new family. It helped him cope. Me?” A lump rose up in his throat, threatening to choke him. “You know how I used to pretend about the witness protection?” Scott nodded. “The truth is, I think she wanted to spare her child from being the one to find her. So she went somewhere―else―”