Cash and Carter finished and he continued his search for songs. I watched his face, waiting for a reaction to my musical tastes. All I got was a smothered yawn.
“They’re not that bad,” I protested.
“Sorry. Big day.”
“David, if you’re tired, we don’t have to—”
“No. I’m fine. But do you mind if I lie down?”
David on my bed. Well, he was already on my bed but … “Sure.”
He gave me a cagey look but started tugging off his sneakers. “You just being polite?”
“No, it’s fine. And, I mean, legally the bed is still half yours,” I joked, pulling out the ear bud before his movements did it for me. “So, what did you do today?”
“Been working on the new album and sorting out some stuff.” Hands behind his head, he stretched out across my bed. “You lying down too? We can’t share the music if you don’t.”
I crawled on and lay down next to him, wriggling around a bit, making myself comfortable. It was, after all, my bed. And he would be the only male who’d ever lain on it. The slight scent of his soap came to me, clean and warm and David. All too well, I remembered. For once, hurt didn’t seem to come attached to the memory. I poked around inside my head, double-checking. When I’d said I was out of mad, it had apparently been nothing more than the truth. We had our issues, but him cheating on me wasn’t one of them. I knew that now and it meant a lot.
“Here.” He handed me back the ear bud and started playing with my cell again.
“How’s Jimmy?” I rolled onto my side, needing to see him. The strong line of his nose and jaw was in profile, the curve of his lips. How many times had I kissed him? Not nearly enough to last me if it never happened again.
“He’s doing a lot better. Seems to have really gotten himself right. I think he’s going to be okay.”
“That’s great news.”
“At least he comes by his problems honestly,” he said, his tone turning bitter. “Our mother is a fucking disaster from what I hear. But then, she always was. She used to take us to the park because she needed to score. She’d turn up to school plays and parent–teacher nights high as a kite.”
I kept my mouth shut, letting him get it out. The best thing I could do for him was to be there and listen. The pain and anger in his voice was heartbreaking. My parents had their overbearing issues, certainly, but nothing like this. David’s childhood had been terrible. If I could have bitch-slapped his mother right then for putting that pain in his voice, I would have. Twice over.
“Dad ignored her using for years. He could. He was a long-haul truck driver, away most of the time. Jimmy and me were the ones that had to put up with her shit. The number of times we’d come home to find her babbling all sorts of stuff or passed out on the couch. There’d be no food in the house ’cause she’d spent the grocery money on pills. Then one day we came home from school and she and the TV were gone. That was it.” He stared up at nothing, his face drawn. “She didn’t even leave a note. Now she’s back and she’s been hurting Jimmy. It drives me nuts.”
“That must have been hard for you,” I said. “Hearing about her from Jimmy.”
One of his shoulders did a little lift. “He shouldn’t have had to deal with her on his own. Said he wanted to protect me. Seems my big brother isn’t a completely selfish prick.”
“Thank you for texting me.”
“S’okay. What do you feel like listening to?” The sudden change in topic told me he didn’t want to talk about his family anymore. He yawned again, his jaw cracking. “Sorry.”
“The Saint Johns.”
He nodded, flicking through to find the only song I had of theirs. The strum of the guitar started softly, filling my head. He put the cell on his chest and his eyelids drifted down. A man and a woman took turns singing about their head and their heart. Throughout it, his face remained calm, relaxed. I started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. But when the song finished he turned to look at me.
“Nice. A bit sad,” he said.
“You don’t think they’ll be together in the end?”
He, too, rolled onto his side. There was no more than a hand’s width between us. With a curious look, he handed me the cell. “Play me another song you like.”
I scrolled through the screens, trying to decide what to play for him. “I forgot to tell you, someone was in saying they’d seen you today. Your anonymity might be about to run out.”
He sighed. “Bound to happen sooner or later. They’ll just have to get used to me being around.”
“You’re really not leaving?” I tried to keep my voice light but it didn’t work.
“No. I’m really not.” He looked at me and I just knew he saw everything. All of my fears and dreams and the hopes I did my best to keep hidden, even from myself. But I couldn’t hide from him if I tried. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“You asked me if you were my attempt at normal. I need you to understand, that’s not it at all. Being with you, the way I feel about you, it does ground me. But that’s because it makes me question fucking everything. It makes me want to make things better. Makes me want to be better. I can’t hide from shit or make excuses when it comes to you because that won’t work. Neither of us is happy when things are that way and I want you to be happy …” His forehead furrowed and his dark brows drew tight. “Do you understand?”
“I think so,” I whispered, feeling so much for him right then I didn’t know which way was up.
He yawned again, his jaw cracking. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m beat. You mind if I close my eyes for five minutes?”
“No.”
He did so. “Play me another song?”
“On it.”
I played him “Revelator” by Gillian Welch, the longest, most soothing song I could find. I’d guess he fell asleep about halfway through. His features relaxed and his breathing deepened. Carefully, I pulled out the earbuds and put the cell away. I switched on the bedside lamp and turned off the main one, shut the door so Lauren and Nate’s eventual return didn’t wake him. Then I lay back down and just stared at him. I don’t know for how long. The compulsion to stroke his face or trace his tattoos made my fingers itch, but I didn’t want to wake him. He obviously needed the sleep.
When I woke up in the morning he was gone. Disappointment was a bitter taste. I’d just had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks, devoid of the usual tense and angsty dreams I seemed to specialize in of late. When had he left? I rolled onto my back and something crinkled, complaining loudly. With a hand, I fished out a piece of paper. It had obviously been torn from one of my notepads. The message was brief but beautiful.
I’m still not leaving Portland.