Chapter Text
NICK
My knuckles were white as I held on to the steering wheel for dear life, rain pounding the windscreen, the wipers doing their best to keep us from drowning. I knew that feeling all too well, a desperate clawing for air, even on land. It had been constant since the night that broke us.
Breathe, Nick.
I sucked in air as I glanced at the passenger seat. It was the first time in thirteen months I’d been able to take a full lungful of air, the cage of grief and anxiety around my lungs giving me a respite.
Charlie.
I’d finally stopped counting the days, hours, minutes without him. It had been over a year since I’d seen his smile, heard his voice, smelled his cologne, looked into the blue eyes that were as familiar to me as my own. We needed to talk, deal with both of us being fucking idiots, but not tonight. Right now, all that mattered was keeping Charlie safe and comfortable.
“Charlie needs you,” Tori had said when she’d called, and I’d already had my keys in my hand. It’d taken an hour in traffic to reach him, another forty minutes of fending off his parents while getting Charlie to the car, and nearly ninety minutes back in this relentless deluge, avoiding flooded streets and reckless accidents. Thankfully, Tori had given Charlie something to help both with the pain and sleep.
It wasn’t that Charlie’s family didn’t want to help him after his emergency surgery, it’s that they were terrible at it. Their inaccessible house and passive aggressive resentment had resulted in Charlie sleeping on the bathroom floor for days at a time, forgoing food too often, and Jane finally calling Tori to “do something with him.”
I swallowed my heart down from my throat as I pulled into my garage, relief that we made it flooding every inch of my body. I should’ve waited until after the storm, but I couldn’t . I needed to get Charlie someplace emotionally safe, someplace where he could take up space and ask for help without feeling like a burden. Jane and Julio were many things, but loving caretakers were not on that list.
Slipping out of the car, I grabbed my grandpa’s old wheelchair. I’d inherited the chair along with the house, which was set up for an elderly person with limited mobility. A first floor master bedroom with attached bathroom, doorways wide enough for a wheelchair to pass through, and ramps at the garage and back entrance made this the ideal place for Charlie’s recovery.
And maybe…
I sighed.
It took me losing him after eleven years of friendship to figure out I wasn’t straight, that he was the person I loved most in this world. Our fight and my divorce had left me with wide open eyes… no. Now wasn’t the time to think about anything except getting Charlie inside.
I opened the passenger door of the car and crouched down. Charlie looked so small, curled in on himself, the seat leaning as far back as it could go. He had several days worth of stubble on his chin, his hair was messy from anxious tugs, and his pale skin was marred by dark circles under fluttering eyelids. I smoothed the crease between his brows with my thumb, then brushed the hair off his forehead. One of his soft curls wrapped around my finger and my breath caught in my chest. How had it taken me this long to realize I was in love with him ?
“Stop petting me like I’m Nellie,” he grumbled.
“Nellie wouldn’t be this cranky with me,” I teased.
“That’s because you feed her.”
“I can feed you, too.”
“Maybe after you can let me out to piss on the lawn, too.” He pushed himself upright, expression tight with pain. He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”
I lifted a shoulder. “I did kind of kidnap you.”
“Yes, well….”
He carefully moved his left leg with his hands and straightened. His bright blue cast was still pristine, being only three days old. It had been the catalyst for Tori’s call. Jane made a snarky comment about the “childish” color, Charlie snapped back, and things escalated until the breaking point.
My stomach tightened as I eyed the plaster trapping his leg from knee to toes. An ankle break from a fall, so serious that it required surgery and bed rest for five more weeks. I hadn’t even known until tonight. Three weeks since he fell, two since surgery, and I hadn’t known.
Never again would I let that happen.
“Nick?” Charlie asked. “You good?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, sorry, just thinking about how to do this. I’m going to lift you out of the car and transfer you to the chair, okay?” I asked. I was starting to shiver, despite it being June, which meant Charlie was probably an icicle.
“Seems like a terrible idea for your back.”
“Would you rather sleep in the garage?” He was right; it was definitely not proper transfer technique. But his arms were shaking just sitting and I guessed he didn’t have the energy to move himself...and maybe I just wanted to hold him close for a moment.
He sighed. “Fine. It’s your back.” He held up his arms.
I leaned down and slipped one arm under his knees, and one around his mid back. “Arms around my neck.”
His arms went up and held tight as I shifted him out of the car. For one brief moment, his body was exactly where I had dreamt it would be for months. Holding me tight, nearly chest to chest. It was a bit awkward, but I didn’t care.
I missed the heat of him immediately when I sat him down in the chair. I fiddled with the foot rest, raising it so his injured leg was elevated. Ignoring my longing to touch him again, I grabbed his duffel bag from the car as he attempted to wheel himself towards the ramp.
“I’ve got it,” I promised. “Let me.” I waited for his permission before I touched the chair handles, a rule my mother drilled into my head when I was caretaking for my grandpa. Mobility aids should be treated like an extension of someone’s body.
“I can do it,” Charlie argued, his voice thin with fatigue.
“Char, just because you can doesn’t mean you have to do everything yourself,” I reminded him. “I want to help.”
He crossed his arms and sighed. “Fine. You can push me.”
“Thank you.” With his consent, I maneuvered the chair up the ramp, paused to open the door, and pushed him through the kitchen and into the master bedroom. “If you give me a few, I can change the sheets. I didn’t have time...”
“You still obsessively change them every week?” he asked.
“It’s not obsessive, it’s clean—”
“It’s fine. Just want sleep.”
I nodded and pulled down the blankets, then angled the chair next to the bed and put on the brakes.
Charlie pushed himself up and pivoted on his good leg, then fell into bed with a pained moan, followed by a contented sigh. “So much better than the bathroom floor.”
His words hit me in the chest and I swallowed down my anger at his parents. He needed compassion and empathy right now. I grabbed an extra pillow and slipped it underneath his cast to elevate it, wincing at his pained grunt. “How about a little toast before you go to bed?”
He drowsily shook his head. “Tomorrow, promise.”
I blew out a breath. Forcing the issue would only make it worse. “Okay, text or call me if you need anything. There’s a jug on the nightstand if you have a bathroom emergency. There are also baby wipes, tissues, and paracetamol. I’ll grab a bottle of water and some crackers in case.”
He nodded, eyes closed. I opened his duffel bag and took out his favorite stuffie, Kitty, and he instinctively grabbed it, holding it close. I smiled, wishing I could take a picture of how adorable he looked. I missed you like breathing. Please don’t leave me again.
I plugged in his phone, putting it in easy reach, then hurried to the kitchen. By the time I returned with the water and crackers, he was fast asleep. I turned off the lamp then gently closed the door, sinking to the floor in the hall.
He was here. Charlie was here. The nightmare was over, at least for now.
Covering my face with my hands, I let the anxiety, regret, fear, love, hope rail against my ribs. The ice cold hole in my chest burst with light, warm and permeating. My eyes stung with unspoken emotion, a small sob escaping. I forced myself to move to the spare room down the hall so I wouldn’t wake Charlie.
While I’d thrown out the too small, old bed that had once occupied the space, I hadn’t replaced it yet. I never had visitors that stayed overnight that didn’t sleep in bed with me. I opened the closet and tugged out the sleeping bag that had been on exactly one camping trip. I’d forgotten to grab a pillow, but I could use my balled up jumper.
As I climbed into the musty sleeping bag, my thoughts kept replaying Charlie’s broken face when I barged into the bathroom at his parents’ house. He’d looked so lifeless, a shell of himself. The spark of hope when he realized it was me nearly brought me to his knees. Sucking in steadying breaths and angrily wiping stray tears from my face, I reached for my phone and hit the top favorite.
“Nicky, what’s wrong?” Mum asked, her voice thick with sleep.
With her three words, the floodgates opened.