Freedom in Falling Page 17

"You don't have to come in if you don't want," Charlotte said when she noticed him following her to the door.

  "I might as well since I'm here."

  The moment the door opened voices met his ears. His mom. And Reese. His stomach dropped. They had situated themselves in the dining room, just barely visible from the entryway as they sat around the table.

  "Charlotte? Is that you?" Mom called.

  "Yeah, it's me. I'm home." She headed over to say hello and West followed without thinking. Autopilot had taken over.

  The dining room table was scattered with papers, probably some kind of research, his mother sitting in the middle of it all with a cup of coffee and a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. Bought probably. His mother didn't cook. She barely prepared. She always said it was too much work for something that was only fuel. Reese sat opposite, one arm folded over the back of his chair as he turned towards them, a smile already in place. Another notch on the tension scale. West could already feel cold sweat prickling in all those little uncomfortable cracks and crevices he forgot about until moments like these. Reese had said some of the worst things with a smile on his face, as though the expression could change the meaning of what he'd said.

  "Oh and Westie's back too. That's twice in one day. Isn't this a treat." He nodded at Charlotte. "Where did you get that?"

  She looked down, hands pressed against her chest as she inspected herself. "What? Get what? What's on me?"

  "The coat, Char. The coat. You didn't have that when you left. I thought you were going to dinner, not out shopping."

  "We did. This is from West's—"

  "Charlotte," he warned. Not with Reese here. No. Just no.

  "Isn't it great?" Charlotte went on like she hadn't said anything a second ago. She spun in place to display her prize. Reese's look was noncommittal, but Charlotte seemed not to notice as she bounced over to kiss their mother on the cheek. "I'm off to shower. Goodnight."

  She shot West a conspiratorial look before she trotted off, her feet thumping up the stairs to her room. Everywhere she went, she went loudly.

  "That was quite the coat. A little much though, don't you think? Looks like she dragged it out of the kindergarten trash."

  West ignored him. He really tried.

  His mother finally looked up and seemed to notice he was still standing there. "The prodigal son returns!" she said. "I was starting to think you'd fallen off the face of the world. I left you two messages yesterday. You never return my calls anymore. I needed to talk to you."

  "I was busy."

  "You can't make time for your own mother? I thought you were done with finals. What could possibly be keeping you that busy?"

  "It wasn't school."

  She stared unblinking, awaiting further explanation. He should have prepared an excuse. Now his mind spun futilely as he searched for a way out of this conversation that wouldn't end in more questions later.

  "Oh, I think someone made a friend," Reese sing songed.

  There was no stopping the rush of heat that flooded West's face.

  Lie. Change the subject. He had to do something.

  The silence was enough to damn him. Reese's smile turned wolfish. "Got it in one."

  His mother looked vaguely shocked but that was probably due more to the fact that she still harbored dreams of marrying him off to the son of one of her business partners and starting her very own dynasty. She'd never expressed an ounce of interest in his dating habits for any other reason.

  "Mom didn't believe me when I said you'd probably met someone. But, I asked myself, what could be tying up all of West's time? Even you don't study that much."

  Tying up.

  God, he couldn't breathe. Reese didn't even know the power of those two words or he would have used it already. At least that secret was safe. But even brushing against it sent West into a panic and panic made him angry. Anger had always been his safest place.

  "Fine. Yes. I made a friend."

  "Looks like I touched a nerve." The little laugh that accompanied it was razors down West's spine.

  "Do you even remember what friends are, Reese?"

  "Stop it, both of you. This isn't a preschool. If you're going to bicker you can do it outside. I have work to do."

  "Sorry," West said at the same time as Reese said, "I was only kidding." If West could have snatched his apology out of the air, he would have. He hated that he'd done it at all.

  "You still have no sense of humor, Westie." Reese gazed up at him. "So what's this friend of yours do? What's his major?" His tone was one of only idle curiosity but it was enough to hook West's tongue and drag the words struggling up and out of his throat.

  "He's not in school." Stop answering. Just stop answering. It wasn't worth it. Fade away. Just like he always did.

  "Oh really? What does he do then? He does have a job, right? We have to make sure he's good enough for you." When Mom shot him a cautionary look, Reese laughed. "West knows I'm only teasing. Don't you, West." West didn't nod, but Reese went on like he had. "What does he do?

  "He's an artist. A photographer."

  Stop talking.

  Just stop.

  Talking.

  Reese didn't have to laugh this time. The subtle twitch of his lips was amply clear.

  "He's really good," West snapped, heat rising up to his ears until they felt ready to burst into flame. "He has a solo show coming up soon at a local gallery and it's going to be incredible. We've been working for weeks—" He stopped. A second too late.

  His mother set down her pen, a frown creasing her forehead. "Oh, West, I don't know. That's what's been keeping you so busy that you can't call home for five minutes? Some... art thing? Who is this person? Where did you meet him? This is the first I've heard about a photographer." She said it like the word was foul.

  He couldn't even comfort her by saying that she would like Noah. She wouldn't. She would meet him, and between the clothes and the fidgeting and the... him-ness the meeting would be a disaster. Her smile would turn cold and she would be perfectly polite until later when she had West alone and could be 'really honest' about what she thought. West could see it all happening like it was in the past instead of the future. It was the past. They'd had that conversation before. Not about Noah, not yet, but about other things.

  When he asked for piano lessons and she asked what he planned to do with them.

  When she found him cutting out photos of celebrities and told him to be "more realistic."

  When he said he asked if they could get a dog and she smiled and hugged him before saying they didn't have the time.

  She would never have a chance to hate Noah's work. She was never going to see it. West planned to make sure of that.

  While he was distracted, she had started up again. "What about school? Do you really have time for this—whatever it is you've been doing? You're going to be graduating soon and—"

  "I know, mom."

  "West, I just don't want you to—"

  "I know, mom."

  She threw up her hands then in mock surrender, eyes rolling heavenward. "Fine, I won't say anything else about it."

  If only that was true.

  She took a sip of her coffee and set the mug back down with a soft click, subject dropped for the moment as she changed tack. "Oh, that's right. Since my son isn't taking my calls, I haven't had a chance to tell you the good news." She reached out and squeezed Reese's hand resting on the table. "Your brother is moving back."

  A black hole opened beneath West's feet. His toes curled in his shoes as he tried to hang on to the rapidly crumbling ground. "What?"

  "Surprise. I didn't want to say anything until it was official, but I just closed on a place last week. Papers are all signed. Looks like we're going to be sharing a city again." He grinned at the room at large. "Hey, maybe I can go to your friend's art show, see what's been keeping you so busy. It must be really something."

  "Yeah, maybe," West heard himself say.

  THE FIRST CALL CAME in
while West was in the car. He ignored it as his phone buzzed, insect-like, against the cup holder where he'd dropped it. He never talked and drove. Not even for Noah. Not that he could have formed a single word at the moment if he wanted to. Every word felt inadequate. He didn't even know which ones he wanted to use. Which he could use.

  The next time it rang, the phone was in his hand. West dropped it. His palm stung like he'd been bitten. The phone landed face up on the floor of his apartment. The cracks across the screen split Noah's smiling face from cheek to jaw. Another corner of West's heart crumbled.

  It shouldn't bother him. They'd always been like this. A hundred times over they had needled him into being whatever shape they wanted.

  West was used to it.

  That was the worst part. He'd lived with it so long their judgment felt like life. The way things were supposed to be.

  He could convince himself that things were different—he was different—that being with Noah had changed him at some base level and armored his heart.

  But it hadn't.

  He was the same. Everything else had just been a dream. He saw that now.

  He'd spent the rest of the brief visit at the house letting his mother lecture him about his future. The seriousness of it.

  "This is no time to be slacking off."

  Reese had looked like he wanted to use a different word. His lips formed the shape of it while Mom spoke but he didn't say another thing until it was time to say goodbye. He'd already done enough. He came. He saw. He ruined everything. Reese was inevitability.

  And somehow West had to go back to Noah and pretend like it wasn't a countdown to the next moment Reese ruined. To the next moment West let him smash through like a wrecking ball.

  He didn't know how to do that.

  The phone vibrated again. Voicemail this time.

  West stared at the screen as the notification appeared.

  Then he turned off the phone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We All Fall Down

  West didn't feel any better the next day. If anything, he felt worse. Exhausted. Wrong. Everything was wrong. Tension bubbled just beneath his surface and threatened to spill out of his every pore. He didn't feel the knob in his hand as he pushed open the door to Noah's studio. It was made of the same nothing air as everything else.

  Noah looked up from the laptop perched on his knees and smiled. The smile faltered when West didn't return it. West tried. He tried until something in him cracked. But no smile came.

  "You okay?" Laughter coated Noah's voice.

  "Yes," he said. The answer was no, no he wasn't, but he couldn't say that any more than he could smile. He'd forgotten how to do either of those things.

  Coming today had been a mistake. Better to have gone anywhere else, but he'd hoped that walking in the door would work its magic just like it had before and everything would come rushing back. The comfort. The sense of security. He'd been desperate for it ever since last night with Reese and his mother. If he could just get that feeling back maybe he could stop sinking. But the magic was gone. Maybe it had never existed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fooled himself into thinking things were other than they were.

  Noah nodded, eyes darting between the screen and West's face. He scratched a hand through his hair until it stuck up in every direction. "I tried calling you last night and you didn't answer so—"

  "I was busy."

  Noah fumbled at his pocket, fidgeting with something he found there. It looked like a coin. "Oh. Okay." His smile was a work of sheer will. West knew that, knew he should apologize. Those words were gone too.

  "I think I've figured out which shots to use for the show. Come see."

  I don't want to.

  West went anyway.

  Noah turned the laptop and angled the screen so West could see. It was full of thumbnails, all of them West. One of the first was the shot from the day they'd kissed. West spotted himself, body streaked with paint, head angled in challenge. He couldn't meet his own blindfolded gaze.

  Noah brought up more images, explaining as they went how each piece would be arranged in the gallery, and West tried to follow as he mapped it out with words and enthusiasm, hands flitting through the air like butterflies as he spoke. This photo would be large as a focal point. These ones small. Noah scrolled his way down the thumbnails. West tied and untied, face lifted in ecstasy, teeth gritted, in shadow, in light, him, him, him. West's vision blurred white but he still saw it all. His eyelids were engraved with the memory of every one.

  He looked...

  He looked...

  Even with his eyes covered and his face turned away, it didn't matter. They would know it was him the moment he stepped into the room. Everyone would know. Looking at him and wondering. Reese hadn't needed to laugh. A whole room might do it for him.

  Shame burned in West's lungs. He couldn't breathe.

  Who did he think he was? He didn't belong here. How had he fooled himself into thinking this was something he was allowed?

  "Wait until you see them all up at the gallery for my show. It'll be—"

  "I'm not going."

  "What? Why?"

  His eyes snagged on the picture Noah had pulled up. West's face filled the screen, the strip of gauze blotting out his eyes but not his mouth. That was a suggestive curve, lips parted and pink as he turned into the camera's gaze, bound and begging, Please look at me. Please. Now someone would be looking whether he wanted them to or not. His control stripped away. He had given it freely without realizing what that meant.

  West standing there, daring them to make the connection. In front of all those people.

  Reese might really show up just to hold it over his head. He hated art, but West had thought he'd hated this city too and here he was, back again anyway. His new condo was only a few blocks away. It was like some cosmic joke. They might even end up sharing a coffee shop and a mail route again.

  If Reese ever found out, any of it, the jokes would never stop. The comments. The "I'm just kidding"s. It would never end.

  There was a tug on his sleeve. West jumped.

  "Talk to me, sweetheart."

  West shook his head. He was sweating despite the meat locker temperatures. Or maybe he was the only one that was cold. Noah was dressed in a black crop top, a floral jacket hanging on the hook by the door. So it couldn't be cold. Noah was the one always diving into coats and under blankets, putting his cold hands on West's back with a plea to warm them up. It wasn't cold. That was only him. The shaking was him too.

  "I can't do this anymore."

  Silence. Then, almost in a whisper, Noah asked, "Can't do what? What is it you can't do? The photo? Because I have others. I have lots of others if you'd rather—"

  "No."

  Noah's voice and each new question made his head hurt. It was already pounding. He couldn't do this. He shouldn't be here.

  "Did something—"

  "Please just stop. Stop talking." West pressed his hands to his temples as if he might be able to squeeze the pain right out of it. Everything hurt and he didn't know how to make it stop. Maybe there was no stopping it. He was so tired of trying. Explaining didn't solve things. It only made it worse. He couldn't do that again.

  All the anger he hadn't been able to use last night was still there, ready and waiting, burning through him like red hot coals in his hands.

  At Reese for doing this to him again and again and again.

  At himself for standing there and taking it. Like a coward. Because the alternative was arguing with them forever.

  And at Noah for being in front of him, so close and somehow still untouchable. For being everything West wanted and everything he couldn't have.

  There was a wall between. Always had been. And he'd thought just because he had his hands pressed against the glass that they were finally touching, but they weren't. He wasn't where Noah was. He'd only been lying to himself.

  So he laughed. Like Reese probably had after West left last night.
He must have laughed his ass off. Silly West who thought he'd finally gotten over caring what they thought. How wrong he'd been. He still cared. But he still wasn't good enough for them to care back.

  Noah flinched.

  "You've gotten everything you needed from me. Your show is all set. And I'm tired. So let's be done."

  NOT AGAIN.

  Not again.

  Not again.

  "Can we talk about this—" Noah hated the pleading in his voice. It was the laugh though. He'd heard it before. Not from West but from other mouths, others that hid their cruelty in different shapes, but always resulted in the same thing. "I don't—did something happen? I thought..." He couldn't find the right words. He slapped the laptop closed and set it aside before he dropped it.

  "There's nothing to talk about. I told you. I'm done. I don't want to do this anymore."

  Not again.

  Not again.

  Please not again.

  Panic welled up at the edges of Noah's vision. West looked too tall again but Noah couldn't stand so he let him be tall. "Did I—" He stopped. No. He didn't think he had done anything. There hadn't been time. But maybe he had and hadn't noticed. Too much? Not enough? What was the key he had missed? The phone call last night? They hadn't been together long but it had never taken West longer than an hour to answer a call or a message until last night. "Let's talk—"

  "No. Just... stop." His eyes were a sledgehammer. Pulverizing bone. "You got what you wanted. Use all those pictures if you want, I don't care. But I'm out. I can't keep screwing around like this. I have things to do. I have responsibilities—"

  "Get the fuck out." He was proud of how perfectly flat his voice was as he said it. Dead. It wanted to beg, to cajole, but he didn't let it. He was cold to the tips of his fingers.

  West made a noise, some kind of protest or maybe an agreement, it was too hard to tell with the blood rushing in Noah's ears. A headache was already squeezing at his skull.

  "I said get the fuck out. If that's how you feel, get out." His voice betrayed him at the end, the lump he'd been swallowing down finally reaching up to take him by the throat. He dragged in a breath and shoved the fucking thing back down with the rest of his feelings where it belonged. Straight down to the bottom, straight into the ground where it couldn't do any more harm.