Let Love Live (The Love Series #5) (25 page)

Shifting in my seat, I look at the gorgeous man sitting next to me. But rather than garnering any reaction out of Conner, my words almost have a non-effect on him. He simply keeps his eyes on the road. His hands, however, are in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “I−well, I just−it’s…” he stutters as he attempts to recover.

“Are you?” I’m not sure what’s come over me. My attraction to him? Gay or straight, the man is gorgeous.

“Now, who’s assuming things?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“Not assuming, just curious.” Though, if I’m being honest, there’s no way he’s not at least a little into me. It’s in his voice, vibrating in the space between us. It’s in his eyes, staring straight through me.

“Yeah, I am,” he answers with no shame or desire to hide anything in his words.

Nodding, I turn back to face the road, letting the last five minutes replay in my head, looking for anything that will help me figure out what the hell just happened.

“Where are we going?” Conner’s voice cuts through the end of a song.

It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s asking for directions. I start to give him directions to my apartment when I remember that my car is still at work. Reid really screwed me over good, but I think he knew exactly what he was doing. The jerk.

“I need to pick up my car, actually.” Listing off a few more directions, we head toward the office. When a sharp turn launches me against the door, my arm burns in pain.

A car whizzes past us, tires screeching, and horns honking. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. That car came out of nowhere.” Conner apologizes as my arm throbs painfully.

“Maybe you driving home isn’t such a good idea,” he suggests as we pull into the lot where my cars is sitting all by itself.

“No, I’ll be fine,” I add as I rub my arm. “Your driving is no safer.” I dismiss his concerns even though they mirror some of my own. It’s doubtful I’ll be able to turn the car at all with my right arm completely immobilized.

With the strap of my gym bag looped through my good arm, I reach over to open the door. Conner’s hand on my shoulder stops me dead in my tracks. “Don’t be an ass. You can barely open the door. Let me drive you home. I’d feel like a jerk if something happened to you.”

The way his hand feels on my arm tells me all I need to know; I need to stay away from him. There’s something happening between us that’s making me loose-lipped. The truth just falls from my mouth and that’s not something I’m entirely comfortable with.

“Seriously, Dylan, just let me drive you home,” he insists and, for whatever reason, I give in.

“Fine, but I need to grab some files from my car.” Since my job pretty much dictates my life, I’m always bringing home work. It’s better than sitting there having nothing to do.

Conner nods, a satisfied smile gracing his face as he plays around with the radio. After grabbing my briefcase from the passenger’s seat, I open the back door and stare down at the box sitting on the seat. There’s no way in hell I can get this on my own, but I don’t want to give Conner the satisfaction of needing his help.

Squatting as low as my sore legs will let me, I pull the box across the seat and try to wedge it between my arm and my leg. I have to shimmy it up my body until it rests precariously on my hip. With my briefcase dangling from my finger, and the box near falling from the rest of my hand, I try my best to walk back to Conner’s car. He’s sitting there, tapping away absentmindedly to the beat of the music as the box falls from my hand and spills across the parking lot.

“Shit,” I curse as the papers scatter everywhere.

Conner gets out of the car, bending to pick up a few files on his way over to me. “Here you go.” His words carry no sarcasm at the fact that I was so self-assured just moments ago.

After I’ve got all the papers back in the box, he carries it back to his car, not even allowing me the chance to say I’ll do it myself.

My mood is pissy to say the least for the short drive to my apartment complex. Conner’s misunderstanding of my relationship with Reid got under my skin. His confusion about it makes me wonder if he’s interested in me. But, on the other hand, why should I care if he is?

Because you’re interested in him,
I admit to myself. It is the reason I went back to the gym in the first place.

Hell, it’s impossible not to be interested. His body looks like it’s carved from stone. When I first saw him last week, even though it was only for a few seconds, it took way too much effort for me to peel my eyes away from him. Then, when I went back to the gym tonight, I hadn’t hoped to do more than steal a few casual glances. You can’t assume every good-looking man you see is gay. That shit gets you into trouble real quick.

But now knowing that he is, well that changes things. The initial attraction I felt has now moved into a completely different sphere. If I act on the attraction, then it can’t be anything other than just sex.

That’s all I’m capable of right now. Hell, it might be all I’m ever capable of.

We pull into the parking lot, and I point him in the direction of my building. He parks in the spot that’s assigned to me and cuts the engine.

“Thanks.” My single worded good-bye is cool and detached. As I move to get out of the car, he asks, “Are you upstairs or ground-level?”

“Second floor. Why?” I turn in my seat to face him before opening the door.

“You couldn’t walk more than two steps without dropping everything before. Now, you’re just magically going to be able to carry your bag, briefcase and a box up a flight of stairs. Oh, wait, and you’re going to dig your keys out of your pocket and open the door at the same time.” He crosses his arms over his chest, stifling a cynical laugh. “This is gonna be good.”

He shoots me a wry look when I ask, “Did you want to get them out of my pocket for me?”

Though I want to laugh at the look he’s giving me, calculating through it all, I can’t deny that he’s right. There’s no way I can get upstairs on my own. I pull my keys out of my pocket and dangle them in the space between us. “Fine,” I snip, shaking the keys back and forth a few times, waiting for him to take them from me.

He stares at the keys like they’re diseased or something. “I’m sorry, my hearing must be going,” he jokes, cupping a hand up to his ear. “I didn’t hear you say ‘please’.”

As if I wasn’t already in a mood, now I have to deal with him laying into me for my manners, for actually needing his help. After a long day of work, and now this shit with my arm, add in dealing with Conner, I’m exhausted. “Then, don’t help.” I move to get out of the car, denying him the chance to take the keys from me.

He shakes his head and slides out of his seat, walking around the front of the car to meet me on my side. Rather than immediately moving to help me, he watches me struggling with everything before finally conceding. “Give me that,” he mutters under his breath, taking my briefcase and bag from my hand. He lifts the box, tips his head to the sidewalk, letting me walk in front of him with my keys still in my hand.

I open the door and let him past me, before closing it behind us. What’s normally a cramped entryway, with my bike hanging on the wall, feels even smaller now with Conner standing there. The stairs are too narrow for us to walk up next to each other, so he lets me up first.

I lead the way down the hall to my door and unlock it. Conner stays out in the hall, waiting for me to step inside. “Thanks.” I lean against the door, holding it open for him. “You can just drop it wherever.”

Instead of chucking my stuff on the floor like I’d expected him to do, Conner walks straight into my dining room and puts the box and my briefcase on the table. He drops the gym bag on a chair and stands there, waiting for…I have no clue what the hell he’s waiting for.

“Thanks again.” I remain standing by the open door, clearly indicating that I’m not inviting him in.

He walks toward me, glancing at the pictures on the mantle as he does so. “Sure, no problem.”

When he’s gone, I finally feel like I can breathe again. Not wanting to pay too much attention to the fact that Conner has put me on edge, after popping a few Advil, I twist open a beer, flop down on the couch and get lost in a game.

When my phone rings and I see Reid’s name flash across the screen, I almost consider not answering it.

“Fucker,” I greet him. His only response is a loud laugh.

When he finally calms down enough to talk, he says, “Guess it didn’t work out for you. Otherwise you’d be too busy to pick up the phone, huh?”

I take a long pull from my beer, cradling the phone between my ear and my good shoulder. “I can’t believe you just left me there. My shoulder is really freaking screwed up, you know?” The end of my words trails off as the phone slides down onto my lap. I need another sip of my drink before I bother to pick it up.

I only catch the tail end of what Reid is saying as I bring the phone back up to my ear. “…wasn’t into you? I thought I caught him staring a few times.”

I laugh. “What are you my gay wingman?”

“Nope. Just a straight guy trying to help out his gay best friend. Besides, I caught him checking you out.” His hand covering the mouthpiece muffles whatever he is saying to Maddy. “So no dice, I guess, huh?”

Reid is your typical guy’s guy in so many ways. Athletic, competitive, a real ass at times. But in so many ways, he’s not.

“He had to drive me home because you left me high and dry.” He laughs, completely pleased by his little plan. “But no, things didn’t work out this time.” I don’t even bother getting into how Conner got to me, how he affected me just by being nice to me, by being kind to me.

“Too, bad. He seems like a nice−”

I cut him off. “Look, my shoulder is pretty fucked. I don’t think I’m going to be in tomorrow. I have the Hernandez files with me. I’ll review them this weekend and fill you in on Tuesday before the session, okay?”

“Sure. But Dylan?” He pauses.

“Uh huh.” My patience is dwindling and the combination of the painkillers and alcohol is diminishing my capacity to pay much attention.

“How do you plan on getting your car back?” he laughs. The ass.

Noticing the frustration in my louder-than-necessary sigh, he answers his own question. “Chill out. I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning on the way to work. Just get some rest.” He sounds like he wants to say more, so I call him on it.

“What else, Reid?”

“It’s just… Make sure you call Dr. Baker, will you?” Reid’s voice is filled with concern and sincerity. The psychiatrist. I have a feeling Reid won’t let up on this, so I give in.

“Sure. Let me figure out my shoulder first, yeah?” Maybe my deflection will make him lay off. I doubt it, but it’s worth a chance.

It must be my lucky day, because when I wake up the next morning, my shoulder feels much better. It’s not one-hundred percent, but I can move it, which is a marked improvement from last night. Knowing that not taking care of it will more than likely keep me out of the gym longer than I’d like, I keep my appointment.

My concern over staying away from the gym has everything to do with me wanting to stay in shape and nothing to do with Conner.

At least that’s what I tell myself. 

When I look out the window down into the parking lot, I see my car. Reid and Maddy must have moved it this morning for me. Knowing that they care for me the way they do makes me feel undeserving. Hell, that’s how I’ve felt for the last eight years. Before I get ready for the day, I shoot Reid a text saying thank you for helping me out. Not wanting to be late, I get on with my morning.

After I fill my prescription for some anti-inflammatories, I pick up a few groceries and head back to my apartment to review the files for the session Reid and I have to present next week. It’s annoying to have to flip through all the paperwork with one arm still in a sling, but I manage.

Carlo Hernandez is a sixteen-year-old junior who is new to the Calhoun High School. It’s a predominately white upper-middle class district. Carlo is
not
white nor is he upper-middle class. His parents were recently arrested for drug smuggling and Carlo had to move in with his aunt who happens to live in the Calhoun school district.

Despite his parents’ criminal activity, Carlo is a good kid. He’s determined to be more than his mom and dad are and he’s taken the move in stride. The other kids, however, are not so willing to accept him. Flipping through the files, I’m more than shocked to see that, in the six weeks since he’s been at Calhoun High, he’s been in four fights, all of which were instigated by the same group of kids.

That’s where Reid and I come in. Even though The Bridge usually works in presenting Gay-Straight Alliance seminars in middle and high schools across the area, we also specialize in bullying mediation. Sadly, Carlo’s case is most definitely one for us.

An hour or so later and my eyes are tired and blurry from reading through everything. I scribble out a few notes, which are mostly illegible, but they’re enough to get the point across to Reid.

I lean back on my couch, and my eyes fall to the shelf of pictures on my wall. Shane stares back at me. His absence is one I feel every single day, in every single inch of my body. With my one good hand, I push myself up off the couch and walk across the small room. Lifting the frame from the shelf feels as if I’m hefting a thousand pounds. The guilt over what I said to him, what I’ll never be able to take back, over what he did before I could help him, all of those things weigh on me.