One Real Thing (4 page)

It had been years since Nick had been this close to Holly, but nothing had changed, not for him. Feeling Holly cuddled against him like this—feeling Holly
need
him like this—was a rush like no other. Not that Holly would admit to needing him—not in college and not now—but Nick knew what it felt like. He knew what it was like to
need
Holly to need him, and he knew how badly it would go if he let himself get to that point again. He couldn’t let Holly matter that much, couldn’t let Holly in that far, because, to Holly, it was never real. Nick had never doubted that their friendship had been real for Holly, but the teasing and flirting had always been in fun, a way to get a rise out of Nick.

Nick couldn’t do that again, not ever. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on what he
could
do. He pulled out his phone and opened a new email to Rich to find out about the housing situation.

When the plane started its descent, Nick thought about waking Holly. Remembering the fear on Holly’s face kept him from it, though, and he let him sleep until they’d landed and were taxiing to the terminal.

“Holly…” Nick rubbed his free hand over Holly’s arm, petting. He didn’t want to startle him, to wake him too suddenly. Holly sighed again, something deep and contented, and rubbed his cheek against Nick’s shoulder, pressing close as Nick continued, “Come on, Holly, we’re here. It’s time to wake up.”

“Where’s here?” Holly mumbled sleepily. As soon as he came around, he’d pull away like Nick was on fire. Nick was ready for it, or thought he was until it happened, and Holly jerked back so fast he bumped into the window. “Oh, right.” Holly’s face twisted, and he rubbed his hands over it. “Christ, I need a drink.”

Nick swallowed the acid-bitter taste of rejection and said, “I’ll get you some water as soon as we’re off the plane.” He knew that wasn’t what Holly meant, but it was the best he could do.

“If I’d known you were going to show up, I’d’ve drunk more,” Holly said sullenly. He leaned back, eyes closed, waiting for the plane to stop. When it was time to deplane, Holly looked unsteady, but he was obviously determined not to let Nick help him if it was the last thing he did. “Let me guess. I’m not staying in the guest room,” Holly said once they were back on solid ground.

“You would be if we had one.” It was a lie, and both of them knew it; Caroline hated Holly. Nick never could figure out why, but it had been that way since she and Holly met.

If he’d been able to bring Holly home, keeping an eye on him would have been easier. As it was, setting him up close to the paper was the best he could do. “Rich got you a studio near the Gazette Building. One of his employees was living there, but she just got promoted to the Thailand office. Rich managed to convince the super to hold the keys for us.”

“You know, the two of you could have gone in on a puppy together instead of playing Fix Holly.” Holly’s voice was thick with bitterness. “I don’t want to be here, Nick. And I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you that you want me here. Whatever it is, I hope you get over it, soon.”

Nick didn’t know what was wrong with him either, except for the fear churning in his gut whenever he thought about that last batch of tabloid photos. He didn’t think it was going away, though. Ten years he’d stood on the edge of this, twitching under his skin with the need to rein Holly in and keep him safe. He was careful not to let Holly out of his sight as they walked through the crowded airport, heading for the baggage claim.

“I didn’t see you trying to get away from me back in L.A.,” Nick finally said as they stood in front of the baggage carousel, waiting for his suitcase to come trundling by.

“Would it have stopped you?”

Nick looked at Holly for a moment, considering his answer. “Maybe.” It might have. If Holly had fought him, had run away, Nick might’ve realized Holly was too far gone to save. Or he might have tied Holly up and tossed him in the backseat of the car for the long drive home. He couldn’t be sure.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Holly shrugged. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with you. You ignore me for years, then track me down like a stalker, smack me in the face, drag me out of my hotel room. Tell me that shouldn’t worry me. Tell me you’d’ve run away from that before you figured out what the hell was wrong.” The look he shot Nick was angry. Then he turned away. “I’m going to get some water before my teeth fall out.”

Nick swallowed every angry, bitter response that came rushing to his lips, and watched Holly walk away. He’d taken the money from Holly’s wallet to keep him from getting drunk or high behind his back, so Holly couldn’t get very far. Turning back to the carousel, Nick spotted his suitcase and pushed past a family of four to get it. Then he went to find his wayward charge.

Holly was on his way back, looking more alive than Nick had seen him yet. He was livid.

“What the
fuck
do you think you’re playing at, you self-centered, self-righteous, motherfucking bastard?” He smacked Nick in the chest with one hand, backing him up a pace. “Where the hell is my money?” Holly’s anger was vibrant, fiery, and it gave Nick hope there was something left of his friend inside the shell he’d found in L.A.

“In my wallet,” he said quietly. “Waiting for me to be able to trust you not to get wasted the first chance you get. You want something? All you have to do is ask for it.”

“Do you really for one goddamn minute think I can’t come up with cash if I need it?” Holly hissed. “You’re the junkie, Nick, only your high is being better than everyone else.” He shoved Nick again, looking like he was ready to do worse. “You expect me to come all the way across the fucking country with you but can’t trust me to keep a few bucks in my pocket. I know you’re better than me, okay? Give me back my fucking money. Now.”

“It’s not about being better than you.” Nick caught Holly’s hands, and he wasn’t surprised—had never been surprised—when Holly jerked away from him. “All you’ve talked about since I found you is booze and drugs, Holly. How am I supposed to feel?”

Holly was right, and Nick knew it. He
was
addicted—had always been addicted—to how it felt when Holly needed him. It wasn’t about the status or knowing what was best, not like Holly thought. It was about the need. He couldn’t manufacture that, though, so he pulled out his wallet and handed over the money. If Holly was going to fuck up, he’d do it whether Nick allowed it or not.

“Go on. When you’re done in the bar, you can find me by the taxi stand.”

Holly plucked the money out of Nick’s hand and turned on his heel without another word. Moments later, he was lost in the crowd. Nick had no way to find him again, not even a cell phone number.

Fear churned in his gut, but he reminded himself Holly could have disappeared the moment he found the money missing, and he hadn’t. Maybe he’d come back this time too.

***

As he stalked away, Holly clenched his jaw so tight, he thought his teeth would crack. The stinging in his eyes was just because his head hurt so damn much. He meant to grab a couple of bottles of water at a kiosk, but then he was walking into the airport bar.
Oh God,
he thought.
I hate myself so much.
That didn’t stop him from ordering a G&T and collapsing into a dark booth to drink it.

God, it was good. He wanted to cry all over again. Now he just wanted some coke, and he’d be fine. It wasn’t that he was hooked, he reminded himself as he ordered another G&T. He’d never really been hooked, no matter what he did. It was because he liked himself better when he was high.

Living with himself straight and sober was hell. In college, he’d been able to push it aside. There was always someone there who’d proved to Holly he wasn’t a failure. And whenever he’d felt edgy and crazy, like his brain was disintegrating, he’d had Nick. Now Nick was right here, and Holly still didn’t have him. Holly didn’t even know who Nick was anymore.

When the second G&T arrived, Holly ordered a bottle of mineral water. He’d said he was going to get it. He needed it. He was a failure. At least he could make himself less of a liar. When the water came, he made short work of it and felt like his body was rehydrating with every passing minute. He felt more and more human, and it wasn’t the two shots of watered-down ginlike crap they served.

In the bathroom in the back of the bar, he washed up. He felt filthy, like he stank in spite of the morning’s shower and Nick’s too-big clean clothes. Under the detergent and fabric softener, all he could smell was Nick.

Holly had been horrified when he’d woken up on the plane with his head on Nick’s shoulder. He didn’t have any business touching Nick. In the past he’d done it anyway. Now he had to make sure he didn’t.

Smarten up.
He ran his wet hands through his hair to sort it out, then bought some mouthwash strips from the vending machine before leaving for the taxi stand. He wondered if Nick would be there when he showed up.

Even in a crowd, Nick stood out. Stood apart. He was leaning against a concrete pillar, suitcase at his feet, separate from the world around him. His hands were tucked into his pockets, but he wasn’t slouched or slumping. How he managed to look poised and well groomed after a cross-country flight spanning four time zones was beyond Holly.

Holly couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want to feel sorry for being angry or for the words that had come out of his mouth. He shouldn’t be sorry for the truth. In spite of all that, he was sorry. He wanted to go butt his head under Nick’s chin and beg for forgiveness, beg Nick to pet him and say what he shouldn’t have to say—
everything is okay, even if you are a jackass.

Nick’s long, elegant fingers tucked a stray curl behind one ear; Holly could almost feel the silky strands slipping between his own fingers. Slowly Nick’s head came up, and his dark gaze locked on Holly. There was a flicker of something—surprise?—and then Nick held out his hand in invitation.

Holly hesitated, but before he could think of what to do, his feet were taking him there and he was slipping his hand into Nick’s. He couldn’t look at Nick’s face, so he let his forehead bump against Nick’s shoulder and stood there, just breathing. Suddenly he was as afraid and unsteady as he’d been on the plane.

Nick didn’t push him away. He held on to Holly’s hand, and his other arm came up to wrap around Holly’s back, holding him gently, like he knew Holly felt as fragile as the crystal figurines they sold in the duty-free.

“I look that bad?” Holly leaned on Nick for support. The alcohol, even though it hadn’t been much, was mixing with the last of the Dramamine. He knew the feeling. It would have been fun if Nick hadn’t been there to remind him of what he was running from.

“You look like I could knock you over with a feather,” Nick said quietly. “You look like I should be taking you to see a doctor, not an apartment. Like you haven’t slept or eaten in weeks, like you’ve been living on sex and drugs and booze.”

“Can’t have the first without the second two,” Holly said. His voice came out thin and bitter—Nick wasn’t the only one he hardly knew anymore.

Nick didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either. He slid his hand up to pet the back of Holly’s hair; the softness of his touch was in stark contrast to the way he’d dragged Holly around by the hair back in L.A.

The touch made Holly shiver, made his throat tight. He didn’t want to catch a cab, didn’t want to go anywhere, wanted to stay right here, right now. If he could stop everything in this moment, he would. His breath caught in his throat.

Holly remembered sprawling in Nick’s bed on a Sunday morning, still drunk, reeking of sex and cigarettes, punishing Nick for not going out with him by flopping halfway over him and pinning him to the mattress. He should have done something then. Said something. But while he could take Nick dumping him out of bed onto his ass, he couldn’t take Nick dumping him out of his whole life.

So he hadn’t done anything, just like he did nothing now, nothing but let Nick’s touch draw him in so his face tucked into the curve of Nick’s pale, perfect neck.

They stood like that for a long time, far longer than Holly had expected Nick to tolerate him, this, whatever was happening. Finally Nick murmured, “We should go. I need to get some food into you.”

Holly had always wanted the best for Nick. That was what made it possible for him to nod and straighten instead of turning to find Nick’s mouth with his. Wanting something that wasn’t good for Nick so badly, and realizing how long he’d wanted it, doused Holly’s anger like forty days and forty nights of rain. Drugs and alcohol weren’t the only things he needed to kick. Nick’s absence had always been as bad for Holly as his presence. Holly needed to make both stop mattering, and now he had to do it when Nick was
right there.

“Chinese. I miss New York Chinese food,” he said, letting go of Nick’s hand.

“There’s a new place just down from the Gazette Building that delivers. I’ve heard good things about their Dan Dan Mian.” Nick hailed a cab and directed Holly toward it, ushered him into the backseat and slid in after him. He gave directions to the driver, glancing at his phone once to confirm the address, and then returned his attention to Holly.

“You remember.” Now that he wasn’t completely drunk, stoned or furious, Holly couldn’t help the way it warmed him that, even after so long, Nick still remembered his favorite dish. The urge to crawl into Nick’s lap was overwhelming. He could imagine sleeping there with Nick’s hand on his hair until they got where they were going. Holly wasn’t even listening to where the apartment was. He didn’t care.

Nick just nodded. “I remember.”

Holly made himself lean back, almost against the door, so he wouldn’t touch Nick. “I’ll try to stay awake until we get there.” He rested his head on the window, watching New York roll by. “And out of your lap,” he added.

They used to grab a cab home when they were out partying with friends and Holly had always ended up in Nick’s lap to make room for everyone else—if he didn’t have someone in his own lap, making out with him, and damn who was watching. Nothing would have been quite as satisfying as Nick shoving whomever it happened to be onto the floor so he could have Holly for himself, but Nick wasn’t like that. Always apart, always
above
everyone else. Holly counted himself lucky he’d never ended up on the floor, the way he used to drive Nick crazy.