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He didn't move at first, just kept looking out at the water as she stroked him, pressed her body to his. But then his shoulders lifted in a sigh and he closed his fingers over hers.
"I figured you'd said 'fuck that insensitive asshole' and I'd never hear from you again," he said.
"No, you didn't. You knew this was just a bump in the road, just as I did."
"More like a crater."
"Nope. Just a bump." She pressed a kiss to his neck where the stretched T-shirt gave her access to flesh. He sighed again.
"Don't be cheerful like that. The 'rah-rah, it's all going to be okay' floor nurse routine."
"Does Betty do that?"
"No."
"Then why would I?" She nudged him. "And what's wrong with a little optimism when clouds are dark? No one fusses about turning on a light when it's nighttime, right? It's just good common sense."
He chuckled, though his shoulders slumped briefly. She squeezed him, hard. "Turn around and look at me, Des. Please?"
She backed up enough to let him put his legs under the table. His eyes were weary and sad, which concerned her, but she'd made him laugh. She took it as a hopeful sign.
Des ran a hand over his face. "All the stuff Betty said, it's true, and I agree with her, 99% of the time. But I get tired of dealing with it, you know, and I can't always be upbeat and rational about it. Sometimes I need to get selfish, childish and stubborn. I need to be pissed off and frustrated and say dumbass things. I have more times of late when I don't feel good, and it makes me less easy to get along with. That's a lot to dump on a girl you've just met and you're trying to impress, you know?"
Julie recalled her earlier thoughts in the church, when she'd thought about life being so much worse for so many other people, but sometimes something sucked so badly you just had to stomp your feet, be pissed off and childish to deal with it. While it hadn't felt great to be in the debris circle of Des's detonation, she did get it. And she could forgive and love. Reaching out, fighting the fear of rejection, she laid her palm on his chest.
"So you're telling me you're not perfect? You're human? That's a real let down."
"Yeah, isn't it?" His attempt at a smile was so painful it twisted her heart. "Actually, the way I behaved was closer to subhuman. I'm sorry, Julie. You didn't deserve any of my shit. And--"
She shook her head. "Stop right there. That was perfect. You're going to ruin it by saying something like 'this is why I can't be with anyone,' and that's just so wrongheaded thinking, Des. You're a great guy. You're my guy. I love you. After all the cr
ap relationships I've been in, I should be more cautious and shouldn't trust my feelings at all, and the funny thing is, I haven't, not for a long time. But in this scary short time, I crossed a line with you and suddenly I trust them again. I've run the gauntlet. I know what I want and don't want in my life. I don't have to debate endlessly on it anymore."
"So how about if your guy is having to do dialysis five nights a week? Or hey, you're in the mood for some great sex, but I feel like shit?"
She pursed her lips. "How about all the wonderful times I'd miss with you if I only keep score on those times? What about the gift of letting me be part of your life, the person who supports and loves you through that? That is a gift, Des, whether you realize it or not. Don't be such a Dom. Give up some control. Come to the dark side and be like the rest of us mere mortals."
When his expression darkened, she tightened her fingers on his T-shirt. "Because I'll tell you one thing up front. When I get sick, your ass better be at my bedside, putting cold compresses on my feverish brow, massaging my feet, asking me if I need a blanket..." At his amused look she tossed a mock scowl at him. "Oh yeah, you laugh, but ask Marcus and Thomas. I am a clingy, needy sick person, and a total wimp. A cold is full scale, I'm-going-to-die, bubonic plague. I am the biggest baby in the universe. Fortunately, I don't get sick too often, because Marcus said he'd smother me with a pillow and call it an assisted suicide."
"Okay, note to self. Call Marcus and Thomas when you get sick."
"Jerk." She punched his shoulder, pleased when he grabbed her wrist, the hint of a true smile on his face this time. She curled her fingers around his, holding on, and leaned in to touch his face. "We'll get through this, okay? We, you and me, and all our friends. I'm not the only one who loves you, Des." Freeing herself gently, she turned and pulled a small sheaf of folded papers from her bag.
"What is that?"
"Well, while you were off being all broody, I was making rounds and reaching out. I didn't tell anyone anything specific, so don't get that scowly look. I told them you were going through a tough time right now and words of encouragement would be appreciated."
She handed the small bundle over. The one on top was a crayon drawing on construction paper. It showed a male stick figure walking on his hands on a roof line, a big bright sun behind him. Below that, childish scrawl proclaimed, "You are the sun."
"That was one of your roof groupies, Tina. She said one day you were up there and the sun was right behind you, and she thought 'Des is the sun.' So she wanted me to tell you that 'You're like the sun. You make things shine brighter.' This is an email from Billie, and a couple from folks at Logan's club, and the stage hands at the theater today..."
She hadn't had time to do much more than a quick call out, so the notes were short, but she knew the content wasn't what was important as much as the sincere good wishes that had gone into them. "Oh, and there's a case of your flavored water in the car, from the guys you work with. One of them, Diego, said a case of beer or a carton of cigarettes is what really says 'best friends forever' but since you don't smoke or drink, the water is as close as they could get to that message."
Seeing his pensive look, she closed her hand over his. "You're allowed to be special to people. You're allowed to want your life, to fight for your life. The rest of us will be really happy to have you around. And if you and I don't work out, we don't work out. I'm not going to think, 'Well, hell, he's sick. I have to stay because of that.'"
At his look of surprise, she shot him a shrewd glance. "You think I didn't realize that was part of what was bugging you? Des, I want to be with you for you. Healthy or sick. Guilt isn't glue; love is."
"Nice. You can put that on a mug." He didn't say it in a snarky way, though. More as a way to cover whatever was going on behind his thoughtful brown eyes, though she noticed her comment made his shoulders drop down a notch.
