Page 21 of Loverboy

Jasper pressed his chest to my back, guiding me forward. I glanced over my shoulder at him, and his brows were furrowed, a half-smile on his face meant to encourage me. If seeing Mom like this made him struggle, I didn’t stand a chance.

“I’m doing okay,” I croaked, barely able to meet her eyes.

“Come here,” she said softly.

I flew into her arms.

“I’m here,” I promised with a quiet sob, her warmth enveloping me.

“You had me worried sick,” she whispered, pressing a kiss into my hair.

“Sorry,” I managed to say, my eyes burning profusely as she squeezed me as hard as she could. She rocked me gently, the same way she would a baby, and when she finally pulled away, I saw the gloss of unshed tears in her honey-coloured eyes. Mine probably looked the same.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. You know we’re here for you, baby. You come here next time,” she said, voice choked with emotion, and gently squeezed my shoulders. “You come home.”

“I know, I know. I will.” I nodded, trying to focus on my breathing for some semblance of control, needing to show Jasper I could handle my shit for longer than two seconds. It was hard, and I didn’t know how he did it.

Mom looked tired, her features thin and wrinkled from her days working to the bone as a waitress. I was inconveniencing her with my problems, and I wished so badly that I could be a better son like Jasper. He was more stable, more mature. Less dramatic.

“Don’t you worry about me. I want you to be safe, okay? That’s the most important thing right now.” She smiled sweetly, moving to cup my face in her hands.

“We’re just gonna grab the bed for now,” Jasper interjected, wrapping his fingers around my bicep and pulling me toward the staircase. “Get a move on, so I’m not late for work.”

I sighed in relief as he removed me from the emotionally charged atmosphere and guided me up the stairs to his bedroom. Jasper’s room hadn’t changed, either. The walls were covered in posters, his shelves crammed with books, and pot paraphernalia crowded his nightstand. The room, for me, was the embodiment of home.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Jasper announced, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It was terrible,” I grumbled, exhaustion creeping in.

“Trust me, I handled the worst of it already.” He nudged his head toward the bed. “Let’s get this down to the car.”

I lowered my head guiltily and started clearing off the bedding. I had a feeling he’d already spoken to Mom before we came over and had already endured her crying over the news that her baby boy was going to move out.

“Haven’t you had this blanket since you were like, fourteen?” I squinted.

“You got a problem?” He reached for it, and I held it at arm’s length.

“It’s got holes in it, dude.”

“So what? It’s still functional.”

I shook my head, tossing the blanket at him and picking up a pillow. It was worse than the blanket—nearly dead and clumped like it had given up.

“Oh my God!” I shouted in disbelief. “You know it’s okay to buy new things, right?”

He folded his arms. “Not when the things I have still work.”

Jesus Christ.

“You’re such an old man,” I teased.

“And you’re a child, so we’re even.”

I held the pillow to my chest, pretending to be outraged and pulling a playful smirk out of him in response that made my heart swell. If I could make him laugh, maybe I’d find a way to breathe again.

We bagged up all of the bedding and tossed it down the bottom of the stairs. It was quick work to put all the seats down in the back of his SUV and load up the mattress and box spring, with minimal cursing and banter about holding it too high, too low, or going too fast, too slow. It was remarkable for us, honestly.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, disappearing into the house.