Page 26 of The Key Holder

Right.

It wasn’t as far and it wasn’t a wooded trail, so we made it back to the cabin faster than the last time I had to carry him. Of course the entire way I was thinking about how I was almost—as he said—cupping his ass. Dylan was uncharacteristically quiet for the journey, snuggled against my shoulder, half asleep. I had already placed him on his bed before he realized we were home.

“Oh, wow. That was fast.”

“You fell asleep,” I said.

“Oh.” He yawned and closed his eyes to stretch, throwing his arms above his head.

It was hard not to look at his body—in just black swim briefs, it was fully on display. The way the skimpy fabric hugged his skinny waist, the curve of his calves. He cleared his throat and I felt the familiar flood of pink on my cheeks. I had definitely been caught.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t draw attention to my staring.

“I think I’m going to shower,” he replied, “but I guess you could get an ice pack ready. Maybe some iced tea?”

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll do that.” I turned to head to the kitchen.

What the fuck was I thinking, checking him out like that? I wasn’t thinking—not with my brain anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed.

No.

I needed this time. And even if I didn’t figure everything out the next few months, at least it was possible that Dylan and I could repair our relationship. He used to look up to me, ask me for advice. We were closer then than we were now, though the last week had been a nice change.

Just as I was cracking the ice cube tray, I heard a loud crash. I dropped everything and bolted towards his bedroom.

“Dylan?!” Everything looked normal in the bedroom but the shower was still running. “I’m coming in.”

He still hadn’t answered me—my heartbeat was pounding in my head as my adrenalin spiked. “Jesus Christ.” I tried to comprehend the damage. All I could see of Dylan was one of his feet because the rest of him was covered by the shower curtain. The rod had been ripped completely off the wall.

“I’m okay.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief, unsure of what to do. “Why didn’t you answer me?” The spray was getting me wet and drenching the floor so I reached over to shut it off.

“Embarrassment?”

“You sure you’re okay.”

“You’re gonna need to turn the water back on. I got shampoo in my eye and then fell when I tried to turn around to rinse it out. I can’t see right now; it burns.”

I withheld my chuckle and asked, “Have you always been this clumsy and I just didn’t notice?”

“Please shut up.”

I reoriented the shower head but wasn’t sure what to do next. “Do you need my help to get up since you can’t see?”

“How am I going to shower with no curtain?”

“I can hold it up while you finish,” I suggested. It took him a few seconds to answer me.

“Okay, and yeah, I’ll need help getting up. There’s no point in trying and falling all over again.”

“Is your ankle worse?”

“I have no fucking idea. I just want to rinse off, put on some pajamas, and get drunk on margaritas.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t think we had margarita mix but now seemed like a bad time. Bending over, I grabbed the shower rod and pulled the curtain off of him. He was covering his junk with one of his hands, and I knew better than to make a joke about the situation while he was this vulnerable. He’d already had a bad week.

"Sorry about this,” he said, rubbing his temple. “It’s just not been my day.”