Page 22 of Entwined

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Darby absent-mindedly stirred cream in his coffee as he waited for Becca to show up for their weekly breakfast.

Two weeks.

Even though Bram had said he wasn’t coming back, a part of Darby hadn’t believed him. How could he not be coming back? If he really loved him the way he said he did, couldn’t he break a few measly fairy rules? It seemed unreasonable to think that dropping everything and crossing the veil forever and ever was the only way they could be together.

Since he’d last seen Bram, things had only gotten worse in his life. Or at least, it all seemed worse. He doubted much had actually changed, but rather it was clearer than ever how much it all sucked.

For the first week after Bram left, he’d held out hope that he’d unexpectedly reappear the way he had the last time. But as the second week began, his concerns had become fears. He now despaired of ever seeing Bram again.

The man I love.

Sometimes it hurt so much to think about him. Every moment they’d shared was etched into his mind, mocking him, reminding him of what he’d never have again.

“Sorry I’m so late.” Becca plopped on the chair across from him., letting her satchel style bag land on the floor with a thump. “Last night was grueling. The show started late, George screwed up his lines in the second act and we all went out for drinks afterward and I had way too much.”

Darby sometimes wondered if hitting the bar after the show was the only reason they did plays at all.

“That’s too bad.”

She waved in the server’s general direction and pointed at the coffee mug she’d just turned upright. “That we went out for drinks?”

“Um. No, sorry.” Darby rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full night. “I mean that George screwed up his lines.” He snorted. “Maybe he’s just as confused about the play as I was.”

“Huh?” She turned to the woman pouring her coffee. “I’ll have the number three, over easy, wheat toast, no butter.”

The server gathered their menus then walked away.

She drew her eyebrows together. “Aren’t you eating?”

“Nah. Sticking to coffee. My stomach has been bothering me lately.”

Becca jabbed a finger at him. “Be careful you get enough fluids. And if this goes on for much longer, you should get checked out by the doctor.”

Darby blew on his newly refilled brew then took a sip before setting the cup down. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” He didn’t want to tell her he’d stopped giving a shit about his health.

She stirred her mug of coffee. “So, what was it you were saying? About not understanding the play?” She took a drink and rolled her eyes. “You could’ve asked me before, you know.”

He fiddled with his spoon. “It’s not that big a deal. I know it’s supposed to be a famous play that was also a movie and that I should know all about it and so on. But I guess I never got around to seeing it. I wasn’t following along very well when it got to the part about modern wars and world leaders. Wasn’t it supposed to be a romance?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Well, yeah. They kind of took a left turn there with the source material by making it into a peace versus war message, but there’s not much to understand, really. The basic premise stays the same. This rare opportunity comes along to have what you’ve always wanted, but your attachment to the way things have always been prevents you from accepting it.”

Darby choked on his coffee, splashing some of the hot liquid onto his hand. He set down the mug too hard and even more of the drink sloshed out of the cup and made a puddle on the table.

“Dammit.”

Becca handed him her napkin, and along with his, he mopped up the mess the best that he could.

“You all right there, champ?”

Darby nodded, then realized he was lying like a snake. A dirty, no good snake who broke the heart of the love of his life. He changed the nod to a shake.

Becca arched her eyebrows. “I knew something was stuck in your craw. I’ve been trying to pry this out of you for weeks.”

He heard Becca speak but he couldn’t focus on what she was saying. He remembered his mother, how he was certain that she’d died from a broken heart after her father passed. Then he pictured the sadness and loss in Bram’s eyes the last time they’d been together.

“Hey, Becca. Do you like fish?”

Her mouth snapped shut in the middle of whatever sentence she’d been uttering during his pondering. “Why? Is there a seafood place you’ve been wanting to try?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. Do you like goldfish? You know, the little guys swimming around in a bowl.”

“Wow.” She chuckled. “You’re losing it, dude. Yeah, they’re all right. Why?”

Darby pulled his wallet from his jeans then plucked a twenty from the billfold. “I might need you to feed mine. You know where the spare key is. Here.” He tossed the money on the table. “I gotta run.”

“Wait, I don’t have any cash. I was gonna use my card.”

A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened. “That’s fine. I don’t need any cash.

Not where I’m going.

She shook her head. “The coffee isn’t that good. What’s going on with you?”

Darby slid back his chair then rose, the tightness in his chest loosening for the first time in days. He grinned at her.

“I’m ready to accept what’s being offered to me.”