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Once again, there was a long pause as Matias seemed to debate whether or not to follow through on my request, but then he was moving between me and the bed. It was all I could do not to step back from him when his chest briefly brushed mine. I had to believe he was engaging in the physical contact on purpose.
I just didn't know why.
Mac had always told me I was beautiful, but it'd been one of those things I'd silently disagreed with him on. Granted, I'd loved hearing him say it, but I'd also hated it in a way because it had made me think he was lying. I'd been average at best as a young man and while age had been kind to me when it came to my body, it hadn't suddenly turned me into any kind of distinguished George Clooney type who got better with age. I was skinny in some places and had a few extra pounds in others. I exercised enough to keep healthy, but nothing more than jogging around my neighborhood in the mornings or riding my bike in the afternoons while pulling Ryan in a little buggy behind me.
I forced myself to focus on the task at hand rather than the ridiculous thoughts going through my head. It made no difference what Matias was like in bed. Even if he did want me for some reason, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
Yeah, right.
I told my inner voice to shut up and busied myself with opening one of the gauze squares as Matias settled onto the bed. Once again, I found myself standing over him and while that should've given me some sense of power, I still felt as off-balance as ever.
As I began working on Matias's hand, he remained silent.
That was something I should’ve been happy about, but all it did was make me uncomfortable. Early on in my relationship with Mac, he'd poked fun at my inability to deal with awkward silences. Once he’d found out the truth about why they were so difficult for me, he'd never again made fun of my verbal vomit. I doubted Matias would be as understanding.
I silently cursed again because I was still doing it… the comparing Mac and Matias thing.
"You don't have to fix the windows," I said, because I was that desperate to stop thinking altogether. "But I appreciate you boarding this one up. I'm not exactly handy when it comes to tools."
Not surprisingly, Matias said nothing. I could feel him watching me, but this time I was smart enough not to make eye contact. "I owe you an apology," I finally said after what felt like an infinite minute. "I shouldn't have kicked you out like—"
"How long has he been gone?" Matias asked. I was in the process of opening the packaging on the hot-pink adhesive bandage when he asked the question. He might as well have stabbed me in the heart.
I tried to focus on what I was doing and just ignored his question, but it was like my voice was separate from my brain because all of a sudden I was saying, "Too long." I let out what sounded like a rusty laugh. "It's been twenty-five years and it still feels like I just found out, you know?"
"No, I don't," he said.
His comment had me looking at him in surprise. Mostly because I hadn't been expecting him to say anything at all. From the way he was watching me, I could tell he hadn't said the words in any kind of malicious way. I wanted to believe that I saw a sliver of sympathy in his eyes, but I couldn't be sure. The man was next to impossible to read. Since we were treading in dangerous waters, I said, "What are you doing here, Matias?" I held his gaze as I added, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be calling the cops right now to tell them you broke into my house."
I was proud of myself for the firmness in my voice as I asked the question, but instead of answering me, Matias reached for the bandage in my hand. I let him take it from me, assuming he just wanted to wrap his hand himself. But instead of doing that, he dropped the bandage on the bed. The piece of gauze I'd applied had a little bit of adhesive on the pad, so it stayed put on its own.
"He loved you?" Matias asked.
It was the very last question I'd been expecting. The fact that we were once again back on the subject of Mac should've angered me, but I was too focused on his question. One of the hardest things about losing Mac was that I hadn't had anyone to talk to about him once he'd passed. He hadn't had any family, and I hadn't had any kind of relationship with my own. And the men he’d once called friends had been the same men who'd betrayed him and put him, however indirectly, into his coffin. So to have this man in front of me, this virtual stranger, ask me about Mac stung like a son of a bitch, but there was this odd sense of relief too. In so many ways it felt like I was forgetting everything about Mac, but the one simple question from Matias had instantly caused a host of memories to go through me.
