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He was fucking with my money and my tight, pristine schedule, and Greg was sure to get an earful on Monday.
Either way, I was excited to get Colin out of the house to attend a football game. Knowing his love for the sport, I was hopeful we'd be able to enjoy ourselves, and Col would get to meet some of the players he watches on his television damn near every Sunday. Not only that, it was my opportunity to see Ashton in action again.
That's right. Ashton was in town. The Chicago Bears were playing the Denver Broncos, and I was more than excited to watch him play live. Every time he played in town, he texted to see if we could meet to catch up. He knew my life with Colin and knew that more often than not, I'd have to decline offers to get out of the house, but that never stopped him from trying, and he never once held it against me.
I couldn’t deny the nervousness in my gut over seeing Lake again. I was doing my best to keep it casual. Just sex and therapy. We could do this. Casual. I deserved a little fun as long as we kept it under wraps. Right?
Fortunately, today was my chance to make it all happen. See friends, see my crush, bring Colin, enjoy a hint of normalcy again.
Unfortunately for me, today was not a good day.
It's hit or miss, and something as small as a change in schedule or a sensitivity to a new smell, like the Indian food my neighbor across the hall is attempting to perfect that’s seeping beneath the gap in our run-down front door, can reroute our entire day. Whatever the reason may have been, Colin was not in a good place to handle the stress of an event as large as an NFL football game from the sidelines. As frustrating as it is, it's life, and I deal with it.
I just hope Lake will understand. Lake. The guy I'd sucked off at work. On the massage table.God, I'm a whore.
“You washed my shirt?” Colin asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Uh…” I stutter, refocusing.
“You washed my shirt. You washed. Washed. Washed.” He breathes hard as he rocks. “You washed my s-shirt, right Pickle?”
We are on the brink of destruction. I watch as those fingers twist tightly, knuckles white as he clenches his fists. I see beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and he pulls at the collar of his sweatshirt. It's the build-up to a meltdown.
“Yep. I washed your favorite shirt, Col. It's in the dryer right now. Come here,” I say softly, holding my hands out for him. “Let's take this off so you can breathe.”
He rocks a few times in his seat before nodding and holding his arms out for me. I help pull his sweatshirt over his head as he sits back in the recliner.
I go to hang the sweatshirt back up in his closet when I hear a knock at the door. Confusion hits me when I head towards it and undo the rusty locks, finding a face I wasn't expecting.
Katia.
“Let's celebrate, bitch!” she yells out, holding up two bottles of wine by the neck, one in each hand.
My expression etches with concern.
“Please tell me I didn't forget your birthday,” I reply with a hand to my forehead, worried I'm a shit friend to a woman who's been there for me more times than I can count.
“God, no!” she gasps. “I haven't aged since forty.” I laugh at her joke before she explains,“This is a welcome home party.”
My brows lower. “For who?”
“For me, silly! I finally got the keys to 103!” she exclaims, pushing past my stunned form into the apartment.Katia’s my new neighbor?“Hey, where's Col? I bought him a housewarming gift.”
She sets her bag down and pulls out a small vintage pickup truck, setting it on the counter with her wine.
“Kat,” I stall, shaking my head. “I think we're supposed to buyyoua gift. This isn't—you're not doing this right.”
“Fuck it. I just so happen to have some of my favorite people as neighbors now.” She smiles, leaning against the counter. “C'mon now, pop that bottle!”
I chuckle at the complete randomness, turning to grab the wine glasses from the cabinet.
We watch the game from my tiny loveseat, practically snuggling together with our wine as I withhold the fact that we were supposed to be there. She asks about Colin and why he hasn't left his room since she got there. He loves her, so to not say hello is normal, considering his state of mind at the moment. I explain his near meltdown, and she nods in understanding.
“You're an amazing young woman, you know that Dylan?” she says, finishing off her glass and setting it down on the wooden coffee table. “You never push him. You're patient when you need to be. You just accept and acknowledge, and honestly, that's all you can do sometimes.”
I look down at my half-empty glass, running my thumb along the brim. It's been my life for as long as I can remember. Even if it is difficult to accept at times, I wouldn't have it any other way. He's my brother, my best friend.
“Pickle and Collie were supposed to be there,” Colin's voice breaks through the room. He's walking toward us in his canary button-up he must’ve pulled from the dryer. “Pickle and Collie were supposed to be there, Kat, but Colin hates Indian food. I don’t like it. The smell. I don’t like it.”
