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“Everything is a joke to you!” I roar. “Could you be serious for two minutes and talk to me about this? I lost my job. I lost my roommate, so I’m going to lose my apartment when I can’t make rent. I almost lostyou. This isn’t funny to me.”
His lips press tight and he nods slowly, wincing. Shit. I shouldn’t yell at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Sit, please. Tell me what you need.”
I pace instead, too angry to sit, while he watches me. The effort it takes for him to keep his mouth shut must be monumental.
What do I need?
A new life, for one.
“I’m going to do it, so long as you want me to—” I hold up my hand, cutting off whatever stupid thing he’s about to say about wanting me. “But only if you promise to accept we are just friends.”
“No.”
I whirl on him. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I love you.” He says it with a shrug like it’s the most obvious thing. Newsflash: The Sun Rises in the East. “I can’t turn it off.”
God, I want to cry. I sink into the chair and rub my temple. “Why do you have to make this so hard?”
“I’m telling you how I feel about you. I’m not trying to make anything hard for you.”
Shit. He’s serious. He didn’t make the obvious dick joke.
“I want to help you. I need the money and a place to stay, but I need you to stop talking about this.” The pain in his eyes makes me swear under my breath. “I love you, Timothy,” I say softer. “But as a friend. Can you accept that?”
He closes his eyes, rubbing at them as he draws a ragged breath.
Shit. I’ve never seen him cry before—other than tears of laughter. I don’t want to hurt him, but it’s better this way. He has to see that.
His hand falls away, his eyes soft as they meet mine. “If that’s what you want.”
It is. It’s definitely what I want.
The relief I feel isn’t as strong as I expected. Instead, I feel oddly broken.
“If you change your mind”—Timothy’s sad puppy dog eyes shred my heart to bits, his small smile stomping all over the pieces—“let me know, okay? Because I’m never going to stop loving you.”
There are tears in my eyes again, and I don’t know why. Today has been too much.
He holds his arms out. “Come here. Friend hug. Promise.”
I need one of his hugs.
I sit on his bed, hip to hip, leaning forward to wrap my arms around him. His arms wind around me, holding me perfectly. The familiar scent of him is there but faded. I listen to his heartbeat, to each breath he takes. I’m so grateful his heart is still pumping and his lungs are still breathing, but I’m also angry and scared.
I need to get out of here. I escape the hug, rising to my feet. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”
“Going to the gym?” he asks, a soft smile on his face.
Hitting shit is good for the soul. He knows me so well. “Yeah.”
“Wish I could come with,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping to his feet, sticking up from under the hospital sheet.
“Soon enough,” I say, and he brightens a little. “I’ll tell everyone you say hi.”
I manage to leave the hospital without running into his parents. Soon enough, I’m walking into my boxing gym, inhaling the familiar scent of leather, Lysol, and stale sweat. It’s always hot in this gym, and the heat eases some tension out of my body before I’ve reached my locker.
