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I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as I gaze around the huge space. My stomach growls, and I know I should eat, but the cupboards are empty. When I drove to the shops this afternoon and realised my bank card was out of date and invalid, I turned around and came all the way back, found the cash in the safe Charlie had mentioned, and then went to the pub.
Nothing feels quite like it did before I left. It’s as if the people around me know something I don’t, and yet nothing has really changed.
I head for the bedrooms upstairs, walking toward the room that was once mine. When I arrived last week, the main bedroom was dressed and made for me, and yet as I’d lain on the super-king bed and tried to sleep, the vast open room around me feeling hollow and cold, my entire body began to shake.
My old room is smaller and, apparently, the perfect place for Elliot to store his shit. I spent the day emptying it and then setting up my things.
I guess it was always the joke between us. Charlie had the third nicest room when we’d stay over, and I took the “closet room.” I never minded it, always used to taking the lesser when growing up with three sisters like Nessa-Anne, Molly, and Chloe, and the room is hardly small.
I close the bedroom door behind me and lock it, then go to the en suite and clean my teeth in silence.
Just the whoosh and scratch from the bristles of my toothbrush against my teeth.
Nothing to say, and no one to listen.
When I’m done, I pull my sweatshirt over my head and strip down to my boxer briefs. With little thought to the why, and like every other night I’ve been here, I drag the covers back from the bed and pull them to the small two-seater sofa in the corner of the room, chucking down a pillow at one end.
Then I check the door’s locked—twice—slip between the cushions and plush quilt, and lie in the silence of the house.
“Sullivan!”
I wake with a start as a fist hammers on the wooden door. My chest heaves, my heart thumping against my ribcage as I’m instantly on alert.
“The door’s locked.”
“You don’t think he’d do anything, do you?”
I let the voices outside the door settle around the fog, telling myself that it’s my friends and that I’m safe.
You’re at Elliot’s.
You’re at Elliot’s.
“Fuck,” I breathe out.
Pulling in a harsh inhale, I grab up the quilt and toss it onto the bed along with the pillow.
“Lance?”
I swallow and clear my throat. “Just a minute.”
I don’t miss the collective sigh as I unlatch the lock and wrench open the door. “Sorry,” I mutter, stepping aside to let them in.
The three of them stand shoulder to shoulder as they look into the boxy room and frown. Charlie is the first to step inside, and it’s not until they’re all over the threshold that I realise how stupid I must look inviting them into the room when we have a whole house beyond my bedroom’s four walls.
“You took the closet room,” Elliot remarks, eyeing the old room.
“Not many closets have en suites and double beds,” I reply, chuckling awkwardly as I let my gaze move over them. They’re all a little bit different, yet the same, with smile lines from what I can only hope are years of laughing.
I don’t know what to expect as they stare back at me, thoughtful, hard looks on all of their faces. But then Elliot grins. “You’re aging like wine, my friend.” He pulls me in for a hug, and it’s so unexpected, I stand stock still, unable to do anything as his arms wrap around my shoulders.
And fuck if I don’t want him to let me go.
“You reek of stale beer,” he groans, pulling away and brushing his hands together as if I’m dirty. “Get in the shower, and we’ll grab breakfast.” He nods, giving me a reassuring look. Mason and Charlie don’t say a word.
When they turn to head out of the room, I clear my throat and say, “You don’t have to do this for me. I’m fine—I’ll be fine.”
Charlie and Mason continue out the door, and it’s Elliot who stops and looks at me straight-faced, a hint of the emotion my two best friends bore moments ago now creeping over his features as he replies, “We’re not just doing it for you, Lance.”
