“If that’s cheating, you did it too. I can smell toothpaste.”
Baylor groans. “Fine.” He slowly opens his eyes, looking at me and the still falling snow. “Did we really go back to bed in the middle of the day to sleep off too much drinking?”
I turn to him, trying not to jostle the low headache that is threatening me. “We really did.”
“Here.” He reaches over and hands me water and pain killers. I arc an imperious eyebrow at the obvious evidence he left and came back. Even more incriminating than the toothpaste.
“Jesus. Wasn’t there a time we played bars until last call and then stayed out until sunrise?”
Baylor snorts. “A time long ago, maybe. In fact, isn’t that still your life?”
“Nah. Not even close.”
“Really?”
I shrug, feeling the soft smile that wants to tug at my mouth. Just me and Baylor. In his bed. Talking.
It smells like him, and as aroused as I am to be here like this with him — it’s the intimacy of the moment that I love.
“Don’t believe everything they say in the press.” I mean to say it flippantly, but it comes out with a bitter edge. Because what I want more than anything is to cross this divide between us. The metaphorical one and the foot or so of the bed that separates us.
If I could get my hands on him, I could get him to remember what it was like between us. And only after that will I accept he has ever found something better. I know he hasn’t. This house was built for a family that isn’t here.
Someone broke his heart, my brain reminds me. And they aren’t here. So, if something happens, he’s only cheating on a memory. A memory that may be more powerful than me here in the flesh.
Baylor’s face scrunches in confusion. “Cas?”
Fuck. I don’t want that to be true.
Is it possible for someone to be the one for you, but you aren’t the one for them? Is the universe that cruel?
“What happened to us, Baylor?”
I can tell the question hits him hard. He breathes in and out, like he’s deciding what to say.
“What do you. . .I mean. . .” Baylor’s never been one for saying much, and I hate pushing him. I hate hearing his breath hitch and his eyes sort of pass over me, like we can’t have this talk.
At least he isn’t pretending like we don’t need to talk. For the sake of the album. For the sake of us.
“Hey,” I tell him, softening my voice and taking the chance at touching his face. Ever so slightly he leans into my palm.
“I was behind you all the way, Cas. Always cheered your successes. I want you to know I—”
“Hey,” I tell him, still gently, but louder. “You think I don’t know that? Hell, you are the reason I have a career at all. That, I do know. And I appreciate every song.”
Baylor’s forehead still is wrinkled in a frown, but at least he’s looking at me again. Here we are, side by side, facing each other with a cheek to a pillow.
“The thing is, I wanted you to go do your thing, just like I said I did. I just. . . ” He swallows hard. “Can we just leave it at that?”
“Did you avoid theGrammy sbecause of me?”
“No. I just. . . Do you remember that one time, back at the beginning I went to thatRolling Stonething they did?”
“The after party? For theGolden Globes?” Of course, I remember. Baylor walked in with a suit made to fit him like a glove. I can still taste the longing I felt that night, over a decade ago now, but the bittersweet bouquet stays lodged in the back of my throat.
“Everyone was just so fake. I spent the entire night trying to figure out what I could say, and what I couldn’t. Then everyone commented on how quiet I was. It was foster care all over again. The constant judgement. The constant need to fit into some sort of box. And I realized you were at theGolden Globes, too. At an after party, even. Seeing that made my Bear Valley life okay. I didn’t have to go to that stuff to help you succeed, or help me succeed, you were already doing it.”
“We could have called or talked or. . .” A laugh bubbles up as I feel my face flush when I notice how closely we have moved to each other in the bed. Just like on the floor this morning. That constant need I have to reel in because of Baylor Mann, never fades.
