23
The sucking loss at the sight of Seb’s retreating back threatened to pull Martin under. Only Penny, standing anxiously on the steps when he returned to the house, gave him something to focus on and stay afloat.
Brian returned from work to find the two of them in the kitchen, Seb’s untouched meal still on the table.
“He’ll come back,” Brian said. But he hadn’t seen the look on Seb’s face, or felt the wrenching pain of every word and accusation flung at Martin. Grief and rage twisted Seb into someone Martin didn’t recognize.
Had he made a mistake in talking to Oliver? Or had admitting to it been the problem? If he’d said nothing and waited for Oliver to show up unannounced in the morning, would Seb have reacted any better?
He rolled, missing the nearness of Seb’s body in the bed. The last few nights, it had been as if they were tethered together, with Martin holding Seb to the world while he mourned silently. Before that, something else pulled them together. Need and lust, yes, but Seb had been so careful, kind even. Martin wanted that back. Not just the sex, but the sense of connection, like someone finally cared about him after months of drowning in depression and the endless loneliness brought with it.
Brian watched him while they ate breakfast. Martin had to reassure him he would be fine before his brother finally agreed to go to work. He told Martin repeatedly to call if he needed anything, reminding him of those first weeks in Seacroft, when Brian treated him like he might break under the slightest pressure. He was better now, though, sturdier. He had to be, in case Seb came back.
Just before noon, a knock sent his heart off on a runaway train. He raced to answer it, forming apologies and promises as he pulled the door open, and the train skidded off the track.
It was Oliver.
He must have seen the crushing disappointment on Martin’s face, because his own smile faded. “He’s not here, is he?” he said.
Martin didn’t have to ask who he meant. “I don’t know where he is.”
They drove downtown, because Oliver wanted to see the bookstore. The area was cordoned off, and several dumpsters had been placed on the street. Crews were loading heaps of old material into them with shovels.
“Holy shit,” Oliver said.
“More or less.”
They parked and went to the diner, because Martin couldn’t bear the idea of going back to Brian’s. Carol Anne and Penny were both there and made a big fuss when Martin introduced her to Oliver.
“Sit! Sit!” Penny shuffled them to a table near the cash. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Are you hungry? We’re trying a new coconut crusted catfish this week. I’ll get you some. On the house.”
“She’s very friendly,” Oliver said when they were alone again.
Carol Anne appeared with water and a basket of rolls, then pulled up a seat. “How’s Seb?”
Martin shook his head, and her eyes widened.
“I’ll find him.” Oliver gave her a confident smile. It hurt that Oliver was saying it, because Martin didn’t even know where to start. A sense of failure was sinking in. From the moment they’d come back to town, he’d wanted to help Seb so badly, and now he was left to powerlessly wait.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “He hardly spoke for two days, and then I mentioned that you’d called and it was like raising him from the dead.”
“I probably should have warned you not to say anything. He—We—It’s complicated. I could blame it on fiery artistic sensibilities, but that wouldn’t be fair. We never made it easy on him.”
“I saw you all at dinner. I don’t think any of you know how to make it easy for yourselves.”
Oliver wiped a crumb from his chin. “That’s somewhat true. It’s especially tough when Seb and my dad are in the same room. They’ve never understood one another. And then a few years ago there was this fight. Seb came to the house for my dad’s retirement party. He brought a guy with him, someone we’d never heard of. Seb didn’t even seem to know him very well. He might have found him on Grindr right before he drove up. Dad could tell it was a stunt, and he started picking on Seb. He never could resist pushing Seb’s buttons, but once Seb was old enough to push Dad’s back, it always ended in a shouting match. I don’t remember all of that last one, but Seb called Dad a bigoted snob, and Dad said he didn’t need a fag flaunting his lifestyle under the family roof, and...” Oliver shrugged.
“He didn’t tell me.” The anguish on Seb’s face at the thought his family might come to see him in Seacroft suddenly made more sense.
“For all his bluster, Seb’s a really private person. He doesn’t trust easily, and he’ll strike first if he thinks someone’s trying to hurt him.”
“First blood,” Martin said, and Oliver nodded.
“He’s learned to hide most of his insecurities under mountains of cynicism. You could drill for years and never strike oil with him.”
None of that made Martin feel better. The contrast of Seb, swaggering through the shop like king of the world, and the shrunken figure he’d become in the last few days played over and over in his head. “I could have helped.”
Oliver’s smile was kind. “If he was going to let anyone help, I think it would have been you. He’s different with you. I don’t know him as well as I probably should, but I could see the way he looked at you this weekend. There was care there. He wanted to make sure you were okay, even when he couldn’t stop stoking the shit show that is our family. He cares about you, trust me on that.”
