Benji had no doubt that things would’ve gone worse if Noah had tried to stop him from leaving that apartment. But part of him still wished he had. Maybe they could’ve talked things out, and Benji wouldn’t feel like he had a giant sinkhole in his chest.
He pocketed the balm and pushed into the apartment, dropping his wet jacket onto the carpet. He was so exhausted, every step felt like an effort.
Max looked up from the armchair next to the window. He shoved the book he was reading underneath him, but even in that split second, Benji recognized it: a picture book their aunt used to read to Max before bed. She hadn’t read it to Benji. He’d been too old for picture books by the time she showed up.
“Thought that was long gone,” Benji managed. “Why’d you bring it to the hotel?”’
Max shrugged, still perched on top of it. “I don’t know. Bored.”
It was such an obvious lie, Benji rolled his eyes. But he was too tired to follow up on it. He waved at him dismissively. “Go away. I want my bed.”
Max threw up his hands. “Your bedroom is the living room!”
“Too bad. Go do something in your room.”
Max slunk off, grumbling. He kept the picture book behind him, like he still didn’t want Benji to see it.
Benji stripped off his wet clothes and crawled into bed. He could feel his boxers getting the sheets wet, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was thinking about his aunt again, how often she sent them away when the cancer got worse. How she’d tried to make her own meals, even when she could barely hold them down. How she’d still tried to drive Max to his chess club instead of letting Benji do it. How she’d refused a wheelchair.
Always stand on your own two feet,she used to tell him. When it comes down to it, you only have yourself.
Benji knew it. He’d known it for a long time. It felt as true as his arms and legs. But god, he wanted Noah to have him, too.
He burrowed deeper into the duvet, tugging it over his head. It was getting harder to think about anything now between his throbbing ass, his damp boxers, his dead aunt and grumbling brother, and his phone vibrating on the nightstand.
He was still shaking when sleep dragged him under.
CHAPTER 10
Noah got the text at the end of a meeting.
He forced his face to stay in its usual mask of polite attentiveness, even as all his attention narrowed onto Benji’s name on his screen. He’d eased up on the texts, at Tia’s suggestion. So far, all that had earned him was a full day of radio silence. Not even any acknowledgement of the balm Noah had delivered to his hotel room. Noah wondered if Benji was driving him crazy on purpose. He needed to know Benji was taking care of himself, if he wouldn’t let Noah do it for him.
heeeeey, the message started.it’s max!!! benji is sick don’t tell him i told u he doesn’t want u to know. he’s being an asshole about it. daph says it means he rly wants to see u. come make him not be an asshole plsssss.
Before Noah could reply, a hand landed on his shoulder.
Noah looked up. Ford Fordson, an unfortunately named coworker whom Noah would tolerate more if he weren’t such a kiss ass, was beaming down at him.
“Great thinking, boss,” Ford said. “Are we still on for lunch? Love to discuss that billboard more with you. I think you’ve really got something. And hey, let’s invite the brother along!Been a while since I’ve seen our good ol’ CEO in one of these things.”
Michael looked over from the head of the table, where he’d spent the whole meeting scrolling through his phone.
Noah gave Ford a perfunctory smile. “Thanks, Ford. But I’m going to head home. I think I’m coming down with something. I don’t want to get the rest of the office sick.”
Ford frowned. “Sorry to hear that. Ah well, next?—”
Michael cut him off. “Last time you got sick, you holed yourself up in the office and got Tia to bring you soup. You don’t even look tired.”
Noah ignored the glances this earned him from their coworkers as they collected their papers and briefcases. It was harder to ignore Michael’s tone, which was less confused than Noah would like. Michael suspected something.
“I’m playing it safe,” Noah replied. “Enjoy your lunch.”
He headed for the door. Michael surged up, jogging around the table to grab Noah's sleeve.
Noah barely resisted the urge to yank his arm away. “Careful. Don’t want me to breathe on you.”
“You’ve done worse,” Michael said. He squinted into Noah’s face, as if trying to find any semblance of sweat, exhaustion, or fever. “You look fine.”
