"There's a vending machine at the end of the hall," I say, starting to stand up. "It's not much, but it's something. Chips, candy bars. And I might have some crackers or something in the—"
I stop, realizing how pathetic that sounds. I'm offering him vending machine food and stale crackers. This is my life. This is what I have to give.
"I'm not hungry," Ivan says, gently pulling me back down to sit beside him. "Really. I'm fine. I just want to be here with you right now. That's all I need."
I take a breath, let it out slowly. "Can you stay? If you didn't bring a bag, you can borrow some of my things. You can't sleep in jeans."
"I didn't think about—"
"I can give you something to sleep in," I interrupt. "Some sweats, a t-shirt. And there's an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, still in the package. I bought a multipack a while back." I'm rambling now, talking just to fill the silence, to have something to do with my mouth besides say things I'll regret. "It's not much, but—"
"That would be great," Ivan says, smiling at me. "Of course, I want to stay. Thank you."
I get up from the bed, wincing at the pull in my ribs, and dig through my dresser until I find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that look relatively clean. I hand them to Ivan, then point him toward the bathroom.
"Toothbrush is in the cabinet under the sink. Towels are in the bathroom. Sorry, I'm not better prepared for company."
"Jay." Ivan stands up, the clothes in his hands. "It's okay. I'm not expecting the Ritz. I'm just happy to be here. Happy to be with you again."
He disappears into the bathroom and I hear the water running, the sounds of someone making themselves at home in my space. No one hasever stayed here before. No one has ever wanted to. The Vista Inn isn't a place for guests. It's a place for people who have nowhere else to go.
But Ivan is here. He's in my bathroom, brushing his teeth with my spare toothbrush, getting ready to sleep in my bed.
I change quickly into my own sleep clothes—an old t-shirt that's more holes than fabric and a pair of boxers. I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting, my heart pounding.
When Ivan comes out of the bathroom, he's wearing my clothes, and something about that makes my breath catch. They're a little tight on him—he's broader than me now, more muscular from years of physical work—but he's wearing my clothes, and it feels significant somehow. Like he's marked himself as mine in some small way.
"These are comfortable," he says, tugging at the t-shirt with a small smile. "Thanks for letting me borrow them. I guess I didn't put much thought into the trip here. I just got into my truck this morning and drove like a maniac."
"They look good on you," I say, and then immediately feel my face heat up. "I mean—they fit okay. That's what I meant."
Ivan just smiles and sits down on the bed beside me. "Are you sure you're okay with me sleeping here? There's only one bed and we're bigger than we were."
My heart jumps into my throat. "I can sleep in the chair. I've slept in worse places. You should take the bed."
"Don't be stupid," Ivan says, and he lies down, stretching out on his back with a sigh. He pats the space beside him. "Come here. Like old times."
Like old times.
When he was scared and I would hold him until he fell asleep. When we were just two kids trying to survive, and the only safe place was next to each other.
I lie down beside him slowly, carefully, acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch. The bed really is too small for two grown men, but I don't care. I don't think he does either.
"This is weird, right?" I say. "We should think this is weird."
"Does it feel weird to you?" Ivan asks quietly.
I consider the question honestly. His body is warm against mine. His breathing is slow and steady. We're two grown men sharing a bed in a motel room, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
"No," I admit quietly. "It feels like coming home."
Ivan turns his head to look at me, and he's smiling again, that real smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes and takes my breath away.
"Then stop worrying," he says. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
I close my eyes. His hand finds mine in the dark, fingers intertwining like they were made to fit together. Like puzzle pieces that finally found their match.
"Jay?"
