The game ended a little after 8:30. They picked out a movie, cracked open a few more beers, and shot the shit asthey watched dumb teenagers get picked off one-by-one by the psycho killer. Lance had worried about how Tanner might react, but he’d waved off his concerns.
“War is nothing like this shit. Trust me,” he said with a hearty laugh.
Sometime before the final scene when the only survivor murdered the masked killer, Tanner had fallen asleep, head bent sideways, both feet propped up on the ottoman. He looked so peaceful. Like he felt safe and protected.
Tanner jerked awake just as the closing credits started rolling.
“Shit, I’m sorry I fell asleep on you in the middle of the movie,” he said, wincing as he sat up, shifted his left leg and placed his foot on the floor.
“Yeah, how dare you fall asleep on my couch like that! Why, the very idea—” Lance tsked mockingly, adding an eyeroll for effect.
“Not sure how I can still be tired. I slept for eight hours straight today,” he said, as if those eight hours could possibly make up for years of sleep deprivation.
It must have been several beers that loosened Lance’s tongue, because the question just slipped out.
“Why don’t you ever sleep?”
Tanner had started to stand, bracing his right arm against the couch for balance. He went still for a moment. Lance could tell he was debating whether to answer. Finally, with a sigh, he sat down again before speaking.
“There are several reasons. Nightmares, for one, and then—it’s hard for me to relax anyway. Even though I’m by myself in the condo and it’s quiet, the apartment complex is pretty busy and noisy. I always feel as if someone’s about to get the drop on me—” he shook his head. “It doesn’t make much sense. My therapist says it’s just—” he stopped, and looked away, as ifashamed to admit he was seeing a therapist. “It’s all just a load of horseshit. I’m not sure I can explain it.”
“Maybe that’s why you slept so well today on my magical, huge-assed couch. My only neighbours are hundreds of yards away and you know there’s someone else in the house. Someone you can trust.”
“Probably,” Tanner agreed with a quick laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I tried sleeping at my sister’s house for a few weeks after getting discharged from the hospital. It wasn’t bad, but then I’d panic, or have a nightmare that would wake my nieces. That wasn’t what any of us needed or wanted. I decided to rent a condo temporarily. I’m waiting on my official discharge letter along with a big fat check. There should be enough money in back pay to get me out of my condo and into a nice-sized house. I should sleep much better then.” He huffed a laugh and turned to look at Lance with a twisted smile. “Oddly enough, paychecks from Uncle Sam stop when you’re MIA.”
Tanner ducked his head, uncomfortable talking about his lack of funds. Lance knew most people didn’t like discussing money, but if anyone could understand the situation, surely it would be an accountant, right? Lance almost said as much but didn’t think Tanner would appreciate it. Instead, he quickly devised a way to take care of Tanner and keep him close.
“Well, alright then,” Lance said, clapping his hands together. “Seems like we got a plan! Until your big fat check comes in, and we get you a new place to stay, the magical sleepy-time couch—with a deluxe pillow and fuzzy blanket—is all yours,” he stated with a pleased, confident smile. He stood up, knowing Tanner would likely disagree, but hoping he could move quickly enough to thwart any opposition. “Let me just grab the stuff for the couch so you can settle in for a nice, comfy snooze.” He grabbed their empty beer bottles and plates,heading for the kitchen as Tanner sat there looking stunned for a minute.
“What?” Tanner screeched after thinking all this through. “Hold up! That’s not—I didn’t—” he struggled to form a cogent argument. Lance was already halfway to the kitchen by the time Tanner caught up with him.
“I didn’t say anything remotely close to that! Like at all! I never even—”
Lance turned back towards him so quickly that Tanner jerked to a sudden halt. Taking advantage of the break in Tanner’s rant, Lance resumed his persuasive argument.
“Listen, dude. I know it’s a little—unconventional to offer your couch to a guy you met a few days ago on the Internet, but the truth is, this house is too fucking big for me. I like the company, and you already love my awesomely comfortable couch. Don’t you agree that my idea is stellar and that it kills two birds with one stone?”
“No, no, no!” Tanner protested vigorously, shaking his head. “Listen. Thanks, for everything, but it’s too much. I can’t—” he shook his head again, hair flying every which way. He took a few steps back, bumping hard against the counter behind him and wincing at the pain in his lower back. “Thanks, really,” he added quickly, not wanting to offend or sound ungrateful. “But I can’t accept your offer. I should go. I’ve been—I mean, I’ve intruded long enough.” Looking panicked, Tanner headed towards the front door. He grabbed his keys off the entryway table and opened the door before Lance could think of a way to stop him.
“Thanks for everything!” Tanner called out right as the door closed behind him, leaving Lance staring after him, confused and—fuck—sad? No, disappointed. And feeling somewhat empty inside, like he’d just lost something he needed.
He should have known better. Really. What the fuck had he been thinking, pressuring Tanner into staying at his house? Of course, the guy was going to cut and run. They’d only met a few days ago. That wasn’t a whole lot of time in which to build a foundation of trust, at least on Tanner’s part, to make this cockamamie plan work. Tanner was a fucking military veteran who had more issues thanNewsweek. How could Lance have been so foolish as to think for even one moment that he could get Tanner to let down his guard so soon. He dropped heavily onto his couch, feeling—fuck—he couldn’t find the right words to express what he was feeling. But just as Lance concluded that he was the world’s biggest fucking idiot, his front door swung open. Tanner limped back inside, slammed the door shut, and leaned back against it. Silently, he stared down at his well-worn sneakers. When he looked up, he looked much younger—years younger—but also impossibly frayed. Like an old, threadbare piece of fabric.
“I’m so fucking tired of being tired.” His admission was painfully raw. It took everything Lance had to remain still and not rush to Tanner’s side.
Unspeaking, they stared at each other while Lance’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. Tanner looked desperate, exhausted, and close to tears.
“I’ll get the sheets,” Lance said with a nod and a warm smile.
Tanner bit down on his bottom lip as he watched Lance get to his feet. “Thanks for this.” His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. “It’s—,” he shook his head like he couldn’t quite find the right words. “Thanks.”
“You know—” Lance turned to face Tanner and said softly, “After everything you’ve gone through—I think you’re owed a little comfort.”
If Lance had drop kicked Tanner, right there in the middle of his living room, Tanner couldn’t have been more surprised.
It was too much. They both knew it, but it was also the God’s honest fucking truth. While Tanner stared at him wonderingly, Lance forced himself to keep moving. He made up the couch and ran upstairs to grab a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt for Tanner to sleep in. When he returned, he handed them over with a nod towards the bathroom. Tanner still looked dazed but nonetheless followed Lance’s silent directive.
*****
