Page 80 of The Art of Drowning

“I thought you left,” Callum grumbled, scratching his stomach.

“I had to call Bowie and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Hi, Bowie,” Callum said as he ducked close and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Take your time.”

He disappeared inside, and I had to stifle the desire to follow him. But I’d already been a shitty enough friend to Bowie, and I wasn’t about to ditch him just because Callum was conscious. And hot. And basically irresistible.

“When are you heading back to his parents’?” Bowie asked. “And how long do you plan on being gone?”

“We’re leaving after breakfast and I don’t know. As long as it takes. Probably not long. I don’t imagine there’s a whole lot Callum can do about what he was told. Either they’re his parents, or they’re not. And he’ll either find out that Sam was full of shit, or he’ll find out the reason he was raised by people who aren’t his parents.”

“That’s a very practical approach. But you realize that, either way, he’s going to have shit to unpack, right? Either his brother was a liar and a manipulator, or his parents kept a huge-ass secret his whole life. Both are going to fuck with him.”

I leaned against the railing at the edge of the concrete steps. My ass was quickly going numb from the cold slab, and the wrought iron spindles dug into my shoulder. “I know.”

“You can’t be his everything, Damien. It’s great that you want to support him emotionally and morally.”

“But?”

“But be careful that you’re not taking on too much responsibility for him.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t want my best friend to tear himself up for how the actions of other people affected people he cares about. You didn’t leave those letters. You didn’t keep those secrets. Callum’s happiness isn’t your responsibility and his anger isn’t your fault.”

“How do you know he’s angry?”

“Because I’d be pissed if I were in that situation.”

Bowie let out a breath, and I could tell he was exasperated with me. I wanted to apologize, but knowing Bowie, he’d get mad about that too. He often thought I chewed off parts of myself to try and fit with other people. He wasn’t about to let me say sorry for something that had nothing to do with me.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.” I pushed myself to my feet and wondered when I’d drunk my coffee. The cup was nearly empty, and I couldn’t remember taking a drink at all. I’d been too wrapped up in my conversation with Bowie to notice. “I should go. We need to get on the road soon.”

“Keep in touch. I mean it, Damien. You want to be there for him, but let me be there for you.”

“I’m not the one who needs to find out if his parents are really his parents.”

“Just because it’s not about you, doesn’t mean it won’t affect you. Call me if you need me. And even if you don’t. I want to hear from you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now get off the phone, and let me go back to sleep. I have another hour before I have to get up,” he said, yawning half the words.

“Thanks, Bowie.”

“You owe me.”

“Always do.”

The call ended and I took the last sip of my coffee before going back inside. I hung Callum’s jacket back up and took my shoes off. After pouring a fresh coffee, I wandered into the bedroom where Callum was. He sat on the edge of the bed, now dressed in black jeans and a burgundy sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Burgundy was a good color for him.

“Your friend must hate me.”

Callum sounded sad when he said it, and I wanted to make him feel better about it. Bowie might not be his biggest fan, but I didn’t doubt that Bowie loved me and would always look out for me.

“My friend loves me. Those aren’t the same thing.” I sat on the bed next to him and set my coffee on the nightstand. I wrapped an arm around Callum and pulled him close to me. “He’s worried about me, and for me, and yeah, he’s not super thrilled that I’m so invested in you, but it comes from a place of love, not hate.”

“Sometimes those two things aren’t all that different,” Callum said, leaning against me a little more.