Page 21 of Stroke Rate

“Shhh, Riv, shhh, sweetheart. You're okay," Brooke cooed as she supported his entire weight and let him dissolve into a puddle. Brooke was a tall woman at six feet and had those broad swimmer's shoulders, perfect for resting his head on. She had grown into such a beautiful woman. Long gone were her gangly limbs and pimpled face. Gone was the frizzy hair, always in a ponytail. In her place was a gorgeous, put-together woman supporting him with her strength and resilience. Brooke’s long dark hair tickled his nose as her honey and sunshine scent calmed and soothed him. Her arms, muscular and strong, encircled him in an effort to hold him together.

“I missed you,” he said into her neck, his voice soft and scratchy.

“Missed you too,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Let’s go sit. Tell me why you have been hiding, holed up like a hermit again, and this,” she asked, her touch soft on his throat. “Tell me about this. Actually, why don’t you start there? When did your setback start?” Brooke had known River long enough to witness plenty of his vocal setbacks.

River reached out to hold Brooke’s hand. “Um, well, this started on the day I met Chris.”

“Okay,” she drew the word out, waiting for River to give more information. When River didn’t answer, she asked, “Like the whisper started then? Your prosody was off the whole time? Or…”

River shook his head, because the less talking, the better. “No, um, it started with the stutter. It was so bad, Brooke, I sounded like a fool.” He placed his face in his hands, shaking his head from side to side.

For the better part of the morning, River explained to Brooke what had happened in Indianapolis and what he had been doing for the past month. His voice, thick and muffled by his stuffy nose, sounded pathetic, even to himself, as he let the whole story escape. He told her about meeting Chris, about the meal they shared, about the stuttering, and about how drawn to Chris he had been and still was. He told her of Chris’ mischievous smile and the way he felt being in his presence, about the kiss and what had happened after. That he had run away and had more or less ghosted Chris, even as he continued to text River daily.

Brooke sat holding River’s hand as he talked in a whisper, the smallest tilt curving the corner of her mouth as she ran her hand up and down his knee, helping to center him. He had missed her, and was thankful every day to still have her in his life. With his pathetic tale over, River drew a deep breath and met her eyes at last. Her responding gaze was gentle and empathetic, but a knowing glint lit her eyes and a faint, self-satisfied curve of her mouth suggested she was barely containing a secret amusement.

“I told you. I told you you’d be good together.” Her voice was quiet but full of glee. “Why did you run? Why haven’t you texted him back? River, he’s my best friend. He’s just as stubborn as I am, and he will not stop.”

“Yeah, I think I got that. It’s just, I fucked up so bad.”

“All Chris told me was that y'all met, had a great meal, and discussed training. Said everything went well,” she said, winking at River, as if his rambling recount of their night together was the best tale she had ever heard. Brooke’s predictions had been right; they were great together and clicked together like two puzzle pieces, but then River fucked everything up by crossing that boundary and running away.

“What happened was,” River started, “I was meeting him to be his coach. What happened was my brain started to glitch, and I stuttered… bad. What happened was I fucking slept with him.” Burying his face in his hands, he hoped the deep groan he let out conveyed how much he hated himself for what had happened. “Fuck Brooke, I want to be his coach, but he had on this short shirt, and his smile was, well apparently it was fucking mind-melting, and I’ve been so lonely, so alone for years. Being with him was just so easy. I haven’t felt. I haven’t felt anything in-in-in forever. I miss Coop and I miss Chris and I'm a fucking mess.”

Brooke pulled him in for a hug. “Oh sweetheart. Jesus, Riv, you never talk about anything. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine, I did it to myself, but Brooke, I’m old. Chris is so young, and he’s beautiful and young and well, I want to coach him, and I want to fuck him,” the words flew out of his mouth before his brain had time to stop him.‌

Brooke halted him with a hand on his chest. “Please stop. Hard pass on any more detailed sex stuff. I want y’all together in all the ways, but I do not need to hear about all the sex stuff. Like ever again,” she said begrudgingly. “Have you explained to him about your speech? Did you talk about it at all?”

“A little, but nothing too detailed. What was I to say? Like, oh hey I want to be your coach, and by the way, sometimes I can’t talk? Goes over really well. We had just met. I was already stuttering. It was a disaster.”

“Not a disaster, Riv, he wants you. He wants you to be his coach, but you hurt him by running and by giving him the silent treatment. He’s so sensitive.” Her eyes were full of pain as she chewed on her nails. “How can I explain Chris to you? You and I, Riv, are capable of handling a lot, but Chris—Chris is not like us. Behind all that snark and smile is a boy who has skin as soft and fragile as a peach. He bruises easily, Riv. He internalizes every negative comment and every little action that could be seen as negative, and then he attempts to correct it. Fix. Fix. Fix.” She snapped her fingers, emphasizing each word. “And he can’t stop until he ‘fixes’ whatever problem he thinks he has caused.” Brooke’s eyes were wet when she finished, sadness seeping from her.

“I just. Fuck,” River growled, angry with himself. “He did nothing wrong, Brooke. It’s me. I was so scared, I am still scared. I feel like he deserves so much more than this,” he said as he continued rubbing his hands over the old, dirty hoodie and well-loved pants. “I feel like I am betraying Coop by feeling the way I do. For doing the things we did,”‌ he said as he placed his head on Brooke’s shoulder, allowing her to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. “I miss Coop so much, but I realize that I'm not honoring him by living the life I've been living.”

I deserve light, he reminded himself.

She nodded. “Oh, you dumb old man, this is why I stick with women,” she laughed into his hair. “Coop would never want this for you. He loved you so much, Riv. You are not betraying him, and I’m sure he’s watching right now, wanting to flick you in the head for your stupidity. He’d want you to be happy. I want you happy,” she said, placing a kiss on top of River’s head, burying her nose in his hair. “Tell me this, when you were with Chris—how did you feel? Honestly.”

River let out a deep breath, “So good, Brooke. I felt so good.”

Sniffling back the tears threatening to spill, because good was such an insufficient way of describing how he felt with Chris. Good? God, he felt a soft scoff leave his lips at his own foolishness. Chris was beautiful and kind, a little snarky; but he was everything. With Chris, River felt safe and wanted, and home—he felt like he was home. And not like the home he was sitting in at the moment, because sure, this place was a home—but home had never been a structure for River.

Home had always been a person. Home was his mom’s lap, with her arms cradling him firmly even when he grew to be “too big” to do those types of things. Home was Coop, and Coop’s body tucked against River in bed. Home was the warm scent of the soft skin behind Coop’s ear. Home was Coop's laughter and hugs, and kisses. And now, it seemed that home was Chris. How was that even possible? Yet, that was the exact feeling River had. For a month, River had had an overwhelming feeling of homesickness; being separated from Chris was a horrible, self-induced torture. A swirling, tight knot in his belly he couldn’t get rid of, a heavy knot his body wouldn’t let him forget. God, he was such a mess.

“And I know it’s dumb, and I know it was only one day, but it feels like more. So much more. And I fucking freaked out and ran and hid. My speech got so bad and I, I just. Fuck. I really fucked up.”

“Yeah, bud, you did, but he’s waiting,” she said with a kind, knowing look on her face as she pushed the hair off his forehead and rubbed at the creases between his eyebrows. “He’s waiting for you, Riv. He’s so sad and lonely, and so are you. You guys are breaking my heart.” Her face contorted, as if what River had done to Chris and himself physically pained her, and maybe it did, because what he had done, what he was doing, pained River—like a knife to the gut every time he thought of Chris.

“He’s lonely?” River couldn't believe that. How could Chris—fun, happy, sweet Chris—be lonely?

Brooke's response was a gentle, “Mm-hmm, and you know the only way you two are going to erase any of that loneliness? By being together.”

“So what? What should I do?” His voice was so frail that he couldn't make a phone call to explain things; the conversation would be awkward enough in person. “I need to tell him about this,” he said, gesturing to his mouth and throat.

“And you will, but first just text him. Then go shower, you smell. Okay?”

“Okay.”