12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Allen

Allen stood back a bit, watching as Annabeth pushed a book cart up to the first of several rows of bookshelves. The two boys, Christopher and Owen, trailed behind her, both of them quiet and looking rather uncomfortable.

Annabeth stopped and turned to face the boys, offering Allen a soft, understanding smile as her eyes met his for a brief moment. Then she blinked and shifted her attention back to Christopher and Owen.

“So, this is called shelf reading,” she started, and Allen smiled inwardly as he saw both of the boys straighten up a bit and nod. “Basically, you’re each going to work your way down your shelf, checking the call numbers to be sure every book is in the right place. If you find one that’s not, you can reshelve it—put it where it belongs—if its proper place is close by, or if not, just set it aside on the cart for now, and when you’re through with your shelf, then you can take care of them. ”

She continued her explanation, but Allen stopped listening as he turned and headed back toward the desk at the front of the library. It wasn’t far, but by the time he got there, he felt winded, and he moved around behind the desk and sat heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Not since earlier that morning.

He heard the echo of the door slamming behind him and felt the sting again, like shards of glass piercing his heart. And the cold—he felt the cold too, seeping into him and numbing his fingers.

He was broken. Completely broken. Something inside him wasn’t working right. And it had caused him to go and overreact. Start a fight with his husband. A real, actual stomp-off-and-slam-the-door fight. All because he was stubborn and needed validation that Greg couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give. Just the thought of that—the reminder of their morning conversation—sent an unpleasant rush of nausea through him. And all those same feelings he’d been trying to tell Greg about that morning came back full force, as though trying to crush him. Smother him. Suffocate him.

That had to be why he couldn’t really breathe right. Why his hands were numb and his chest ached. Why all he could really feel was this overwhelming sadness and this odd detachment from the world around him. All of it mixed with a deep, simmering fear of the dark thoughts still swirling around in his head.

Unwanted. Unloved. A burden. Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.

There was a soft noise in front of him, and Allen looked up to see his coworker standing on the other side of the desk, her kind brown eyes watching him.

“That should keep them busy for a while,” Annabeth said with a small smile. But then her smile morphed into a frown, and she shook her head and raised one eyebrow at him. “You, um, you don’t look so great. Maybe, you know, you should head home. I can handle everything. Really. And Casey will be here in about an hour anyways.”

A sick feeling in the pit of Allen’s stomach had him shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I need to be here. I need to work on that proposal to the city council for funding to expand the after-school program, and—”

“Um, excuse me, Ms. Jones.” The voice from behind Annabeth was quiet and reluctant, and Allen recognized it immediately as Christopher’s. The nausea turned into a sharp pain that seemed to stab him in the gut, but he ignored it. “I found a book without a call number, and, um, what—what do you want me to do with that?”

Annabeth hadn’t turned away to acknowledge the boy and instead seemed to be watching Allen with even more concern. She opened her mouth, probably to ask him if he was alright, but he quickly nodded at her and forced a smile, even as his chest tightened more. “Go on and help them, and I’ll just get started on this proposal,” he managed, and he tore his eyes away from hers, gave Christopher another short nod, and shifted in his chair so he was facing his computer.

He was vaguely aware of Annabeth hesitating next to the desk for just a moment and then ushering Christopher away, presumably back to the bookshelves to take a look at the book he’d found. He knew she was worried about him. She’d been worried since he stepped foot in the library about a half hour ago, and she’d tried to talk to him several times. Before the boys had arrived, she’d even tried to convince him to go home.

A part of him wondered if Greg had called her and talked to her. Although he was pretty sure Greg wouldn’t do something like that.

Mostly, though, he felt this growing sadness that was much too deep to just brush off. And it was sadness mixed with something else intense and raw. Something that had made his heart start racing and his whole body feel off. Like there was something sitting on his shoulders, trying to bury him. And he just wanted it to disappear. He just wanted to disappear.

With fingers that didn’t quite feel like his own—because he couldn’t shake the sensation that his mind was occupying this foreign space that was not really his—he switched on his computer and opened up the file he needed. Around him, the air felt thick and stale, and when Annabeth returned to check on him a moment later, he waved her off, barely hearing her as she asked whether he was okay.

But she didn’t just leave. In fact, as Allen blinked and glanced up at her, she pursed her lips, shook her head gently, and then moved around behind the desk and took the seat next to him.

“This proposal is due next week,” he said quietly, faking another smile as he adjusted his reading glasses and set his hands on the keyboard. He tried to read the words on the computer screen, but his eyes wouldn’t really focus. And why did his chest hurt? “I-I should really try to get it finished, and—”

“Talk to me, Allen,” Annabeth cut in, her voice low but insistent. “No one’s here. The boys are working. You’re insisting on being here, when you should be home. And I say this in the most loving way, because I’m your friend, but you look like shit.”

Allen closed his eyes and blew out a short laugh, though his stomach seemed to knot up painfully at the same moment. “Gee, thanks a lot.”

“Seriously, though. Please tell me what’s going on,” she said again, her voice gentle now.

But he shook his head. She wouldn’t understand. She wanted to be supportive, sure, and he appreciated that. But she wouldn’ t understand, just like Greg hadn’t. And she didn’t need to be burdened by all of his uncertainties and pain and fear. Just like he shouldn’t have burdened Greg with all of it either. He shouldn’t have asked for so much, expected so much. He shouldn’t have made Greg worry. He shouldn’t have confessed as much as he had, since he knew it would just make Greg worry more. And then he shouldn’t have gotten short with Greg, stomped off, slammed the door.

God, he was just making a bad situation even worse. Just like he always did. It was too much. He was too much. No wonder Greg hadn’t come after him when he’d stalked off and hadn’t insisted on walking him to work. No wonder Allen had left home earlier without so much as a kiss on the cheek or a goodbye.

The numbness in his fingers spread all the way into his hands.

He faked another smile and lifted his eyes to meet Annabeth’s. “Really, it’s nothing,” he lied, although he regretted it immediately as guilt flared up inside him again. “There’s nothing going on. It’s just hard to be here and not remember last Sunday. That’s all. I promise.”

Annabeth was silent for a minute, and the guilt mixed with that deep sadness inside him. He swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” he added, lowering his eyes to the computer screen again as he doubled down on his not-quite-truth. “I’m sorry. I’m fine though. I’ll be fine. And the truth is, this is hard. It’s harder than I thought it would be. But I need to stay here while they’re here. I said I would, and so I will.”

Her hand settled on his shoulder and then gave a gentle squeeze.

“Okay, Allen. But if you’re not feeling well, let me know, okay? I can call Greg to come get you, and—”

He didn’t hear whatever else she had to say, because at that moment, the pain in his head intensified, and he sucked in a sharp breath as his vision blurred. He screwed his eyes shut and reached up to rub the bridge of his nose underneath his reading glasses.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, without really knowing all of what he was agreeing to. But it did the job, because Annabeth squeezed his shoulder again and then disappeared, maybe off to go get the rest of the library ready for their Saturday morning.

The pain slowly waned, fading from a sharp stabbing right behind his eyes to a dull throb across his whole forehead. And he waited with his eyes closed for a few more minutes, trying to steady himself using a grounding exercise Dr. Schultz had given him some years ago where he visualized drawing the sides of a square as he breathed in and out. It maybe sort of worked. Or at least, things didn’t get worse.

With another deep breath, he finally opened his eyes again and looked out around the library. The bleariness in his vision had mostly cleared, but the numbness in his hands had not. Nor had that strange detachment he felt. Across the library, he saw the two boys, working quietly in the same row, carefully scanning each of the books on the shelf. As though they knew they were being watched, both boys seemed to sneak a glance in his direction, and Allen had to force himself not to look away. But his stomach dropped, and a cold chill settled over him. Christopher was the first to lower his eyes, shifting his gaze back to the book he had in his hands. Owen kept his eyes on Allen for a few extra seconds, his expression tight, and then the teen bit his lip and gave Allen a weak, hesitant smile before turning back to his work.

Allen let out the breath he’d been holding. He took off his glasses and set them on the desk, then stood to go speak with the boys, since that was something he’d wanted to do but hadn’t been able to convince himself to earlier. He noticed Annabeth glance over at him from the other side of the library, where it looked like she was starting to reorganize some of the items on the display they had for local hiking trails and maps. She smiled kindly and looked like she was maybe about to say something.

But then the room around him began to spin. Or swirl. Or tilt. Dangerously. Sideways. And everything seemed to seep out of him—his strength, his breath, his warmth—out of him and downward, into the ground.

He tried to suck in air, but his knees gave out, and slowly, he began to fall. It seemed slow, at least, and he even had time, somehow, to register Annabeth’s eyes widening in fear from the other side of the room.

Then everything went dark.

***

“Mr. Westin! Mr. Westin, please wake up.”

“Move please, Owen. Christopher, call 9-1-1. Allen? Allen?”

He groaned, and pain shot through his back into his legs. His head hurt too. And his wrist.

More voices spoke to him, muffled though, and he felt Annabeth’s hand on his forehead. He forced his eyes open and blinked to clear his vision.

“Oh god, good, you’re not—”

“Ms. Jones, they want the address?”

Allen squinted and slowly brought one shaking hand up to his face, covering his eyes to block the bright light.

“Tell them it’s the library. They’ll know where to come. Allen, talk to me, please.” There was a desperation in Annabeth’s voice, and Allen felt her hand touch his forehead again.

“Wha—what happened? ”

“You’re gonna be okay. You fainted or something. How do you feel?”

He’d fainted? Groaning again, Allen set his hands down on either side of him and tried to push himself up, but his wrist flared with pain, and he just had no strength. That, and a strong hand pushed against his shoulder.

“Don’t try to sit up, Mr. Westin.” Allen recognized Owen’s voice, though it sounded shaky. “You probably had a sudden drop in blood pressure, and you should lie still until the paramedics get here to check you out.”

If he’d had any energy, he might have wanted to ask Owen how he knew that much. But he didn’t. He felt more exhausted than he’d maybe ever felt in his life. And weak. Like he could barely lift his own head.

“They’re on their way, Ms. Jones. Is he gonna be okay?” Christopher’s voice sounded far away. And scared.

Allen closed his eyes and brought his hand up to cover his face again. God, he was still shaking. And it hurt. Everywhere hurt. And... and he’d never fainted before. Something like panic rose up inside him, and his chest tightened. Was he okay?

The quiet voices continued around him, and Annabeth’s hand didn’t leave his forehead. He heard bits and pieces of the conversation, and he tried to focus long enough to listen, but it was a massive jumble of words that he struggled to follow. And his head was pounding. And his chest hurt.

“Allen, we called the paramedics, and they’ll be here soon, okay? And—shit, I’ve gotta call Greg. Dammit. Ah, boys, pretend you didn’t hear me say that. Owen, can you go unlock the front door so they can get in? Here’s the keys. Christopher, my cell phone is on my desk in the back office. Can you grab that for me please? Hang in there, Allen. Can you hear me? ”

“Yeah,” he answered, but his voice was raspy. He coughed to clear his throat, and his head hurt even more. “Sorry—sorry about this. Sorry, I’m...”

“Shh, no, Allen, you’re fine. I’m calling Greg right now, okay?”

He gave a weak nod and let his hand fall back down to his side. The numbness in his fingers had turned into a tingling, buzzing sensation that was both uncomfortable and rattled him.

“Mr. Westin?” It was Owen again, and Allen forced his eyes open to find the teen kneeling next to him, his lips pursed with concern.

“Yes, Owen?” he managed, and he closed his eyes again, too weak to keep them open. God, what was wrong with him?

“Sir, I’d like to elevate your legs a bit. That could help bring your blood pressure back to normal. Is that okay with you, sir?”

Again, Allen wondered how Owen knew this, but now wasn’t the time to ask, and so he just nodded with a feeble “yes.” A moment later, he felt his legs lifted and his feet settled onto a chair.

“There you go, Mr. Westin.”

“Thank you, Owen,” he said.

Annabeth’s hand moved to his shoulder. “Greg, hi... No, actually, he— ...No, he’s... Yeah.” With effort, Allen opened his eyes again and turned his head toward Annabeth, who was setting her phone down on the floor next to him and shaking her head slightly. Her eyes met his, and she seemed relieved somehow, offering him a gentle smile as she squeezed his shoulder. “Greg is on his way.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond because the paramedics arrived right then, and there was a flurry of activity around him. A young woman maybe in her early twenties knelt down next to him and began asking Annabeth and the boys questions, and someone took his blood pressure and listened to his heart. He closed his eyes just to block out all the activity around him, and he focused instead on his breathing. In and out. In and out.

Not more than a couple of minutes later, one of the paramedics lowered Allen’s legs from the chair and then helped him to sit up slowly. He still felt weak, a bit dizzy. And the intense throbbing right behind his eyes had only gotten worse.

It wasn’t until he opened his eyes a moment later that he noticed Greg standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his face taut with worry.

Pain and hurt and sadness hit him, and he clenched his jaw and blinked his eyes closed. How long had Greg been there? Why wasn’t he sitting there next to Allen, helping to support him, telling him he loved him? Had he finally realized—

“Mr. Westin?”

Allen heard his name from the woman on his left, and he tilted his head slightly in her direction. “Yes, sorry, I... What did you say?”

She seemed to give him a reassuring smile. “I need to ask you a series of questions to determine whether we should take you to the hospital or whether you should just go home and rest and then follow up with your physician. Do you understand?”

Allen swallowed and gave a weak nod. Then he lowered his eyes to his hands and did his best to answer all of her questions honestly. When she was finished, she told him to sit tight and relax for a few more minutes, and then she stood while her colleague took Allen’s blood pressure again.

The general commotion in the room seemed to have quieted down, and Allen lifted his eyes to take in the scene. But he immediately saw Greg, still watching him, still standing just a few feet away, and his heart ached. He swallowed as he held his husband’s gaze for a moment before his jaw started to tremble .

“Greg...” He could barely form the word for some reason, but the instant it left his lips, his husband was at his side, sitting next to him on the floor. Greg’s hand took his, and Allen closed his eyes again as a comforting warmth replaced the chill that had been with him all morning.

Soft lips grazed his cheek. “I’m sorry, darling. They told me to stay back until they were finished, and I... I’m sorry. I’m here now. I’m here.”

Allen just gave a weak nod and leaned against his husband’s shoulder as the other young man on his right began to remove the blood pressure cuff from his arm.

“What was it?” he heard Greg ask.

The sound of the Velcro unfastening on the blood pressure cuff grated on Allen’s ears, and he almost flinched.

“One hundred over seventy.”

“Is that okay? It’s lower than normal for him.”

“It’s within an acceptable range, yeah,” the paramedic said. His hand settled lightly on Allen’s shoulder. “Mr. Westin, can you hear me, sir?”

Allen cleared his throat and nodded but kept his eyes closed. “Yes.”

“Alright, sir, so we don’t need to take you to the hospital, but we do recommend you see your physician as soon as you can for a follow-up.” Allen nodded again, and the man continued. “From what we gather, the fainting episode was likely a combination of situational and postural syncope. The emotional stress you’ve been under can cause fluctuations in your blood pressure, and then when you stood up, that may have also caused another drop. Given the lack of history of any other medical issues, we don’t see a need to take you to the ER. But like I said, you should follow up with your physician as soon as possible to rule out any other causes. Does that make sense, sir? ”

Before Allen could answer, Greg squeezed his hand and then listed off a set of rapid-fire questions to the paramedic, speaking too quickly for Allen to follow. So instead, he just let out a long, slow breath and continued to lean up against his husband as the paramedic addressed each of Greg’s concerns.

“That’s right, yes. Rest and stay hydrated. And he said he’s not on any medications. Right, Allen? So that’s not something to worry about.”

Allen finally opened his eyes, blinking at the light that seemed much too bright. He tilted his head slightly to look up at the paramedic, who still knelt next to him, on the opposite side as Greg. The man was watching him with a kind smile, and Allen nodded. “No medications, yeah.”

Greg’s thumb ran along the back of his knuckles, and Allen looked down to where their hands were clasped together on his thigh.

The paramedic cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s see if we can get you up on your feet, eh?”

It was slow. Greg lifted him from one side, and the paramedic lifted him from the other. And he tried to tuck away his embarrassment at the fact that they were actually lifting him because he was physically incapable of standing on his own. But he managed to get his feet underneath himself, and though he felt lightheaded and dizzy, his legs seemed to hold him up. Sort of. He found himself leaning heavily on Greg as Greg’s arm wrapped around his waist.

“I’ve got you. You okay, darling?”

He answered the best he could, a low mumble of something in the affirmative, though he wasn’t sure that was the most accurate response.

“Owen, get that chair for him,” the paramedic said.

“Yessir. ”

“Sit here, darling. There we go. Breathe slowly. In and out. Are you okay, Allen? Is he okay? Are you sure?” Greg’s voice sounded... terrified. Without opening his eyes, Allen reached up to place his hand over Greg’s, which now sat on his shoulder.

“Yes, he just needs to take everything slowly and rest.”

The conversation continued around him for another few minutes, but he let all the words pass by, too exhausted to try to pay much attention. Eventually, Annabeth came over to check on him again, and then the paramedics left. He heard Greg’s voice a few feet away, low and whispering but firm, upset. And then Annabeth responded, her tone also sounding tense.

He blinked his eyes halfway open to see his husband looking angry, arguing in hushed tones and motioning to his left. When Allen followed the direction of Greg’s gesture, he saw Owen and Christopher standing there looking guilty as hell, both with their hands stuffed in their pockets and their shoulders hunched.

Owen glanced in his direction, and when their eyes met, Allen saw regret and some sort of apology in the boy’s expression. Allen gave him a small smile and lifted his hand slightly. “C’mere, kiddo,” Allen said, his voice still hoarse.

The conversation between Greg and Annabeth stopped, and Owen’s eyes darted to Greg for a moment. His frown tightened, but he looked back at Allen and then approached cautiously and knelt down next to the chair where Allen sat.

“Thank you for your help there,” Allen said, trying to infuse all the kindness into his voice that he possibly could. But god, he was also exhausted. He closed his eyes for a long blink and took another careful, deep breath. “How... did you know to have me raise my legs up? And about my blood pressure...” He trailed off, not quite able to finish his thought. But when he looked back at the teen, Owen’s frown had turned into a cautious grin .

“I’m part of the Health Sciences CTE program at school,” Owen started, and he bit his lip and lowered his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll start training to become certified as an EMT when I turn seventeen next year. I learned about how to handle patients with syncope a couple weeks ago on a ride along.”

Something about that made Allen smile, and he closed his eyes again and nodded. “Well, I definitely appreciate your quick thinking there. And—and Christopher...”

“Yessir,” Christopher said from just in front of him.

“Thank you for making that 9-1-1 call. Are you okay, kiddo?”

“Me, sir?”

Allen nodded and opened his eyes to see Christopher standing awkwardly, his eyes darting over to where Allen knew Greg was standing. Allen smiled weakly and let out a long breath.

“Yes, you. Are you okay?” Allen repeated. The boy looked like he had no idea how to respond, so Allen just smiled again. “I’ll be okay. But it looks like the two of you...” A heaviness sat on his shoulders again, and Allen let his eyes close. “The two of you will need to finish... the shelf reading and then... probably help Ms. Jones set up for the chess club meeting. Follow her instructions, okay? And I’ll see both of you next weekend. You’ll be back next Saturday, right?”

Allen was sure he heard a huff of something from Greg, but when he glanced at his husband, Greg’s eyes were soft and sad.

“Yessir,” both boys said in unison.

“Good.”

“Okay, back to work now, boys?” he heard Annabeth say, and then she and the two boys moved away, probably off across the library to get back to work.

As his eyes lingered on Greg’s, there was a moment then where Allen had a flashback to a memory from so long ago. Thirty something years ago now. Thirty-three? Thirty-four? His brain didn’t want to do the math. And as cliché as it sounded, he somehow remembered the day as though it were only yesterday.

He smiled up at his husband and, with effort, lifted his hand in invitation. Greg closed the distance between them immediately, kneeling next to Allen’s chair, and Allen reached up and set his hand on Greg’s upper arm.

“Remember the very first day we met?” Allen said quietly, and he saw the second Greg’s expression changed, a flicker of love and joy interrupting the constant swarm of worry and concern.

“Of course. I’ll never forget. Seattle Public Library. January 5, 1990. I came in, fresh from hiking Wright Mountain, which was really stupid of me since the snow made it just—just ridiculously unsafe.”

Allen nodded with another smile, and he let his hand find Greg’s. “You were still wearing that puffy blue jacket you used to have, and your hiking boots. And you came right up to the information desk and said, ‘I need to find a book.’ And I said something about—”

“You said, ‘Well, if you were looking for books up in the mountains, it’s no wonder you didn’t find them. But I bet we’ve got exactly what you need right here.’”

Allen let out a short huff of a laugh, which felt good. But then his smile faded slowly, and he looked down. “I love you, Greg.” He felt his husband squeeze his hand, and he returned the gesture. “And I love books and libraries. Especially this one. My job and my work are very important to me. But... you were right. I shouldn’t have argued with you this morning. And I shouldn’t have come in today. I’m really sorry that—”

Greg leaned in and stopped Allen’s apology with a light kiss to his forehead, and he closed his eyes and tried not to get more emotional than he already was. He could feel all of it again—the guilt and shame and self-doubt, now loaded with a heavy dose of embarrassment, all those feelings starting to fill his chest again.

“Actually,” Greg said quietly, “I think I was the one who was wrong, darling. But let’s not talk about that now, okay? Let me take you home, so you can rest?”

Home and rest sounded like the only things he might be capable of right then, and so Allen nodded. A moment later, Greg’s arm was around him again as they made their way slowly toward the front entrance.

Just before they reached the door, Christopher came jogging up and moved ahead of them to push the door open, his expression strained. “Here, I-I’ll hold it here for you,” the boy said.

Allen smiled weakly and started to thank him, but he stopped when Greg’s arm tightened around his waist.

And it was Greg who spoke first. “Thank you very much, Christopher.”

The boy’s eyes dropped to the ground, and he nodded and held the door as Greg and Allen shuffled through.