Chapter 18

“Papa?” Jane asked over breakfast at my mom’s on the day Robin and I were due to leave for the airport. She had syrup on her chin, and her little blonde pigtails were slightly crooked. I’d thought I’d gotten them perfect, as usual, but apparently I’d been distracted.

When I’d offered to fix them she’d leveled me with an entirely unimpressed stare, and that had been that.

“Yes, angel?” I replied, sipping my coffee, a thousand and one thoughts buzzing around inside my head. Like: what would we eat for lunch? Should I pack a lunch in my bag for us to avoid the crowds at the airport? What was the best way for me to protect Robin from the paparazzi he hated? Could I hide him so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable?

The girls often asked me random questions, and normally I was more present. But my anxiety was at an all-time high because I wanted this trip to be perfect. I wanted to prove to Robin that he could let me into his life. That the fact he’d opened up to me was a good thing. That we could make this work.

I wanted to show him what our life could be like, if he decided to let me be a permanent fixture. I wanted to show him that I was capable of handling everything he needed me to, and more, just like I’d promised.

“Why doesn’t Robin have a home?” Jane asked, stabbing her French toast like she was trying to kill it.

It took me a second to process her words, and when I did, all my swirling thoughts halted—frozen still.

“What?” I asked, hollow.

“Doesn’t anybody love him?” she asked, carving my heart right out of my chest with her sweet little hands. I stared at her, unable to find the words to respond.

“What do you mean?” I asked again a moment later, even though I knew what she meant. I was stalling. Trying to get my heart to work again, when all I could think of was sad green eyes and a boy whose parents had trained him to think the people he loved would always hurt him.

“Robin was helping me sing,” she explained. “And he said he wishes he could sing what he wants to—like how I can.” She frowned. “And I asked him why he can’t. And he said that if he does he’ll lose his home.”

“But Robin doesn’t have a home,” Rosie tacked on. She’d been oddly silent this whole time. Normally she was the chatterbox, so this was out of character for the both of them. “If he had one, he wouldn’t be so sad. And he wouldn’t be at our house all the time.”

Jesus Christ .

Mama’s voice echoed somewhere deeper in the house, probably yelling at one of the older grandkids that were over. But I could barely hear her. Could barely hear anything over the pounding of my own heart, and the whoosh of my breath.

This felt like a big moment.

The kind of moment that carved paths through ice and shattered icebergs. That shook foundations. That cracked through stone.

Before I could open my mouth and ask the girls if this was their way of asking for Robin to stop spending so much time with us—they beat me to the punch. Eviscerated me, with their tiny blonde pigtails, and their honey-toned eyes.

“Can’t Robin’s home be with us?” Jane asked, quiet and pure.

“We love him,” Rosie told me matter-of-factly. “He can have my bed if you don’t want to share yours anymore.”

I stared at them both for a beat, trying to figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do in this situation. I’d genuinely never thought I would ever date. But meeting Robin had thrown that right out the window. Since then, I’d made a plan in place for this, for the day I’d tell the girls that I wanted to keep him, that Robin would be coming home permanently—if he wanted to, of course. But that plan had not included the girls bringing it up first or so soon.

I was floored in the best possible way.

“That’s very sweet of you,” I told Rosie, warmth flooding my chest as she sat up taller, looking very pleased with herself. “But not necessary. If Robin moves in with us, I would prefer he continue to share with me.”

“Why?” Rosie asked, like I’d just shat in her cereal.

“Because they’re in love,” Jane explained, like she’d explained this a thousand times. She frowned at her sister. “People who love each other share beds and kiss and stuff.”

“I hate that,” Rosie told me, but then frowned. “But…I would hate it more if Robin left.”

“He has to go back for his job,” I explained, voice soft. “But maybe he can have a home with us whenever he comes to visit? Would you like that?”

“Can’t he quit his job?” Jane asked. “I don’t want to share him.”

Rosie hesitated, but ultimately opened her mouth too. “I have almost a hundred monies. He can have it.”

They understood the concept of money. At least in relation to jobs. I’d had to explain it to them as they got older. And it was part of why they were so proud of my medical practice, and acted like little warlords every time they came to visit.

“What about your cat?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

“Robin is kinda like a cat,” Rosie replied, shrugging. “And I don’t have to clean up poop.”

“And he sings too,” Jane interjected. “And he’s funny.”

“And he makes you smile,” Rosie added on, like that was the highlight of it all.

I hugged them both then, because I wasn’t sure what else I could do when my heart was full, and my eyes were burning, and my world felt whole. When I released them both they went back to eating like nothing at all had happened.

And it was with new confidence and determination that I kissed their little faces and headed off to pick Robin up for our trip.

Now that the girls were on board there was nothing stopping me from making him permanently mine.

Well, except for…Robin himself.

“So, fair warning,” Robin hummed softly where his face was smashed against my bicep, “things might get a little…weird.”

That ended up being the understatement of the century. Unfortunately, for both of us—but for Robin especially— someone had let it leak that he’d be arriving in L.A. today. Which we only knew because when we stepped off the plane, fingers tangled, there was a group of paparazzi already waiting.

I wasn’t so much surprised as I was…sad.

For him, at least.

Because the second he saw them he shrank. Not his body, but his soul. I watched it wither and fade inside his eyes as he stood tall, shoulders back—like he was putting on armor all over again. He donned his sunglasses, his eyes hidden from view, and I ached for him.

Before that moment, I hadn’t truly realized just how at ease Robin was when we were alone. Because this felt like an entirely different person, this stiff, perfectly grinning mannequin beside me. Even worse than the day we’d gone to the mall.

He tried to drop my hand but I wouldn’t let him.

And as we shouldered our way through the crowd, dodging questions, cameras flashing—I understood for the first time why Robin was so worried about ‘poisoning’ Belleville.

I could understand feeling terrified after living a life like this for god knows how long. He’d explained to me, yes. He’d warned me. But nothing prepared me for the reality of Robin’s world.

His world was full of people asking inappropriate questions. Of people trying to touch him without permission—of eyes, and eyes, and eyes . Eyes everywhere. Comments thrown out like yesterday’s trash. Invasiveness treated like it was normal and okay, when it clearly was not.

Like he was a prop, not a person.

There was a cab waiting for us near the curb outside the LAX airport. Robin made a beeline for it, his sunglasses perched on his nose, his smile never wavering. He’d told me, shy and nervous before we’d landed, that he preferred to ride around in cabs because they brought less attention.

Truthfully, I was a little shell-shocked by what was happening. Which was why it took me a second to react when one of the paparazzi that had been following us reached out and latched on to Robin’s shoulder.

I stared at the hand for a beat, genuinely flabbergasted that someone would have the audacity to touch him without permission. Robin tried to shrug the man off, and it was that little motion that made me snap out of the crowd-induced fog I’d been in.

I grabbed the man’s wrist, tight. Twisting, I yanked him off of Robin, using my bulk to shield Robin from the rest of the hungry, hungry eyes as he slid into the cab.

The man released a pained hiss, but I didn’t release him. Not until Robin was safely inside the cab, our backpacks abandoned for me to deal with. It was a testament to the trust we’d built that he’d allowed me to handle this.

“You have no manners,” I told the handsy man, shocked all over again by the vicious growl in my voice. I released him, but not before he stuttered out an apology. The apology should’ve been for Robin, but I wasn’t about to force him out of the relative safety of the cab to hear it.

Jerkily, I grabbed our bags and forced them into the trunk. All the while, I ignored the murmurs behind me. Ignored the fact that no doubt someone had caught me grabbing the man on camera. The worry of future assault charges burned in the back of my mind—but I pushed the thought aside.

When I slid into my seat in the back beside Robin, my heart was pounding. I shut the door, locked it, and turned to him, my heart in my throat.

“I’m sorry I brought you here,” Robin said immediately, back to being my sad, small little songbird. He picked at the holes on his jeans, shoulders slumped. His sunglasses were still on, shielding his eyes from view.

“Don’t be.” It was easy to reach for him then. Felt as easy as breathing to cross that distance. To kiss him soft and sound and gentle. “I’m so glad I’m here.”

“You are?”

“I am.” His lips felt cold against mine. Icy. I made a quiet sound, coaxing him to open so I could lick inside and warm him up. When I pulled away after several long minutes, Robin was flushed, and his eyes weren’t nearly as hollow. I pulled his sunglasses off and set them safely inside my pocket so I could see him properly.

“I’ve got you,” I promised him, because I did. “I’m here now.” He nodded, a horrible little sound escaping as tears blossomed in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, his whole face pinched. I didn’t make him look at me again, simply slid into the middle seat, buckled up, and pulled him into my side. “What’s your address?” I murmured, listening intently as Robin replied, voice trembling.

“He knows it.”

“Fucking vultures,” the cab driver said in sympathy. Apparently, Robin worked with him often—at least, often enough that the man had his address memorized. As we made our way out of the busy terminal he regaled me with a few adorable but concerning stories about Robin and previous trips just like this. “One time, he dropped his coffee on a handsy guy,” the man laughed, sounding amused. “Accidentally, of course.”

“Good for you,” I hummed, knowing that had not been a fucking accident. Robin may be clumsy, but he wasn’t the kind of clumsy to drop a hot coffee cup.

Robin warmed up the longer he remained tucked against me. I murmured reassurances against his hair, fluttering gentle kisses wherever I could reach as he scrubbed his wet cheeks against my coat.

He was dressed in the clothes I’d bought him. They fit in when he was in Belleville, but out here they felt odd. Like he was an alternate version of the man I’d met all those weeks ago. I hoped they gave him strength the way his sunglasses seemed to.

If I’d thought the airport was bad, the entrance to his apartment was worse.

This time, I was more prepared though, so it went better.

I handed Robin his sunglasses back and he donned them with a grateful smile. It felt like I’d passed a test I didn’t know I’d been taking. And I was more than a little relieved.

I grabbed our bags first, then blocked Robin from view as we made the quick trek across the sidewalk to the entrance of the high-rise building. It was a nice building, all glittery black glass and steel bars. I would’ve appreciated it more if I wasn’t growling at people.

It felt second nature to protect him.

It always had.

But here that need was even more prevalent.

When we were through the large glass doors of the lobby we both relaxed. The paparazzi stayed outside, blocked by the one-way glass. The door man gave Robin a smile that was wide and friendly as he offered to take our bags.

“I got it!” a sharp feminine voice called, accompanied by the click of heels and the scent of bergamot. I swiveled to face the newcomer, more than ready to fight off another person. I moved Robin gently behind me, facing the threat head on, my jaw tensed.

“ Nancy !” Robin’s voice was warm, muffled a little because he was behind me. He didn’t stay where I’d put him for long, wiggling happily against my back, his head popping out to stare at the severe woman in black as she approached.

She had a short dark bob, all straight lines and hard edges. Her makeup was impeccable. Her lips painted crisp sharp-edged black. Dressed in head-to-toe business casual, she had a rather impressive silhouette. Tall, vicious, with a coldness to her.

It only took me a second to recognize the name and relax. Nancy. Robin’s assistant. He’d told me about her.

We’d had a lot of time to talk on the plane, and in between naps Robin had told me stories and given me warnings about our time here—always a worrier, that one. It hadn’t taken much to realize that Nancy was the best part about his life here.

He adored her.

“Honey, you look absolutely dreadful ,” Nancy said as I stepped to the side so Robin could greet her. “Flannel, really ?” She arched a perfectly manicured brow. “Are we fucking cows now too?”

All of the clothes I’d bought Robin were black, the flannel included. I wanted him to be warm, not to erase who he was.

“Oh my god,” Robin laughed. “You can’t just say that!”

“You can’t come home looking all lumber-jack-y and expect anything different,” Nancy hummed, leaning down to smooch his cheek. “Who’s this?” Nancy twisted to assess me, rising up to her full, impressive height.

I stood taller, surprised that for the first time in years I felt like I was in grade school. She gave off the same energy my third grade teacher had. Strict but kind.

“This is Ben,” Robin twisted his head back to beam up at me. His tears had dried, though his eyes were red rimmed. “You’d know about him if you hadn’t told me I wasn’t allowed to call you.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “If I hadn’t told you not to call me you’d be bothering me every day when you were supposed to be resting. Besides, he’s birthday Ben. I remember.” Birthday Ben? What did that mean?

Nancy took a step back, hands on her hips, her eyes sweeping over me. “Have you ever thought of modeling?” she asked, point blank.

“Modeling?” I blinked, confused. My cheeks went hot. “No—I…”

“He’s tall,” Nancy nodded toward me, talking to Robin now. “Good bone structure.”

“Hot like fire,” Robin agreed, making my cheeks burn even more.

“I’d like to see him in a tux,” Nancy hummed thoughtfully. “If we gave him a trim, shaved off the scruff, I think he could be a good candidate for a men’s magazine. He’s got that aged like fine wine look about him.”

“Ben doesn’t like that stuff,” Robin replied, because he was the sweetest man in the entire world, and knew that about me, even without me having to say a word. “He doesn’t even have his picture in the back of his books.”

“His books?”

“Yeah,” Robin hummed, getting excited all over again. He launched into a happy tale about how we first met, embellishing my charm—Jesus god, I’d been awkward—and updating Nancy on every single thing we’d done together from that point onward.

Nancy took hold of the bags, before I could, and marched us toward the elevator as she listened.

Robin’s hand found my own, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.

It centered me as we launched toward the sky, my belly left somewhere down on floor one as we climbed and climbed. By the time we reached the top of the building—because of course Robin lived in the penthouse, why was I surprised at this point?—Robin had just finished telling Nancy about how I hadn’t gotten mad at him when he’d made us lose the relay race at the Pie Festival.

“He didn’t make us lose,” I interrupted for the first time.

Nancy twisted to look at me, dark eyes flooding with warmth.

“I tripped you,” Robin squinted at me, like I was lying.

“We tripped together.” I smiled at him, and he melted, this sweet little grin spreading across his lips. “Mutually assured destruction.”

“I guess we shouldn’t have expected anything different,” Robin laughed, surprising me—and proving how far he’d come with that simple statement. “I mean, your legs are like twice the length of mine.”

“It was inevitable,” I agreed, leaning down and kissing the top of his fluffy hair, because I could. Nancy’s eyes burned a hole into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it. I wasn’t about to start acting weird around Robin just because we had an audience.

I’d already promised myself that nothing would be different out here.

And I wasn’t about to break that promise.

Robin’s apartment was pretty much what I’d expected after seeing the lobby, and figuring out he lived in the penthouse. The wide open floor plan made the place feel cold and sterile, white walls climbing nearly thirty feet into the air. The back wall was made entirely of glass that led to the city below. I could see the cars piling up for rush hour down on the street, small as ants.

A large white couch sat in the center of what was supposed to be a living room, but was more similar to a warehouse with its concrete floors and metal support pillars. Beneath it was a white and black rug, something cold and artsy, that I got the feeling Nancy had picked.

There was no sign of Robin anywhere.

And that made me…so incredibly sad.

Robin and Nancy were chatting while I wandered. I could hear them discussing the dress rehearsal that would be hosted here tonight, and all the people that would be coming to set up—only to take everything right down immediately after.

The cupboards in his kitchen were mostly empty aside from a half dozen different kinds of teas. All seemed to be supposed to promote sleep, and my heart hurt for him as I slid the cupboard shut and eyed the white island distrustfully.

Did he even know how to cook?

Did he have pans? Pots?

I ducked beneath the counter, movements even more careful than usual. I refused to hurt my back again. Not when we had plans this weekend.

Inside the cupboard there were a few pots and pans, but they looked brand new. Frowning, I straightened. Robin had wandered his way over, apparently done chatting with Nancy. He was back to his usual self, his eyes bright as he hopped up onto the island beside me, his cute little feet kicking as he reached out to reel me in.

One of his painted fingers pushed against the furrow between my brows. “Why so serious?” he asked in a horrible Joker impression.

“Baby, when and how do you eat?” I blurted.

Robin blinked. His finger stroked over my eyebrow before he cupped my jaw and grinned up at me. “Ever heard of this thing called takeout?”

“You can’t eat takeout every day,” I replied, immediately concerned. “It’s not good for you.”

“I don’t have a Ben in L.A. to cook my meals for me,” Robin countered with a laugh.

“Maybe you need one,” I muttered, betraying my own truth.

Robin blinked again, eyes going wide. He didn’t seem to know what to say. And I knew I’d pushed a little too hard, so I backed off, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead as I processed all the new information I’d just learned.

If Robin truly wasn’t ready for me to at least be a more permanent fixture in his life down here, the least I could do was hire him a personal chef, right? Or a food service?

I had enough money.

Between my salary as a doctor and my book royalties I was set for life.

“I’ll figure it out,” I promised him, so he wouldn’t stress about something new. When he released me I went off to figure out where he slept. If he didn’t have a proper bed I was not going to be happy. I wouldn’t put it past Robin to sleep on the couch simply because he was too tired to head up to the loft.

I was more than a little relieved when I entered his bedroom and discovered he did, in fact, have a bed. A very nice bed. With a thousand different kinds of pillows, and at least five blankets all with varying Halloween prints.

Robin was right behind me when I paused, taking it all in. The night stand with a bunch of abandoned mugs on it—probably from the tea downstairs. The pile of books at the base of the bed, most of which were mine. The guitar in the corner of the room, older and more well-worn than the one he used on stage. The tiny little knick knacks and trinkets that sat in the windowsill. Probably momentos from his travels.

What was most telling of all, however, was the book shelf against the back wall. It was full of photos. Most of which looked like they’d been shoddily shot on a cell phone. Pictures of Bubba and Miles—at varying ages. All carefully, delicately printed and stuck into a variety of mismatching frames.

The rest of the apartment was bland. It looked like something out of a catalog and not somewhere that someone could call a home. But this room…with its black curtains, its character, and nest of a bed—yes.

Yes, this was the kind of place Robin should live.

He reminded me of a crow in a way, collecting small shiny things for later. I had no doubt every rock, every shell, every penny had a memory attached. It was fitting that crows were his favorite animal.

“Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to tidy up,” Robin apologized from behind me. “I don’t like having someone in here to clean. Feels weird, you know? Like I’m Bruce Wayne or some shit, when I’m not.”

“Don’t apologize.” I twisted, opening up my arm so that he could settle into the hollow there just like he did at home when we snuggled on the couch. Robin hummed, wriggling in close, making a happy little sound in the back of his throat. “I like your room.”

“It’s way messier than yours is,” Robin laughed, self-consciously kicking a leg out to try and hide a stray pair of underwear on the floor beneath a wayward blanket that lay bunched against the wall near our feet.

“I don’t mind,” I told him honestly. And I didn’t.

“I’m usually really tired by the time I get back here,” Robin tried to explain. “I kinda just strip and then flop down…and… try to sleep?”

There was emphasis on the word try, and again, my heart ached.

Robin had told me about his insomnia. He’d told me about all of the little things he’d struggled with since it’d steadily been worsening. Including the times he feared he’d pass out like he had on stage. The concrete floors concerned me, as did the idea of putting him here—leaving him alone, where things could get bad all over again.

It hadn’t taken long for me to figure out that Robin slept far better with me than he did on his own. He told me once that I was like a narcotic. I wasn’t sure if that was an accurate comparison, but I hadn’t argued.

It wasn’t my place to tell him what to think of me. I was just happy he thought of me at all.

He shone so bright sometimes, all I could do was bask in his light.

Robin made his way past me, flopped onto his bed with a quiet groan, his legs sticking straight out like a goth starfish. I grinned, following after him with a chuckle. Carefully sinking to my knees, I reached for his boots. He didn’t kick me off, simply holding still as I began to unbuckle them, one buckle at a time.

“My feet probably stink,” Robin complained, still not moving.

“That happens when you wear shoes and walk all day,” I replied, gently tugging one shoe off before moving on to the other.

“You’re so nice to me.” Robin’s voice was quiet, muffled. I was quiet for a moment as I finished getting his other foot free. Pressing my thumbs into his now-socked insole, I gently pushed till he groaned.

“Of course I’m nice to you,” I countered, the unspoken I love you sitting heavy in the air. It was hard not to say it. It’d been hard not to say it for weeks.

Which was kind of cosmically hilarious in a way.

I’d never loved anyone but my family and Trixie.

And yet here I was, so freshly into a new relationship, and I was ready to make all the declarations I’d never wanted to before.

I could distinctly remember a conversation I’d had with my dad when I was a kid. It was about the same age all the boys in my grade were discovering that girls weren’t so awful after all. And I’d been…confused. Because I didn’t feel anything like they felt, and I hadn’t wanted to pretend.

“You don’t need to be anything other than what you are,” my dad had said, laying a big warm hand on my shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze.

“But…” I’d trailed off, because even I had known that being different sometimes meant receiving attention that I didn’t want.

“Benjamin,” he’d cut me off, crouching to his knees, and talking to me like I was an adult. Like I was smart and this was important. Like he expected me to listen. His eyes had met mine, the same color as my own, his dark hair curling around his ears. “There’s always gonna be people that’ll make you feel like you gotta change so that you can fit in.” His hand squeezed again, so impossibly large and gentle. “And you’re gonna have to make a choice. Whether you’ll be the kind of man who is who he is—or the kind of man who is who they want him to be.”

I’d nodded seriously, and he cracked a smile, slow and sweet. “You’re smart,” he said gently. “Only one path leads to happiness. You’ll figure out which to pick.”

He’d released me then and waited for me to follow—and off we’d gone, finishing our work at the farm for that day. And the whole time, his words had rattled around inside my head. They’d felt like a splinter, stuck deep inside me as I ate dinner with all my brothers, quiet as a mouse.

Mama had asked me what was wrong, and Dad simply told her I was “thinking.”

He’d always been in my corner.

He’d always known what to say.

It wasn’t until I’d woken up the next morning, after a fitful night, that I decided that I knew what kind of man I was gonna be.

I’d made my choice at nine years old, and I’d stuck to it ever since.

I’d never pretended to be something I wasn’t.

Never minced words when I could’ve said the truth.

Never lied about my feelings, or lack thereof.

So holding back…holding back was difficult . It was a weight I wasn’t used to. A weight I’d never been equipped to carry. And yet…somehow, I managed. Because Robin deserved my patience. And I knew with just a little more time, just a little more loving, I could show him that the kind of man I’d decided all those years ago that I would be, was worth staying for.

That I was worth it.

That he could run to me, rather than away.

And my arms would be open, always.

Just for him.