Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

TRAVIS

T he sun had just begun to peak through my blinds, but consciousness pried my eyes open regardless. A dull ache pulsed at the back of my skull from a night spent listening for any signs of distress from the guest room. I rolled over, feeling the weight of exhaustion like a lead blanket on my shoulders, and rubbed my hands over my face in an effort to scrub away the remnants of a sleepless night.

Parker Reyes—kind-hearted, soft-spoken Parker with those soulful gray eyes that seemed to see right through me—was just a wall away, sleeping off the remains of too much cheap whiskey and heartbreak. The image of him stumbling into my arms last night, slurring confessions about his breakup with David, played on a loop in my head.

"Me and David, we're done," he'd said, or something close enough to send my mind spiraling.

But what did "done" really mean? These things could be complicated—a fight blown out of proportion, words thrown like daggers in the heat of the moment without the intent to kill. Maybe it was just another lovers' spat, soon to be patched up with kisses and half-hearted apologies. Yet the way Parker had clung to me, the despair in his voice when he'd said, "I don't live there anymore," sounded too definitive to be just a quarrel. Could he have been confused, though? He was drunk enough to mistake my spare bedroom for a spinning carnival ride.

Shit, this was all sorts of messed up.I tossed the sheets aside and sat up, stretching my limbs as if the motion could somehow shake free the thoughts tangling in my brain. As a physical therapist, I dealt with pain and healing every day—muscles torn, and bones broken—but this was different. This was the kind of hurt that couldn't be massaged away, couldn't be eased with ice packs or gentle stretches.

A sigh escaped my lips, and I stood, padding my way across the cool hardwood floor towards the window. Pushing the blinds aside, I squinted against the pale morning light that spilled into the room. It was going to be another sunny day in Chicago, the kind that would usually have me lacing up my running shoes or going rock climbing. But today, my plans boiled down to one thing: making sure Parker was okay.

I pictured him curled beneath the blankets, his chest rising and falling with the deep, steady breaths of someone who desperately needed the escape of sleep. Even in his most vulnerable moments, there was something undeniably captivating about him. Something that pulled at me, urging me to be closer than perhaps I should allow myself to be.

"Focus, Travis," I muttered under my breath. "He needs a friend right now, not whatever mess is going on in your head."

Shaking my head, I moved to my en suite bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. I brushed my teeth and peed while I waited for it to warm up and then I climbed in. The water cascaded down my back, the steam fogging up the glass of the shower door. I stood there longer than necessary, letting the heat seep into my muscles, pulling some of the stress from my tired body and washing it down the drain. There was an ache in me, one that wasn't from a night on a basketball court or a day at the clinic, but something deeper, more complex. Almost as if Parker's pain had become my own.

I finished getting ready then stepped out into the hallway. I stole a quick glance at the guest room door, the pull to go in there, to check on him was great, but I forced myself to leave him be. He needed as much rest as he could get. Instead, I went downstairs to confront the day, but first things first, coffee—or maybe something stronger, because damn, I was going to need it.

Dressed in sweats and a well-worn t-shirt, I padded into the kitchen, my thoughts still circling Parker. I was putting bread in the toaster when the soft thud of a closing door upstairs told me Parker was on the move. I glanced up at the ceiling, waiting. The sound of water running through pipes soon followed and I looked back down. Breakfast. He'd need something solid in his stomach after last night's bender. Without conscious thought, my hands went to work frying bacon, whisking eggs, and toasting bread—the familiar motions grounding me.

The aroma of sizzling pork fat filled the kitchen, mingling with the rich scent of brewing coffee. It was a comforting blend, the kind of smell that spoke of lazy Saturday mornings and no obligations. Except today wasn't about relaxation; it was about being there for a man I cared for very deeply.

Parker emerged just as I was plating the food, his appearance rough around the edges, hair damp and disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from being shoved into a bag, but somehow it only added to his appeal. His eyes were clouded, the aftermath of alcohol and heartache etched onto his face. Yet, even now, he looked sexy as hell—something about his vulnerability mixed with his inherent strength stirred a warmth within me.

"Morning," I said gently, sliding a plate in front of him as he sat down on one of the island barstools across from me. "Eat up."

He eyed the bacon and eggs warily, his stomach probably doing somersaults. "Man, I can't. My stomach is too upset." His voice was soft, roughened by the remnants of sleep and booze.

"Trust me, the grease will help with the hangover, and the protein will give you some energy," I urged, keeping my tone light. "At least try, okay?"

With a resigned sigh, Parker picked up his fork and took a tentative bite. We ate mostly in silence, the scraping of cutlery against plates replacing conversation. I watched him from the corner of my eye, the way he slowly pushed food around on his plate before surrendering to the need to eat.

Finally, with half his breakfast conquered, Parker leaned back, the lines of exhaustion more pronounced on his face. He raked his fingers through his hair, then dropped his head into his hands. "I suppose you want to know what happened," he murmured into his palms, his voice muffled.

"Hey," I said gently, reaching across the island to nudge his arm. "You don't owe me an explanation. Only share if you feel like it."

Parker lifted his head, his gaze meeting mine. There was gratitude there, and what looked like trust. Or perhaps it was just my hopeful imagination painting what I wanted to see. "Thanks, Travis," he said, and though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, it was a start. And right now, a start was enough.

I watched his shoulders slump as if bearing the weight of the world. Silence stretched between us and I could tell he was gathering his thoughts. Despite my insistence that he didn't owe me any details, it was clear he needed to talk—to purge whatever pain he was holding inside.

"David and I—" His voice broke off, a frail thread lost in the vastness of the room. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We ended things. It's over. God, it hurts even saying those words."

I moved around the island and sat down next to him. "I'm sure it does hurt. You love him," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Parker nodded, his gaze fixed on the cold coffee in his mug. "I do, but not the way I should. Not the way he deserves." He paused, his breath catching in his throat. "And he doesn't love me that way either."

"Shit, Parker." I cursed softly, my mind racing with both concern and a selfish spark of hope. "How did you guys come to realize that?"

He looked up at me, eyes clouded with sadness. "You know when you wake up one day and everything feels like—like you're just going through the motions? Well, it was more than just a moment for us. We'd both been feeling it for a long time, but neither of us wanted to admit it. I We still care about each other and want to be friends, but all the passion, the intensity we once had—it wasn't there anymore."

"Damn," I muttered, pushing the empty cup aside. I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but I held back, unsure if my touch would be welcome or another reminder of what he'd lost.

"But love isn't only about fiery moments, is it?" Parker continued, his voice steadier now. "It's about the everyday things too. It's about building a life together and finding peace in the quiet. And we couldn't find that peace together anymore. Instead of growing together, we grew apart."

Inside, I was a mess of conflicting emotions—a whirlwind of relief and excitement tempered by the sight of Parker's raw vulnerability. He was free; the man I'd been harboring feelings for was no longer tethered to someone else. But celebrating that fact felt wrong when he sat across from me with shadows under his eyes and a heartache that resonated in the space between us.

"Hey," I said, my voice softening. "Sometimes things don't work out no matter how hard you try, and it fucking sucks. Especially when you still care about the other person. But you will get through this, and you will find happiness again."

"Thanks, Travis." He offered a small smile—forced, but it was something. "For listening. For picking me up last night. I'm sorry I was such a mess."

"You don't have anything to apologize for. I was glad you called me, although I hated the fact that you were hurting. But I'm always here for you, no matter what," I replied, my chest tightening. I wanted nothing more than to pull him into my arms, to tell him everything would be okay—that maybe, just maybe, there was something better waiting for him. Waiting for us. But I held back, knowing that right now, he needed a friend, not a hopeful suitor.

"Let's just stay in and take it easy today, huh?" I suggested, standing up to clear our breakfast remnants.

"Sounds good," he said, but the weariness in his voice was unmistakable.

As I busied myself with the task of cleaning up, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment—the pivotal point where everything could change. But for now, I'd be the friend he needed.

I flicked on the TV, scrolling through Netflix as Parker settled into the corner of my worn leather couch, his body curled inward as if trying to make himself smaller. The silence between us felt thick, heavy with raw emotions.

"How about a mindless action flick?" I suggested, pausing on some generic blockbuster that promised plenty of explosions.

Parker shrugged, a non-committal gesture that spoke volumes about his state of mind. "Sure, whatever you want."

I hit play, more for the background noise than anything else, and settled in next to him, careful to maintain a respectful distance. As the opening credits rolled, I snuck a glance. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but I could tell he wasn't really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere, likely replaying the events that led to his breakup with David.

As the movie progressed, I found myself paying more attention to Parker than the plot. Every sigh, every shift of his body, every absent rub of his thumb against the fabric of his sweats—it all spoke louder than the dialogue blaring from the TV.

Halfway through the movie, Parker's breathing had evened out, his head lolling against the back of the couch. I watched as his eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally claiming him. Without thinking, I reached for the throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch and gently covered him.

As I tucked the blanket around his shoulders, he stirred slightly. His eyes opened, unfocused and bleary with sleep. "Travis?" he mumbled, his voice thick and low.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered, my hand lingering on his arm. "Just rest." He nodded, his eyes already drifting shut again. But before sleep could fully reclaim him, his hand found mine, fingers intertwining with a grip that was both desperate and comforting.

My heart stuttered in my chest. I knew I should pull away, that this wasn't the time or place for anything more than friendship. But the warmth of Parker's hand in mine, the vulnerability etched on his sleeping face—it all made my resolve crumble.

I stayed there, my hand in his, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. The movie played on, forgotten background noise to the riot of emotions coursing through me. Part of me felt guilty, like I was taking advantage of his vulnerable state. But a larger part reveled in this fact that when he'd needed comfort, it was my hand he'd reached for.

As the credits rolled, he stirred again, his grip on my hand tightening briefly before relaxing. His eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding them for a moment before recognition set in. "Oh," he murmured, slowly withdrawing his hand from mine. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

I tried to ignore the sudden emptiness in my palm. "No worries," I said, keeping my voice light. "You needed the rest."

Parker sat up straighter, running a hand through his tousled hair. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours," I replied, glancing at the clock. "Feeling any better?"

He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A little, yeah."

"You know what? I think we need some proper comfort food," I declared, reaching for my phone. "How about we order in from that little pizza place down the street? Their garlic bread could probably cure cancer."

A hint of a smile played on Parker's lips. "That does sound good," he admitted.

"Then it's settled. We'll order a feast fit for kings—or at least two guys with nothing better to do on a lazy afternoon."

As I placed our order—enough pasta, pizza, and garlic bread to feed a small army—Parker browsed through the movie selection. The tension in his shoulders seemed to have eased a bit, his posture more relaxed as he scrolled through the options.

"How about this one?" he asked, pausing on a quirky indie comedy. "I've heard it's pretty good."

I grinned, settling back onto the couch. "Perfect. Nothing like a good laugh to chase away the blues."

As the movie started, I couldn't help but sneak glances at Parker. The afternoon light filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose. Even in his sadness, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

The movie turned out to be a gem—full of witty dialogue and absurd situations that had us both chuckling despite ourselves. As the main character stumbled through one ridiculous scenario after another, I found myself savoring the moments when his laughter broke through the melancholy he had been shrouded in all day.

The doorbell chimed, announcing the arrival of our food. I paused the movie and jumped up, returning moments later with arms laden with fragrant paper bags. My stomach growled in anticipation.

"Alright, let's see what we've got here," I said, spreading the containers across the coffee table. "We've got spaghetti carbonara, margherita pizza, garlic bread, and—because I believe in balanced meals—a token salad."

Parker's eyes widened at the spread. "Travis, this is enough to feed an army!"

I grinned, handing Parker a plate. "Well, consider us a two-man army then. Dig in!"

We loaded our plates, the movie forgotten for the moment as we savored the first bites. The carbonara was creamy perfection, the pasta cooked to al dente brilliance. "Oh my god," Parker moaned around a mouthful of garlic bread. "This is amazing."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. "Told you. It's practically medicinal."

As we ate, the heaviness that had hung over us all day seemed to lift slightly. We chatted about inconsequential things—favorite TV shows, the change in seasons, the merits of pineapple on pizza—Parker was for, I was vehemently against. It wasn't earth-shattering conversation, but it felt normal, comfortable, like every other meal we'd shared together.

As we polished off the last of the garlic bread, Parker leaned back, patting his stomach with a contented sigh. "I can't believe I ate that much," he said, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

"Food coma incoming," I teased, gathering up the empty containers. "You up for finishing the movie?"

Parker nodded, settling back into the couch as I cleaned up. When I returned, I noticed he'd pulled the throw blanket over his legs, looking cozy and at home. My heart did a little flip at the sight.

Hours later, the room had grown dark, illuminated only by the flickering light of the TV screen. We'd long since abandoned the movie, instead flipping through channels aimlessly, a comfortable silence settling between us.

I glanced over at Parker, his face bathed in the soft blue glow of the television. His eyes were heavy-lidded, exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, but there was a peace there that hadn't been present earlier. The tightness in his shoulders had loosened, his posture more relaxed as he sank deeper into the couch cushions.

"Hey," I said softly, nudging his foot with mine. "You look beat. Maybe we should call it a night?"

He blinked slowly, as if coming out of a trance, then he turned to look at me, his eyes soft in the dim light. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he murmured, stretching his arms above his head. The movement caused his shirt to ride up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned stomach that made my mouth go dry.

"Thanks, Travis," he said, his voice low and sincere. "For everything. I don't know what I would've done without you."

I swallowed hard, pushing down the surge of emotions his words evoked. "That's what friends are for," I replied, hoping my voice didn't betray the turmoil inside me.

Parker stood up, swaying slightly on his feet. Without thinking, I reached out to steady him, my hand on his arm. The contact sent a jolt through me, like a low current of electricity humming beneath my skin. Parker didn't pull away, instead he stared down at my hand for a moment.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his eyes meeting mine. "Yeah, just a little dizzy. Guess I'm more tired than I thought."

We stood there for a beat too long, my hand still on his arm, our bodies close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. The air between us felt charged, heavy with unspoken words and—possibilities?

Parker was the first to break the spell, taking a small step back. "I should probably head to bed," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"Right, of course," I replied, dropping my hand to my side. "You remember where everything is?"

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I think I can manage. Thanks again, Travis."

As he turned to head upstairs, I found myself calling out, "Hey, Parker?"

He paused on the first step, looking back at me with those beautiful gray eyes. "Yeah?"

I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many feelings I wanted to express. But now wasn't the time. Instead, I simply said, "Sleep well, okay?"

A soft smile touched his lips. "You too, Travis. Goodnight."

I watched as he climbed the stairs, disappearing into the guest room. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the quiet house, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Sighing, I began to clean up the living room, my mind replaying every moment of the day. The way Parker's hand had felt in mine, the sound of his laughter during the movie, the vulnerability in his eyes as he thanked me. Each memory sent a wave of longing through me, tempered by the knowledge that he was still very raw from his breakup.

I retreated to my own bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. As I got ready for bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between Parker and me today. Whether it was the beginning of something new or just the deepening of our friendship, I wasn't sure.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I found sleep elusive. My mind kept drifting to Parker, just a wall away. Was he sleeping peacefully, or lying awake replaying the events that led him here? The urge to go to him, to offer comfort, was almost overwhelming. But I knew I had to resist. He needed time and space to process everything.

Instead, I let my imagination wander, indulging in thoughts of what could be. I pictured lazy Sunday mornings with Parker, sharing coffee and laughter. I imagined the feeling of his hand in mine, not out of desperation or comfort, but because he wanted it there. The warmth of his body pressed against mine as we watched movies, no need for the pretense of separate seats on the couch.

But reality crashed back in, cold and sobering. He was fresh out of a long-term relationship. He was vulnerable, hurting. Any move I made now would be a dick move. No, I had to be patient. Be the friend he needed right now and nothing more. I just hoped someday, I might get the chance to be more.