Chapter 14

14

QUILLON

I was worried about York. Ever since we'd come back from the cemetery, he'd retreated into himself, locking me out. For hours, he'd been sitting in what I'd come to think of as his chair, headphones on and a vacant expression. He'd swallowed some pain meds, which I'd never seen him take, but when I'd asked what was wrong, he'd brushed me off.

He was hurting, inside and out, and until he let me in, there was so little I could do. I'd called Fir, who had promised to stop by first thing in the morning. Josiah had a recital, so he couldn't make it this evening. I understood, but I'd wanted York to have a friend. I'd made pasta for him, but he hadn't touched it. What else could I do? My heart ached for him, but I had no idea how to help him.

I'd known his brother had bullied him, but it had been so much worse than I had feared. York had used the word torment, and from the few examples he'd mentioned, he hadn't exaggerated. How had their parents never noticed? The guilt on the faces of Auden and the others hadn't escaped me. When had they found out?

I'd thought they'd come to pay their respects to Essex or maybe out of consideration for York's parents. It wasn't until we were back home that I realized they'd come for York. Fir, of course, but maybe he'd expected things to come to a head and had wanted to be there for his best friend. But the others had shown up for him as well. None of them had brought flowers, and their focus had been on York. Whatever mistakes they had made in the past, they were trying to make it right, and I was glad for York to see that they had his back now.

And even after all those cold facts and harsh words, his parents still hadn't believed him. Maybe in the end, when York had made his feelings clear and the others had agreed. After all, it was hard to argue with that, though it wouldn't be the first time I'd experienced people believing an obvious lie over the truth. Sometimes, the truth was too hard to accept. Could York's parents change their view of Essex after all this time? I had my doubts.

Regardless, York wouldn't go to his brother's grave anymore. When he left, I'd wanted to cheer, but I'd settled for holding his hand as tightly as possible. I'd been so proud of him for standing up for himself and telling the truth, but even prouder of him for walking away and choosing his own path. That had taken so much courage, yet he'd done it. No wonder he was hurting.

Darkness had long since fallen by the time York moved again, taking off his headphones. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

I checked my watch. "Just after eight. Would you like something to eat?"

He shook his head, then winced. "Not hungry. I have a migraine."

I'd suspected as much, which was why I'd kept the lights low. "Can I get you anything else? Some tea, maybe?"

"No, thank you." He fiddled with the headphones. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"Don't you dare apologize for that."

"All I'm saying is that it's not what you signed up for."

"York, stop it. I mean it. You have nothing to be sorry for."

He grunted as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "I didn't mean to make such a spectacle of myself. I've always imagined that if I ever confronted them, I would do so in a civilized, calm manner."

I snorted. "I don't know how much experience you have with confrontations, but they're rarely civilized and calm. My mom has been known to throw plates at my dad. He's gotten good at ducking over the course of the years."

York opened his eyes. "That's a figure of speech, I'm assuming?"

"Nope. She actually throws plates. It's why they stopped buying the expensive ones."

"But why?"

I shrugged. "She's Italian and has a temper. I take after my dad, but my sister Emily is a carbon copy of my mom. I did the toast for her wedding and told her new husband to always watch his back and duck if needed."

"You've seen what my mother looks like when she's upset. It's always about her being disappointed." He swallowed. "Nothing I ever did was good enough. I've wished so often it had been me who'd died instead of Essex. That would've made everyone happier."

"York…"

"But I no longer feel that way."

"Good, because I can name a whole bunch of people who would miss you terribly." Including me, but I left that part out. Any illusion I'd had that what I felt for York was mere friendship had vanished after today. I'd never been so upset on behalf of someone else.

"They came because of me." York's voice was filled with wonder. "Auden and the others. They were there to support me."

"I know."

He slowly shook his head. "I didn't tell them until last year, you know. I ran into Tiago at the high school reunion, and somehow, the truth came out. That was the first time I'd ever told anyone other than Fir. But it was so much easier with Fir because Essex had bullied him as well. I was so scared Tiago wouldn't believe me, but he did, and then he let the others know."

"How did they react?"

"They believed me. Right off the bat, they believed me. Auden apologized. Said he'd seen things he should've called Essex out on but never did, and he wanted me to know how sorry he was. But they'd never been aware of how bad it was. If they had, they would've stepped in."

I didn't know his friends as well as York did, but I didn't doubt he was right. In my line of work, you learned to read people, and my impression of all these men was that their moral compass was solidly pointing north. "I think you're right. They're good men."

"I never expected them to show up."

"Why not? They're your friends."

He shook his head. "No, they were Essex's friends. At least, that's how I've always seen them. And when they started inviting me last year, I reasoned they did it because they felt guilty or sorry for me. But this…"

"They like you, York. They like you for you."

"That's a hard concept for me to wrap my head around. Until Fir, I never had friends. I'm not a social person."

He kept saying that, but I was starting to suspect that wasn't the case at all. He was far more socially skilled than I'd initially given him credit for. His interactions with Gabe and Matt were just two examples. No, the problem wasn't that he wasn't social. The problem was that he was scared—and now I understood why. His brother had betrayed him, so he'd closed himself off from others, and who could blame him?

"You told me you thought we were becoming friends as well," I said.

"Are we?"

"You no longer think so?"

"You're being paid to hang out with me. That makes things complicated."

He wasn't wrong, yet it stung. "I'd hang out with you even if it wasn't my job."

"We wouldn't have met if it wasn't for your job," York said, as literal as ever.

"What I'm saying is that if the threat against you ended tomorrow and you no longer needed a bodyguard, I'd still want to hang out with you."

He frowned. "Why?"

He was killing me, and he didn't realize it. "I like you. You're a fascinating man, York, and I've enjoyed getting to know you."

His eyes probed me as if to test if I was telling the truth, but then he relaxed again. "You're not nearly as annoying as I thought you would be."

"Be still my beating heart." I clapped my hand over my chest, though I took it for what it was: the first layer of truth.

York winced. "I didn't mean that?—"

"I know what you meant, and I didn't take offense."

"Why is it you never get upset with me when I say things like that?"

"Because I understand what you're saying."

"But why?"

I shrugged. "You're not that hard to understand, honestly. You tend to take things literally, and your first reaction is often only the most superficial layer. Given the opportunity, you'll dig deeper after that. But you're methodical, so you start at the beginning. In this case, you had expected me to be a nuisance, and it turns out I'm not as bad as you had feared. I can see that for the compliment it is."

He stared at me for a long time, but I let him, allowing him to process our conversation. "It's almost eerie how well you've come to know me in such a short time. Other than Fir, no one has ever made the effort."

"As I said, I like you and find you fascinating. When you like someone, you take the time to figure them out and understand how they're wired."

York sighed. "I wanna get drunk. Can I do that? Absolutely drunk off my ass."

"You're a grown-ass man. You can do whatever the hell you want."

"You're not gonna stop me?"

"Nope."

York rose. "Pretty sure Tomás left a bottle of superb whisky behind. The man is a whisky snob. If I'm gonna get drunk, it might as well be on the good stuff."

When he came back, he was holding a bottle and a glass. "Found it. Eighteen-year-old Macallan double cask, whatever the fuck that means. It looks expensive. I assume you don't want any."

"Correct."

He unscrewed the bottle and poured himself a generous amount. After a sniff, he took a sip. "Oh, this'll do just fine."

It took him two glasses to get tipsy and five to get dead drunk. After the sixth, I grabbed the bottle.

"Hey!" York tripped over his feet when he tried to stop me. I held on to his arm to prevent him from face-planting.

"You've had enough," I said calmly.

"You said I could do whatever the fuck I wanted."

"I draw the line at alcohol poisoning, sorry."

York rolled his eyes. "You're no fun."

"That's me. Always spoiling the fun for everyone."

"That's not true. You may not be the funnest person I've ever met, but… Wait, where was I going with that?"

He was adorable. "You were trying to prove I'm not a party pooper."

"Right." He frowned deeply. "I forgot my argument."

"I'll have to remember that. If I ever want to win an argument, I'll need to ply you with whisky first."

He snorted. "I don't usually drink."

"You don't say."

"Especially not this much."

"I figured."

"I don't feel in control when I'm drinking."

"Gotcha."

"But after today, I wanted to… I needed to…"

Oh, sweet Jesus, please tell me York wasn't a…

A loud sob flew from his lips.

Yup, he was a sad drunk. A weepy drunk.

Big tears welled in his eyes, and the emotions he'd held back came out with a vengeance. He bent his head, burying his face in his hands as he cried. Dammit, how was I supposed to sit here and watch him fall apart? I couldn't.

Fuck it all to hell and back. I sat next to him on the couch and pulled him onto my lap. He went willingly, wrapping his arms around me and finding shelter against my shoulder as a lifetime of pent-up tears gushed out. I cradled him close, saying nothing as he fell apart in my arms.

It broke my heart.