18. Matthew

18

MATTHEW

I t's one of the longest shifts I've ever worked.

Since Fischer hasn't left the building to go to the club, I can assume one of two things. He's lost in his work, or he's fucking Ravenna Gallo.

I'm not even gonna pretend I'm okay with that. It's been on my mind constantly—all these women he fucks. But especially her. I watch her comings and goings closely. She's more polite to me—in a way that's noticeable, like she wants me to put a in good word for her. She never leaves the building or returns with anyone else. No other men or women. Most nights, she stays in.

If Fischer's been going to the club, he's managing to do it off my radar. On nights I work the evening shift, it's conceivable he leaves the building after I do, but what I think is more likely is he's seeing Ravenna more than he's letting on.

I don't blame him. She's petite. Stacked. Sexy. She's clearly into him. She's also convenient. And with Fischer's leg, I imagine it's easier to take an elevator ride than it is to walk up the street to the club.

708 and 912 come in, and I get busy grabbing the delivery that arrived earlier for one of them.

Once they're on their way upstairs, another half dozen people arrive before I get the sense that everyone's settling down for the night. There's a certain calm that comes over the building around midnight, but instead of finding the deep breath I usually take once it hits, my mind goes straight to 907 and the railing that could be ongoing. Because now I figure they fell asleep, woke up, and got right back into it. It's what I would do.

" Fuuuuccckkkk …" I groan, picking up a pen and drawing the scene exactly as I'm picturing it. She's riding him, pinning down his hands, and he's arched in ecstasy.

I get up to sweep and dust before five. And then come the runners, the dogs, and the surgeons.

Finally, a few minutes before Killian is supposed to show up to relieve me, I send Fischer a text.

Still want me to come up?

If he doesn't answer, I'm out of here.

But he does. Right away.

Fischer

You promised.

My hand shakes, relief flooding me hard. He was right last night. I have been avoiding him. But I wasn't lying either. I've been busy. Busy trying to burn some of the intensifying obsession I have with him out of my body. Since the night I spent sucking cock didn't do shit to help me stop wanting him, I've been hooking up with randoms on Grindr, trying to get the need fucked out of me by graceless, grunting tops across the street at the Plaza.

The famous hotel is ripe with closet cases on out-of-town business looking for a quick piece of ass in the city. When I need someone to fuck my brains out, there's no place like a luxury hotel suite to get the job done by someone who's not ashamed to post a pic of his cock on a hook up app.

It's not not working. I'm distracted, and my ass is persistently achy, but one more hug from Fischer with him all helpless and missing me might turn me into a puddle that would do anything to please him.

This is going to sound insane, but I jerk off before I go up to his place once I hand the building off to Kil. I go ahead and picture all the things I wish could happen when I get to his apartment but know can't, and I spend my load in the staff bathroom sink so I'm not overly tempted to shoot it down Fischer's throat. Because not only shouldn't he allow that, but he wouldn't. And I am capable of controlling myself.

But sleepy Fischer tests me.

He's in the kitchen when I let myself in. His hair is a wild mess with sexy waves falling across his eyes. His stubble has grown out from last night, and his silver eyes are half-lidded because he hasn't had coffee yet. He's wearing a tight, white tank, which I have kind of a thing for, and loose fitting navy pajama pants. They hang low on his hips leaving a sliver of his waist visible, which I immediately stop looking at. Instead, I offer to make the coffee.

"Thanks," he says when I step behind him and urge him out of the way.

"Sure."

Instead of moving, though, he turns and wraps his arms around me. Thank fucking God I jerked off first, because he's as close as he can get without defying the laws of physics. I can feel his cock.

"It's so fucking good to see you," he sighs.

"Why's that?" I ask, knowing I should move away but unable to make myself.

"You make me feel better. You always have."

My eyes close because those words land painfully in my chest. I want them to be true. The problem is I want them to be true in ways he can't possibly want. I rub his back, and he somehow manages to mold his body to every curve and plane of mine. The fit is perfect, and arousing. Does he feel that?

Because I sure fucking do.

"I need coffee," he says pathetically.

"Go sit. I'll bring you some."

"And my leg hurts."

"Okay, princess. Do I need to carry you?"

He laughs, and I feel it against my neck. Chills shoot down my spine. He runs his hands down my arms as he backs away. I give one of his hands a squeeze before passing him his cane and sending him to the couch.

"How late were you up?" I ask, pushing the button to start his cup brewing.

"Late. I had a fucking panic attack. First time in a long time. I almost called an ambulance."

I scowl. "Why didn't you call me ?"

"You told me you can't leave the lobby."

"If you're having a heart attack, I'll leave the lobby."

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly. I knew it was all in my head, it was just…a lot."

"What triggered it?" I probe.

"Ugh. You don't wanna know. I'm an idiot. Enough said."

I give him a side-eye once he's on the couch. "Might as well tell me."

"I went to break things off with Raven, and it didn't end up going well."

The ways I am so relieved right now… "Was she pissed?"

"When I say it didn't go well, what I mean is I think I agreed to an ongoing arrangement ."

And there goes my heart. I'm surprised he doesn't hear it splatter on the floor.

I close my eyes briefly. I need to get a grip. Whether it's with Ravenna Gallo or someone else, eventually Fischer's going to be in a relationship, and I'm going to have to be okay with it. But this morning, she's not here, and we can be us. No moms or dads. No college roommates. No pretty assistants. Just Fischer and me. Until Vaughn shows up.

I bring him his coffee and his anti-inflammatory pill, then take a seat on the coffee table in front of him. I pat my lap. He groans as he lifts his left leg, and I start the massage over his pants.

"Fuck. Thank you." He sinks as deep as he can into the unforgiving cushions and curls his toes against my abs.

Over the last couple of months, I've learned the places to avoid, where the metal plates and pins are, and I know what pressure points help ease the aches he gets. I figured it out mostly through trial and error, but I also watched a YouTube series about rehabilitative massage. I start with his calf, then I'll do his foot, and then, I'll sit next to him and stretch out his thigh. It's a whole routine, not unlike his PT exercises. It feels dangerous today, but I'm hoping whatever he has to say will turn me off. Because touching him certainly isn't. Still, I feel bad that it's been so long since I did this for him.

His toes poke me in the stomach on purpose. "First you dodge me, now you're not gonna talk to me?"

Sighing, I take his foot in my hands and rub my thumbs up the sole. "I'm here," I remind him. "Not dodging."

"You're grumpy" he says.

"I was up all night."

"So, I'm guessing I can't talk you into going to the park with Vaughn and me?"

"Fuck no."

"But you'll crash here and have dinner with us?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Good. Now what the hell have you been up to that's kept you so busy you couldn't make time for me?"

If he's gonna be fucking his downstairs neighbor, I can be honest about how I spend my spare time. "I finished the piece. Broke things off with Val, and basically I've been acting like The Plaza whore because I don't know what to do with myself between projects."

"Jesus."

"You asked."

"The Plaza?"

"It's high class whoring."

"Do you take money?"

" No . I'm not looking to change my career here, I've just been trying to…get inspired," I lie.

"Right."

Our gazes lock, and I get lost in how casually sexy he is. I knew I shouldn't look up. Knew it'd be hard to look away again.

"I don't know about you, but it's probably about time I connect with a therapist," he says.

"What do you want to talk to a therapist about?"

"The panic attack for one thing, and the fact that I have zero impulse control."

"Tell me about the panic attack," I offer.

"It felt like it came out of nowhere. I was making Vaughn's bed, and I almost started crying. And I started thinking about how fucking lonely it is—having a kid here by myself because how fun can that possibly be for him? And that made me spiral into this whole deal about keeping him away from Dick and Donna, and how I basically did the same thing with myself, and my chest started to get tight, and I thought about that fucking DNA report and how I have this history of coronary disease in the bio family, and then I started thinking about dying alone, and that was it."

"That's a lot to unpack," I say, smoothing a firm hand up his calf.

"Told you. I need a therapist."

"First of all, Vaughn doesn't seem unhappy. He seems like Vaughn. He's all about himself. He's not over there judging you. Or Nicole. And you're not keeping him away from anyone. He sees his grandparents a normal amount. They got spoiled when you were overseas, and you need to stop letting Mom guilt trip you about it. You're entitled to your time with him. They can FaceTime him whenever they want."

Fischer sighs. "Yeah." Then he rests his head back and closes his eyes. "That feels perfect."

I watch his Adam's apple bob, and it makes me have to swallow hard, too. I need to move this massage along. Lifting his leg, I move to sit next to him, slowly opening his arthritic hip and resting his thigh on top of mine. I work my hands into the muscle, starting at the top and working my way down. His usual mmms are having a radically different effect on me from the last time I did this a few weeks ago. He leans into me, going so far as to put an arm around me. I slide my hand into the crease of his groin and accidentally graze the edge of his dick. "Sorry," I whisper.

This has happened before. And normally, he'll adjust himself. But this time, he just says, "It's fine."

Maybe I need to skip the groin massage, but try telling my hand that. It keeps going back for more. He squirms and lets out another hum.

"Do you think they resent me? Dick and Donna?" he asks.

I blink rapidly, a haze of animal-like lust threatening to overtake me. "No. I think they wish you felt more comfortable having a relationship with them, but they're your parents. They don't resent you."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's possible to love someone and understand that what they need isn't what you need. They might be sad, they might miss you, but love and resentment don't go together."

"You've obviously never been in a long term relationship."

"Do you want my advice or not?" I ask, stilling my hands.

He grins. "Don't stop. Yes, keep talking."

"Family is different."

"So, you don't resent anyone in our family?"

I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. "Look, in terms of the coronary disease, you should see a heart doctor. There's gotta be at least eight who live in this building."

He lets out a low laugh.

"And you're not gonna die alone."

"How do you know?"

"Because…" And I hate saying this, but it's true, and he needs to hear it. "You want Vaughn to have a family. That's obvious. You're gonna find someone and want to settle down again, and that's how I know you won't die alone. And anyway, I'll outlive you, so I'll be there as a last resort."

"That's comforting. Maybe you're right, though. About getting married again."

My hands stops moving. I feel like he just dumped a bucket of ice on my head. "When did that change?"

He lifts his head and looks at me. "What? You brought it up."

I can't speak. I shake my head and stare at him. Words escape me.

His face visibly pales. "Matthew…what?"