Chapter 12
I hate redos. Hate everything about them. Hate trying to decide whether to fix or scrap. Hate watching good things fall in the trash because they aren’t quite perfect. I cursed as I tossed the heap of mangled fondant and cake that was supposed to be the Caldwell anniversary cake.
“What the heck is with you?” Cliff asked, looking up from the line of cupcakes he was icing. “Boy problems?”
“Nothing I wanna talk about, and nothing I want to hear back around on the gossip loop.”
“Oh, come on, man, can’t you see that there are a whole lot of people who want to be happy for you?”
Shoulders going rigid, I shook my head. Melissa had said almost the same thing, but I wasn’t sure I trusted it. Wasn’t sure I trusted me. Wasn’t sure I trusted Robin anymore. He hadn’t come over Monday night. I knew Robin’s unhappiness had little to do with me, but it still felt like my fault that he wouldn’t let me in.
I grabbed two fresh vanilla sponge layers off the rack, put them on my station, filled them with buttercream and raspberry jam as per the order sheet, and dirty iced the stack. Just as I started rolling the fondant, Cliff came back over, leaning on my table.
“You know, back when I was running after Trish, I didn’t take no for an answer.”
“Isn’t stalking illegal?” I didn’t look up as I carefully draped fondant over the cake.
“I don’t mean literally. I mean, I courted her. Didn’t let her turn me down.”
“Look at you being Mr. Matchmaker.” I made a shooing motion with my piping bag.
“I’m just saying, you should woo the boy. Take him—”
“This isn’t something dinner at Piazza Italia will fix, man. I don’t need to seduce Robin. I just need him to feel better, okay? I need him not to shut me out.” Hell. My hands clenched, squeezing the piping bag too hard. Hot pink icing glopped all over the nice white fondant. Hadn’t meant to say any of that.
“Knew it. You’re in love with that boy.” Cliff said this cheerfully, like the revelation wasn’t supposed to tear me open, leaving me raw and exposed, like half-baked bread.
“We’re just friends with benefits.” I scraped the excess icing off the cake and tried to salvage the mess. “And that better not be repeated.”
“You can trust me.” Cliff held up his hands. “But that’s what I mean. Since when do you wait for someone to ask for help? You gonna start waiting for Melissa to call before you run bread over to the mission? Gonna wait for Trish to tell you some cake’s too heavy for her? Gonna wait for me to ask before you do the run to Caldwell’s tomorrow?”
“This isn’t like that . . . he doesn’t want my help.” I looked away, trying not to show how much it killed me. I’d thought I could be Robin’s rebound guy, but truth was, I was a damn crappy rebound guy. I didn’t want to be Robin’s casual, feelgood fuck. I wanted to be his everything. I wanted to get him through the pain of Zach being hurt—and not by waiting on the sidelines.
“Vic.” Cliff held out a hand. “Let me fix the cake. It’s Tuesday. Robin will be at the shelter. Don’t let him shut you out.”
“You just want to win your bet.”
“No. I want you to win yours.”
I headed over to the shelter because Cliff was right: I was a take-action kind of guy. Holing up and waiting for Robin to call me—that wasn’t my style. Nothing good would come of letting Robin hide away. Even if he didn’t want me, he needed to know he wasn’t alone. And yeah, despite what I’d told him, I was worried about him and sobriety. Not quite the same as Robin’s issues, but I knew how loss and temptation could get tangled up.
When I missed Manny the most, I could smell pizza and taste microbrew, and the memory of sharing an entire pie together would give me the urge to bury the ache of missing him under something heavy and carb-loaded. And then I’d hit the gym, clanking barbells extra hard until the urge passed. I didn’t know what Robin used to beat back temptation. But I wished I did—it didn’t have to be me, or involve me. I simply wanted to help ensure he had his weapon of choice.
When I got to the shelter clumps of smokers sat out front like always, but they were talking in hushed tones. An anxious vibe seemed to roll off the building, like the foundation had tilted since I’d been there last. I checked both the dining room and the staff room, but there was no sign of Robin—or Melissa, for that matter.
A few volunteers were in the kitchen, starting the dinner prep, but Robin wasn’t among them. They, too, seemed on edge, talking in low voices and looking up at my arrival, then quickly looking away. No shouted greetings or hugs like usual. My heart clattered in my chest, insides all wobbly as I got a very bad feeling.
Please let Robin be okay. I said a quick prayer to the same God I’d fought my dad so passionately over.
I headed through the deserted storeroom, out to the loading bay. When I peeked around the side of the dock, I saw Robin’s dark hair.
Thank you. Relief, sure and swift, swept through me, but as I stepped through the door, I saw the rest of him, and rage replaced every last drop of relief. He was sitting on the edge of the dock and Paul was holding him, his arms around him.
No.
My muscles froze, literally seized up, my throat closing, my arms paralyzed.
I knew I should call out. Say something. Keep going forward. Pull the two of them apart. But I couldn’t do any of that. The ache in my chest was too big, the pain too large to bear. He’d found his weapon and it wasn’t me. Instead, I fled, through the storeroom, through the kitchen, through the hall until I reached the entryway benches and collapsed, my head on my hands.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed like that, but I raised my head at the sound of Robin’s voice.
“Vic? What are you doing here? Did you hear?”
“I saw,” I said, somehow keeping my voice level.
“You—what?”
“I saw. You and Paul,” I said, focusing on dirty footprints on the linoleum, not able to look at his beautiful face. “I get why you’d pick him. It’s okay. I want you to be happy. I get—”
“You get nothing, Vic.” Robin’s voice was harsh enough to make me look up. His eyes were Arctic Winter chilly. “Zach is dead. Melissa’s with his family right now. Dead. And Paul found me—and oh my God, how could you not speak up if you saw him touching me? Did you stay long enough to see me push him away?”
Relief and shame and grief bundled together, overloading my nerve endings, filling my head with buzzing static.
“No,” I said softly, holding out my hand. “I’m sorry—”
“Sorry? Vic, I wanted you. I wanted your arms. Zach is dead—”
“I know, baby, you said. And I’m here now.” I stood up, taking him in my arms, but he jumped back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What? You think that makes up for not believing in me? For coming here to check up on me? For thinking that I would let Paul—Vic, why can’t you trust me?” He put so much pain into the question that it felt like a whip, stinging my skin, making my eyes smart.
“Last few days, you’ve shoved me away. I thought maybe we were through. Figured you didn’t want me anymore.” It felt like coffee grounds clogged my nose and throat. That. That was why I hadn’t sought him out. That was why it had taken a kick from Cliff to get me here. I’d been afraid, pure and simple. I hadn’t wanted to hear him say—
“Well, we’re sure through now.” His face was stony, his eyes gone from blue to almost black.
I froze. On the inside and the outside. Like I’d been zapped with a freeze gun from a sci-fi movie, some funky weapon that spat out paralyzing pain. I shook my hands out, forcing my blood to keep circulating, forcing myself not to let him walk away before I could speak.
“Wait.” My voice croaked. “Robin. I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions when I saw you and Paul, but you’re hurting right now. It’s not a good time to make rash decisions—”
“It’s the perfect time because I can’t do this, Vic. I can’t do the casual thing with you—”
“I don’t want casual. I want you. And I do trust you.” My heart threatened to pump right through my sternum. I leaned on the bench for balance. Should have told him that days ago. Stupid fucking fear again. Been too scared to tell what I really wanted, and now I was about to lose him anyway.
“I don’t believe you,” Robin said flatly. “And I can’t handle anything right now. I can’t handle Paul. And I can’t handle you. And I really, really can’t handle that Zach is dead.”
“You don’t have to handle it. Let me—”
“Let you what? Wrap me in cotton? Protect me from myself? I don’t need that.”
“Let me love you,” I said softly. “Let me hold you. You’re hurting.”
“No. Don’t you see? If things between us keep going, it’s going to hurt, so much more than it does right now, maybe even more than losing Zach. More than losing my friend Tim when we were both on the streets. And I can’t risk that, Vic. I can’t let you in and care about you and then find out you don’t trust me or have my back.”
“That’s not fair.” I let go of the bench, pulling myself back up. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Have his back? I’d fucking carry him on mine. And I’d thought he knew that.
“Fair? Fair? There is nothing fair about today. Nothing. And I’m sorry, Vic. I can’t do us. Not right now. I just need some space. Time to think—”
“I can give you space.” It killed me to offer, but I’d give him whatever he needed. Even now, I’d strap him to me, carry him across the city. “Just don’t shut me out. I’m sorry, so sorry about assuming the worst when I saw you with Paul. And I’m so sorry about Zach. And you can have all the space you need to grieve and be mad, just please, please don’t shut me out.” My voice fucking broke and I stopped.
I’d never begged.
Not once. Not when the bullies had me cornered as a kid. Not when I lost the job at the mortgage company. Not when I fought with my dad. Not even at the hospital, losing Dad, then Uncle Mauro, then Manny. Never begged the universe for a second chance.
“I’m sorry, Vic.” With that, he turned on his heel and fled through the double doors, out onto the street. I chased after him—I wasn’t making the same mistake twice—but he was nowhere to be seen. Just smoke and blank faces and the lingering sense of loss that pervaded the whole shelter—the sense I hadn’t quite picked up on because I’d been so focused on Robin, so certain that it was about him and me and—
And I was a self-centered bastard. Robin was hurting and he was doing what he always did, pushing away people who wanted to help him. All I wanted was to find the right words for an apology, the right words that would make Robin listen, but I had nothing. I picked up my phone, debating texting him, but I had no idea what to say.
I typed, Stay safe, but then deleted it, because that sounded like I didn’t trust him.
Then I typed, I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you, but deleted that just as fast. I didn’t want to be a needy, stalker boyfriend.
Then I typed the truth: I love you and I’m sorry. I knew I wouldn’t send that one either, but I stood there and stared at my screen for a long minute. It was the truth.
I loved Robin Dawson. I’d loved him for a year at least. I’d loved him since before I made my New Year’s resolution, since before my surgery. Probably loved him since the first day we pulled up to deliver bread and he was on the loading dock, shaggy hair and sunny smile.
My resolution had never been about finding a guy, any guy to try a relationship with. It had been about finding the balls to go after Robin. And I’d lied to myself and said I was okay being his rebound guy, that I was okay being a pit stop for him on the road to something better, when he was my destination all along.
I loved him. I loved his kind, generous heart. I loved the way he looked at my falling-down house and saw so much potential, the way he looked at my future and similarly saw a world of possibilities. I loved the way his face looked when he ate something I’d made, and I loved how he felt in my arms. I loved his fragility. I loved that he cared so deeply about things. And yes, he was right, I did want to protect him from the world. Was it so wrong to want to be his safe place? To want to comfort him?
And now I wasn’t going to get the chance. My chest ached and my throat burned. Not since the horrible day when we lost Manny had I felt such agony. My whole body felt consumed by grief and I knew one simple very profound truth: I wasn’t ever getting over losing Robin.
I thought of all the times I hadn’t told my dad or my uncle—bless their cantankerous souls—or Manny what they meant to me. Life was too short for Robin not to know that he was loved—that it didn’t matter if he came back to me, if he never spoke to me again. He was loved.
I hit send.