Chapter Seven

“You can let go now,” CJ said breathlessly as they stopped beside Eric’s car. Uncomfortably, he twisted his hand as he tried to free himself from Eric’s vice-like grip. He had no idea what the hell had just happened, but was grateful for the impromptu getaway.

“Sorry,” Eric said, and hesitantly, loosened his hold. His fingers brushed CJ’s as he pulled his hand free, causing a shiver to ripple across CJ’s skin.

CJ rubbed gently at his wrist as he inspected the parking area and the sports center. “It’s fine,” he said. “Should expect it if I’m hanging out with a celebrity, right?” He narrowed his eyes as he turned back to Eric. The man looked pale and on edge. “You get that a lot?”

Eric’s shoulders slumped. He looked even more tired than he had when he’d first shown up at the center. “Sometimes. More so recently.”

CJ studied Eric, looking him up and down. He didn’t know much about the celebrity lifestyle and very little about Eric’s in particular. Yes, he had heard plenty of gossip in the bar and from Jodie. But he was never one to listen to or judge someone on the merit of hearsay and some glossy magazine.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think, or rather hoped they wouldn’t find me so soon.” Eric appeared defeated as he leaned back against his rental, a large, black Mercedes SUV. The tight ball that had trapped itself in CJ’s throat from the moment Eric had brought up Spring break, slipped away, and all CJ felt was sympathy for the man.

What the hell happened to you? “Look. I have to go.” If he’d had some warning Eric was going to walk back into town and his life, then maybe he could have handled this whole situation and being around the man a hell of a lot better. He didn’t want to remember or talk about the past. After all, all he cared about was getting from day to day and the future of his center and the children he worked with. The past—their past—had no right getting in the way of that. It was a distraction he didn’t need.

“Let me drive you,” Eric said. Sadness darkened the deep brown of Eric’s eyes and CJ’s heart clenched at the sight. Eric was a good liar, but there was nothing he could do to stop his eyes from betraying his true feelings. Seven years ago, CJ had seen love, hope and determination in Eric’s beautiful eyes. Now all he saw was despair, guilt and exhaustion.

Shaking his head, CJ fastened his jacket and pushed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Not right now.”

“It’s late. It’s a five minute drive.”

“Or a fifteen minute walk.” CJ gave Eric a reassuring smile. He didn’t need or want Eric trying to protect him. That hadn’t been Eric’s job in long time. “Will you be okay?” Eric still looked a little off color. It must be unnerving to have cameras and people in his face like that over and over again.

Eric swept a hand through his bangs, pulling them back from his face as he took a deep breath. Nodding, he fished his keys from his pocket and contemplatively turned them over in his hand. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.” He flashed a convincing smile, but his eyes told CJ a different story. Eric wasn’t comfortable with it at all.

“If you’re sure,” CJ said. Despite their history, he didn’t want anything bad to happen to Eric. Yes, the man had done some dickish things, but he wasn’t the asshole people believed he was. He never had been.

“I’m fine.”

You’re a damn liar. CJ nodded. He didn’t want to ride with Eric. Fresh air and the walk home would do him some good and clear his head. “Give me your phone,” he said, waiting as Eric handed it over. Quickly, he navigated through the phone and entered his digits. “Text me when you get in. I’d like to know you got back okay.”

Eric took back his phone and viewed the open contact information. “Thanks,” he said, seeming a little fazed. “I’ll do that.”

Stay strong. He couldn’t be running around after Eric. Not now. And in all honesty, he was a little shaken himself, and not just because of the paparazzi. Offering Eric a friendly smile, he reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Drawing back his hand, he took a couple of steps back, watching as Eric got in his car. He hovered near the car and gave a short wave as Eric started the engine and pulled away. Tired barely came close to how he felt, and pushing his hands in his pockets, he headed for the direction of home. A good night’s sleep would fix everything, right? If only that were true.

* * * *

Interspersed with a few short jogs, the walk home took CJ just ten minutes. As he slid his key in the lock and pushed open the door, a sense of calm washed over him. He was home.

Chasing away the tiredness, he stretched his neck and dropped his keys in the wooden bowl by the door. Slowly, he ran his fingers around the rim of the dark stained wood. It had been his grandmother’s and a gift when he’d bought the house from his parents. He pushed the door shut, listening as the Yale lock clicked in place, then slid on the chain. He stared along the unlit corridor and eyed the dark paneling. He’d get round to redecorating one day. His parents loved wood and mahogany and deep reds and browns. The whole house was papered and paneled, floors stripped back, and furniture more suited to an antiques store filled every room. Almost. His bedroom was the one room untouched by the crazy wood and gothic fetish. He made a mental note to invest some time in the house once the center and its funding was secure.

CJ flicked the light switch and squinted against the bright light. How the hell Eric put up with all the cameras and their flashes, he didn’t know. He took a moment to adjust, before making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. He had a long day ahead of him tomorrow consisting of form filling, spreadsheet updating and several other dull tasks relating to the business and money side of his project. His flight of fancy, his father had called it. The man had never been all that supportive, especially when the sexuality of his son had been plastered across the front of the local newspaper amid the report of the accident. Gay. Was it really an important detail?

With a sigh, he watched the water fill his glass and rubbed soothingly at his forehead. His skin felt tight and tension pricked at his temple. Pressing his fingers against the scar, he tried to rub away the stress and threatening bad mood. He needed to find a way to relax. Could he afford to take a couple of days off? Mikey and the others were capable enough. Would anyone actually notice if he just didn’t show until after the weekend? He had spent most of the past week in his office trying to make the accounts balance. He never had liked math.

CJ sipped at the cool water. He hadn’t had much to drink in the bar, but some days even a sip left him with a headache the following morning. God, he was getting old. With a frown, he downed the half-glass of water. He felt like he was twenty-five going on fifty. He placed the glass on the drainer and reached down to rub behind his knee. The old injury left him feeling stiff and old, and obsessing, pinching and prodding at it wasn’t helping. Standing up, he rotated his knee. He still hoped one day the pain would ease and he could feel halfway to normal again. Normal. Who the hell was normal these days anyway? With a snorted laugh, he idled his way through the house, turning off and on lights as he made his way upstairs.

The banister was comfortingly solid beneath his hand as he ran his fingers upward. He remembered sitting one weekend watching his dad sand and stain the beautifully carved and expensive addition to the house. At twelve years old, the two thousand dollar price tag had never truly struck a note with him, but now, all he saw was a ridiculous extravagance.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he began to undress. Tiredly, he hung up his jacket and pulled his T-shirt up and over his head. It didn’t take him long to strip to his underwear, discarding his clothes in an untidy pile in his bedroom. Heading back along the corridor, he wandered into the bathroom, yawning as he put down his cell phone and picked up his toothbrush. Blinking, he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the bathroom sink and raised his free hand to his jaw. Tilting his head, he ran his hand up the side of his face then soothed the dark rings forming under his eyes. Tax returns, expenses, incomes and outgoings were keeping him awake at night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept through to morning without waking and tossing and turning all over his bed. He must have seen every single hour on his alarm clock for the last month.

What’s the answer? He stared at his reflection as if it would come up with a solution for his financial worries. Eric. He wasn’t the answer, was he? If anything, the man just created more questions and a fuck load of confusion that had CJ’s head and heart hurting. Had it really been seven years already?

CJ started as his cell phone vibrated on the sink. Picking up his cell, he selected the message and read the short text.

Home. Thank you.

There it was again, the pain of the past.

He sent a brief reply confirming he was also home and safe then looked back at his reflection. Hesitantly, he reached up and pulled back his hair. He stared at the horseshoe scar. It wasn’t as prominent as it had been. The passage of time had helped it to fade. He just wished that was true for everything else. Gliding his hand downward, he gently touched his collar bone and chest. The ugly marks had him screwing up his mouth in disgust. Seven years.

He didn’t remember much of the accident, but he had been told plenty. Swerving to miss an animal, Eric had apparently lost control of the car and they had skidded into the wrong lane. There had been a truck and the collision had flipped the Ford, rolling it off the road and into a tree. He’d heard plenty of blame thrown in Eric’s direction. Somehow, Eric had gotten out of the car, leaving CJ trapped and unconscious. And there he had stayed as the engine caught fire. In the end, it had been the driver of the truck who had gotten him out, but not before his legs, stomach and right side of his chest had suffered significant burns.

The palm of his hand was cool against the raised and deformed skin of his chest and he moved his hand down to his stomach, feeling the smooth ridges of the angry looking scar. Taking a deep breath, he pulled back his hand and curled it into a fist. He couldn’t keep doing this. Throwing his toothbrush into the sink, he picked up his cell phone and stormed out of the bathroom. Within minutes, he was dressed in his running gear and downstairs. Scrolling through his phone, he found the play list he wanted and pushed his headphones in his ears. He waited, listening as the beat kicked in on the first track. A surge of emotion leaped into his chest and he slid the phone into the pocket of his jacket and secured the zipper. Drums pounded in his ears as he headed for the door. Fuck the fact it was after midnight. Fuck the scars. Fuck the past. And fuck Eric.

* * * *

At eight in the morning, still half asleep and cranky as hell, CJ was not in the mood when faced with four men and their cameras standing, cluttering the space outside the center when he arrived. Eric wasn’t even in until that afternoon, and already the media were lining up waiting to snap a photo.

CJ sat in his car and watched them for a moment. This was kind of awkward. He tried to decide if any of them would have been outside the bar. Would they recognize him as being with Eric last night? Rubbing a hand over his face, he considered what to do. Using Eric and his celebrity thing had seemed a good idea, but suddenly, he wasn’t so sure. He’d seen how withdrawn and tired Eric was and he could only imagine how draining it must be to have people pressing and prying into his life.

“Shit.” He pulled his cell phone from his jeans. He stared at the screen as he tapped the corner of his cell against the steering wheel. He should call Eric and tell him what to expect when he got here. Scrolling through his contacts, he found Eric’s cell number, made the call and waited for Eric to pick up.

It seemed like forever, but eventually a sleepy sounding Eric answered the phone. “Hello.”

“Hi,” CJ said and relaxed in his seat. He eyed the waiting men and continued, “We have some visitors here at the center.”

“Visitors?” Eric asked. “I’m not in until two, right?”

CJ sighed. “There are men with cameras standing outside the entrance. They’re here for you.” Eric’s silence was unsettling. “What should I do?” Should he tell them to come back later? Deny all knowledge of an Eric Fox? Or simply ignore them and hope they got the hint and went away? “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said, sounding like a lost child.

“Are they at the house?” CJ asked. He could have sworn there were more people last night, along with a handful of reporters asking questions.

“I don’t know,” Eric said again. “I’m still in bed.”

CJ kneaded his fingers against his forehead and wished he could stop himself from imagining Eric lying in bed, half-wrapped in crumpled bed sheets. Fuck, at eighteen he would have given anything to see that—to slide in there alongside Eric and touch and kiss and…

Get a grip. “Okay.” He recalled how he had felt last night when leaving the bar. “Look, if you need some time. It’s okay. I get it.” Eric was dealing with shit CJ didn’t fully understand or want to, but this he did. He understood wanting to be left alone and not to be seen. “Don’t feel you have to come in. Take what time you need.”

Eric didn’t say anything at first, but when he did there was a strange certainty in his voice. “I’ll be there.” And with that, he hung up.

CJ stared at his phone thoughtfully. He hoped Eric could handle this. He contemplated the waiting men. He hoped he could handle this, because he sure as hell couldn’t hide in his car all day. Pushing his cell back into his pocket, he reached for the door handle. Here went nothing.