Chapter Ten

What Mattered

“JAMES?” TEARS OBSCURED him, and Vincent wiped them away as fast as he could to ensure James hadn’t disappeared. He stood over him. He wasn’t a distant figure in a hospital lobby. He was right beside their bed. Alive.

Vincent couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He jumped to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. His pain, his nausea—everything in the world melted away except for the man in his arms. Vincent nestled into his chest and sobbed and clung to him, his life raft after being lost at sea for weeks in the nightmarish hell that had become his life.

James kissed the top of his head. “It’s going to be okay.”

Vincent looked up at him. Stared into his eyes that caught the light coming in from the living room. Beautiful bright-blue eyes. He had always known James was alive, but everyone else had been so certain of his death he was starting to wonder if he’d ever see his eyes again. They were even more striking than he remembered. “Everyone said you were gone.”

“I know,” James said, his voice hollow. He pressed Vincent’s head back to his chest and ran his fingers through his hair.

Questions swarmed his mind, sprouting and dying off in a matter of seconds. Why would the police say James was dead? Why would his father lie about identifying his own son’s body? Vincent felt sick. Dizzy. He clung to James a little tighter.

That didn’t matter. He could hear James’s heart beating. They had the rest of their lives to figure out what had happened. What was important now was that James was back. Vincent just needed to relax and breathe. In and out. In and—the smell hit him then.

Beyond the dirt and vomit, there was an underlying scent of rot. He must have brought more than dirt and vomit back with him from the cemetery.

James lifted his chin so that he looked into his eyes. “You okay?”

“I just feel a little sick.”

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No!” Vincent refused to let sleep separate them. “I just need to get cleaned up.”

James backed away from him.

Vincent grabbed his hand. He wasn’t letting him out of his sight anytime soon. “Will you come with me?”

James was looking right at him, but there was a glassy, distant look in his eyes—like miles separated them. Vincent was so happy James was back that he hadn’t paid much attention to how he was acting. He seemed to be in shock. A reasonable reaction after all he’d been through, and they would work through it together. Vincent squeezed his hand, and he was about to repeat himself when James answered, “Of course.”

James led him through the living room to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and started the shower. Once Vincent’s eyes adjusted, he looked at their reflection in the mirror while they waited for the water to warm up. James was just as handsome as ever. Vincent, on the other hand, looked like the one who’d died. Dried vomit and dirt smeared his face and stuck in clumps in his hair. His clothes were filthy.

James must’ve thought his boyfriend had lost his mind. Vincent could barely believe what he’d tried to do himself. But that didn’t matter now. James was back. Whatever rock bottom he had collided with in Greenwood Cemetery wasn’t relevant in a world where James was still alive. Everything that had happened between him waking up in the hospital and now belonged to a different life where he was facing all this alone. Now, he had James. The world had righted itself, and they could return to the lives those bastards had tried to take away from them.

Vincent started peeling off his shirt. Pain shot through his chest, and he stopped to breathe for a second, shirt covering his face.

“Here.” James lifted it off him. He helped him out of his jeans and underwear before bending over to remove his socks.

Vincent had missed him so much. “Thanks.”

Steam wafted out from behind the shower curtain. Vincent’s aching body couldn’t have asked for a better remedy. James had yet to undress, and he didn’t look like he was in a rush to do so. Vincent asked, “Are you joining me?”

James paused, seemingly lost in thought. Vincent wished he could hug and kiss him until whatever preoccupied him disappeared, but he knew that wasn’t possible. They had a long road ahead of them.

Vincent repeated himself.

“Yeah,” James said after another moment. “I’ll meet you in there.”

Vincent stepped inside the tub, not giving the hot steam more than a passing thought. Scalding-hot water poured down his chest. He stumbled out of the range of the water, rubbing his red skin. “Shit!”

James pulled back the curtain, pants around his ankles but face determined to destroy whatever had made Vincent scream. “You okay?”

“Sorry. The water’s hot.”

James turned on the cold-water faucet to lower the temperature, but by that point, the water was the least of Vincent’s concerns. James was naked, and there wasn’t a single scratch or bruise on his body. Hell, after two gunshots, he looked healthier and stronger than he had before the attack. The sight was so jarring that Vincent just stared at him until he hopped in the shower and closed the curtain. “What’s wrong?”

Vincent ran his fingers over the skin on James’s chest where the bullet had entered his body. The bullet hole he had packed with mud in the hope of saving him. There was nothing there now. The skin wasn’t even pink from healing—not that such a wound could heal in just a few weeks. He pressed his fingers into the skin, looking for tough scar tissue or a small indentation. Nothing.

James took his hand in his. “What happened to your fingernail?”

“You don’t even have a scar.” Vincent looked at the side of James’s head where another bullet had grazed him, but there was no sign of an injury. It was as if he’d never been attacked. “How is this possible?”

James hadn’t looked away from his hand. “Your whole fingernail is gone.”

Vincent pulled his hand away, wincing as the bare flesh under his missing fingernail grazed the rough skin on James’s hand. “Who cares about that right now? How did you heal so fast?”

James looked lost, searching for something in the dark. “I don’t know.”

The three weeks that had transpired between the last time he saw James seemed incredibly long and full of terrible possibilities. “What do you mean?”

“When I woke up, they were gone. There were lights and people. I ran.” James looked down at his feet.

Vincent waited for more of an explanation, but James didn’t say anything else. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you tell everyone you were alive?”

James pulled him close. “Because they said I was dead.”

A chill came over Vincent that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. They had reported James dead. They had a funeral for him and everything. Vincent didn’t know why the police or his parents would lie about such a thing, but whatever the reason, it wasn’t good. Something far greater than just an attack had happened that night. Something well beyond the two of them.

Vincent tried to breathe. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out.” He spoke with such certainty that Vincent almost believed him. Even the impossible seemed manageable with James at his side.

“I love you so much,” he said, punctuating his words with a kiss.

James kissed him back. An intense, hungry kiss that was far more aggressive than his usual gentle pecks. “I love you too.”

They had both been through a lot in the last few weeks. Vincent pushed everything else out of his mind except for the knowledge that the man he loved was still alive. He kissed him back. James grabbed his ass and pulled him closer, pushing their naked bodies together. His sore body hurt under the force of James’s hand, but he ignored it. He could feel himself growing hard. He kept kissing him and grinding into James in spite of the pain.

After another long, rough kiss, Vincent pulled back to catch his breath and look into his boyfriend’s eyes, hoping they had lost that distant look. But they hadn’t. He wondered where James was and what had happened to him during those weeks apart. Would he ever get the James he knew and loved back? He shut his eyes and kissed him again. And ignored the smell of rot still lingering in his nostrils.

 

HE AWOKE TO a distant pounding sound. He’d fallen asleep with his head on James’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, so it only seemed right that he’d wake up to it. Only, the pounding was inconsistent, and it sounded farther away. Like it was coming from the other room. Like someone was knocking on the front door.

Exhaustion pinned him to the bed. “James, I think someone’s here.”

No response.

The pounding continued, joined by words he couldn’t quite make out.

“James?” He lifted his head and turned around to shake him awake. The bed was empty. He lay on a pile of blankets. His eyes darted around the room that was full of afternoon light. James wasn’t there.

He must already be up.

Vincent got to his feet and rushed into the living room. James wasn’t on the couch or in the armchair. Panic overtook him. He tried to shake it off. James was fine. He probably heard the knocking and panicked and made a run for it. The only problem was that he’d have to go out through the front door to leave the apartment.

“I know you’re in there!” Sam called from the door. “Your car is out front!”

Sam would have to wait. Vincent continued into the bathroom. Kitchen. Hallway to the door. James was nowhere in sight.

He tried to breathe.

Last night wasn’t an illusion.

It was real.

Sam continued to pound on the door. “I’m not leaving until you let me in.”

He just needed to think.

Bang.

There had to be a rational explanation for this.

Bang.

But every thought—bang—was cut short by that blasted pounding.

He went to the door and pulled it open. “What?”

Sam stood in the doorway, a glass casserole dish covered in tin foil in her hands. “Nice to see you too. Yes, I’d love to come in. Thanks.”

Before Vincent could say a word, she slipped past him into the apartment. “God, what’s that smell?”

“Sam, now is really a bad time.” Sam walked into the kitchen as if she hadn’t heard a word he said. He looked out of the door. He knew James wouldn’t be there, standing behind Sam on the stairs, but he had to be sure.

A cabinet slammed shut. “Remind me where you keep your plates?”

Vincent shut the door and joined Sam in the kitchen. She’d managed to find the right cupboard and taken out two plates. “What about a serving spoon and forks?”

“I could really use some time alone. How about you come back in an hour?” By then, he could figure out where James had gone.

“I spent all morning making my world-famous cheesy potato casserole. It’s best when it’s still warm from the oven. So, we are going to sit down and stuff our faces until we’re sick. Then, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Her look of determination assured him he’d have to physically pick her up and carry her out of the apartment if he wanted to be alone. He knew he should be grateful that she was trying, but she was trying at the worst possible time. “The silverware is in the drawer beside the sink. I’ll be right back.”

He returned to the bedroom. He threw blankets and pillows off the bed to ensure James wasn’t still asleep in the bundle. No luck. He got down on the floor, ignoring the protest of pain from his ribs, and looked under the bed. He pushed away old shoeboxes and discarded clothes. Legs appeared in front of him on the other side of the bed. He was almost relieved until he saw the toenails were painted black.

He rose to his feet, using the bed for support. Sam stood by the door, her hand resting on her hips and her face pinched with confusion. “Whatcha doing?”

“I—ah…” For a split second, he considered telling her the truth. I’m looking for James. He wasn’t sure why James hadn’t already told her, but he must have had his reasons. Plus, Sam would probably think he’d gone insane if he didn’t have James at his side to prove his claims.

“Well?” she asked, her expression unchanged.

“I can’t find my phone.”

She grabbed it from the bedside table, where it was in plain sight, and held it out to him.

Vincent took it, focusing on the empty bed. “Thanks.”

“Food’s ready.”

Two steaming plates piled high with casserole were waiting for them at the kitchen table. He couldn’t lie. The mixture of cheese and potatoes objectively looked delicious, but after a night of vomiting, the smell made him feel like there might be an encore. And his stomach was in knots over James. Sam watched him, waiting for him to take a bite. The faster he ate, the sooner Sam would be gone. He shoveled in a forkful and forced himself to swallow it.

Sam dug into her own mound. “Like it?”

“It’s great.” He took another forkful to push down the first that was threatening to come back up and used the silence of them chewing to think. Last night couldn’t have been a dream. He’d dreamed about James before, but this was different. He’d touched James. Kissed him. Made love to him and stayed up for hours in his arms. There had to be another explanation.

A hand waved in front of his face. He looked up at Sam. “Huh?”

“I asked you how you’re doing. Twice.” Her annoyance gave way to concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Vincent stuffed more casserole in his mouth and took his time chewing it. “I just had a long night.”

“I heard.” Before he could ask her to elaborate, she said, “I talked to Greta.”

Vincent searched for a change of subject. “Where did you get this recipe? It’s awesome.”

“From my mom. She makes it every Christmas. It’s one of the three things she can cook without setting off the fire alarm. It was one of James’s favorites.”

Silence overtook them again.

James could have left this morning for some reason. Maybe he went to pick up Panera for breakfast. He’d done it many times in the past. It was just down the street. He could have already returned and hung back because he heard Sam.

“It’s strange,” she said, pulling him back to the kitchen table.

“What’s that?”

“That people make casseroles when someone dies. When my grandma passed away in high school, my mom and I ate them for weeks.”

Who cared about casseroles? James was missing. He might have taken a morning stroll, or something far worse could have happened to him. Someone could have taken him, and they were talking about fucking casseroles.

Vincent took a breath.

He needed to relax. James was probably waiting outside with coffee and bagels.

Sam’s trying, he reminded himself. She still thinks James is dead, and she’s trying.

“I guess carbs fill the void,” he said.

She laughed. “I guess so. Look, I’ve been thinking. Maybe you could come stay with me and Tyler for a few days.” Something in his face must have given away how little he wanted to do that, because she added, “Tyler’s hardly ever there between his classes, practices, and games. And I don’t like the idea of you being here all alone. And I could use the company. What do you say?”

He finished off the plate with a pang of guilt. She had no idea that James was still alive. He made a mental note to see why James hadn’t told her yet. “I appreciate it, but I think I just need some time alone right now. Thanks though.”

She took another bite, leaving only bits of cheese on her plate. “Of course. Here, let me wash these before I go.”

“Honestly, I can take care of them.” He went to grab his plate, but she already had both in her hands.

She headed to the sink. “This way, you don’t have to worry about them.”

“Thanks.” He sat back in his chair. He’d waited weeks for James. Another few minutes wouldn’t be the end of the world. He worried too much anyway. James could take care of himself.

Sam scrubbed the plates clean with a sponge. “No problem. Trust me, I’d much rather be doing this than studying. Have you talked to your professors?”

“Yeah, they’ve been really understanding,” he lied. In all honesty, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Lectures and tests seemed so trivial compared to James’s death, and now he had bigger issues to contend with than passing Myths, Legends, and Folktales.

“That’s good.” She placed the dishes in the drying rack beside the sink. She then covered the casserole dish. “This should keep you fed for at least another day or two.”

She opened the fridge, and instantly recoiled, coughing. “Jesus, something—or a lot of things—have gone bad in here. When’s the last time you’ve cleaned this out?”

“Since before the—yeah.” That explained the persistent smell of rot he couldn’t wash away last night.

She set the dish on the counter. “I can help you clean it up if you want.”

Vincent didn’t think he could wait much longer to figure out where James had gone. Every minute that passed without seeing him seemed to give more credence to the idea something bad had happened to him or Vincent had made him up. “You’ve done enough. Honestly. I can do it later.”

“It’d be faster with two.” She dragged the garbage can over to the fridge.

Vincent got up from his seat. “Really, it’s fine.”

Sam ignored him. She picked up a bag of kale that had liquified in the past few weeks and tossed it in the garbage can. She then pulled out a container of Greek yogurt and searched for an expiration date.

Vincent grabbed it out of her hands. “I got it. I appreciate your help, but I’m not helpless.”

Sam bit the top of her lip. “I know…I wasn’t saying you were. I just want to help.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“Shit. Sam, I know that. I just—sorry.” He cringed, waiting for her to tell him he was acting like an asshole, which would be completely accurate.

“Don’t worry about it. I should get going before Tyler leaves for practice.” She turned around to leave, but then she stopped, like she had just remembered something. She pulled a fat envelope from her pocket and tossed it on the table.

“What’s that?”

“Started a little collection at school. Just to help you until you get on your feet. It was Tyler’s idea. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.” Sam set off down the hallway.

Even if the envelope was only stuffed with one-dollar bills, it was so full there was at least a couple hundred dollars in it. “Sam, I can’t accept this.”

She stopped. “It wasn’t anything official. We just passed around some coffee cans. Couldn’t give it back if we tried.”

He didn’t know what to say. He was grateful she had done so much for him, but he didn’t know how he could even begin to return the favor. He hurried over to her. “Sam, thank you. Not just for the money. For everything. Sorry I’m such an asshole.”

Sam turned around to face him. He wasn’t sure if she was going to slap him or cry. Either option would be appropriate. Instead, she hugged him. “We’re going to get through this.”

Vincent ignored the pain flaring in his ribs and hugged her back. “Thanks.”

 

AFTER SHE WAS gone, he tossed the yogurt in the trashcan and searched the house again. He had just pulled back the shower curtain in the bathroom to see if James was lying in the tub when he heard the floorboards creak in the living room. He stuck his head out of the bathroom door. James was closing the window to the fire escape.

Vincent let out a shaky laugh. James wasn’t in trouble or a figment of his imagination. He was just waiting for Sam to leave as Vincent had predicted. Vincent walked over to him and pulled him into a hug. “You scared the shit out of me.”

James wrapped his arms around him. He was freezing. “Sorry.”

Vincent glanced at the window. He could have sworn it was shut, but maybe he’d overlooked it in his panic. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

James watched the front door. “What did she want?”

“Just to help. Why haven’t you told her that, you know, you’re alive?” Sam was hurting, and they could end her suffering with a quick trip downstairs.

His gaze didn’t leave the door. “I don’t want to involve her in this mess. It’s bad enough that you’re caught up in it.”

Vincent pressed his head against his chest. That explained why James had disappeared when Sam arrived and why Vincent was the only one who knew he was alive. What a relief. Vincent wasn’t going insane. James was just protecting Sam. It all made perfect sense.

So why did he wonder whether Sam could see James if she walked through the front door right now? Why was his insanity far more plausible than James’s survival? The doubt lingered in the room like the smell of rotting food in the fridge. He held tight to James. Whatever had happened or was happening, he had James back.

Nothing else mattered.