Grady slumped in the hospital chair, head resting on the not-so-soft cushion. Every long inhalation brought the antiseptic-sick scent that turned his stomach, but he didn’t try to block it. Not this time.
His throat was ragged with the emotions piled behind it. The angry knot of antagonism that’d carried him to Micah’s and then Dane’s was lodged beneath his rib cage, weighing on his heart.
“I’m losing it,” he whispered, careful not to move. Not a single shift or flinch. Even a sigh could dislodge the knot and crush him.
Would Finn understand? Did he have any clue how messed up Grady was?
His life had been a long series of running and dodging. Of searching for belonging while denying he wanted or needed it.
“You were the only one in our family who ever really seemed to care about me,” he whispered, so careful to keep his emotions locked inside. Was it only because of the gay connection? That simple trait that’d alienated the two of them from the rest of their family?
“Or I’d thought you were until Mom died.” The news of her death had come as a dull shock just over a year ago. He’d disassociated himself from his parents for so long he hadn’t really thought of them dying. But her final act had been the catalyst to get him to accept Finn’s repeated offers to work at Kick.
Would things be different now if he hadn’t resisted Finn for so long? Resisted any kind of connection with anyone? He’d thrown away so much time with his cousin. Someone who fucking saw him when others insisted on defining him.
“Micah sees me.” The truth slipped out on a hoarse murmur. Maybe better than anyone ever had. Micah dove to the heart of Grady and had carefully unwrapped his longing when others had abused it.
“How do I deal with that?”
Of course Finn didn’t respond. His eyes were closed right now, his hands resting on his abdomen. The chart next to his bed offered encouragement but no guarantee of Finn waking, let alone being healthy again.
“You tried to help me, and this is what I did to you.”
Finn had offered him stability when he’d drifted for years. Given him a connection when he’d stopped believing in them. And not once had Finn belittled or questioned his choices and decisions. Not even after he’d told him about James.
Just like Micah.
The excess energy that’d been coiled and shoving at him for weeks had deflated the instant he’d turned away from Dane’s. His stubborn insistence had bottomed out when he’d stalled at the door, hand clasped around the metal handle but unable to finish the motion, the destructive intent of his actions finally taking hold.
He couldn’t hurt Micah like that. Couldn’t destroy the trust that’d come to mean so fucking much to him.
“I keep hurting the…” people I love.
He squeezed his eyes closed, throat clamping down on the admission he couldn’t voice. The fight with Micah circled in his head, every word replayed until he could barely stand himself.
“I don’t know how to stop.” Running, hurting, being afraid. The cycle would kill him—one way or the other—if he didn’t find the courage to break free.
He forced his eyes open, the slow rise and fall of Finn’s chest providing a focal point. It appeared stronger, more noticeable. Wishful thinking or reality?
A long exhale, a slight hold, and he’d paced his breathing to Finn’s. The connection was imagined, but it was the only one he had. “Because I’ve rejected the rest.” Out of fear. His throat worked around the bitter flavor of that certainty.
“It hurts,” he admitted on a shallow breath. God, it hurt. His heart ached with every beat, the anguish in Micah’s expression reaching out to hit him again and again. He’d taken everything Micah had offered and heaved it back in his face on one swoop of self-loathing.
All because he was afraid of what? Himself? The opinions of others?
“Of being rejected.”
No. No. No. But he couldn’t hide from the one truth he’d been dodging since he could form a memory.
He curled forward, resting his head on the blanket, eyes squeezed tight against the burning ache rolling up his throat and shoving at the backs of his eyes. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need approval or acceptance. He could survive on his own.
But could he really live?
The tight weave of Finn’s blanket scratched over his forehead with each grinding swivel of his head. It should be soft, right? Yet it wasn’t rough enough to counter the swelling anguish.
A sob burst out before he clamped his teeth together. No. Another one thrust at the roof of his mouth, pounded at his quivering lips until it escaped on a sorrowful half snort.
“No.” The word fell into the silence, a withering sound that laughed at the futility of his plea. But there was no stopping the tide that flowed out on a hard shake and racking backlash.
He gulped in a breath that didn’t reach his lungs. He couldn’t stop the tears that flowed or the crushing weight of the knot over his heart. So he gave in and let it pour out.
Years of loneliness and distance. Hours spent doubting himself and his worth. Time wasted to fears and beliefs based on his doubts. Every lie he’d told himself, regret he’d dismissed, conviction he’d harbored crashed to the surface in a wild charge.
The emotional release rolled through him to eviscerate his denial and cleanse the wound that had been scored onto his heart by the person who was supposed to love him unconditionally. Why would anyone else love him when his own dad couldn’t manage it? When he couldn’t see himself as anything but the weak kid who’d let himself be abused?
The questions swam in his disjointed thoughts, crashing and breaking over and over until they were whisked away by a clearer, brighter one.
His mom had loved him, even when he’d doubted it. She’d been too beaten down to outright defy his father, but she’d given Grady the out of the rafting job. She’d stayed behind when Grady’d been free of his father, and secured his future with her life insurance policy.
She’d been so much stronger than he’d ever given her credit for. Which was exactly what Micah had been trying to get him to see about himself.
His actions might define him, but it was his reactions that made him who he was.
The tide withdrew, the storm calming as quickly as it’d started. In its wake were the battered remains of the defensive walls he’d held so tightly around him. An exhausted calm floated over him, his demons purged despite his resistance to let them go.
But the words came, tumbling out in a diatribe of garbled thoughts and disjointed emotions. “I’m so tired,” he mumbled between hitched breaths. “So damn tired.”
He spoke to the darkness, his head resting heavy on Finn’s bed. “Of standing alone. Of being strong. Of defending what I’ve become.” What have I become? “Alone. Scared. Defensive. Unable to trust or love or…leap.” But I did. “With Micah. For Micah.”
He swallowed, another wave of tears slipping out to be soaked up by the blanket. “And he…God, he caught me. He got me and gave me everything. And I shit all over it. Over him.” Because I was scared. “Of what Rig and Ash would think. Of what you’d think.” Foolish. Cowardly. “I’m not weak, but I’m so damn tired of hurting.” And running.
He sucked in a shaky breath, a final admission spilling out. “I’m tired of hiding from what I want.” But who do I want to be?
No answer sprang up to fill the void. No blinding light of clarity or revelation swooped in to show him the way. A half laugh, half scoff puffed out. If it were that easy, he wouldn’t be in this sinking pit of damnation right now.
“I’m so sorry, Finn.” The rocking started at his feet, a quick flex of his toes that swayed his body in equally tiny increments. It didn’t absorb the ache that swelled from his battered heart. Just like the tight clasp of his hands didn’t contain the sorrow that scratched up his chest and pressed on his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be here.” The roar of the whitewater crashed down to break over him. “I don’t know what happened.” The jar of the raft. The sudden lift and plunge into the raging river. “Just don’t die,” he begged. “Please don’t die.” I need you here.
He sniffed, swiped the back of his hand over his nose, slicked his tongue over his dry lips. All mechanical movements as he slowly put himself back together.
A feather-light ruffle skimmed over his hair, goosebumps racing down his nape before the light weight of a hand settled on the top of his head. He froze, eyes flying open, pulse racing as he processed the touch.
Finn.
It had to be. But what did it mean? What should he do?
He fought against the immediate urge to lunge up and check if his cousin was awake. He’d likely find no change and the tiny bit of pressure on his head felt so damn good. There was no other movement. No change of Finn’s breathing. No moan or garbled sound.
Was the contact forgiveness? Reassurance? Or just a simple touch? It’d been too deliberate to be reflexive.
He released his held breath, a chunk of the invisible weight drifting away. He closed his eyes, no longer afraid of what he’d find in the darkness. He was safe. This was the acceptance Finn had always given him. The security he’d been so afraid to trust.
He didn’t move, too content to drift in the sense of belonging he’d refused to believe in. Just like he hadn’t believed in Finn.
Or Micah.
Or himself.
And without that, he was more lost than Micah would ever be.