Page 80 of Only for Tonight
Himeros: Thanks for the heads-up.
I look down at the text thread and something feels totally off. Especially after reading that reply.
Me: Are you okay?
Himeros: Yeah, I’m fine, just got off the ice. Talk to you later.
He didn’t even ask if I’m done packing or when I’m coming back home, like he has been for the last two days.
Me: Okay.
That’s all I answer him before I put the phone down and look over at my mother, who is watching me.
“Everything okay?” she asks me and I smile because the last thing I want is for her to worry.
“Yeah, just tired.” I swallow down the lump in my throat and then look over at the boxes against the wall. “It’s one thing to pack up all your shit”—I take a deep breath in—“and then another when I have to unpack it when it gets there.”
“But that’s more fun,” my mother says. “You get to decorate and make things yours.”
“I guess,” I agree, getting up. “They are picking everything up Monday morning.” I look around. “I’ll get everything by Friday at the latest.”
“Do you want to pack up your clothes now or tomorrow?” she asks and I look around.
“My body says no, but then I’m thinking if we get this all done now, we can do nothing but rest tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She gets up. “How about you sit on the bed and tell me what you want to pack in the boxes and what you want to put in the luggage.”
We work side by side most of the night, and I collapse in bed. When I wake up, I see Jaxon texted me when he got home.
Himeros: I’m off to bed but have to be at the airport by eight to fly to Pittsburg. I’ll call you from there.
I don’t bother answering him, because I don’t know what to say. It’s been four days since I’ve seen him and he’s being so distant. The only thing I can think of is that he’s having second thoughts. I don’t know what else could have come up from the time we left my parents’ house to the time he went home. Maybe being there without me was an eye-opener that he didn't want to live with me . The thought makes me feel like I’m going to throw up, and I wish I could talk to him about it. But then what if it’s just all in my head?
The movers come and collect the things Monday morning and leave me alone in my apartment with the five suitcases I packed with my clothes. My mother went back home yesterday evening, leaving me all by myself.
When I land in LA, a driver is there waiting for me, something that Jaxon made sure of at least. He grabs my bags and brings them into the house. When I step into the house and I look around, I see that it feels empty. It’s eerie even, not a glass in the sink. Nothing out of place.
Me: I’m home.
I send him the message, wondering if he’ll call me, something he hasn’t even been doing. I keep busy, trying not to think about it. “He’s on the road,” I try to tell myself, “and his schedule is all off. He flies when you are asleep and he doesn’t want to bother you.”
For four days we text back and forth. The texts are very short and to the point. I avoid even watching his game. When my things get here, I take a couple of things out and start putting them around the house, but then I stop, not wanting to do this for nothing. So instead, I leave the boxes in the formal living room and avoid looking at them.
He gets home the day after my things arrive, and when I see him, I can’t help but smile at him. He’s wearing one of his suits, without a tie, his collar open and I see the little bit of the tattoo I love. He dumps his bag by the steps before coming into the living room where most of the boxes are. He comes in and takes a look around. “Holy shit,” he says before coming to me and kissing me quickly on the lips, “this is a lot of stuff.” He doesn’t hug me; he quickly moves to the kitchen and the fridge. I try not to make too much of it, thinking he probably had a long flight and he's exhausted.
“Well, I did have a whole apartment,” I remind him and he turns back to me, draining a water bottle as he leans against the counter. His eyes go to the boxes but he doesn’t say anything. “What’s going on?” I stand in front of him, my hands on the counter in between us.
His eyes come back to look at me and I see they are guarded. He looks exhausted and also like something is on his mind. “Nothing.” He shakes his head and avoids looking at me, and even talking as he takes another sip of his water. I want to slap the counter in front of me and call him a liar, but I don’t. I don’t do any of that, instead I stand here at a loss of what to fucking do.
I can feel the tears start to threaten and I don’t want to cry in front of him. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m needy and feel like he has to coddle me. “I’m going to go and take a shower.” I walk away from him quickly, jogging up the steps and heading to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, the tears come right away. “What the hell did I just do?” I mumble to myself as I peel my clothes off of me. “It was too much too soon,” I tell myself, “I should have just gotten my own place.” I take my time in the shower, not wanting to face him. Not sure what to say to him, not sure of fucking anything.
Dread fills my body as I take one look at myself in the mirror and see my eyes show that I’ve been crying. Unless I’m going to sit in the bathroom for the next hour, this is as good as it will be. I open the door and step out, stopping in my tracks when I see him. He sits on the side of the bed, his suit jacket off and tossed beside him. His white button-down shirt is rolled up to the elbows. His elbows are on his knees as his hands dangle between his legs.
He looks up at me and I see his face filled with anguish, and the words come out in a whisper, “We need to talk.”
twenty-eight
Jaxon
