Page 37 of The Bairwick Witches
“Sorry to hear. Anything I can do? Wanna get a drink and talk?”
There was not an ounce of desire to be around a gathering of people or the noise of a bar, and he let Cal know this by politely declining.
They sat for a minute before Cal countered with a different offer.
“Walk with me then? My apartment is two blocks up Hamilton Ave. You can easily come back and continue to stew, or head home. But you can vent for those two blocks, if you want of course. If not, I’d at least appreciate the company of a handsome man.”
The second offer was one Schuyler didn’t refuse. It took a block to inquire about Cal’s day, and by the second block—despite dodging Cal’s constant, thinly veiled asides about hooking up to ease both their stressful days—he agreed to come up to his apartment for a drink.
Schuyler sat on the couch, looking at the finance and gaming magazines scattered on the coffee table, mixed in with a game controller and Blu-rays. The television remained on the home screen, no selection made. Schuyler couldn’t focus even if something was playing. He started talking about Issac while Cal fixed drinks.
“Ah, that’s his name. Everyone’s talking about him. Well, you too. A lot of people are surprised you’re back. You were sly when you came home, I guess, stayed out of sight all those weeks, but not so much now.”
“Goddamn small town.”
“No one noticed you were working at the shop; I take it?”
“In plain sight, my favorite place to hide. But yes, that’s Issac.”
“Guess he’s had your attention.”
Schuyler heard the tinge of jealousy in Cal’s tone and rolled his eyes. He liked his friend, but the dude did not know how to read a room. In fairness, Schuyler also remembered the unanswered messages sitting on his phone and apologized.
“No worries,” Cal called out from the kitchen, clinking glasses and pouring their drinks. “You’ve always been like that when you’re into someone new.”
Cal spoke the truth; Schuyler knew he got caught up, ignoring those around him. “It’s a blind spot, apologies.”
“Never apologize for being passionate, that’s rare. Must be nice for the person you’re all wrapped up in.”
“Maybe. Except when they lie to you.” Schuyler threw his head back and groaned. Why was he at Cal’s? Why didn’t he just go home? “Cal, where do you stand on withholding information? Is that the same as lying to you?”
Cal popped into the doorway, “Well, I guess it’d be situational, but generally I’ve always felt it’s the same as lying. The intention was to hide the truth from someone. Drinks will be ready in a minute, just muddling the fresh mint for some Mojitos.”
“Cal, vodka in a glass would have sufficed. You don’t have to go through all that.”
“It’s no bother. I usually do it for myself anyway when I get home. Nice to have some company. I’m sorry he lied to you. My last boyfriend lied to me—a lot. About everything. Even small shit like what he ate for breakfast. Made no sense, but his intention was always to be deceitful.” Cal moved into the living room with two Instagram-worthy Mojitos in his hands. “Guess it comes down to what you think Issac’s intention was?”
Schuyler took the chilled glass and admired it before lowering it to his lap as he pondered the question. What was Issac’s intention? Everything with him about the spell had been so dodgy, but now that was explained to a degree. Why did he need to bring Dev back? To talk? To ask a question? Why did Issac need this?
Do I need this? There are things I want to say.
Schuyler drove his turbulent thoughts away and focused on Cal’s abode. A ferocious and eclectic reader, Cal had books lined along the baseboards, climbing nearly a quarter of the way up the wall throughout the entire one-bedroom apartment. The titles had changed over the years, more business acumen, economic theorists now and less science fiction and cheapromance, but the aesthetic hadn’t. And like in the past, Cal still had nothing else adorning his walls.
The place felt comfortable, like Cal’s friendship had back then—like Schuyler hoped it would feel now. He was almost glad he’d agreed to come up, to go for the walk, to vent. Beau was right; he needed to allow friends back into his life.
“Think it’s something you can move past?” Cal sat next to him on the couch, extremely close, their knees touching, sipping his drink, his eyes darting everywhere but at Schuyler.
“I don’t know. He wants to do this spell, and I’ve learned there’s a big connection to my past. One he claims he was unaware of, but I can’t be sure. And I’ve been helping him get everything he needs. I wonder—if I had known, maybe I wouldn’t have been so eager to help. It feels a bit like I got conned.
“Maybe that’s it,” Schuyler chuckled. “Foolish. What I feel is foolish. An old fool tricked by a handsome face and an incredibly tight ass.”
“Well if anything is going to do it, it’d be that. And you’re far from old, and farther from a fool. How’s your drink?”
Schuyler raised his hand, ready to give a customary first sip with reaction, but dropped it to vent instead. “Aren’t I, though? I’ve no career, Cal. No inspiration or motivation to sit down and do the thing I love most. The royalties aren’t what they used to be. Divorced. Covenless. Friendless—except for present company,” he added, gesturing at Cal, who still wouldn’t stop rubbing his knee against him. “And I live with my uncles. It’s the fucking same as saying I live with my mother.
“Loser, Cal, that’s all I’ve felt like lately—a loser. Until him.”
“You’re not one of those either,” Cal assured. “I’ve seen you low before, and I remember you believing it would never end back then. It did, and you’ll get through this too.”
