Page 98 of The Story of You
Wiping the tears away, I harden myself so I can walk this path by his side.
* * *
Oliver
Iread about how they “make love” for the first time. I don’t think of it that way—as making love. Did Aleksander even love my dad? Was it a sick obsession? Was Dad Aleksander’s replacement for Mama? I don’t know, but when Silas was there, he believed the feelings he felt and I’m determined to see this with Silas’s eyes rather than my own. The way he’s written about it is soft and tender. If he got any enjoyment and peace from the interaction, then I’m glad. I still say it would have been so much worse if he had been dreading every second. It’s not better, it doesn’t make things right, but Silas needed comfort badly by this point. Even if that comfort was Aleksander. I like knowing he took something for himself and that it wasn’t all sacrifice. I know he feels shame about that, but he shouldn’t have to.
It cost Silas.
In the morning, the fragility of the night before crashed down. I had my first panic attack. Clutching my chest, I gasped for air, sitting up and looking everywhere for an exit. He was lying next to me, his pert bare ass in the air, still fast asleep.
I scrambled for my robe that had been discarded on the floor beside the bed and ran out of the room running barefoot through the halls of the hotel. I needed to get outside.
Shoeless, the pavement tore the soles of my feet as I looked for … fuck, I was looking for air and I was only going to get that if I slowed down. With hands on my thighs, bent halfway, I focused my breathing and calmed myself down—it was something I did with Oliver when his little emotions got too big for him. The concierge had made his way outside.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
No. Not ever again. Images flashed of my night with Aleksander. Of me wanting it all. I puked in the bush.
Awash with concern, he raced over to me at the same time Aleksander was flying out the front door of the hotel in his robe. He’d had the sense to put on shoes.
“There you are, Mister Randall,” he said. “I can take it from here.” He nudged the concierge away not wanting his hands on me. “That’s my husband and I’m a doctor. He had a little too much to drink last night, didn’t you, lovely?”
I nodded, spitting out puke.
“I’m sorry about this,” Aleksander said to the man. “Please charge my room for any extra clean-up and inconveniences.”
But when he told the man the room number, he acted like Aleksander was royalty.
“The young ones can’t hold their liquor,” he teased. “Happens all the time. Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Randall.”
“Thank you. Up you go, Silas.” My legs were too shaky for walking, so he carried me bridal style to the elevator and set me down inside. He lifted me into his arms again when the elevator reached the top floor and ferried me back to the room.
He sat me on the bed, the tangles in the sheets telling the story of what happened there, and almost had me puking again.
“Look at your feet,” he said to distract me. “Don’t move, I’m going to clean these up for you.”
I didn’t answer. I let him do whatever he wanted and focused from one breath to the next.
“I hope this doesn’t mean we’ve gone backward, Silas. Last night was perfect. You remember what I promised you? About Oliver?”
I remembered it all. The good and the bad. “I remember. I was just overwhelmed, and I am a little hungover. I probably need to eat.”
I remembered that he wanted genuine participation—desired it—and that could not be faked. He would have to give at least a little to get that. It was a fragile hand at best—three of a kind to his royal flush—but it was something.
He said he’d give me everything and that my happiness mattered. He said I was an adult. His spouse, not his son.
Fine. That’s what I would be.
As usual, he was twelve steps ahead of me.
“I already have reservations for breakfast—a birthday breakfast for you, Mister Randall. I’m going to run you a bath where you’ll become human again after all that scotch. Honestly, Silas? Scotch? Consider wine, it’s a lot kinder to your liver. I’m going to get you some juice and pretzels from the minibar, they’ll help readjust your blood sugar. Sound good?”
All of that was fucking perfect. If I was ever to have my choice in boyfriend that’s what I would have wanted. Someone to wait on me just like that.
“Sounds fucking amazing, Mister Randall.”
I can’t help thinking about how Silas did get his boyfriend and now husband who worships him. Who Silas loves with all his might. I’m so fucking grateful for Lakshan. I shouldn’t, but I flip ahead to see if I get to read about when Dad meets Lak.
