Page 31 of Rock the Cradle of Love
Noah pulls on some comfy pants and a tee shirt before curling up in a ball. His bed is big and cold and lonely. Taylor’s words repeat on a loop, making Noah frustrated and angry and sad in turns. He badly wants to sleep right now and forget what happened, at least for a while. He plugs ear buds into his phone and pulls up a favorite episode ofStar Trek: Deep Space Nineto watch until he falls asleep.
* * *
The buzz of his cell phone awakens Taylor. The slash of sunlight slanting across his bed and into his eyes makes him wince. He squints to read caller ID. His sister. What the fuck?
“H’lo?”
“Are you still asleep?” asks Suzan.
Taylor glances at the clock on the bedside table and sits up. “Fuck. Ow.” He shouldn’t have emptied that bottle of Jack last night, but Noah’s face, his tone had scared the piss out of Taylor.
“Are you hungover?”
His mouth tastes like a garbage disposal, and his head is throbbing. It’d been close to five by the time he’d passed out. It’s only ten now. “Um…still drunk, I think,” he says, his voice gravelly.
“Jesus, Taylor, I thought you’d outgrown that kind of behavior.”
“Yeah, I…I think I fucked up, Suze…” Taylor curls into a fetal position.
“Okay. How?” She sounds sympathetic, so that’s good.
What did he do? “Um…I’m not sure right now. Did you need something?”
“Yeah. Taylor…” Her tone goes soft, apologetic, and Taylor’s stomach lurches. “Uncle Bud died. Can you come home?”
Like badly wound tape around his hockey stick, Taylor feels tight and uneven and, fuck—Uncle Bud died. The throbbing in his head intensifies with the sudden clog of tears in his nose and eyes. He snorts back the congestion and says, “Ican… I don’t know if I should.”
“Why not? You were Uncle Bud’s favorite.”
“I know, but my fuck up…I have a boyfriend, Suze. We had a fight last night, and I don’t really understand why. I need to talk to him, but I don’t think he’s ready yet. I don’t want to be gone.”
“Send him a text or something, hon, explaining about Uncle Bud. He’ll understand that.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs. He can’t not go home over a boyfriend nobody knows about. Even if they did know, it’s Uncle Bud. And Suze is right; Noah will understand a death in the family even if he’s upset. “Okay, yeah. I’ll call you with flight details.”
* * *
Taylor arrives at DFW Airport with a duffel bag and his garment bag. Once he’d committed to going, which took all of five seconds, he’d booked the soonest flight he could conceivably catch, texted Suzan with the deets, and hopped in the shower.
The airport isn’t busy, thank God, but he’s cut his timing so close, the flight is already boarding when he arrives at the gate. The shower had helped his head some and several ibuprofens did the rest, but he still feels groggy, as well as confused and upset about leaving without talking to Noah. Speaking of which, Taylor still needs to let Noah know he’s leaving town. He settles into his first class seat and unlocks his phone. As soon as he does, it beeps and powers off. His heart sinks, and he bites back the “fuck” that wants to explode from his mouth and groans instead. The guy next to him glances over, but doesn’t say anything.
Taylor doesn’t remember grabbing his charger either in his haste to get out the door and whacks his knee against the bulkhead in frustration. He tosses his phone into his backpack, clicks his seatbelt on, and slouches in his seat. He’ll just sleep for the two and a half hour flight. Nothing else he can do, except ponder what the fuck he said to Noah that was so wrong.
Chapter Eleven
Noah stirs, still mostly asleep, and rolls over to snuggle up to Taylor. The cool sheets along his arms are a surprise, and the events of the night before come flooding back. His heart sinks and he buries his face in Taylor’s cold pillow.
They’d had a fight and Noah sent Taylor away. So he could think about what happened without Taylor as a distraction to his thought process. Ugh.
Noah tries to go back to sleep, but it’s pointless now—his brain is awake and last night’s conversation replays in his head. Instead of fighting it, he gets up, uses the toilet, makes coffee, and lets it loop.
Emma squawks from her room and he gets her changed and fed and settled on the floor to play, and the words keep repeating.
Maybe his asexuality is too hard to mesh into a relationship with a guy as sexual as Taylor. Noah hopes not, but until he can make sense of things and they have several conversations, he just isn’t sure. How can they make a relationship that’s mutually satisfying work on all levels for the both of them?
Maybe they can’t.
Maybe if they’d had that in-depth talk he’d meant for them to have before they’d had sex, they wouldn’t be here.
