Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
And now he held his breath, waiting for his response. Fuck.
It’s not… That’s not what this is. I’m not interested.
He gripped his chest. Why did that bring him immense relief?
Ah, okay. Keep your cool. Did you at least have fun?
Well, we lost, which sucked, but yeah, sure. How about you? Everything okay on your end?
It will be once I wrap my head around this.
Yep! Kids are all cool too. See you later.
Rhys felt like he was crawling out of his skin, and it was a relief to get out of the house and take that first sip of beer, sitting next to Lance on a barstool, like it used to be on a regular weekend night. Before everything in his life got flipped on its head.
And he was different now, down to his bones. Not only had his life changed, but his perspective as well. He was viewing stuff from a level of gratitude he hadn’t really grasped before, and it helped him appreciate the little things that really mattered. Had this been a handful of months ago, he might’ve been scoping out a hookup tonight or throwing back a few more drinks. But none of that interested him now. He had even gone through his phone and erased some random numbers that no doubt had been a good time.
Now he was only sipping his beer, afraid he might get a dizzy spell even though they’d recently been few and far between. The accident that he couldn’t remember had scared the shit out of him, his bruised and battered body a reminder of how fragile life was. Being afraid definitely had its downfalls, but it also gave him much needed clarity, and for that he was thankful.
He suddenly felt bombarded with a series of emotions—they felt so close to the surface—and he could barely concentrate while Lance caught him up on the last year of his life. He was just grateful to not be doing all the talking as he sipped and listened, his thoughts veering off, then gravitating back again. When Lance mentioned Sneaky Pete’s, Rhys’s ears perked up.
“Still working there?”
Lance nodded. He’d always loved music, and outside of playing a couple of different instruments, he’d also deejay small gatherings and weddings. “Cool. For how long?”
“Just a few months.”
Suddenly he remembered his conversation with Emerson from the other night. About him identifying as demisexual. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Lance replied, signaling the bartender for another drink.
“There was one night you were deejaying at Sneaky Pete’s…not that you’d even remember, but I can’t, so I’ll take my chances asking you.”
Lance took a sip of the fresh glass the bartender had placed in front of him. “Go ahead.”
“My best friend, Emerson, had come up to the club one night I was here.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Tall, ginger, gorgeous?”
“One and the same.” Rhys smiled at the accurate description. “So you remember?”
“I do. It was my first night, so I was nervous and watching the dance floor a lot.”
His pulse kicked up. “We were on the dance floor?”
“Yeah, together. Having a good time from the looks of it. Plus, the music was kickass.”
Rhys cracked a smile. “Of course.”
Holy shit. He and Em dancing together in a gay club?
Lance leaned forward. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just…” He shook his head. “Still trying to piece some things together.”
“I feel for you. It’s gotta be strange.” The pity in his eyes made Rhys’s stomach pitch.
“It is. But hey, could be worse.” He pasted on a smile, and as they clinked glasses, he suddenly wanted to get the hell out of there. To go home to Emerson.
Did he have feelings for Emerson?
Would the kiss have evolved into something deeper?
Rhys didn’t know anything except he wanted to be close to him right the fuck now. Emerson always made him feel more like himself. Like everything would be okay and would eventually make sense.
Audrey’s confession definitely helped explain why Emerson always seemed to be holding himself back, like he was on the verge of…what? Giving in to his emotions? Fuck. And he’d been leaving it up to Rhys—and chance—that his memory would return. And now the disappointment in his eyes after their visit to Hawkeye Hill made a ton of sense. Maybe he was hoping Rhys would remember, even if the outcome wasn’t pleasant for either of them. Just to finally have it out there in the open. Along with some closure.
These past few weeks must’ve been torture for him too.
20
Emerson
Emerson readjusted his pillow for the hundredth time and shut his eyes. Settling in, he listened to the silence in the house. He didn’t think he liked it. It seemed stark, absolute, final, and he felt lonely in a way he hadn’t in a long while.
Which was absurd because he’d gone to the game with Neil and had a fun time despite the Rockets’ loss. But Neil could tell he was preoccupied, and when he’d asked if it was because of Rhys, Emerson didn’t deny it, making the excuse that his life was a bit turned sideways as of late. And then made sure to let Neil know that he enjoyed hanging out with him as just friends.