Page 46 of Protecting the Nerd

York rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s me. Always spoiling the fun for everyone.”

“That’s not true. You may not be the funnest person I’ve ever met, but… Wait, where was I going with that?”

He was adorable. “You were trying to prove I’m not a party pooper.”

“Right.” He frowned deeply. “I forgot my argument.”

“I’ll have to remember that. If I ever want to win an argument, I’ll need to ply you with whisky first.”

He snorted. “I don’t usually drink.”

“You don’t say.”

“Especially not this much.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t feel in control when I’m drinking.”

“Gotcha.”

“But after today, I wanted to… I needed to…”

Oh, sweet Jesus, please tell me York wasn’t a…

A loud sob flew from his lips.

Yup, he was a sad drunk. A weepy drunk.

Big tears welled in his eyes, and the emotions he’d held back came out with a vengeance. He bent his head, burying his face in his hands as he cried. Dammit, how was I supposed to sit here and watch him fall apart? I couldn’t.

Fuck it all to hell and back. I sat next to him on the couch and pulled him onto my lap. He went willingly, wrapping his arms around me and finding shelter against my shoulder as a lifetime of pent-up tears gushed out. I cradled him close, saying nothing as he fell apart in my arms.

It broke my heart.

15

YORK

Happy birthday to me. Forty-three years old today. Funny how my perception of time had changed over the years. Time used to pass so slowly, especially when I was a kid. School years lasted for-fucking-ever, and my college years were endless. But now? The days seemed to fly by, the seasons changing so rapidly I could barely keep up, and one year after another slipped away.

Twenty-five years since I graduated from high school.

Twenty-one years since Essex died.

And twenty-one years since my parents last celebrated my birthday.

I wasn’t expecting anything today. Hell, did Quillon even know it was my birthday? I couldn’t remember telling him, so probably not. I figured things would be weird between us after my drunk meltdown. Jesus, I’d bawled all over him and had cried my heart out, sitting on his lap. His lap! Like I was a little kid…though nothing had ever felt so good. He’d made me feel so safe, so protected.

The next day, I’d woken up with the mother of all hangovers, apprehensive of Quillon’s reaction. But Quillon had pretended nothing had happened, and that had seemed like the perfect strategy, so we’d never mentioned it again. At least I hadn’t fucked up the friendship building between us. I couldn’t believe I’d made another friend, which I gave Quillon far more credit for than myself.

Anyway, Fir would call or maybe stop by like he always did, and he’d have a new brain puzzle for me. I loved those physical brain puzzles, where you had to free an object from a cage or figure out how three pieces fit together or something similar. Even the highest level of difficulty meant a maximum half-hour of effort, but I still liked them, and I’d gathered quite the collection over the years.

As for my parents, if it was a good day, they’d call. If my birthday reminded them too much of all the birthdays Essex would never have, they’d call the day after and explain why it had been too much for them. I’d learned to expect nothing so I wouldn’t be disappointed.

When I came down the stairs and entered the living room, I came to a sudden stop. What the hell? The living room was a riot of color, all surfaces adorned with balloons in every shade imaginable. Banners hung from the ceiling, proclaiming “Happy Birthday” in bright, glittering letters. Little flags attached to strings waved happily, each bearing the same festive message. Quillon stood in the middle with the biggest smile on his face. “Happy birthday!”

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