Page 89 of Man On

The words come out on a sob. I freeze immediately, pulling my mouth away from him, and sitting up as he scrambles away from me to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Lane—” I try to reach for him, but he flinches away and stands. “Lane, it’s okay,” I say softly.

He won’t look at me, but I see a tear fall on the ground when he bends over to pick up his discarded clothes. I stare at the tiny splash, feeling as though I can see his entire world of pain in the light that reflects off it.

The front door slams. He’d left the room, but I assumed he was just going to the bathroom.

Fuck.

I’m able to pull my boxer briefs back on pretty quickly, but it takes too long to fix my inside out jeans, and before I’m halfway through untangling the legs, I get frustrated. This is taking too long! I throw them on the ground and run out the door, forgetting my shoes in my rush to get to him.

“Lane!”

My voice echoes through the stairwell, the concrete cold and hard on my bare feet as I race down the three flights of stairs, bursting into the lobby. It’s dark except for the recessed lighting that stays on overnight. There’s no one in the lounge area or in the gym when I run by, pushing open the doors.

I run down the sidewalk, feet splashing through puddles, towards the path Lane normally takes when he runs. He had a head start, obviously, but I don’t see any signs of him. The sidewalk curves around the grassy area around our building and onto campus, and although it’s dark out, there are streetlights lighting the path. I should be able to at least make out movement. I backtrack towards the front of the dorms, checking the other side of the building.

The light rain and late September chill make me shiver, and I remember that I ran out here in nothing but my boxer briefs like an idiot. Bending to put my hands on my knees and force myself to breathe, I try to think about where he’d go. I need to go upstairs and get dressed and get the keys, and then I can drive around and look for him.

But when I lift my head towards the parking lot, the car isn’t in the back corner where we parked it earlier.

CHAPTER 28

LANE

Banging right next to my face lurches me awake. Wincing at a sharp pain in my neck when I lift my head from the fogged-up window, I rub my eyes and stretch. The banging against the window happens again, and I jump, starting the car so I can roll the window down. A campus police officer scowls down at me from under the rim of a large hat.

“Rough night?” He asks flatly, eyes raking over me.

I don’t respond, trying to remember if I’ve read any rules against sleeping in your car.

“Listen kid, I appreciate you sleeping it off rather than drinking and driving, but you can’t stay here. If you’re not sobered up, I’m gonna need you to call someone.”

“I’m not drunk, officer,” I try to explain. “I was waiting for the church to open and I fell asleep.”

His eyebrow raises, clearly not believing me. I probably look like I spent the night on some kind of bender. I supposed I did, but not the kind he’s thinking of.

“It wasn’t that kind of rough night,” I say, casting my eyes downward.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Lane Blakely.”

He looks at me thoughtfully, then nods and raps the top of the car. “Service will be starting soon. You should go ahead and get in there.” He turns and walks away, heading to direct traffic as the small parking lot begins to fill up.

I fumble around for my phone. I’d turned it off and thrown it into the floorboard when Noah’s texts wouldn’t stop. The chiming of the notifications was making my brain feel like it was swelling, and I thought I might burst.

I don’t really want to turn it back on and deal with them now, either.

A bell chimes, making my stomach cramp. One thing at a time, Lane.

I’ve run by the campus chapel nearly every day, curiously inspecting the outside of the historic building, but never stopped. The sign on the door that says, ‘Come As You Are,’ intrigues me, but I’d sworn off churches in general after leaving the compound. In the beginning, it might have been out of some misplaced loyalty. Grandfather had always told me that progressive churches were the work of the devil, trying to fool society into believing that the Bible isn’t meant to be taken literally. Eventually, though, I think I just didn’t want to go. There was so much anxiety on both sides of whether it would be the same or different from what I grew up with. Mom never pushed me to go, although she and Scott attended services occasionally, and Noah usually went with them for holidays and special events.

I’m still unsure about going inside, but the campus officer keeps looking over at me, and I don’t want him to think I was lying. I did come here to wait for the church to open, but I don’t think I would have gone in if he hadn’t caught me sleeping in the parking lot. At the very least, it gives me an excuse to avoid Noah a little longer.

It doesn’t seem too busy. I only see a couple of people making their way inside. Most of them wear casual clothes, like jeans and t-shirts. I’m not sure my wrinkled sweatpants, disheveled, snot-stained t-shirt, and slides are appropriate even for, ‘Come As You Are,’ but I’m here now. I'll just peek in and see if anyone else looks like shit before I leave.

The chapel is beautiful and confusing, which maybe makes it more beautiful. It's dim, with natural light filtering through stained glass windows high above. The main room is at the bottom of the tower, with a small pulpit centered on a single row of long church pews. There's a cordoned off entry to some dilapidated looking old stairs, and a large wooden door, but other than that, the room is nothing but high beams and stained glass.

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