Page 27 of Silent Is The Heart

Hampton Freaking Hills. Kill me now. When did I become as big of a sap as Wolf?

Dead.Dr. Reider’s dead.

Fuck me. Did not see that one coming.

One minute, you’re about to anger bang your teen crush into a wall, and the next, he’s crying on you over having his heart broken. So… I bought freaking milkshakes. What the hell else was I supposed to do? I don’t know where he lives, and a card or roses seemed like they would be an inappropriate way to apologize for rutting a widowed man into the back alley wall of Pulse.

I’ll admit I was a bit of a dick, but that was before I knew Reider was dead. I thought he was having a marital crisis. Not that I’m into home-wrecking, but he’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions. What was I supposed to think?

Jesus.

The internet said it was a car accident. A year and a half ago. Had to be a freaking car wreck. Fate has a cruel sense of humor. It knows just how to sucker me.

This explains why he moved back to Maine. I’ve had the weekend to mull over how this development played into him looking me up. The best I can figure is that he’s lost. It explains the change in him, the heightened fragility that I mistook as innocence when I put him on a pedestal so long ago.

I’m not quite at the point of admitting I was wrong, though. I bought Nutella milkshakes for crying out loud. That’s enough. Baby steps.

Stopping at the reception desk,notas a patient, is surreal. I know I’ve been a free man for years, but it’s invigorating to be reminded of it.

“Delivery for Manicki,” I inform the woman behind the counter.

Frowning, she glances over at a roster on her workspace. “Um, we don’t have anyone by that name here. Are you sure you’ve got the right floor?”

That old feeling of inadequacy creeps over me, typical of Hampton. “Reider,” I mumble.

“Who?” she asks, leaning forward the way people do when they can’t hear me.

“Aaron Reider,” I repeat with more volume.

“Oh! Okay. Yes, Director Reider is making his rounds right now. If you’d like to leave that here with me, I can get it to him.”

Shit. Now what do I do?

“Easton?” a familiar voice calls from the opposite hallway door, and there he is.

In the same style of green polo shirt with Hampton’s logo embroidered on it that he wore when I was here, it’s like being sucked back down memory lane. For eight years, I’ve told myself everything has changed, and yet, for a split second, it seems as though nothing has. Except, that’s not true. I’ll never be able to look at him now without remembering that I know what it’s like to kiss him.

Bad reminder.

Fucking hell. How am I supposed to console someone I wanted to wipe from my memory and now want to eat alive?

“Hi. What…what are you doing here?”

Right. My presence isn’t exactly in line with my you-and-Hampton-can-go-fuck-yourselves behavior.

Hoisting up the bag from The Shake Shack, I flash him an impish grin. The way his expression softens is truly sad, as though he’s just been given the gift of a lifetime. Is that how I looked when I was here and had just lost Mom?

“Um, how about we go to my office? I was just headed there to file these,” he says, gesturing to some papers in his hand.

There’s a new coat of paint on the walls and new light fixtures in the hallway as we walk in stride, but you can’t hide the past. The smells are the same. The sounds are the same. The air is the same suffocating air. I try not to let my skin crawl, reminding myself it doesn’t matter. Yet maybe… in a way, it did. I had to end up somewhere after the accident. Who knows if there were worse places than Hampton?

Following Aaron inside an office, I vividly remember that it belonged to Dr. Norton, the eccentric old man who oversaw this level when I was a resident here. Hints of tobacco smoke linger in the air from ages past and oddly fill me with a sense of being home.

Stopping in front of his desk, Aaron gives me a bewildered once over. Yeah. I can’t believe I’m here either, I want to tell him. He makes a breathless laugh and smiles.

“This is a nice surprise.” Glancing at the bag when I set it on his desk and remove the contents, his expression turns fond. “Are those Nutella? I can’t believe you remembered. I haven’t had one of those in years.”

It’s like I don’t know what to do with myself since I’m not a kid on crutches with a scheduled appointment. Locking onto a leather couch at the side of the room, I tote my milkshake over to it and take a seat. Maybe this will be easier if I’m not close enough to be in his orbit, close enough to grab him and put my mouth on his.

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