Page 7 of Splintered
Fuck it. He still loved Evan. Choices hurt, sometimes agonizingly so. But he couldn’t fault Evan for chasing this opportunity, even though it was tearing them apart. Evan had big dreams; Ben’s were smaller, and fit in this old house, filled every cramped room to the brim. His dreams had included Evan now for years. But that would have to change. Just… not yet. Evan was still here, at least for today.
He loved Evan so much it hurt. But he also loved his home. His life—his dreams—here.
He rubbed Evan’s back, up and down his spine between his shoulders. Evan was freezing. He pulled the blanket up. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Evan shook his head. He squeezed his eyes closed, buried his face in the pillow.
Ben sighed.
Evan’s hand snaked out from under the covers and reached for Ben. Ben grabbed it, threaded his fingers through Evan’s. Evan squeezed and didn’t let go.
He held Evan’s hand until Evan fell asleep.
* * *
Evan’s breakfastfrom the morning was still on the counter, cold and congealed. The tomatoes had gone limp as the cheese hardened and the eggs had separated and turned to water. The bacon was dry, the toast a husk. He dumped it all in the trash.
He pulled out ingredients for Evan’s favorite comfort food,penne alla panna. While the water boiled for the pasta, he fried bacon and mushrooms, added cream, and turned everything down to simmer.
As he stirred, his mind kept circling: what had happened? What would happen next?
He had to stop.
He started chopping fresh garlic and shredded a wedge of parmesan.
If Evan gave his notice to GLS, then how soon was he planning on being in New York? Was the move imminent? Did he have days or hours? He’d thought they would talk about it a little more, at least.
Did they have anything else to talk about, though?
Was it really happening this fast? So soon?
Stop.
He put the knife down and gripped the counter, hanging his head between his shoulders.You made your choice and he made his.
Sighing, he carried the chopping board to the pan and slid everything in.
Maybe this was the last time he made dinner for Evan. He couldn’t swallow suddenly. Not past the clench of his throat.
Love was never, ever their problem. They weren’t breaking because the love had run dry. He’d always love Evan.
Even after this. Even after he left.
As the pasta finished, he mixed the noodles in with the sauce and tossed it. He slathered some bread with butter and garlic salt and waited at the toaster, watching the coils go red. Memories tumbled through him—
A scream shattered the stillness, ripping apart the ticking clock and the birds twittering in the yard.
Ben whirled.
Screaming again, throaty and raw, like someone’s soul was being shredded.
It was coming from inside the house. From the bedroom.
Evan.
Ben tore upstairs, taking the steps three at a time, using the bannister to propel him faster. He skidded around the turn, tore down the hallway, ripped open the bedroom door—
Evan thrashed in the covers, bellowing, screaming, shaking and kicking like he was being held down, like he couldn’t get away. The sound crawled down Ben’s spine and slid between his bones, something primal and horrible.
