Page 98 of Thirsty
The writing sounded like Charlie. He could almost hear him reading each one aloud. It was beyond strange to read the column and realize that he was seeing a side of Charlie he hadn’t known existed. Something that Charlie had kept from him, deliberately. It hurt.
But it didn’t just hurt; it made him miss Charlie. So when he got the text, in a moment of weakness, he agreed to meet him in the same coffee shop where they’d run into each other months ago.
It was nearly empty when he got there, which was a relief. Charlie was sitting at a table in the back, but he stood up when he saw Lorenzo. He was dressed nicely, but he looked gaunt. There were dark circles under his eyes.
And he was still so goddamned handsome. A nervous smile lit up his face when he saw Lorenzo, and the hesitation in his amber eyes melted into soft, tentative happiness with every second that Lorenzo didn’t turn around and bolt.
He was fighting the urge.
But he didn’t run. He could still feel it behind his ribs—that knot drawn messy, painful, and tight, urging him closer to Charlie. Some ineffable trace of Charlie’s blood still running through his veins, tying them together. Braiding Charlie into him.
He shook his head, schooling his features into an impassive mask, and sat at the table. Charlie’s smile wavered a bit, but he still looked relieved. “Hi,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
Lorenzo said nothing, glancing up at Charlie only as long as he could bear it.
“I wanted to, um,” Charlie said, sounding unsure. “I wanted to tell you about...my column.”
This time, he waited Lorenzo out. “What about it?” he finally grunted, crossing his arms.
The last traces of charm melted out of Charlie’s demeanor, leaving just nerves. He bit his lips. “I want to give it to you,” he said.
Lorenzo frowned. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I spun it off from the site. Cut ties with everyone there. Well, everyone except my editor, but she’s—she’s on board,” he said, quickly, like he was nervous that Lorenzo wouldn’t believe him. Or that he’d get up and leave. “So it’s ours now. I mean,we have no money, but we won’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves. And we spent the last few days building out the infrastructure, so now it has a—well, a forum, basically. Like a beefed-up comments section.”
“Hang on,” Lorenzo said.
“I thought the—if people could talk and connect—it could be like a digital counterpart to your group,” he said. “And the original column is successful enough by now that—I mean, I think it’ll have reach and visibility. So supernatural folks could find support and community anywhere—all over the world. But it’s not just—” He sighed. “I also put some feelers out to other writers—supernatural writers. So they can keep the column going if you don’t...”
He trailed off, his rant suddenly out of steam. Lorenzo stared at him. Charlie’s breathing evened out as he waited for a response.
Lorenzo wasn’t sure what to say.
“I wanted to make it better,” Charlie said. “So it wouldn’t be...um...”
He petered out again. And this time, when he looked back up at Lorenzo, he could see all the hope and fear in Charlie’s eyes.
“You want to...give me your column,” he said.
“Yes,” Charlie answered immediately.
“Your life’s work,” Lorenzo said carefully.
Charlie flinched and looked away. “I mean—it’s...”
Lorenzo waited. Charlie sighed, took a deep breath, and said, “I don’t think I was...doing it for the right reasons. Not anymore. I did—I do want to help people. Give them advice that’s useful. But...I got so caught up in ‘making it,’” he said bitterly. “Getting the column, being published, being known. Living in New York, being able to call myself a writer. I feltsuccessful. And that’s what I—that’s what I was trying to hang on to. And I don’t want to do that anymore.
“Meeting you, and Rachel and Maggie and Isolde—it reminded me of who I want to be,” he said quietly. “So...I’m giving it to you.”
“And what would you do?”
He shrugged jerkily. “I don’t know. But I won’t—this thing I created, it won’t be—it’ll be better.”
Lorenzo didn’t know what to say. He stared at Charlie, and Charlie stared at him.
The bell over the coffee shop door jangled as a large group came in, laughing loudly. Charlie and Lorenzo shared a look, then got up from their table and stepped over to the sliding glass door at the back of the shop.
There was a small patio out back, fenced in from the property next door, that was just big enough for two tables. Tonight, there were paint cans and plywood boxes stacked everywhere, and large tarps draped over most of the furniture and walls. Lorenzo turned and saw that a mural had just been painted on the back of the shop: a vision of the Blue Ridge Mountains—a hillside covered in riotous, bright wildflowers.
