Page 18 of Roleplay at Randy's
Three full sized pancakes down and a set of small ones finishing on the pan later, I switch off the heat and go to seek out some syrup, turning straight into Cal standing directly behind me.
“Pan-cake!” He reaches around me toward the stack of pancakes, and when I throw a hand out to keep the entire plate from falling, my arm grazes the side of the pan.
A sharp pain blazes across my skin, and I jerk back, accidentally knocking Cal and in turn causing him to yank the plate of pancakes to the ground anyway.
It shatters, a few stray pieces scattering over Calum’s bare feet. He jumps back, arms flapping, and hopping from foot to foot.
“Oh no. Oh no.” It’s like the room turns into a cave, thesentiment being echoed on repeat, becoming increasingly more alarmed.
I crouch down to make sure he doesn't have any scrapes or pieces of plate stuck in his feet, but each time I try to touch him, he shouts and bangs his hands on my head.
Still, I forcibly grab each foot and look him over, and it's both of his hands coming down on my head and yanking the hair like he's genuinely trying to rip it out that does me in.
“Ow, shit. Please, stop it, Cal.”
I don't want to snap at or hurt the kid, so I'm half paralyzed trying to figure out a way to calm him down when a warm, comforting palm lands on the back of my neck, fingers wrapping around and squeezing gently.
The hands in my hair fall away, followed by the one on my neck, and for a few minutes I’m alone.
A headache is already throbbing at the base of my skull, and I spot a couple of cuts and scrapes on my ankles and hands from grappling on the ground with Cal.
I’m not in nearly as much pain as my pride is. Making breakfast should have been an easy task, but I got flustered and clumsy, and now I’m crouched on the ground picking pieces of ceramic off the floor and fitting them into my hand.
Tears prickle at the corner of my eyes, and I rapidly blink them away.
I have all of the big pieces cleaned up and tossed into the trash by the time I hear footsteps, and I glance over to see Elias stop in the entryway, hair tousled and in nothing but a pair of pajama pants. Normally I’d at least acknowledge the attractive look to myself if not make a joking comment about it, but the slimy guilt coating my lungs doesn’t let me get it out.
To his credit, Elias doesn’t look angry. Or upset. Justcontemplative. As his eyes roam over my body, growing wider by the second, his expression morphs into concern.
“Matty.” He takes three long steps toward me, arms forming a cage around my shoulders and locking me against his chest. I’m at eye level with his collarbone, and as soon as I breathe in the mix of some generic ocean scented body wash and Elias’ natural nighttime sweat, those tears rise up with a vengeance and pour over.
“It’s okay,” he says softly into my hair. “I should have warned you about the meltdowns.”
I try to shake my head, but he’s holding me too tight to move. All I can do is use his skin to soak up the waterfall of tears and wrap my arms around his back to minimize the trembles rippling through my limbs.
“He’s alright. He’s not hurt. Just a little miffed. He’s calming down in his room. You, on the other hand.” Elias anchors a hand on the back of my neck again. “I’m sorry. Normally Cal wakes me up when he wants something.”
I laugh, but it comes out as more of a hiccup. “‘S fine,” I mumble once my throat stops feeling like it’s going to summon an ocean of sobs. “None of it hurts that bad.”
“Still.” He gently peels me away, and while I’ve got the tears under control now, I can tell by the bleeding heart in his eyes that my emotions are quite the opposite.
“Don't worry,” I tell him, rubbing the heel of my hand into my drying eyes. “This is all just me being a klutz because I wasn't wearing my hearing aids so I couldn't hear Cal trying to get my attention.”
His brows furrow, and his lips pinch shut. “Where are they? Need me to get them for you?”
I start to say no, but the genuine care etched into his face stops me.
“Yeah, actually. They're in a box on top of the bookshelf. I was trying to keep them out of the kiddo’s reach.”
I've never noticed how large Elias' hands are before. Not in a beefy kind of way, but long and thick with rough skin coated in callouses. He squeezes my neck one last time, and then wanders off to the living room.
“Here.” He hands the box to me, and my ribs tighten around my heart.
“Thanks.” It takes a couple of seconds for me to put them in and adjust the volume where I want it. The static that plays at the lack of input slowly tapers out, and I give Elias a wobbly smile. “Sorry again. I’m not usually a crier.”
Elias’ hands twitch at his side, and when I think he might reach for me, he folds his arms over his chest. Which—honestly—is just as good, because the muscles on this man are pleasant as hell to look at.
I guess I’m starting to feel better.
