Page 4 of Ripped

“Is he okay?” Sawyer whispers as he crouches down in front of us with a box of tissues.

I almost want to send him for paper towels instead. Those tissues aren’t going to cut it. I nod toward the refrigerator. “Grab some Gatorade.”

Connor’s going to be very dehydrated after all this crying and he’s already been sweating all evening from my class. He’s going to need all the electrolytes I can pour into him.

“Got it.”

I shift Connor in my arms and settle a little deeper into the couch. It’s awkward since Connor is bigger than me and he’s still wearing his puffy winter coat. Even then, he has somehow managed to curl himself into a small ball against my chest. His great big, heaving sobs have dried up, leaving him trembling and weak. I tighten my arms around him, and he relaxes into me.

Sawyer comes back with the Gatorade and a trash bin. “You going to be okay with him for a bit? I gotta take care of a couple things.”

I nod to Sawyer and he disappears out the door.

There’re a few minutes of silence, then Connor hiccups. I bite my lip to smother a smile. There’s nothing funny about crying so hard it triggers involuntary muscle spasms in his diaphragm. Except Connor’s a big guy and the sound that comes out of his throat is tiny, almost cute. It eases some of the discomfort in my heart from watching him cry. He’s coming out of it. He’s going to be okay.

He hiccups again.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s not a problem.” I hold out a few tissues for him and he sits up to blow his nose. It’s loud and snotty and he needs several more before his sinuses are clear. He ends up with a miniature mountain of soiled tissues that he dumps into the trash.

I crack open the cap on a bottle of Gatorade and push it into his hands. “Here. Drink this. You’re going to get a headache if you don’t keep yourself hydrated.”

Connor grips the bottle with both hands and the blue-colored liquid sloshes around inside from how much he’s still shaking. He sips at it, taking small, dainty slurps. His eyes are red and starting to get puffy. His eyelashes are dark and clumped together with tears. His cheeks are still damp and his bottom lip sticks out in a little pout that makes him look more like a boy than a man.

He’s stiff beside me, sitting at an odd angle, like he doesn’t want to pull away entirely but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to lean on me again. His leg is pressed against mine, and I’m running my hand up and down his back.

He peeks over his shoulder at me and freezes like a deer when he meets my gaze. “You’re Donnie, The Spin Instructor.”

My smile is pained. I’m really not a fan of the moniker, I don’t even know where it came from. It’s not the spin instructor part, it’s the way people say it, like “spin instructor” is actually “sex instructor” or something. My colleagues love it though, and I’ve caught them referring to me that way with members like it’s my official job title.

“Sorry.” Connor’s eyes flick to my shoulder. “I ruined your shirt.” He sounds so goddamn miserable that the soreness in my heart comes back.

I lean forward and reach my arm around him to nudge him closer. He takes the invitation and tucks himself against me again. “It’s just a shirt,” I say. “I’ve got plenty more.”

I tap on the bottle Connor’s holding and he lifts it to his lips for another drink. I keep my breathing slow and steady, and eventually, Connor starts to match my rhythm. The tension melts away from his body and his eyes blink like they’re too heavy to keep open.

I want to card my fingers through his hair. I want to press my lips to his temple. I want to tuck him into bed and hold him until he falls asleep. The urge to take care of him knocks me back a bit. I haven’t felt this impulse since Roger’s big baby antics whenever he fell ill. It must be the intensity of Connor’s emotions that’s triggering all my protective caretaker tendencies. He’s a wreck and I can’t just stand by and do nothing.

Sawyer comes back, pulling a chair next to the couch to sit with us. He asks me a silent question with his eyes and I try to give him a reassuring smile in return.

“Dude,” he speaks softly to Connor. “You okay?”

Connor doesn’t respond. His eyes are open, so I assume he heard.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” I ask. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help?”

He recoils and starts shaking again.

“It’s okay. It’s all right. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” I rub my hand vigorously up and down his arm to chase away the trembles. “Whatever it is, it’ll all get sorted. I promise.”

Connor sniffles and it sounds like he’s crying again.

“Shh, I’ve got you. It’s okay.” I keep murmuring all the encouraging words I can think of.

“It… hurts…” He speaks so softly I feel the words against my neck more than I hear them.

They break my heart. I crush him to me like I can physically squeeze the pain out of him. He leans into it, soaking up everything I’m giving him until I feel like we’re vibrating on the same wavelength. His pain is leeching into me and I’m sending back comfort, and we go back and forth, back and forth.

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