Double Play (Hit and Run Book 3), page 16
“Hey.” Orion’s voice cracked, then a string snapped, and the tears came. “Fuck. Fuck.”
“I’m literally getting in a car right now and heading to Pietro’s rental. Where are you at?”
Orion rubbed his hand under his nose. “Uh…I’m at some rental house that Hervé took care of.” He heard James suck in a breath, and he bristled. “Please don’t give me shit about him right now.”
“I wouldn’t,” James said in a rush. “Babe, come on. I’m a dick, but I’m not that bad.”
Orion felt a small twinge of guilt because he knew that, but there was this angry fire burning in him that wanted to lash out at someone or something. He swallowed back the bitter bile clawing at his throat. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Do you want to give me your address and I can come by?” James asked, quieter this time.
Orion shook his head, searching for his voice. “I think I’ll come to you, actually. Uh…I’ll get an Uber if you can bring a lot of alcohol to Pietro’s.”
“Orion…”
“Please,” he said stiffly, forcing himself to rise. He was just coming to realize he couldn’t handle anything right then. He couldn’t handle processing his grief and worrying about how everyone felt about Hervé being there. He couldn’t handle wanting to drown his sorrows and worry that he might be responsible for Hervé falling off the wagon after all the work he’d put in.
He’d been waiting this entire time for the other shoe to drop, and now he was watching it hurtle toward the earth.
“I have to get out of here. I need to get so drunk I can’t remember my name.”
“I’ll take care of it. See you soon?” James told him quietly, and without waiting for a response, he hung up.
Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Orion squared his shoulders and walked back toward the house. It was still quiet, but he could hear Hervé in the room, moving around. His stomach ached, and he was starting to lose his resolve, but he knew it had to happen this way. He’d officially run out of ways to make this work.
He needed wild distractions and his massive friends with their big arms and ability to cocoon him while the worst of it hit. With Hervé, he wanted to save the man from both himself and the outside world, but he’d lost the strength to do it the moment he stared down at the hospital bed at Carey’s too-thin, too-pale face and his unmoving chest.
There was no coming back from this.
As he pushed the door open, Orion nearly knocked Hervé on his ass, and he quickly caught him before he fell. Hervé looked up at him with a blossoming smile, but it faded as he took in Orion’s expression.
Fuck, he hated himself now, even more than seconds before.
“What is it?” Hervé said, pulling away. He wrapped his arms around his middle and put feet of distance between them, which Orion knew he shouldn’t cross. “Orion…”
“Asking you to come here was a mistake.” Fucking fuck! He hadn’t meant to say it like that, but the damage was done. He saw Hervé’s eyes widen, saw the pain, saw them harden. He watched as Hervé’s jaw tightened, and his back went a little straighter because this man was used to taking hits. “I don’t mean—I just. I didn’t think about what it was going to cost. Not me.” He shook his head and amended, “Not just me. You too. I need to be able to let go and not worry about how it’s going to affect you. I can’t…I can’t handle that right now.”
“I understand,” Hervé said. His tone was devoid of emotion, and Orion wanted to beg him to stop shutting down, but he had no right to. “It’s not a problem. Michel said he was going to wait in town for a little while. I had a feeling it would happen like this.”
Orion took a step forward, but Hervé quickly shook his head.
“Please don’t. I won’t ask you to feel sorry for me right now. I don’t know what your pain is like, but I know it’s too much. I just need to protect myself. I knew it was going to hurt and—” His chin trembled, and he looked away. “I’m sorry. Can you let me do this alone? Please?”
Orion didn’t want to. He wanted to demand the unreasonable—that Hervé just be okay with leaving and promise that once Orion had his head on straight, he’d be waiting for him. He wanted to demand that Hervé just sit here in this little house with no one while he waited for Orion to get past this huge hump of grief so he could function.
And he had a feeling Hervé might agree if Orion said those words.
So he kept his mouth shut.
He turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t linger for fear he might hear Hervé break down, and he couldn’t take that, so he grabbed his phone and his shoes, then headed out the front door. There was already a text waiting from James with the address, and he opened up the car app and ordered his ride, his chest aching like he might actually be having some kind of cardiac event.
He didn’t give a shit that he’d left his things behind, but he had left a huge piece of his heart in Hervé’s delicate hands, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get that back. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what he’d done or the reality that it might not be fixable, but what was done was done.
The Uber showed up minutes later, and without glancing at the house again, Orion got in the car and left it all behind.
16
Hervé was no stranger to the kind of pain he was in as he curled his knees to his chest on the sofa. He had soup—an easy enough meal to eat, which would ensure he didn’t choke if his cataplexy acted up while he was trying to swallow. He wasn’t really hungry anyway, and he was fighting the urge to just sleep.
Or to do things he really, really shouldn’t be thinking about.
A quick call to his therapist a few hours after Orion had left curbed his urges, but he knew this was going to be a test to see just how steady he was in his resolve to be better. Orion had given him a reason to try harder, but as Lucie reminded him, his recovery needed to be for him.
Not for anyone else.
His decisions, his life, they were his own. Oddly, where he thought he might feel an endless abyss of hopelessness, instead, he just felt a quiet sadness.
His flat in Paris waited, and he was still richer than he ever thought he could be when he was younger, but that didn’t soothe any of his aches. Just because he had a place to go didn’t mean he had a home.
But he also didn’t feel like there weren’t possibilities for him. That working on himself was pointless now that Orion had done exactly what Hervé had been afraid of.
He got on the line with Michel after his impromptu therapy, and he asked Hervé to stick it out for the night since he’d flown up to New York. When Hervé tried to insist he’d just book a flight home, Michel wouldn’t let him.
“No. Please. I’m not leaving you there alone. I had a feeling I should stay, but I didn’t want you to think I was hovering.”
Hervé was startled by how insistent Michel was, and honestly, he didn’t have any fight left in him. Even if it meant sitting in that rental alone knowing Orion was in the city and had chosen—rightfully so—his family.
“Alright. I can do that. Just let me know when you’ll be back at the airfield, and I’ll get a car.”
“Or you can let me pick you up. I’ll take you to breakfast,” Michel said, then added, “as a friend. When you talk to your boyfriend, you can promise him we’re not—”
“He’s not,” Hervé interrupted, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat and tried again. “He’s not my boyfriend. We just met.”
Michel hummed quietly but didn’t argue. “I’ll see you in the morning, chouchou,” he said.
Before Hervé could even react to the sweet term of endearment, the call was over, and he was left on his own. He was tempted to call Lucie one more time, to have her talk him through the chaos in his chest that wanted him to give up and give in, but he wanted to believe in himself.
He wanted to look in the mirror and see the man who had been desperately trying to come to the surface.
And maybe this time, the pain of wallowing in his silence would be cathartic.
The hours seemed to pass in a rush after that. He went through his usual routine, showering, taking his meds, arranging his clothes for transport, then he climbed into bed. He’d only slept there once with Orion, but the emptiness in the space beside him felt like a cavern, and he let his hand rest where Orion’s head had been.
It hurt, but not in a way that made his knees buckle. It was a slow burn reminding him that he was finally allowing himself to feel. He was finally facing down being human and being kind and opening himself up to vulnerability.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the emptiness, and silence answered back.
He knew he wasn’t going to sleep much—but at least he had a place to lie down, and that was enough.
Morning came almost as swiftly as the night passed, and Hervé had managed to get a few hours, which meant he wouldn’t be a total mess when Michel showed up. He dressed early and made the bed, then rolled Orion’s suitcase next to the door.
He was tempted to just leave it there and not say anything to Orion at all, mostly out of fear of seeming desperate, but he didn’t want bitter feelings between them. He couldn’t live like that anymore. He dug his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text, telling himself he wasn’t going to expect a response.
Hervé: I left your case in the house. Please get it when you can. The code will stay the same until I check out, and I don’t want you to have to go without your things. I hope you’re okay.
He was far too tempted to put a little kiss on the end of the text, but he managed to refrain and instead busied his hands with making a cup of coffee from the little Nespresso machine on the counter. It was bitter and yet weak the way most American coffee tended to be, but it gave him a little pop of energy that would carry him until Michel finally got there.
He took his pills before tucking everything away in his case, and just as he was zipping it all back up, the doorbell rang. He let out a heavy sigh as he walked over and pulled it open.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. He was expecting Michel, so seeing Thierry standing there leaning heavily on a walker threw him. He swallowed, feeling like there were rocks in his throat, then he stepped back because if he was going to get punched, he’d rather do it without an audience.
“You’re here for Orion’s things?” he chanced, feeling a deeper ache that Orion would send Thierry of all people.
His former friend blinked, frowning in confusion before he shook his head. “Orion doesn’t know I’m here.”
Ah bon, at least it’ll be a private beating, he thought to himself as he closed the door.
Thierry didn’t look particularly murderous though. He looked more curious and even a little concerned, which was terrifying because Hervé wasn’t sure he was prepared to handle anything even remotely resembling kindness.
Gesturing to the sofa, Hervé took a seat in the chair as far away as he could get while still being polite. “I’m waiting on a ride,” he said softly as Thierry walked over and sat, setting his walker to the side, “so I don’t think I’ll have long.”
Thierry nodded, then rubbed his fingers along his mouth. The gesture was old and familiar—partly lost in thought, partly anxious. He’d done it since they were young. “Please don’t be angry with Orion, but he told me everything. About your,” he said, waving his hand toward Hervé’s head. “I don’t remember what you called it.”
“Narcolepsy,” Hervé told him on the edge of a wave of weakness. He said a silent prayer he didn’t collapse. It was the last thing he needed.
Thierry nodded, then bit his lip. “I spent a long while hoping something bad would happen to you.”
Hervé gave him a dry look. “I hope you’re not here to take responsibility for my condition.”
Thierry stared, and then his mouth twitched. Then he laughed and shook his head. It was strange to hear it, but it was also nice. It gave him flashbacks of being young and loving him and trusting him with no idea what the future would hold.
“No,” Thierry finally said with a grin. “You know Maman. She’d kill me and bury me in consecrated ground if she heard me even whisper something like that.”
Hervé’s lips twitched, but he held back his laugh. He’d loved Thierry’s mom, and he’d also hated her because she had never been his, and all she did was remind him of what he’d never have.
Thierry’s chuckles died, and then he let out a breath. “The last time I saw you, before all this,” he said with a wave of his hand, “I was so furious at what you did. The shit you pulled at the hotel?” He shook his head, and Hervé felt a pulse of shame. “But after a few months, I was terrified. You were…you were a mess, Hervé. I thought you were going to die.”
Hervé wrapped his arms around his middle. “I think I came pretty close. If I hadn’t gotten rushed to the hospital after that fall, I probably would have. I was out of control.”
He closed his eyes and tried not to think back to those weeks after leaving Denver. He was high the whole time, everything foggy and surreal and wrong. And instead of that making him feel better, he just felt worse, so he kept taking more and taking more, waiting for the old, familiar numbness to settle in.
But it didn’t come.
He knew then it was the beginning of the end.
“Did I make it worse for you, before I was shot?” Thierry asked after a beat.
Hervé’s gaze snapped back up to him. “What?”
Thierry rubbed his hands over his thighs. “I enabled you for such a long time. The drugs, the drinking, the sex. Pietro calls it toxic self-medicating.” He said the last three words in English, and it took Hervé’s brain a few seconds to translate the words properly. “You were hurting, and instead of helping you find a better way to deal with your trauma, I just let you do whatever the fuck you wanted.”
“You weren’t my mother,” Hervé reminded him.
This time, Thierry’s laugh was bitter. “No, and thank God for that. I hope you didn’t go back to her after what she said.”
Hervé shook his head, then stopped and shrugged. “For a little while, but we both weren’t going to last more than a few days in each other’s company. She sent me to Brittany so no one would see me in Paris, unable to walk five meters without collapsing on the ground.”
Thierry’s cheeks pinked with unspoken rage the way they always had when it came to Hervé’s mother. “For my own peace of mind, I need to know that I didn’t make you worse, and you owe me an honest answer.”
Hervé was surprised only because he couldn’t understand how Thierry had ever worried about that. His hands twitched with the sudden need to pull Thierry close, but he knew they’d never have that again. And he could live with it.
“Thierry, you were the only part of that life that made me good. When you were hurt…”
“Yes, you did tell me what an inconvenience I was to you,” Thierry said dryly.
Hervé winced and shook his head, trying not to think of their last meeting. “That was the ramblings of a man on too goddamn many drugs and out of his mind because he knew that without you, his life was going to fall apart. And there was nothing I could do to salvage what we’d once been to each other.” He took a breath. “But no, Thierry. You never made things worse. You’re probably the only reason I have the foundation strong enough to be better.”
Thierry met his gaze, then finally nodded.
Hervé took a fortifying breath. “When you were hurt, I knew the only way to save you from me was to let you go.”
“It was cruel,” Thierry said.
“I know.” Hervé nodded, his eyes going hot, but he wouldn’t let himself cry because this wasn’t about his pain. “Even if—God willing—you ever forgive me, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Thierry sat back, crossing his arms, and then he sat forward again like he was restless but didn’t want to move. “Is it about forgiveness? Being here?”
“It’s about Orion right now,” Hervé said. He bit his lip, then shrugged. “I’ve been seeing a therapist since I got out of rehab. She’s helping me stay clean and to learn how to live and function with guilt that will never go away.”
“And do you think it’ll last?” Thierry asked.
“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. Hervé picked at his thumbnail, making his cuticle bleed. The pain shocked him, and he went to open his mouth, but his body gave in to the stress of having to give all those hard, painful answers.
He went limp. His chin hit his chest, and his arms went lax, and his eyes closed.
He heard Thierry swear and scramble for his walker. He heard his former friend’s gait on the floor as he shuffled over. By the time a warm hand touched his forehead, he was coming back to himself.
“Sorry,” Hervé managed thickly before swallowing and forcing his head up. Thierry took a step back and looked down at him.
“You just fall asleep like that?” Thierry snapped his fingers.
Hervé shook his head. “What happened just now, it’s not sleeping. My body sort of…stops, and I can’t move. But during those attacks, I’m conscious. I’m aware of everything going on.”
Thierry sucked in air through his teeth. “You could hear me? Feel me?”
Hervé nodded, wrapping his arms around his middle as Thierry made his way back to the sofa.
Thierry sat, letting his hands hang between his knees. “That’s not what I wanted when I said I wanted you to suffer. I think I…I think I just wanted you to understand how cruel you were. How badly you hurt me. It took me until last night to realize I wasn’t angry about it anymore because I have never loved anyone the way I love Pietro, and I don’t think I would have been able to find him if circumstances had been different.”
Hervé blinked at him. “You were shot. Your legs—”
“I know.” Thierry rubbed his mouth again. “But I would do it again. I took the bullet for you because I loved you, Hervé. You were my brother, and I was willing to put up with a lot to keep you breathing. The only thing I want from you now is to know I wasn’t worthless to you. Or that you don’t think I deserved it because I was just like everyone else in your life.”
