All the words he’d been rehearsing, earlier that morning resurfaced. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, by the way. About last night. You seemed upset, and I…”
Don’t know how to make you stay. Don’t know what you want from me.
In the end, he chickened out. Fell back on his usual excuse.
“I had so much work to do.”
It was Marsh’s turn to look brittle. “It’s cool. I get it.”
Greg wasn’t sure Marsh did. Not at all.
His phone beeped at just that moment, though. He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes late. It was probably work, asking him where the hell he was.
Tonight, he and Marsh would talk more. Maybe. If Greg had time. He ground his thumb into his temple against the sharp flare of pain there. “Sorry,” he mumbled, gesturing toward the door. “I’m running crazy late.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Greg grabbed his bag and strode forward. As he walked past the living room, a beam of sunlight cut through the open window, making him wince.
A warm hand settled on his upper arm.
“Are you okay?” Marsh asked, and he was so close, his face all concern.
All Greg wanted to do was lean into him. Bury his nose against his neck and breathe him in. Take him up to his room and draw the curtains closed. Fall asleep in his lap while he ran his fingers through his hair.
Maybe, if he wasn’t still mad, Marsh would even let him.
But this close, he smelled ever so faintly of lavender.
“I’m fine,” Greg lied. He shot him the best grin he could muster. He was pretty sure he wasn’t convincing anyone. “I’m fine.”
The whole way to the door, he kept telling himself that.
“Your father and I are so excited, sweetie.”
“I know, me too,” Greg said, cupping the phone close to his ear.
A series of sharp raps on the glass behind him made him jump. He whirled around, twisting his phone to angle the microphone away from his mouth. Ronnie was standing at the window between the conference room and the hallway. Once he had Greg’s attention, he tapped on his wrist and jerked his thumb back into the room behind him. Had it really been fifteen minutes already? Greg nodded and sighed.
He cut off whatever story his mother had been launching into. “Sorry, Mom. I have to run. Group meeting’s starting.”
“At eight o’clock at night?”
Greg didn’t like it any more than she did, and he shrugged even though she couldn’t see it. “You do what you have to do.”
“I know. I just hate to see you working so hard.”
All Greg could do was laugh and rub the heel of his hand into his forehead. It was his fault they were meeting so late this week. He’d had to pick up another extra shift at the helpdesk, and Dr. Chu had been nice enough to switch things around to accommodate him. Every now and then, being in a smaller research group had its perks.
“You and me both,” he replied. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Your flight gets in at six?”
It was going to be tight, getting to the airport in time. He’d have to run out the instant his shift covering the registration area at the symposium was done, but he should be able to manage it. Probably.
“Yup. We’ll see you soon.”
“Sounds good.” Greg rolled his eyes when Ronnie knocked on the glass again. “Later.”
He hated shooing his mom off the phone like that, but he’d said it himself. You had to do what you had to do. Once she’d gotten off a quick goodbye, he hit the button to end the call and pocketed his phone before heading into the conference room.
Dr. Chu was sitting at one end of the big table, Ronnie and the rest of the members of the research team scattered around the edges. Greg did a quick headcount, and yup. He was the last one. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he set his bag down and folded himself into a seat.
Chu nodded curtly and began. “Now that we’re all here…”
God, Greg was tired. He paid attention the best he could, especially when it came to the stuff about last-minute preparations for the symposium. He scribbled a couple of quick notes and tried to remember not to nod along too much. The haze over his vision from this morning had more or less stayed at bay up until now, but the halos were beginning to shimmer, and the pressure inside his skull had grown to the point where it was getting hard to ignore. He’d been counting on getting his lesson ready for tomorrow’s classes before bed, but that wasn’t going to happen, not at this rate. His hand twitched toward his bag. He folded his fingers into his palm and squeezed his fist tight. His prescription meds always made him loopy and sleepy, and he hated driving after he’d taken them. But there was no way he could afford to still be useless tomorrow if he didn’t get a handle on this now.
Glancing up at the front of the room, he checked no one was paying attention to him, then pulled his phone out under the table.
He typed,
You heading home right after?
and sent the message to Ronnie.
Ronnie glanced under the desk, and a few seconds later, a reply of
Y
came back.
Can I hitch a ride?
He hated having to leave his car on campus, but it would be okay. He’d just ride in with Ronnie tomorrow, or maybe Marsh could help him with the bus schedules or something, if he was home.
Across the table, Ronnie caught Greg’s eye, brow rising in concern. Greg shook his head to try and communicate that he was fine, even though his stomach was starting to go sour. Ronnie frowned but nodded, mouthing
okay
.
Relieved, Greg dug into his bag with as much stealth as he could muster. He palmed one of the little pills and uncapped his water bottle, bringing it to his mouth and slipping the tablet onto his tongue. Now all he had to do was not vomit it up and hope no one tried to talk to him anytime soon.
Of course, that was when Chu turned to him. “Greg?”
“Yes?” He sat up at attention and cringed at the sudden explosion in his head.
“How’s the data coming on those new low-pressure trials?”
Of course. The trials he’d blown off until next week. “Um, okay.” How to stall, how to stall? “It’s slow-going,” he admitted, “with everything going on this week.”
Chu’s mouth tilted down. “Our collaborators at Dow have been contacting me. How soon can we get them something?”
“How soon do they need it?” The roughness of his voice belied his worry. It was the juggling analogy all over again—he could almost see the spinning balls over his head, the graceful arc they made and the way they were all just hanging in space, all waiting to come crashing down.
Chu frowned. “Stay after for a minute when we’re done here.”
“Right.” He needed out of there, not an extra few minutes of trying to come up with excuses. The room was too warm and the bright light of the projector was steadily boring a hole into his skull.
Ronnie was looking at him with real concern now, and Greg had to drop his gaze.
The meeting dragged on for Greg didn’t even know how long. Finally, Chu closed his notebook, and Greg heaved a sigh of relief before remembering he was supposed to stay. The sharpest edges of the migraine had dulled, but noises were still too loud, lights too bright, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and close his eyes.
As everyone else filtered out, Greg forced himself to his feet, but only to drag himself up to the head of the table where Chu was waiting for him. Ronnie tilted his head to the door, and Greg gave him a weak thumbs-up.
“Dr. Chu?” he asked as he approached.
“Greg. Talk to me some more about that data.”
Greg rubbed his fingertips along his hairline. “I’m working on it, but this week is just a mess.” No point lying. “I haven’t had time.”
Looking up from his papers, Chu leveled him with an even stare. “How many hours have you been working outside your assignments here in the department?”
Sighing, Greg admitted, “Too many. It’s just temporary, though—”
“It might be time to think about curtailing those.” The set of his mouth was full of implications, and Greg withered. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be working at all outside of the research and teaching he did for his fellowship, but his car had needed a massive set of repairs over the summer, and Chu had allowed it.
“Yes, sir,” Greg ground out.
“I don’t like rescheduling meetings around outside involvements, but having results delayed due to them is another issue entirely.”
“I know.”
There was a long moment’s pause. “I’ll put off the Dow people, but I need data soon.”
Greg’s stomach sank. He couldn’t stay any longer tonight, and the next few days were scheduled so tightly he’d barely have time to breathe. The image of his calendar swam up in front of his vision, the blocks of color jammed together without gaps. There wasn’t any wiggle room, but he’d have to find a way to carve out some time. “I’ll get right on it.”
Waving his hand, Chu looked down at the calculations strewn out in front of him. “It can wait until tomorrow. Go home. Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”
“Yes, sir,” Greg said, sagging.
He didn’t wait around to see if there was anything else. Just managing to keep it together, squinting all the way, he stumbled his way out to the hall. The harsher fluorescent lights made him want to whimper. Then there was Ronnie, getting a hand on his elbow and steering him toward the exit.
“Migraine?”
“Yeah.”
Ronnie shook his head as he ushered them outside. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve covered for you.”
“Chu rescheduled the meeting for me. And I couldn’t afford to miss any more. Plus, it wasn’t bad until I got in there.”
All the warning signs had been there, though. He’d been pushing it, and he’d known it.
Ronnie made a little humming noise, and then went mercifully quiet. Somehow or other, they made it to Ronnie’s car, where Ronnie held the door open and put a hand up so Greg wouldn’t bump his head. When he moved to help with the seatbelt, Greg batted him away. “Not an invalid.”
“Sure could use someone to take care of you,” Ronnie groused, but he let Greg get himself situated. He touched Greg’s shoulder before he eased the door closed.
And there was nothing to that touch, nothing at all, but it was kind and warm, and it reminded Greg of the last time he’d had an episode this bad. Marsh had been so nice to him then. What he wouldn’t give to be able to crawl into his bed tonight. To have the guts to ask him to sit with him and talk to him and touch his face again.
Forget his outside commitments. Marsh was what had him so turned around, making him feel all these things. Reawakening all these desires, not just for sex but for basic human intimacy.
Greg had been hoping they’d have time to talk tonight. A chance to get back on even ground. He would have scoffed aloud if it wouldn’t have hurt his head. He didn’t trust himself to have a conversation with his houseplants tonight. He definitely didn’t trust himself to have one with Marsh.
That was okay. He’d get through this one on his own.
The ride home passed in a long, aching blur as he pressed his brow to the cool glass of the window. He could feel Ronnie’s gaze on him every time they stopped, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, dizzy from the motion of the car.
Finally, they came to a stop, and with a jangle of the keys, Ronnie flipped the ignition off, surrounding them with blessed silence. Greg could have stayed there all night, curled up in the seat, head sheltered under his arm, but Ronnie came around and opened the door. Greg couldn’t suppress the sound of distress he made as he forced himself to his feet.
He’d go to the bathroom and clean up, and then he’d go to bed, and maybe his pillow would still smell a little bit like Marsh, and he could lie there in the darkness and wish he could die while he imagined phantom fingers in his hair, and he’d be fine.
With Ronnie carrying Greg’s bag, one hand on Greg’s shoulder to steady him, they made their way inside. He didn’t glance down the hall toward Marsh’s room or go beg him to come upstairs and hold him until he felt warm and safe and able to breathe. He stumbled up the stairs exactly the way he’d planned to. Past his own door and on toward the bathroom.
He rinsed his mouth out, then turned the tap onto pure hot and wet a washcloth with it, wringing it out before carrying it with him back toward his room. Hot compress. Darkness. Sleep. He’d be fine, and somehow or other, tomorrow, he’d get caught up. He just had to make it through this week.
Only he didn’t even make it to his room. Because there, sitting on the floor beside his door, was Marsh.
Chapter Thirteen
There was something wrong.
Marsh had been sitting in his room, trying to study and mostly just bouncing a tennis ball off the wall, listening for Greg to get home. The minute the key had turned in the lock out there, he’d been on his feet, every muscle alert, words clawing at his throat. A full day of stewing had been more than enough for him to get a grip.
Greg had made him feel like shit last night, but this morning he’d looked so vulnerable and exhausted. He’d apologized. And most confusing of all, he’d looked so goddamn relieved when Marsh had clarified that he and Yulia weren’t sleeping together. It made Marsh hope—hope for things he’d never imagined he could have.