“Okay,” he whispered. “I want things to be different too.”
She nodded, then leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. “Starting now.”
The next few weeks passed quickly as Eliot settled into a routine, adjusting to his med regimen again. Rebecca drove him to his follow-up appointments with Dr. Babcock and attended talking therapy with him at Eliot’s request. With Traci’s help he found an AA meeting and a sponsor who was also dealing with recovery from addiction while living with a mental illness.
And at last he started volunteering at the daycare. When he first walked in, he was nervous. He was still suffering from several embarrassing side effects of his medications, including a tendency to fall asleep without warning in the early afternoon. The hand tremors were still there, and he crammed them in his pockets, trying to hide them.
“Welcome, Eliot,” Bev said warmly as she approached him, her hand outstretched to shake. Eliot hesitated, and Bev turned the gesture into a gentle touch to his shoulder.
“I’ve seen it all, my dear,” she said, an understanding look on her face. “And believe me, nothing is out of place or will even be noticed here. Everyone is dealing with their own challenges, their own issues.”
He smiled in relief, and after a brief orientation, Bev encouraged him to get involved. Then she retreated to her office, leaving him on his own with the handful of residents dotting the room, although Eliot knew she would be watching him closely. The psychiatric intern, a young man in his early twenties, was leading a group through a meditation and visualization exercise, so Eliot went over to the activity center and took out one of the puzzles he’d dropped off as a donation several days ago.
It was a simple five-hundred-piece puzzle of a mountain landscape, but with his shaking hands, it was hard to maneuver some of the pieces. Before long he had an audience, and he smiled up at the two elderly women watching him.
“You want to help me?” he asked, and soon the three of them were deeply involved in the puzzle. One of the women had dementia, and every now and then she’d bite down on a puzzle piece, looking at Eliot and demanding why he had served such tough, dry cookies at his tea party. He smiled and murmured an apology, which led to a spirited discussion about baking. The other woman had a quick, dry wit despite her tendency to wander off on bewildering conversational tangents, and Eliot laughed several times in genuine amusement.
At one point Eliot came to after one of his abrupt sleeping episodes, and neither of his puzzle partners batted an eyelash when he lifted his head blearily up from the table, pieces of the Rocky Mountains stuck to his cheek. His quirks went completely unnoticed, and Eliot didn’t think he could have felt more at home or enjoyed an afternoon more. All too soon Bev was walking him out.
“Mrs. Potter engaged with you more today than I’ve ever seen her engage with anyone, Eliot,” she said, her tone approving. “There’s just something about you that people respond to. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Eliot carried the warm glow with him on the bus ride all the way home, and when he arrived, Rebecca had a simple dinner waiting for him. After they ate and cleaned up the kitchen, she unceremoniously dumped the
GED Study Guide
in his hands.
“Our night’s activity,” she announced. “Let’s set our goal.” They sat down together with a calendar and picked a target date for the test. Rebecca circled it in red pen and wrote “GED,” drawing some celebratory stars around it.
When Eliot lay in bed that night, quiet and still, the constant ache of missing Loren overwhelmed him like it usually did. But at last the pain was tempered with some real hope for the future, his future.
He’d make something of his life, and maybe someday Loren would want to be a part of it again.
“GOOD WORK,
Smith.”
“Thanks, Levi.”
Loren sat back in his chair at the conference table and blew out a huge breath. Here he was, living his professional dream. He was an integral part of an important case. His contributions were vital and would someday be instrumental in bringing down an appalling blight on humanity.
His part of the case had come to fruition with the news that “Jose,” AKA Detective Joe Galaz, was now embedded within Cholito’s inner circle. Loren had succeeded in his assigned task and proven himself a valuable member of the law enforcement team.
“You did good work, Smitty,” Levi repeated. “Joe’s now the responsibility of the feds. He’ll be assigned an official handler there, so go home. Take a break. I don’t want to see you for at least a week.”
“I’m fine,” Loren said, alarmed. “I don’t need to leave.” The last thing he wanted to do was go home to a silent, empty house and be alone with his thoughts.
“It’s an order, Loren.” Jackson’s tone of voice brooked no argument, so Loren reluctantly went to pack up his things from his locker. He’d more or less been living at the station the last few weeks, crashing on couches in empty offices, showering and shaving in the gym locker room. He appropriated a locker set way back in a dark corner, knowing some of the guys were wary about changing clothes or being naked in the shower in front of him now.
It was ridiculous and it made Loren want to punch a wall, but that was reality.
Loren stuffed the mound of accumulated dirty clothes into his duffle, tossing his toiletry kit in after them before slamming the locker door in a childish fit of pique. What was he supposed to do with himself for a week?
Once home he tried to take a nap, but the huge bed mocked him with Eliot’s absence. He attempted to watch TV but couldn’t focus, realizing he was just staring at the screen without absorbing a single thing.
At last Loren got in his truck and drove aimlessly around the city, some crazy impulse leading him to Eliot’s old neighborhood. The keys to Eliot’s apartment were still in the truck’s glove box, so Loren let himself in, wrinkling his nose at the musty, closed-up smell. The lease had to be almost up by now, and it didn’t look like anybody had been in there since he and Donovan talked.
Loren made his way to the bathroom and stared down at the money in the sink, gathering it up
and heaping it all on the kitchen counter.
He sorted it into piles, torturing himself with the thought of sweaty hands pushing it into Eliot’s briefs, fingers brushing his skin, touching him—
Loren crumpled the money in his fist, pain washing through him. Why had Eliot gone to that club?
Because he’s at the whim of a set of chemicals in his brain he can’t fucking control.
Loren could almost hear Donovan’s voice echo in the room, and he flinched.
Hypersexuality is a very real, unfortunate part of this illness
, Loren remembered Dr. Babcock saying.
It’s not about cheating. It’s a compulsion, a loss of impulse control common during manic episodes.
It was never about sex, Loren. It was about shutting off the voices in my head, communicating with my body.
I can’t do this.
The last thought echoed in his skull, bouncing around, taunting him with all the promises he’d made. Stupid, naive promises he had no business making. God, how fucking arrogant he’d been.
Eliot knew, though.
When you walk away, I just pray you’ll be the one who comes back.
Loren left the apartment, but he was too antsy to get back into his truck and drive. Instead he started walking, and before long he was at the edge of the little homeless park Eliot liked to hang out in when he made his “rounds.”
Loren caught his breath. As if his thoughts had conjured him up, there was Eliot sitting on a bench with Sam. Loren hungrily drank in the sight of him, his heart aching. He was cross-legged on the bench next to the old man, both of them deep in conversation. Eliot’s face was rounder than it had been, a weight gain most likely the result of his meds. But his green eyes looked clear, and he was smiling.
Eliot was holding on to a bottle-shaped paper bag, and Loren tensed when he lifted it up. He didn’t make any move to drink it, though, just held it out to Sam. Eliot’s hands were visibly shaking, and he almost dropped the bottle. The man reached out and steadied it, his gnarled and filthy fingers covering Eliot’s trembling ones, and together they got the bottle to the old man’s lips. He drank, and Eliot tucked the bottle down next to his side before standing up.
He waggled his fingers in good-bye, and all of a sudden Sam scrabbled for Eliot’s arm, pulling him back to sitting. As Loren watched, he lifted his hand and patted Eliot’s cheek in a clearly loving gesture. Eliot didn’t flinch away from the filth, from the smell that had to be emanating from him, just covered his hand with his own before standing once again.
Eliot walked backward, waving, and Loren could hear him call out, “See you in a few days, Sam!”
Without knowing why he did it, Loren didn’t reveal himself, just followed Eliot at a distance. Eliot walked a little more slowly than usual, more carefully, but he traversed a couple of blocks without incident and crossed the street, headed toward a group of people who were gathered around a van with the words “Searchlight Ministries” emblazoned on the side of it.
As Loren skulked against a nearby building and watched, Eliot approached them. They seemed to know him, greetings floating back to Loren’s ears, and he clenched his teeth when a handsome young man with dreadlocks slung his arm companionably around Eliot’s shoulders, leaving it there as the group talked for a few minutes before breaking up.
Eliot and his friend—new boyfriend?—headed into a nearby coffee shop, standing in line, talking and laughing before taking their coffee cups to a small outside table. Loren leaned against the wall of the building he was hiding next to, feeling like a douche but not able to walk away. The two of them talked for a long time before they finally stood up and threw their coffee cups in a nearby trash bin, and Loren froze in horror when he realized a few moments later they were walking right toward him.
He pulled back into the shadows as far as he could, but Eliot and the other man were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t even glance in his direction. As they passed him, Loren heard the man say in an exotic, lilting voice, “You’re the best, Eliot. Having you come out here with us like this, you’ve given us the means to reach even more people, the ones who wouldn’t let us get anywhere close to them before. And with summer coming, it’s imperative that we’re able to get close enough to deliver water and maybe convince them to go to shelters. Are you sure I’m not asking you to do too much?”
Eliot shook his head. “Never. I need this, Joaquin. I’ll be here as often as I can. If I don’t show up, it’s probably because—well, because I can’t.” He held up his shaking hands in illustration. “Sometimes when my meds are adjusted, I’m pretty much useless until the side effects settle down. I’ll do my best.”
Joaquin stopped walking and gripped Eliot’s shoulder. “I know you will, man. I think you’re fantastic.”
They embraced, but to Loren’s profound relief it didn’t look lover-like, just friends saying good-bye, and then Joaquin turned and walked back the way they’d come. Eliot crossed the street, headed for the bus stop on the opposite side.
On impulse Loren ran for his truck, and he pulled up to the curb next to where Eliot was standing and pushed the passenger door open.
“Hey, El,” he rasped, his heart in his throat.
Eliot’s eyes widened comically and Loren could see his lips move, although no sound came out. “Loren.”
“Give you a ride, beautiful?” Loren asked, and his breath froze in his chest when Eliot shook his head. “Why not?” he croaked, and Eliot’s eyes widened again, this time in horror.
“No!” he exclaimed. “I mean, no, I’m not turning you down because I don’t want to! It’s just that I need to get home, and if I ride with you, we’ll end up getting distracted by talking and I can’t get distracted, not tonight.” Loren sat there, bewildered, and Eliot leaned in, his face and voice earnest. “Loren, I’m taking my GED test tomorrow. I need to go home and study with my mom tonight, not be distracted. Will you come over tomorrow night instead? Please?”
Loren felt tears of relief unashamedly spring to his eyes, and he whispered, “Yes, I will,” and without further ado, Eliot slammed the truck door shut and waved him off.
Loren drove home, and when he pulled into the garage, he didn’t get out, just sat in his darkened truck, thinking about Eliot, mulling over what just happened.
After a few minutes, Loren snorted helplessly, then burst into full-blown laughter. If he imagined a grand reunion with them running across a field of flowers toward each other, Eliot just dashed that fantasy to pieces.
“Sure, I’ll see you. When I can fit you in.” Loren went off into peals of more laughter. God, it felt great to laugh like this after the weeks of stress, worry, and anguish. That wasn’t what Eliot meant, of course, and Loren knew it, but Eliot had set his sights on a goal, and not even Loren striding back into his life was going to deter him.
Good for you, baby.
Loren sobered. Eliot had brought that same determination to their relationship, hadn’t he? He was doing everything right until his brain betrayed him, and when he went off-track, Loren had been pulled in too many directions at once, swamped by a demanding career and the expectations he’d placed on himself. Eliot’s determination could only get him so far when he didn’t have the support system he was expecting and counting on.
Dr. Babcock was right: Loren’s current career and a life with Eliot were not compatible. Sure, lots of cops and detectives had relationships and marriages that worked, but Loren couldn’t put Eliot through that anxiety, dredge up those fears, over and over. It wasn’t fair to ask Eliot to adjust and cope when Loren could find something else, something both of them could live with.
Loren got out of his truck and went into the house, shucking his clothes and turning the shower on to heat up. He let the hot spray pound down on his neck and shoulders, his thoughts still churning.