Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Brush your teeth, wash up. You’re going to bed.”
Carl shut him inside, and while Grayson did his business, prepared a glass of water, some lozenges he found, and optional painkillers. He set this on the bedside, and cheekily checked the closet for those silver tap shoes . . .
He found a pair atop a photo album, and when he lifted the shoes, curious at their weight, a lone photo fluttered to the floor.
It was a picture of Grayson with his arms wrapped around a dimpled man. And the look Grayson gave the man . . . that was a look Carl had seen many times before. Whenever Pete gazed at Nick.
Grayson entered the room, and Carl whirled around with a guilty grin. “Saw your tap shoes, and saw that Sam is a Samuel.”
“Don’t look so gleeful.”
“I knew it.”
“You hoped it.”
“Rubbish.” Carl returned the things, closed the closet, and threw back the quilt. “In you hop.”
Grayson eyed Carl suspiciously as he followed these instructions. And Carl hung up his dressing gown on a hook behind the door. “By the way, I had an epiphany while you were brushing your teeth.”
“An epiphany?”
Carl moved to Grayson and perched beside him on the bed. “We’ve been through a few ups and downs, you and I. Plus you’re the only one who knows my secret. We should be friends.”
Grayson scooched away from Carl and those dark eyes were positively obsidian. “What kind of friends?”
“Without benefits!”
Grayson raised a brow.
Carl hurried on, “The kind who hang out for as long as I’m here.”
“I don’t have huge amounts of free time.”
“Let’s not get worked up over the details.” Carl smiled and reached over for a handshake to seal the deal. “You be kind, and I’ll be kind. We’ll be kind together.”
The handshake thrummed, and Carl still felt it around his fingers the next morning. Like they’d transferred a massive amount of energy—energy that seeped into the rest of him and had him eager to do things. He biked around the bays, and, still bouncing on his heels afterwards, headed for Grayson’s. He’d seen the man’s calendar; today had been curiously void of commitments.
Grayson opened the door, smartly dressed this time, but in the most depressing grey Carl had seen on him yet. The man’s downcast expression didn’t help things, either.
“This isn’t the best ti—” Grayson stopped abruptly when Carl palmed his forehead.
He didn’t feel feverish.
“You don’t look great, Gray.” Carl pushed him back and only let go of his forehead when they were halfway up the hall. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
Grayson opened his mouth to say something and clapped it shut again. He followed Carl into the kitchen and helped him find things in the cupboards.
Lots of honey went into the tea—the man looked in desperate need of sweetening. He wasn’t coughing so much this morning, but there were a few sighs that had Carl thinking he might be having a blue day.
Carl understood the feeling. Hadn’t that been him a few nights ago? “Drink this, then would you like to get our feet done? Paint our toenails?”
Grayson spluttered his honey tea and looked over the bench at him.
Carl said, “Colours are fun. They can make you smile when you look at them. Like when you’re home alone, before bed, in the shower—times you might feel particularly lonely.”
“Is this something you do?”
“Mmm. With my—my real mum. Anyway, we foot spa together, splash on the rainbow, and it literally brightens my mood.”
“Your real mum?”
Carl waved that off and hurriedly tipped tea into his mouth. His eye caught on a framed photo that had been placed against the wall at the end of the bench, where the groupies’ soups had stood yesterday. He set down his mug, picked up the photo of a dark-haired woman with familiar dark eyes, and stared at it. Glossy waves framed a soft, pale face, and her deep, dark, expressive gaze seemed to capture Carl’s even through the photo. Lines of laughter were etched around her eyes and mouth. Carl had seen this mischievous smile on Grayson, too. Undoubtably, this was his mother.
. . . he doesn’t talk about it, but he’s been like that since his mother died and he broke up with his ex.
Carl looked over the photo at Grayson staring at the back of the frame, and he set it down gently. “She’s beautiful. You look like her.”
Grayson picked up the photo. “She liked getting her toes and fingernails done too.”
“Did she have a favourite colour?”
“Magenta.”
“Tell me about her.”
“What are you trying to do, Carl?” Those dark eyes pierced him, and Carl shoved a hand through his hair.
“We’re, uh, friends now. You can talk about stuff with me. Purge. Get it all out. I’m the best option, really—soon I’ll be gone, so you won’t have to feel embarrassed that someone you see all the time knows. Your secrets will stay safe.”