Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“But what about me? I’m not a tourist or a local.”
“You’re my guest, that’s what.”
He runs his finger along his scar in thought, then lifts his eyes to me. “So what happens tomorrow? When the sun is up, it’s a new day, and your kindness runs dry? Gonna turn me out onto the streets again? I’ll understand, but … I just want to know if I should be ready for that.”
He’s already talking about leaving. I wonder when was the last time he’s had a reliable place to stay. How long has he been sleeping with one eye open? “I run a bar,” I tease him with a smirk. “Nothing about me ever runs dry.”
He gazes downward in silence.
This isn’t going to be a quick thing.
I’m realizing that fast.
What he needs is stability. Reliability. Consistency. He needs transparency, too. He needs the version of me that has no walls up.
Make it or break it, Coop.
I turn serious. “Look, Seany, this arrangement doesn’t have an expiration date. Come the morning, you can stay right here if you want.”
He meets my eyes. “Really?”
“Yep. Really. I mean, I was serious about rechecking the hotels at the end of the weekend, in case you would like your own space, somewhere to feel safe, in control of your life, whatever you need.” I furrow my brow and nod. “I don’t break a promise.”
He picks at his fingers and averts his gaze.
I take a breath. “However much time you need to stay here, I understand. I opened my doors to you, and the only person who can shut them is you. All I ask in return is that we trust each other. That’s it. Nothing more.”
He mulls that over. “Seems reasonable.”
“So can we do that? … Can we trust each other?”
“Yeah.” He looks at me with sweet yet heavy eyes, full of sadness and uncertainty. “Thank you.”
Thank you, he says.
I almost can’t bear it, the pain on his face.
I can’t imagine what he’s endured out there. I doubt that little scar on his arm is all he has to show for it. What about the scars that can’t be seen with the eyes? The ones on his soul, on his confidence, on his pride?
He’s too young to have suffered wounds like that.
“I’ll leave you be,” I decide rather abruptly, getting to my feet. “You’ve had a long day. No doubt you want to get some serious sleep. Get your rest. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I head down the hall. I’ve forgotten about my opened beer I left on the counter by the time I drop onto my bed and shut my eyes. It’s well past three at this point. Maybe four. The night’s gone on long enough. It’s about time it comes to a damned end already.
But no sleep finds me.
I’m wide fucking awake.
I can wax poetic for an hour about trust this and trust that, but what do words get you when a person who is truly desperate to survive reaches a breaking point? I can look at his sweet, youthful eyes, be charmed, and offer him a bed for a night or two, but do I really know the first thing about him? How many other older, lonely men has he charmed in his time on the streets? Who else’s bed has he slept in?
Can I really trust him as much as I expect him to trust me? Was it even fair to ask that of him?
I notice the TV in the living room has turned off. In the still silence, every noise in the house touches my ears like an explosion. Each time the wind picks up off the beach. Each time my wood chimes rattle on the back porch. Each time the windows shudder, or the walls settle, or the couch creaks under Seany’s shifting weight. Sleep won’t find me.
Then I hear the soft padding of feet.
Closer.
Closer still.
His silhouette appears at my bedroom door. I watch him through the dark, unsure if he can see my eyes open. He stands there and says nothing, one hand hanging by his side, one clinging to the doorframe. He seems uncertain. Or curious. Or just as cautious as I am.
Then: “Coop?”
I lift my head off of the pillow. “Something wrong?”
“No.” He shuffles by the door, then folds his arms. “I just can’t sleep. Sorry.”
“It’s alright. Me neither. Wanna chat a bit? Get some stuff off your mind?”
“We don’t have enough time in the world to do that.”
I think he’s trying for a joke. I indulge him with a dry chuckle, then sit up all the way and slide to the edge of the bed. “We can stay up a little longer. Watch some TV until we’re tired. How does that sound?”
“I don’t know if I feel like doing that.”