I breathe out, stare at the bright lights of a bar, at the people going in and out.
God, I wanna see Raine again. One last time. Is it too much to ask? The key he gave me is burning a hole in my back pocket. I have to return it to him. It’s the right thing to do.
The only thing left to do.
Tonight.
The snowflakes are falling fast and hard by the time I get off the night bus and start trekking towar
d Raine’s place. The brittle icy air stings my lungs and the damn cough is back, so that I have to slow down to catch my breath.
After I finish hacking up my lungs, my breath rasping in my lungs, I remember the small bottle of whiskey Mayleen gave me before she left. I fish the bottle out of my pocket, surprised it’s still in one piece, unscrew the top and take a long swig. And another. By the third swig, the bottle is over. At least it’s washed the sick out of my mouth.
Then comes the sound of approaching police sirens, and I tense, ready to turn and run. Shit. I don’t know if I look like a hooker in the dark, but I can’t afford to get arrested. I wait, my heart in my throat, until a few moments later the sound fades away.
I start walking again. I’m going fast, hoping to outpace my doubts, but they keep up easily, drilling holes through my courage.
I’m just returning the goddamn key, and all its consequences and implications. All its promises. That’s all. Before I go, I’m severing the last tie, putting an end to all of this, as it was meant to be.
Doesn’t stop my feet from dragging, though.
Belatedly it occurs to me that Raine might not even be in, and the thought of pushing the key into his mailbox slot, without ever seeing him, all but kills me. It has to be close to midnight by now, but he may be out, with friends, with his brother, having drinks and playing pool.
By the time I reach the entrance of his building, I’ve convinced myself he won’t be in, and the weight on my chest is fucking crushing me.
Still, I try. The light over the entrance doesn’t work, and I’m not even sure I pressed the button for the right apartment, but nobody answers anyway.
Disappointed, I search for the slots of the mailboxes, cursing in the dark, when a male voice, slightly distorted with static, says from behind me, “Yeah? Who is this?”
My heart pounding out of my chest, I turn back to the intercom. “Raine?”
A pause, then, “Jason? Is that you?”
He doesn’t sound angry. More shocked than anything.
Then again, it is the middle of the night, and the intercom is distorting his voice. Also, I’ve never been the one to seek him out until now.
I brace a hand against the wall and suck in a deep breath. Even hearing him is doing weird things to my mind. It’s like honey dripping into my veins, making me happy, making my mouth smile.
I can do this. No going back now. “Can I come up?”
He says nothing, and I hold my breath. The realization he may not want me here hits me out of the blue, and it’s all I can do not to gasp out loud.
But the door clicks open. I stare at it for a long moment.
It may not be the warmest welcome, but I guess it’s answer enough, and at any rate, it’s more than I deserve.
The door is open when I step out of the elevator, and there he is, an elbow propped on the doorframe, framed in golden light.
My steps falter. From his tousled dark hair to his gilded, bulging biceps and low-slung sweats, he’s a total sex god. My mouth honest-to-god waters at the sight.
He’s like a drug. The most potent drug in my life.
“I, uh.” Words. I can word. “Hey.”
He dips his head in greeting, his face in shadow, so I can’t tell if he’s scowling or smiling at me.
My palms are sweaty. Is it too warm in here? Why does he have to be so damn sexy?