By Chance (Courtland Chronicles) (10 page)

Nick shot him a puzzled look. “What’s wrong with what we’ve been having?”

Eric sighed. “Not that I mind simple meals, but I’m getting a bit tired of canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“There’s not much else I know how to make. But I suppose we could hit the diner in town, if you want.”

“I was thinking of something a bit more romantic. What’d you say to a couple rare steaks, tossed green salad with vinaigrette, garlic mashed potatoes and a nice bottle of wine?”

“Sounds great. Who’s going to cook it?”

“How about me?”

Nick’s mug froze halfway to his mouth. “You can
cook
?”

“Spend your childhood hanging out in the kitchen with the housekeeper, and you pick up a few things.”

“Wow. Well, sure, if you want to do it, I’m not going to object.” He slouched back in his chair. “Except we don’t have any of that stuff in the fridge.”

Eric grinned. “I’ll make you a grocery list.”

* * *

It took Eric most of the afternoon to prepare the meal, in between emergency calls to Estellita and shooing Nick out of the room. He’d forgotten how time-consuming boiling, peeling and mashing potatoes could be, and mixing the perfect vinaigrette was a lot trickier than Nick’s mom’s copy of
The Joy of Cooking
made it sound. But with sheer determination and a generous helping of elbow grease, he prevailed.

Nick poked his head in again, so Eric put him to work setting the table. “Smells great. Is it ready yet?” he said, sitting down. When Eric shot him a sharp look, he added, “Did you want me to do something else?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I want you to go upstairs and get dressed.”

Nick peered down at his plaid flannel shirt, faded jeans and work boots. “I
am
dressed.”

“Not for dinner, you’re not. You can at least put on slacks and a sports coat—and a
tie
.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re kidding me!”

“I’ve spent all afternoon fixing this meal. If you can’t spare ten minutes to make yourself presentable, I guarantee you won’t be getting any more
fucking
tonight.”

Nick rolled his eyes, then headed upstairs. Eric poured himself some wine and sat down at the table, tracing patterns on the placemat with his fork. He was about to go see what was taking so long when Nick’s footsteps finally came clump-clumping downstairs. “Do I look okay?” he asked nervously.

Eric swung around in his seat, and froze. Nick looked a lot better than okay—he looked positively
edible
. He didn’t recall seeing that dark gray suit in Nick’s closet, but it showed off his powerful build far better than the baggy work shirt he’d had on. His black dress shoes gleamed like polished glass, and he’d even combed his hair. He looked like a hot business exec, instead of a college kid playing dress-up for his boyfriend.

“Eric?” he prompted. “You gonna say something?”

“Um…
wow
.” They both burst out laughing. Eric got up to give Nick a more thorough once-over, nostrils twitching at the scent of Paco Rabanne. “You really went the extra mile,” he added appreciatively, wrapping his arms around Nick’s waist.

“I wanted to look nice for you.”

“And you do. I’m impressed.”

“Good.” Nick grinned. “So can we eat now? I’m fucking
starving
.”

Eric hadn’t realized how hungry he was himself until that first bite of steak hit his tongue, tender and juicy. The mashed potatoes had the exact right amount of garlic; the salad was so light, it was barely a whisper on the lips. Not bad, considering it was the first meal he’d prepared in almost a year.

After, they retired to the living room with their wine. Eric was ready to collapse on the sofa, but Nick had other ideas. He lit the fire already laid in the fireplace, put on a CD of cool, melodic jazz, took off his jacket and tie and held out his hand to Eric. “May I have this dance?”

Eric tried to hold back his bemused smirk, but it was a losing battle. “You
dance
?”

“Yeah, I took a ballroom dancing class with my mom last summer. It’s helped my moves on the gridiron too.” He crooked his finger. “C’mon. Your date’s waiting.”

Eric stepped into his arms, bracing to get his toes mashed. But to his joy and relief, he discovered Nick was quite light on his feet. With a contented sigh, he laid his head on Nick’s shoulder as they swayed in a gentle slow dance.

“Thank you for dinner,” Nick whispered. “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”

Eric smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

They ended up on a pile of blankets in front of the fire, curled together in a happy, naked, post-orgasmic tangle. At last Nick said, “Too bad we have to leave in a couple of days. I could really get used to this.”

“Me too.” Eric sighed. “Thanks for inviting me. It’s been a lot of fun.”

“Sleeping, eating and fucking. That’s the life.” They both laughed. “Well, it’s not like we can’t do this back at the dorm, except for the home-cooked meal part.”

“What would you say if I told you I was thinking about getting an off-campus apartment next fall?”

“Sounds great. Will you invite me over for dinner every now and then?”

“How about every night?”

Nick looked at him, dawning realization writ large in his wide green eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why not? We’re living together now. Might as well make it official.”

“But everybody thinks we’re just roommates, except for Ally. Coming out as a couple…well, that’s different.”

“Why would anyone have to know? They’ll just assume we’re roommates off-campus as well.”

“Eric, c’mon. With all the time we spend together, me not having a girlfriend, you being all out and proud…” He gave Eric a pointed look. “You really think anybody’s going to believe we’re just roommates?”

He was right, though that didn’t make it rankle any less. In fact, now Eric couldn’t believe he’d actually suggested going back in the closet as a solution. He’d had enough of lying to himself, pretending everything was fine so his mother wouldn’t go to pieces again. He wasn’t about to fall into the same trap with Nick.

“We’re hardly the only gay couple on campus,” Eric replied a touch more sharply than he’d intended. “This is the nineties. It’s not that big of a deal anymore.”

“Maybe not for you. But I’d have to come out to the team and I just…” Nick rolled onto his back with a heavy huff of breath. “It’s bad enough having Hobart harassing me. I can’t take the whole team joining in.”

“Then quit the fucking team. You don’t even like playing anymore. With your grades, they won’t yank your financial aid.”

“And how am I supposed to explain it to my folks? Eric, I can’t…”

Tell them about us.
No, of course he couldn’t. And rationally, Eric knew it was too much to expect, when they’d only been together a few weeks. Which didn’t make his heart hitting the floor any easier to bear.

“Look, I’ll think about it,” Nick murmured. “But I need a little more time, okay?”

Eric just nodded and squeezed his eyes shut.

They got back to the city late Sunday afternoon and grabbed some dinner in the dining hall before trudging back to their room to unpack and collapse on the couch. The five-hour train ride, along with the burgers and fries they’d just scarfed down, had left them both drowsy.

At last Nick sat up and stretched, forehead crinkling as he glanced at Eric’s desk. “There’s some messages on the machine.”

Eric sighed, the hangover from their idyllic week in the country quickly evaporating. “It’s probably my mother. I told her I was going out of town, but I forgot to call from the farm to give her the phone number.” He heaved to his feet with a groan. “Better see what she wants.”

He leaned over the desk and hit the ‘play’ button. “Eric, darling, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Please give me a call. Talk to you soon.”

The machine beeped.

“It’s me again. Hope you’re having a wonderful time with Nick, dear. Remember, I get worried when I don’t hear from you. Call me, all right?”

Beeeeep.

“Eric, I really need to talk to you. Something’s happened, and I…” Heavy, racking sobs, paired with the distinctive gurgle of liquor sloshing into a glass. “I’m not feeling well tonight. Please call. Why won’t you call me?” There came a loud thump and crash, and the line clicked off.

The machine beeped again.

“Mr. Courtland, this is the intensive care unit at Mount Sinai Hospital. We have you listed as the emergency contact for Elizabeth Courtland. She’s been admitted in critical condition. Please get in touch with us at your earliest opportunity.”

The machine beeped once more, followed by dead air.

Blind panic nearly made Eric’s knees buckle, until Nick’s hand closed around his arm, calming and steadying him. “It’s okay, I’m here,” Nick said. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

* * *

They sat in the waiting room for over an hour before a doctor ushered Eric into the ICU.

“When was she admitted?” he asked. “I didn’t receive the hospital’s message until a little while ago.”

The doctor consulted the chart she was holding. “They brought her in this morning. One of the hotel maids found her collapsed in the bathroom.”

Oh, God.
If he’d only been home to answer her calls. “Will she be all right?”

“Physically, she’ll recover. We’ve stabilized her heart rate and blood pressure. She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness, but that’s not unusual. Emotionally, she’s still very shaky. I see here that your mother has a long history of suicide attempts?”

Eric nodded, hands bunching in his pockets. “There was another incident at Christmas, but she’d just started seeing a therapist. I thought she’d be okay.”

“Can you give me her therapist’s name?”

Damn it, why he hadn’t he asked her? “No, I’m afraid I… No, sorry.”

“Not a problem. I’ll make a note to ask her myself the next time she’s awake.”

The nurse showed him down the corridor to his mother’s room. Eric’s throat tightened at the sight of her lying there, hooked up to an array of monitors and IVs.

There were bandages around both her wrists, dotted with seeping blood. Eric dropped into the nearest chair with a gasp. Her previous attempts had been obvious pleas for attention. She’d always made sure to time them so she’d be discovered before she’d absorbed too many pills. But this was different. This time, she’d really wanted to die.

He sat at her bedside until she finally stirred. “Eric?” Her voice sounded raw, scratchy. Eric gave her some water and held her hand until she could continue. “I, I tried to get in touch with you, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

Talk about twisting the knife. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should’ve given you the number where I’d be.” He swallowed hard. “What happened? You were doing so well the last time we talked. I thought the therapist was working out. How did this—”

“I had lunch with Dorothy Gannon yesterday. You would’ve been proud of me. She sat there downing one drink after another, and all I had was a club soda.” A tiny sniff. “Then she let it slip that your father…well, apparently he’s living with another woman.” She picked listlessly at her bandages, her eyes welling up. “I didn’t believe it. So last night I called his apartment, and a woman answered.”

“How do you know she wasn’t the housekeeper?”

“I’ve spoken to his housekeeper before. She’s sixty if she’s a day. This woman was younger.
Much
younger.”

Eric wasn’t surprised. He knew his father’s tastes. He liked them young, pretty and not very bright—which, sadly, had probably been a good description of his mother back in the day.

“Mom, you’ve got to stop this. You need to let him go,” Eric implored. “He’s not coming back, you know that. Forget about him and move on.” Grasping her hand, he gave it a tiny squeeze. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you too much. You
have
to get well. You have to do it for me. All right?”

She burst into tears at last. “I want to, but everything
hurts
so much. It’s too hard to get through the day, when it all seems so empty and pointless. Your father’s got his own life, you’ve got yours. What do I have? An empty house full of old paintings and a bunch of charities that only keep me around for a donation. If I died tomorrow, no one would notice.”

“
I
would.”

“You’d get over it, just like your father has. I asked the nurse to call him, but he’s refused to come see me. I can’t really blame him. Apparently he’s had enough.”

A red haze of rage washed over Eric’s field of vision, his hands curling into fists. He’d often fantasized about punching his father out, but now he longed to tear the man apart, very,
very
slowly.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said in the calmest tone as he could muster.

“No, don’t. If he doesn’t want to be here—”

“I said I’ll take care of it.” He stood, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I want you to concentrate on getting well. Promise me?”

She gave him a wan smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Nick jumped to his feet the moment Eric stepped back into the crowded waiting room, but when Eric tried to lean into him for comfrt, Nick pulled away. What the hell? All he wanted was a little warmth and affection to help get him through this ordeal, and Nick was too fucking scared even to give him that?

“You’re exhausted,” Nick said, his gaze darting toward the door. “Why don’t we head on home?”

“Fine,” Eric snapped, marching from the room with Nick trailing behind him, asking questions he couldn’t bear to answer. Finally Nick got the message, and a stony silence descended. It went on until they got back to their room, at which point Nick had to block Eric’s path to the kitchen to get his attention.

“Look, I know you’re going through some serious shit here, but don’t shut me out, okay?” He tried to slide a hand onto Eric’s shoulder, but this time Eric shrugged him off.

“You’re a fine one to talk about shutting people out,” he spat. “
Now
you decide it’s okay to touch me, with us safely tucked away where no one can see?”