For Both Are Infinite (Hearts in London Book 1) (10 page)

Rhys pulled away. “There’s something else I haven’t apologized for.”

“Huh?”

He leaned back and grabbed my hands. “I’m sorry I disrespected your memory of Aaron. I know how difficult it was to open up to me, understandably, and I was reckless to his memory and your struggle. I hope you trust it won’t happen again, and I hope you still trust me to talk about it. You’ve come to life since.”

His mouth was only inches from mine; if I wanted to I could have pulled him down and sealed it against my lips. Truthfully, I was surprised how much I
did
want that again. His eyes were heavy with culpability, paralyzing me, as I got lost in the emotion they held. He squeezed my hands. “Please say something.”

I clasped his hands back. “Rhys, it’s okay. We both messed up. I took it too hard.”

“We’re okay?”

“Yes, I promise.” Relief flooded his entire body as he dropped his shoulders and his hands twitched in mine. “What?”

“Nothing, I thought I lost you.” The intensity of those words, the way he stared at my lips, and momentarily rubbed my hand, allowed me to believe I meant more to him than he let on, if only for seconds. Clarity came over me and I restored my walls.

“It’s okay,” I said, pulling my hands from his. “Friends forgive each other, right?”

“Yeah, friends do,” he frowned.

We ended up sitting on the bench by the statue, discussing the play and life, anything to make things how they were before. And it was. It came back naturally when I told him I loved
Peter Pan
and had a dog named Nana.

“Would you prefer to stay young forever, or live life normally?” he asked.

“I don’t know. There are pros and cons to each. My teenage years were awful though, so I don’t know that I’d want that forever.”

“Why?” he laughed, leaning his throat back and revealing veins I loved.

“Well,” I cringed. “I was moody and awkward. I had braces and pimples…you name it.” He laughed harder, a deep chuckle from his belly and I elbowed him. “I’m glad you’re amused with your good looks and all.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t always look like this. Besides,” he looked over at me, leaning his hand along the back of the bench so that his fingers were almost touching me. “You came out all right.”

“Thanks,” I scoffed.

“I mean,” he said clearing his throat. “You’re quite perfect, actually.”

Rhys stared, admiring me, his eyes intently on mine and I had to look at my feet rubbing the gravel. Sometimes when he looked at me I wondered if he could read my thoughts, if he knew how unwound he left me, how accepted he made me feel. When he said things like that it was hard to tell if he was being friendly, or if he meant it in the way I hoped and was afraid of. I played along out of curiosity.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, desperate to get back on topic. “There are benefits to getting older though. You can make money, you can fall in love and kiss…” I paused. “But if you stay young forever you have to watch those you love die.”

I thought of Aaron, forever trapped in my memories as I aged alone. Rhys knew what was on my mind; he’d always read me so well.

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t know if I’ve lost the privilege now.”

“You can ask about him, I trust you,” I said, placing my hand on his momentarily. I meant it. He was just as human as I was and I couldn’t fault him for a mistake. Upon my touch his eyes flooded with relief. Under the London sun they looked a darker blue, contrasting against his white v-neck that revealed short chest hairs.

“Do you think Aaron would have liked me, I mean, would we have gotten along well?”

Until that point his questions had only been about Aaron or me, so hearing him asking about himself was unexpected. But then I realized it was the best question he’d asked yet. It was interesting that he would care enough to know that Aaron would’ve approved, if they would have been friends, and then I wondered why he cared. What did it matter?

Right there I realized this was why Rhys was special. This was why he made me feel alive and soaring after two years of sinking and drowning. He asked all the questions that mattered and took them to heart. He had taken me into his heart, too, it seemed.

I thought about Aaron and Rhys’ similarities: how they were both incredibly sweet, kindhearted men, how they loved making people laugh, or the way both could be serious, yet equally ridiculous.

“I think so Rhys, yeah. I think you would have gotten on well.” It was strange to think of the man I loved with my whole heart being friends with the man that was slowly possessing it, but it was remarkably right, like everything with Rhys.

He walked me home, laughing up my stairs when we remembered how I almost fell, and hugged me goodbye with the promise of tomorrow. With only two more rehearsals, I was going to savor them just in case.

∞

Late Monday night Rhys messaged thanking me for my forgiveness. He felt guilty, but I didn’t want him to keep carrying it as this tangible thing between us. I told him as such and then his answer left me floored.

Rhys: I know. I’ll stop. I just want you to understand that while it may seem I have everything with my job, wealth and such, I’ve never been so comfortable as I am with you. It’s different, serene even. You don’t care who I am, you just like me for me. It’s the best feeling because I haven’t felt that in a long time, it gets lonely. To think I could have risked that freaked me out a bit.

Me: I know, but rest easy. I’m not ditching you just yet. ;)

I answered playfully, but if he could’ve seen my face then he would have known I was speechless. It seemed that Rhys felt as alone as I did in the world, and with him in my life I realized I hated the feeling too.

I slept well that night, my heart a little lighter, floating on thoughts of him. I’d actually been sleeping better each day since we’d met. Sleep didn’t always elude me; in fact after Aaron died all I did was sleep. I got admitted about a week later for panic attacks, and the hospital had given me pills that worked wonders, allowing me to shut the world out when I closed my eyes. But weeks after burying him, I moved back in with my parents and that’s when sleep evaded me. Not only had I gone through a horrific loss, I had been uprooted back into my adolescent room. I was taken back in time with memories of a future I no longer had.

The image of Aaron deathly still in bed beside me hadn’t faded whatsoever. It was something I saw every couple of days in the back of my mind, sometimes in the empty space next to me when I woke up. I did a good job of avoiding such things, but it was seared into my memory. He looked so restful, so normal, but when I passed my hand over his chest and felt how firm it was, I knew something was wrong. He didn’t respond to my touch, he was cold and his soft belly rigid.

I hopped up beside him, trying to pat him, smacking his face to wake him, with no result. It felt like a cruel joke, something we’d fight about for days when he finally woke up, except he didn’t. Panic set in, and in my desperate screams to wake him, a neighbor knocked on the door. I continued screaming, they called the paramedics, and I couldn’t remember anything past that. They must have taken his body, or at least that’s what my mother told me. In wild shock, they’d called my next of kin, the one that wasn’t dead at least.

While I couldn’t remember the after, I don’t think I could ever forget that early morning image of him peacefully still in our bed, permanently asleep in his dream and gone in my nightmares. Sometimes I still dreamed about it, but I hadn’t in two weeks. That ghost of a moment hadn’t come to haunt me since Rhys.

∞

Our second to last meeting was spent in the park. I’d met him there again, too afraid to have him in the confines of my apartment. I think he believed it was a trust issue, that after he’d hurt me I needed space, but the truth was I was terrified of how much I liked him there. My apartment felt homier with him, and whenever he left it was void of life.

I dressed casually in shorts and a blue tank and was pleased to see he had finally let loose too. When I found him, he was wearing khaki shorts that showed off his amazing calves, a gray v-neck tee, and a baseball cap that covered his lovely waves. He looked pretty cute with the hat, in everything he wore, really. And he was happy again, joy surrounding him and rubbing off on me. “Good morning,” he said, offering me a quick hug.

“Morning.”

I observed how his eyes locked with mine, a confident smile on his face that coveted the open view of his laugh lines. They were deep despite his young thirty-two years, but they only added to his beauty as evidence of the delight he so often wore on his expression. We stared for a moment too long, magnetically hooked onto one another and the energy between us became palpable. The way he studied me back told me I wasn’t imagining it, that he felt something too. I broke the stare and noticing my coyness he looked away as well.

Staring at the water he said, “I thought we could practice on the pond today.”

“The rowboats?” I asked, squinting my eyes.

“Yes, are you afraid?”

“Kind of,” I admitted, shrugging my shoulders.

“I’ll take care of you.”

I believed him, but for how long? How long would he allow me to covetously use him for my own healing?

We got into the boats and Rhys swiftly rowed us out towards the middle, allowing us to float idly as we practiced lines. After an hour he leaned back into the boat and relaxed for a bit, stretching his arms out behind his head. I looked away for a second to avoid blatantly staring at him, only to quickly succumb to my temptation again. His arms always reminded me of the muscles on an animal, twitching and stretching as he moved, evident enough to look strong, without making his body seem heavy with muscle. He was stunning and with his eyes closed I was able to admire him for a few minutes.

I looked away again, worried he would open his eyes and catch me, only to spot a couple in another boat making out, and ultimately deciding that staring at him would be less awkward. He saw my reaction, his eyes open and frowning at my clumsy gaze. I would have loved to know what he was thinking, but maybe not. Subconsciously I started playing with my ponytail, having opted out of my usual bun. He began watching as I did it, so I pushed it towards the back of my neck again.

“Do you ever wear your hair loose?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Rarely. It’s too much work with the rain here.”

“You should wear it down more.”

I laughed it off to shun my nerves. “You would say that, you’re a man and don’t know how annoying it is managing hair this long.”

Shrugging his shoulders playfully he said, “Nonetheless, it’s still lovely on you.”

I was completely aware of what he was doing; at least I thought so. Rhys was more comfortable around me each day, and the compliments were starting to multiply. I reveled in it of course; they rushed over me like warmth on a cold London day, but I wasn’t sure if I was the only receiver of his sweet heart. I brushed him off again, forcing him to continue reading lines for another two hours.

He was amazing, having already memorized the majority of the play, and it would be false to say I wasn’t impressed by his portrayal of the prince. He transformed before me, from the carefree Rhys to the burdened Hamlet, and as he read Hamlet’s monologue, I could see the madness in his eyes, the mind being torn in both directions. It made me bashful, but I became excited to see him on stage, surrounded by cast, costumes and sets.

There was something uniquely sexy as I watched. He brought breath into my life’s study, exuding it with himself, with culture, masculinity too. If I weren’t already sexually attracted to him, I surely would have been after that moment without a doubt. He finished the famous monologue and sat back again to take a break. I’d still been watching him intently when he laughed, “What, no good?”

“No, you’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” he blushed. “That means the world coming from you.”

“I mean it, sincerely,” I nodded.

“I know you do.”

He then became awkward, unsure what to do with my compliment that touched him. Looking at his binder and flipping the pages, he suggested that we practice page thirty-four in the script. I wasn’t sure why he’d picked so specifically, but when I opened, I quickly figured it out.

“Seriously, Rhys?” He nodded and laughed full of mischief. “Fine, go for it,” I said, knowing full well he wouldn’t make it through the scene.

Page thirty-four consisted of act three, scene two, with a sexual conversation between Hamlet and Ophelia. It was loaded with innuendos about him laying his head in her lap and then lying between a woman’s legs, basically everything I didn’t want to think about around him. But it seemed Rhys had other plans.

He blushed through the entire scene, making me laugh internally because I knew he’d been trying to embarrass me, and it had backfired severely. We skipped over parts where other characters spoke, and it became hilarious to watch him try to stay in character. He said a line about taking off the edge to which Ophelia, or myself, called him sharp, and then at his next line he lost it.

“Yes, point, but you could take the edge off me - though it might make you
moan
a little.” I avoided his eyes knowing that just from the tone in his voice he was trying to be naughty. I became shy and heated, and when I finally looked up at his juvenile grin he broke character and doubled over in laughter.