Code Word (The Atrous Series Book 3), page 4
I bent down by the fire, stoked it before throwing on another log. I went to ask Luke if he wanted another beer, but he was gone, the bathroom door closing behind him.
Right, then.
I grabbed myself another beer, parked my ass on the couch, and picked up a book from the side table.
The thing about these cabins was that they were built for us to unwind, to escape the constant barrage of media, and to just be ourselves without the outside world.
But that also meant no TV, no internet. We could use phones in the barn—only for Wes’s benefit with the baby—but there was nothing else but us and silence.
And that silence was starting to get a little loud.
There was no escaping us.
There was nowhere to hide from the gaping hole between us. Nothing to fill the void.
Just us. Luke and me and a whopping big fucking elephant in the room neither one of us could look in the eye.
That easiness between us was gone.
And I didn’t know what scared me the most: that he was the one letting go or that I didn’t know how to stop him.
It was an awful, horrible, no-good feeling.
“Hey,” Luke said from the bedroom door, startling me. He pointed his thumb to the bed. “I’m gonna crash. I’m really fucking beat.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up. “Lemme just fix the fire.”
He seemed confused by this for a split second, until he realized that I meant I’d join him. “Oh, you don’t . . . I mean, you can stay out here, I didn’t mean you had to . . .”
I showed him the book I wasn’t even reading. “I can read in there; it’s fine.”
He blinked and I could have sworn he frowned before he turned and disappeared into the bedroom. “You still sleep on the left, right?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
I fixed the fire and turned the lights off, and then I stubbed my toe on the bed frame. “Ow. Motherfucker.”
Luke’s quiet chuckle kinda made it worth it. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my poor little toe. “It’s not broken. Thanks for the sympathy though.”
He snorted quietly. “You’re welcome.”
I switched on the lamp on the side table, making him groan in protest as he pulled his pillow over his face.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, propping up my pillow at my back and opening the book.
Luke sighed and resettled his pillow. “Well, if you’re gonna keep me awake, you may as well read it out loud to me.”
I froze, because what the fuck? “You want me to read to you?”
“Mm.” He closed his eyes. “Start at page one.”
Okay then.
I opened the book to page one.
“What’s it about, anyway?” he asked quietly.
“Some government agency spy shit at some Arctic base.”
“Oh, good. Some government agency spy shit at some Arctic base is my favorite genre.”
I snorted and began reading.
He was sound asleep by page three.
I watched him for a minute or two, his sleeping face, the dark circles under his eyes, his eyelids, his eyelashes, the way his lips parted. He looked peaceful, at least, and if he needed me to read him this stupid book so he could sleep, then I’d do exactly that.
I had to wonder what was going on inside his head. What troubles he couldn’t tell me.
And I tried to think back to when something changed. When did things start to change?
I knew the answer. I didn’t really want to admit it, but I knew . . .
Becca.
When I began dating his sister.
When I began spending time with her. He’d said he was okay with it, but in hindsight, he’d only said that because it was what we wanted to hear.
The truth was: things between Bec and me weren’t great.
The week away with her had brought that to light. Would ending things with her make this issue with Luke better or worse? Would things go back to how they were?
I wasn’t sure we could.
With a heavy sigh, I slid the book onto the bedside table, shuffled down the bed, and pulled my pillow under my head.
Luke stirred, mumbling something that sounded a lot like my name, and then moved over and slid his arm over my chest.
Damn.
We’d shared a bed a thousand times, and he’d always been a cuddler. So I pulled him in closer, reached over, and turned the lamp off. The room cast into a peaceful darkness, and I’d be lying if I said the body warmth wasn’t nice.
I pulled the covers up around his shoulders and he snuggled in closer, his head now in the crook of my arm, muttering in his sleep. Then he threw his leg over mine and I tightened my arm around him. This was us. This was who we’d always been. We’d always been touchy-feely with each other. Physical touch between us was normal. Hell, it was even comforting for me. I loved it when he sat on me or slung his arm around my shoulder. He made me feel a kind of peace I couldn’t explain.
He felt like home.
I sighed into his hair, and closed my eyes.
I woke up alone.
FIVE
I wished now that Maddox and Roscoe weren’t coming. I wished we were already back in LA, but above all that, I wished I knew what the hell I’d done wrong.
I dunno what the fuck had changed between last night and waking up, but when I fell asleep, he was out cold with his head on my chest. When I woke up, he was gone.
He’d thrown some logs on the fire and started the coffee machine, but he was . . . well, I didn’t know where he was.
I pulled on my coat and boots and only made it as far as the porch steps when I heard his keyboard coming from the barn. He was working on something new. From the way he’d play and then stop, I knew he was writing notes in his book.
He must have woken up with a new song in his head, inspired or something. It didn’t sound like a particularly happy song, but inspiration and productivity were a good thing.
Him writing music again was a good thing.
So I went back into my cabin, made two coffees, and took them both back into the barn. “Hey,” I said, putting his cup beside him.
He gave me one of those painful smiles for half a second before he looked away. “Oh. Hey. Uh, thanks. For the coffee.”
“Been out here long?”
“Uh, a while,” he replied, ignoring his coffee. Ignoring me. He played more of the song he was working on as if I wasn’t even there.
What the fuck?
“Want some breakfast?”
He didn’t stop playing, didn’t look up. “No thanks.”
I stood there for a few long, awkward seconds, not knowing what the fuck to do.
Before I could say anything, he plugged in his headphones and put them on, effectively ending any hope of conversation.
Well, fuck that.
I couldn’t believe it.
I couldn’t believe he did that. That he would treat me like that, that he wouldn’t even fucking look at me, let alone speak to me.
Getting the message loud and clear, I walked out and went back into my cabin. I leaned against the kitchen counter, tried sipping my coffee, but gave up on the idea when my stomach churned.
I was so confused and hurt.
And angry.
This was utter bullshit.
“Fuck this,” I mumbled, pushing off and heading to the bedroom. I pulled out my duffle bag, threw my clothes in it—clean, dirty, it didn’t fucking matter—ignored the unmade bed, and tossed my bag by the front door, ready to leave.
You said you’d give him as much time as it took . . .
I began pulling everything out of the fridge when a familiar car pulled into the camp.
Fuck!
Maddox got out first, followed by Roscoe. Maddox let out their two dogs. Their fur babies, as they called them.
I wished they hadn’t come.
I wished I didn’t have to now explain what the fuck was going on, because I didn’t know where to start.
With a long sigh, I shut the fridge and went out front. “Hey,” I said, loud enough for them to hear.
Maddox gave me a grin as he headed over. “Hey,” he replied, trudging up the steps and giving me a hug. “What’s new?”
I barked out a laugh. “How much time you got?” I said bitterly.
His eyes cut to mine. “No good, huh?”
I shook my head. “Worse today, for some reason.”
Maddox frowned. “Did something happen between you?”
Something happen?
“No, we didn’t fight,” I replied. “I thought last night he was doing okay, but then this morning, he wouldn’t even look at me, let alone speak to me. He’s in the barn, working on something. I went in there and tried to talk to him, but he put his headphones on and ignored me.”
“Shit.”
“I know, right?” I shook my head. “Something’s not right, Madz. He won’t talk to me. Fuck, he couldn’t even look at me.” I pointed my chin to inside my cabin. “I was just packing up, actually. There’s not much point in my being here if he won’t even look at me.”
Maddox’s mouth pulled downward. “You don’t know why?”
I shook my head. “We shared a bed last night.” He shot me an incredulous look and I felt an immediate need to explain. “That way we only have to use one fire, and all the food’s in mine, so it made sense.” I was going to explain about him sleeping better when he was with me but thought better of it. “He was long gone by the time I woke up. Pretty safe to assume he didn’t sleep much.”
In the end I shrugged. “I don’t know what to do. I thought coming up here would be good for him, but honestly, going home seemed like my only option.”
“I’ll talk to him,” he said quietly.
“Good luck with that,” I replied sarcastically.
Maddox clapped my shoulder and gave the back of my neck a squeeze just as Roscoe headed toward us.
God, the way Maddox smiled whenever he saw Roscoe and vice versa. It was as if they took turns hanging the moon.
I missed that warmth, that rush of affection, of admiration.
I wanted that.
Becca and I certainly never had that kind of relationship. It wasn’t bad, per se; it just wasn’t earth-shattering. It wasn’t swooning and shy smiling like these two. Jeez, even married, they were still so ridiculously in love and so comfortable in their relationship. They made love look so damn easy. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had that. Not with Becca. Not with anyone.
I was envious.
The only person in my entire life I’d ever felt that comfortable with now wouldn’t even look at me. Not that Luke and I were like Maddox and Roscoe; that’s not what I meant.
God, I was so confused.
“Hey, how’s my favorite cat herder?” I asked Roscoe as he got closer.
He grinned. “It’s dog herder now,” he said, gesturing to where their two fur-kids were off in different directions, sniffing everything they could get their noses to.
“I’ll take them for a bit of a walk,” Madz said, skipping down the steps. He put his hand to Roscoe’s belly as he walked past and gave me a smile over his shoulder. “I’ll tell Luke he’s on uncle duty. Maybe the sunshine might do him some good.”
Roscoe trudged up the steps, kicking the dirt off his boots on the treads as he did.
“Maddox looks good,” I said quietly, watching as Madz disappeared into the barn. “Well, he always looks good,” I amended, and Roscoe chuckled. “Happiness looks good on him.”
The truth was, Maddox didn’t just look happy. He looked settled and well-adjusted, as if the weight of the world was no longer on his shoulders, and he was finally living his life how he wanted.
The noose of Atrous was gone; the scrutiny, the pressure, was no longer squeezing his neck.
He’d even put on a few pounds, which certainly didn’t hurt him. He’d always been a touch too lean, pushing his body to its limits like he used to. Like we all used to. Now he worked out for fun, with Roscoe, and Jeremy and Steve sometimes, too.
But Roscoe was the reason for Maddox’s true happiness.
Maddox had once said that Roscoe loved him so completely, and I guess it showed in just how good he looked.
“Are you sure he’s not pregnant?” I asked, waving my hand in the general area of my face. “He has a certain glow.”
Roscoe snorted and gave me a shove. “Fuck off.”
“Want a coffee?”
“Sure.”
He followed me into the cabin, and when I was waiting for the coffee machine to heat up, Roscoe nodded to my bag. “Leaving?”
I sighed. “Was gonna, yeah. Don’t think there’s much point in staying, to be honest. Sorry you guys made the trip.”
“It’s no big deal. We were gonna stay a few nights anyway. We often do. We love it up here.”
The machine beeped and I poured him a mug, handing it to him before pouring my own. We went back out to the porch, and I was surprised to see Maddox and Luke walking up to the rise.
I was shocked, honestly, that Maddox had gotten Luke to do anything.
“Luke hasn’t been himself,” Roscoe said, his way of breaking the ice. “Maddox said, at any rate.”
I sighed. “That’s one way to put it, I guess.” I didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but fuck, man. “I don’t know what’s up. He won’t talk to me.”
“He broke up with Vana,” Roscoe offered, then he shrugged when I looked at him. “Platinum released a statement, saying they’d ended on good terms, remain close friends, wish each other well, blah-blah-blah. It was on Entertainment Tonight.”
I sighed. “Of course it was.”
Sure, Vana was still contracted under Platinum, so I understood, but fuck, I hated that shit.
“I thought that’s what might have been bothering him,” I said. “But nope. He’s spoken to her since we’ve been up here. He wanted to apologize for how things ended.”
God, I’d almost forgotten about that conversation, what I’d overheard her say to him, about him being in love with someone else. Which, for all I knew, might have been a fake excuse he’d told her to make it all more final.
“They haven’t really been on good terms for a while,” I added. “Not really. But to be fair, they also hadn’t been in the same city much these last few months.”
Roscoe sighed. “It can’t be easy. Hell, it was hard enough for me and Maddox, and we were away together, not across the country. Or planet.”
“I don’t think long distance was their issue,” I added quietly. I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “Fuck, I dunno. I dunno what’s going on inside his head. He’s never been like this before. He’s writing music again, though,” I allowed. “It’s been a while.”
“Do you think he misses the band life? The work, being busy, and surrounded by constant music production? The fame, the headlines?”
I took a large swallow of my coffee. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Maybe?”
“Maybe he liked knowing who he was in Atrous,” Roscoe said gently. “Knowing where he fit in, what was expected of him, what his job was every day. But also you guys, all of you, together every day, against the rest of the world, and now . . . well, now he doesn’t have that.”
“But he does,” I countered. “He has me. And the others. All of us.” Even though it really wasn’t the same, and I could rationalize the point Roscoe was making was fair. “He has me.”
“You were away for a week,” he said.
It wasn’t accusatory; it wasn’t said with malice or sarcasm.
“And he spiraled,” Roscoe added quietly.
“What are you saying?”
He put his free hand up in a peaceful surrender. “Nothing. I’m just trying to paint a picture of what happened.”
I let out a sigh, trying not to be so damn defensive, so angry.
So hurt.
But then I noticed Luke and Madz up on the rise with the dogs and Luke was clearly talking, running his hand through his hair, but he was the one who was talking.
To Maddox. Not to me.
And that anger and hurt flared in my chest like a wildfire burning through me. “What the fuck?”
Roscoe’s line of sight went from me to them, back to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Why is he talking to him?”
Roscoe gave me a what-the-fuck look. “What do you mean?”
“Why is he talking to him?” I repeated. “And not me. Why won’t he talk to me?”
I was so fucking mad—so fucking hurt—that I began to walk toward them, but Roscoe grabbed my arm to stop me.
I shot him and his hand a filthy look. “The fuck, Roscoe?”
Now it was his turn to sigh. “Blake,” he warned. “Let them talk. Isn’t him talking a good thing?”
In that moment, I realized a whole lotta things all at once.
Yes, it was good he was talking. But no, it wasn’t, because he wasn’t talking to me. And he wasn’t talking to me because he didn’t want me anymore.
And I didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but god, I hated how it made me feel.
Like my bones felt wrong.
Then I watched as Luke put his hands on his sides and leaned forward as though he’d just run some sprints, and Maddox put his hand around the back of Luke’s neck and pulled him in for a hug. And Luke went so fucking willingly.
My stomach plummeted to the ground, my legs felt all tingly, and my heart squeezed to the point of pain.
Christ, I wanted to cry.
What the fuck.
I couldn’t get my head around any of it. Or my heart.
And I certainly couldn’t bear watching it.
I turned and went inside, reminding myself to breathe because my lungs wouldn’t fucking work.
I knew then that I was leaving and Luke wasn’t coming with me. I just knew it. Like I knew that something had changed, and our friendship had gone past something it couldn’t return to.
I didn’t understand it, but I understood the hurt, and I understood that Luke didn’t want or need me around.
And the bottom line was, I guess, I didn’t need to know any more than that.
You said you’d give him the time he needed . . .
Yeah, that was before he broke up with me.
