Page 33 of Regal Feather
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It was way too early for someone to be calling, which meant my stomach curled up with anxiety. It had to be my parents, or something job-related.
A sign that I was spoiled rotten, but I really didn’t want to be my glorified mother’s errand boy today, of all days. For one thing, my dick still hurt. For another, I hadn’t even read all of Sir Ismael’s texts, but the number kept adding up—as well as the missed calls—and that all didn’t bode well for when I decided to actually check what he had to say.
And then there was the stuff with Santos. Santos, who was keeping stuff from me.
I couldn’t prove it. He didn’t have one specific tell or anything like that. I just knew there was more. He’d been more withdrawn, too, so clearly, there was something there.
My parents hadn’t given me any details. They were more subtle about their gossiping than Santos’s, but I still couldn’t tell if they’d known or not. It felt wrong to ask them anyway. It hurt that my best friend wouldn’t tell me, but I supposed the ship for getting upset about that had sailed with all the kink and everything else I’d kept from him as well.
Truthfully, I didn’t know how he was managing. I wouldn’t, if I were him. I’d be curled up in a ball and thinking that there was no point in trying because the world kept spinning and I couldn’t hold on to anything.
Instead, he was spooning me and squeezing me tighter as the phone kept buzzing.
I sighed.
Did I really have to check?
The connection here was spotty sometimes. I blamed the thick walls. I could just give it five minutes, see who had called, and proceed accordingly.
My stomach cramped up in knots before I could give that option any serious thought.
I’d never be taken seriously if I avoided responsibilities, even if they were as silly as picking up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart.” My mother’s voice made me plop back down against the pillow. I lowered the phone’s volume before she could say more. I didn’t know how Santos hadn’t woken up yet. He was always up before I was. What time even was it? “I thought for sure you’d be sleeping. I knew Santos would be a good influence for you.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was hard, but I didn’t squeak. I could behave like a completely functional adult that wasn’t about to be squished to death by his best friend. The best friend his mother was talking about as if it was no big deal.
“Anyway, I called to ask if it’s okay for us to stop by the house for a few days. I want to go through a couple of contracts in person for the new landscaping company we’re hiring, and it will be good to check in on Santos.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “Sure. That’s fine.”
Had we entered some kind of Twilight Zone? My parents never asked for my permission or gave me any heads-up when they were visiting. I just came back home from wherever I’d been, and suddenly the kitchen smelled like a professional chef was in charge of it and they were here.
“Perfect. I’ll book the flight, then. Love you, Everest.”
“Yeah. Love you.”
The words left a weird taste in my mouth, but it was nothing new. I just ended the call and turned around until I was face-to-face with a still sleeping Santos.
It was weirding me out. He had been sleeping more fitfully these past few days, but I hadn’t brought it up. I wasn’t sure why, but it had felt like the thing to do. Or, not do.
Ugh.
I had to get out of my head, stop getting distracted by my own shit, and figure out how to help him, stat.
Why couldn’t anyone in the inner circle be a therapist? That would speed up the process. I’d already reached out to Carlos, and I knew he’d given him the contact for a therapist or something like that, but it wasn’t like I could push more. Could I? I’d seen all the posts on social media that said therapy worked best when the person wanted to go.
Not that I thought he needed therapy, per se. But he needed something, and I didn’t know what it was or how to give it to him.
I knew the second he woke up, though, his muscles clenching before stretching, a low rumble caught at the back of his throat.
His eyelashes clung to his eyes as he tried to orient himself, a bit of a scruff shadowing his jawline.
