Page 3 of Elijah’s Whim

Christ, Bas was in a mood today. Grant was simply going to touch his shoulder in reassurance, and he almost bit the thing off. Luckily Grant was particularly gregarious at the moment. Shit, who was I trying to kid? He had been this happy every moment since things were on track between him and Rio again. He was just better at morphing with our buddy’s mood swings. That wasn’t to say, however, that I wasn’t on the receiving end of a few eye rolls and pleading glances conveying Do something, man!

“Sebastian, it’s not unheard of for friends to feel defensive when they think someone may have”—I rolled my eyes heavenward, searching for the right terminology—“misguided intentions toward one of their own. Understand?”

“Yes, of course I do,” he snapped. “You don’t have to be an asshole and speak to me like I’m five.”

“Well, sometimes I do. Especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships. But that’s okay, because I love you, man, and I’m here to guide you through the scary world of feelings.”

Saying that made my buddy cringe back from me like a vampire seeing sunlight, and I chuckled because I knew it would have that exact effect on him. At least he wasn’t wallowing anymore.

“Now tell us what this is about. I’m sure you aren’t fucking up your infant,” I urged.

Bas took a steadying breath, seeming to come to a decision by the way he finally let his shoulders relax with his exhalation. “Well, I’m doing something wrong, and I can’t figure out what it is. I read so many books while Abbi was pregnant. Seriously, it had to be at least ten.” He leaned back in the creaky chair in frustration, and the whole thing complained that time, not just the legs. But Bas was on a roll. “Now that he’s here, nothing is going as planned. He just doesn’t like me. I think it’s that simple.” He looked from Grant to me for some sort of input, but before either of us could come up with something to lure him in off the ledge he had himself out on, he continued.

“Abbi holds him”—he shrugged—“he’s totally fine. Happy, content, calm. But the minute I pick him up or she hands him to me, he cries. Nothing I do calms him down.” He thrust both hands back through his perfectly styled hair in frustration before continuing. “So I’ve been studying what she does with him on the security cameras, you know, to get tips on how to be better at this whole parent thing. But I swear! I’m doing the exact same things she is!”

By the end of his speech, he was shouting. The poor man had himself so worked up over this, he was yelling about it. I didn’t want to be insensitive and chuckle, but when I looked over to Grant—Bas’s head now cradled in his palms—I saw he was beet red from holding in the same reaction.

Once Grant and I made eye contact, there was no going back. The dam burst, and we broke into a fit of raucous laughter.

“You know what?” Bas shouted, standing so abruptly that old chair finally gave in. But instead of rocking back like physics would’ve dictated, the decrepit seat crumpled in on itself to make an awkward and sad pile of metal and PVC right behind Sebastian’s feet.

“You two are assholes,” Bas continued. “You conned me into opening up to you, and when I finally did, you fucking laugh at me. You won’t be laughing when you’re in this situation.” He stabbed his thick index finger to the top of the table, and the whole thing yawed to the left. We all lurched back after seeing what just happened to the chair, but Bas was on a roll, so he barely skipped a beat. He simply pointed his meaty finger in Grant’s face instead.

“You’ll see!” he ended with a shout, his broad chest pumping in and out with each breath.

“Calm down, Bas,” I said, trying to be the diplomat. “We’re not laughing at you. It’s the situation that’s a little funny. And I can’t even say ‘look at it from our perspective,’ because you’re too wound up to do that, too.”

“He’s probably sensing your tension,” Grant said calmly, not remotely ruffled from Bas’s outburst inches from his face.

“What?” Bas stopped his pacing and waited for Twombley to explain.

Grant shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t that a thing? Babies and animals can tell when you are scared or nervous or whatever. They can feel it in your aura or some shit.”

“In my aura?” Sebastian looked at me for a long beat and then swung his head back to look directly at Grant again, then repeated, “In my aura? Are you fucking for real, man?”

“I don’t know!” Grant threw his hands up in frustration then too. “Do you see a baby here with me? No! And that’s precisely why. I don’t know dick about them. But I sure as hell know how to not have one, though. Wear a damn condom, man!”

“Even I know it’s a little late for that. And I think we can all agree I’m the furthest from ready to start a family,” I said, trying to get these two to cool down. But when they both looked at me with the same expression on their faces, I felt like the one who was going to need a cool down.

“What?” I barked when they both just stared at me like I sprouted a second head.

“Dude,” Grant said as though that were a chapter’s worth of words of explanation.

“What?” I repeated, getting a little pissed, which I worked daily at not doing.

“Banks, come on. This is us,” Bas said, gesturing a jerky triangle between the three of us. “We were there, remember?”

Goddammit. Why did it always come back to this? To her? I could run, but I couldn’t hide. And even when I did forget about Ms. Hensley Pritchett and the upheaval she caused in my very carefully orchestrated existence, someone else was right there to remind me. But why did it have to be one of these two? It felt like a betrayal of the worst kind.

When I stared at the ground too long, Grant approached cautiously. No joke—cautiously.

“Elijah, look, we didn’t mean anything by any of that. It was insensi—”

But I cut off his explanation. An explanation I wasn’t interested in hearing or having to comment on afterward. “Just stop. I’m not your woman. You don’t have to tiptoe around me in fear of my reaction to something you said that may have been out of line. The wildest I get with fire is in my fireplace, man.”

When I finally looked up, I expected to find fury in his blue stare, and I was ready. I welcomed it—hoped for it, as a matter of fact. Instead, I was almost knocked to the ground by the pain I saw there. Because it was pain I caused, and I did it because I was a coward. I was no better than a playground bully.

But instead of fists, I used my words because I didn’t want to face my own emotional scars. I lashed out at my dearest friend—my brother—all because he was trying to help me. These two men were better friends than I deserved. I let my head drop forward again until my chin hit my chest. Even when Grant began speaking, it took a few words before I leveled my gaze to his.