Aden

I am so fucking ecstatic. Part of me still can’t even comprehend that it’s happening, but I couldn’t care less. I’ll finally be able to spend time with the man I’ve been looking for. Even if it means starting at square one again, that’s fine.

The doctors decided it was a good idea for Logan to stay another night. Just to monitor his lungs for a little longer. Leaving him that day had been a little difficult. Sure he was being a little brat, but I knew it wasn’t without reason. God, the things he’d probably been through. I can’t even imagine. And the few things that I can have my skin crawling.

Calling my father hadn’t necessarily been easy, either. But I wanted him to know, considering his money was what I relied on to keep a roof over my head. Thankfully, he agreed that it was best for mom to be left entirely oblivious to the situation. After that, I used the rest of my day to fix up a space for Logan in my small living room.

Navy-blue blackout curtains made up two temporary walls while the back corner of the living room sealed the area up. It’d been Henry’s idea, his disappearance from my side momentarily startling until he returned with four packages of the heavy material. I couldn’t help but feel a new fondness towards my best friend, his consideration for a man he only knew as important to me abundant in a way I wasn’t expecting it to be.

When we were done, the little area seemed cozy. One of the living room’s four windows had been sealed off within the perimeter, letting fading orange rays dance over the L-shaped faux leather couch and a cheap black coffee table I’d bought from Wal Mart ages ago. Tucked between the wall and the television was a portable closet with two rails to hang clothes up and a compact set of plastic drawers at the bottom. I’d seen the battered backpack Logan had at the hospital, knowing it couldn’t hold that much clothing, but I planned on fixing that as soon as I could.

Then, at the center of the coffee table, sipping at the last of the day’s sunlight, was a potted plant. It looked like the black velvet of a night’s sky from afar, but I knew it was actually a deep shade of purple. A minor detail, sure, but certainly one Logan would immediately jump on. Long tendrils hung from glistening blooms, brushing against thick green leaves.

Bat orchids had always been his favorite. In searching for one to purchase, they’d become mine, too. Their blossoms so intricate, a farrago of beauty and chaos. Getting one for myself was out of the question. It’d last a week, tops. But under Logan’s green thumb, these finicky flowers would thrive.

Henry helped assemble most of it. He offered advice here and there, gave his input when requested, and ended up finding the nursery we purchased the orchid from. Entering the endearing greenhouses made of stone and climbing vines grew ideas for later use, and I was incredibly thankful that Henry had spotted it wedged between two looming apartment complexes. Amalee Grows was the cute name that accompanied it.

But, Henry didn’t just help set up Logan’s new living space, quickly picking up on an essential detail I’d overlooked in my eagerness.

“Want me to pick the lad up when he’s discharged?” he asks around the boxes we’re towing to the recycling bins. They’re on the farthest side of my apartment’s parking lot. Because, of course.

I absentmindedly punt a pebble skipping across the asphalt. Clicks singing a snappy tune as it races into the distance. “I mean, I guess you can come with? Why?”

“Eegit. I swear you’d lose your damn head without me ‘round.”

I furrow my brows. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Henry sighs like what he’s saying isn’t blatantly obvious. “You have one of your EMT classes tomorrow, dimwit.”

“Oh, shit,” I say, the information registering. I look back at him. “You’re right. Would you-I mean, I know you offered, but you’d be cool? Picking him up?”

He grunts, pulling the gate to the dumpster open. “Don’t see why not, sure.”

Like I said. Sincerity swathed Henry when it was needed the most. Pressure shoves my cheeks up from the grin stretching over my lips. “Thanks, dude. I owe you one,” I say, throwing the boxes into the blue bin. Everything is falling into place.

Except for one monstrous nightmare that shadowed any progress made. Mary always wanted expense reports. If they went too high, there better be a damn good reason for it. Let’s just say that “I finally found Logan after a decade of looking because you sent him away, and now he’s living with me” is not an answer she’d be happy with. I’d talk to dad about it, but…. he’s already done a lot to help me get where I wanna go. Not gonna burden him with another task revolving around Mary.

Thinking about it makes my jaw clench. I’ve always strayed away from hatred. It’s such a pure, vitriolic emotion that I don’t honestly think people can contain without turning acidic themselves. But if one person deserved it, Mary would be that person.

Strengthening resolve relieves the pressure my teeth are suffering from. Last time that bitch separated us, I was only fifteen and couldn’t do shit about it. I’m not fifteen anymore. It’s been ten years since then, and I was more than capable of taking care of Logan. Protecting him as he should have been all this time. If that meant walking away from my current way of life, so be it.

I grimace. The only thing that could tear us apart—the only thing I’d let separate us…. is Logan.

“Why don’t ya just use the money from the internship?”

A surprised yelp escapes me, the asphalt scraping beneath me as his voice tickles my ear.

“Jesus! Henry! Do you still not understand the boundaries of personal space, man?” I snap, trying to steady my racing heart.

“Funnier this way, mate,” he retorts with a chuckle, throwing his hands behind his head. “But seriously,” he continues, jerking his chin in the direction of the holographic expense sheet displayed from my phone, “use the money from the internship. Ya know. To cover it up. Mary shouldn’t have a problem with ya spending your own damn money.”

Aggravation pulls my lids low as I send Henry a narrow-eyed glance. “You’ve only met her once, dude. And she put on a hell of a show for it.” I snort, folding the piece of paper and stuffing it back into my pocket. “Even if it’s my money, she’ll wanna know where it’s going. She’s a God among control freaks.”

“Hmm,” Henry hums thoughtfully.

“That’s not even counting that an extra person means extra water and electricity. Gas, groceries.” I throw my head back as I draw my own conclusion. “Fuck, I’m so screwed.” Hiding Logan’s existence from her was going to be impossible.

“Tell her you got a roommate,” Henry offered without missing a beat. “Use my own name if ya need to.”

I stop walking and set my gaze on him. “Really? You’d be cool with that?”

Henry turns to meet my eyes. “Sure. Don’t see why not.”

Upturning lips fall to a frown as I stride to walk next to him, my tongue striking out and kissing the back of my teeth. “No. That’s not gonna work,” I sourly give my reply. “She’ll catch on to my roommate not paying his bills.”

Blue orbs grow humorous with his laugh. “Any more of this, and there’ll be less of it, ya twat. I know you’re smarter than this.”

I blink, not knowing what the hell he’s meaning. Sometimes I pick up on his Irish slang, and other times I’m left entirely in the dark. Today, it’s the latter, and my expression apparently makes it obvious.

Henry drags a melodramatic hand over his face. “By the-Aden. You don’t have to tell the cunt you’re making money on the internship. And don’t tell me ya can’t tell a wee white lie ‘cause you and I both know that’s shit.”

Rapturous warmth encompasses my heart. I feel like I’m physically glowing at the hope Henry’s words bring. The possibilities flare to the surface as plans begin threading themselves together.

He was right. Hide away any trace of monetary gain from the internship. Pay her what my new “roommate” owes and leave her none the wiser. If it paid enough, maybe I’d even have a little leftover for—

“Henry. We don’t even know if we got the internship.” Fractured lines devour my plan, score marks tearing it to shreds.

“Ah, we’ll get it,” he immediately replies. “Ya just need to stop being so bloody pessimistic.”

“I’m not pessimistic,” I retaliate, my door swinging open. “I’m realistic. I’m not formulating plans around an idea that will just end up f—”

Henry smacks the center of my back, putting a stop to my words. “Optimism runs with reality more oft than naught.”

I blink at the interruption.

Every once in a while, when he’s void of his usual happy-go-lucky, carefree personality, Henry slips into what feels like a completely different person. His Irish lilt fades. Only a murmur of its existence riding words that I wouldn’t believe existed in his dictionary if I hadn’t heard him speak them with so much confidence. It always catches me off guard. Maybe I should be worried about it. But I’m always surprisingly free of any kind of unease, warmth blooming in the falling sheets of his voice.

A smile pulls at my lips, comfort massaging tension from rigid muscles. Scattered flurries of gaiety dance like butterflies in my chest. My eyes travel to the sectioned-off part of my living room, the feeling spreading until a fire warms every cell in my body.

“Drinks?” Henry offers, his lilt returning as he plops himself on a stool at the breakfast bar.

It pulls me out of this blissful cloud I’d found myself caught in. “Not tonight. Maybe a sesh instead?”

Henry scowls. He has to be in a pretty particular mood for the green.

“Oh, come on, man,” I say, rolling my eyes as I pull cream, cheese, and fresh basil from the refrigerator. “It’ll make you a little sluggish, but you don’t have any classes tomorrow. Besides, it’s so much better than drinking.”

“Dry shite. Forgot you’re a pussy.”

“Bro! Seriously! Captain Kohler is already noticing how often we go to the bar. And we both know he’s more lenient with potheads than he is with alcoholics.”

“Not an alcoholic.”

Narrowing eyes direct my glare towards him. “I know you’re not an alcoholic,” I clarify. “But that doesn’t matter to Kohler, and you know it.”

“Never expected you to be such an obedient little bitch,” he grumbles, scratching at the darker red stubble shading his sharp jawline.

“I have no problem admitting that I’m fucking terrified of him. He’s a god damn beast that I prefer to never piss off,” I retort, laying out my ingredients for dinner on the island in front of me. “‘Sides, I give far more often than I take.” The sly smile navigating my lips only grows at the confusion in his expression.

Crimson dusts his cheeks soon after. “Ya bloody fuck, that’s manky! Ya can’t just t-bone me out of the blue like that!” He fumbles off of the stool. “Fine, don’t come with me, then. But I need something to wash that fucking image out of my brain.”

I hear padded footsteps heading towards my door. “Oh, come now, Henry. You telling me you don’t want dinner?” Food always made a fantastic lure.

Pupils dilated with hunger wander over fresh basil and the macaroni noodles blocking the other ingredients. Only the sound of a pot hitting the stovetop breaks the silent permeation lingering in the air between us, followed by the clicking of the pilot light.

With my elbows on the counter, I hold the box of uncooked pasta just below my eye level. “You sure you don’t want to put theses noodles in—”

“Nope-nope, fuck you-fuck you,” he retorts, giving me his middle finger before slipping out the door.

I return to the task at hand with a chuckle. “Ah. He’ll be back.”

Pale blue light touches my phone’s screen just as the last few noodles leave their boxed sanctuary. I open the text and smile.

Irish Cream: [Sent 6:07 PM] I can’t deal with your shit when I’m sober >:( I’ll be back in an hour and it better be the best bloody macaroni I’ve ever had, you fucking cunt.

“Knew it.” I chuckle to myself as I stir the softening pasta.