Even from over five hundred miles away.
Lilly
"OH, SWEETIE. WE'VE got to find a way to turn that frown upside down."
I looked up from tracing random patterns on the scarred wooden top of my desk and offered Kyle a pathetic excuse for a smile. He scowled in return. "That's not going to cut it, beautiful."
"Sorry," I offered. I felt bad, honestly. I'd been a pain to be around for the past several weeks. Honestly, I was shocked that Kyle and Samantha hadn't gotten tired of my doom and gloom demeanor yet and kicked me out of my own studio. I was seriously bringing the morale of the place down. Hell, I'd spent Christmas and New Year's moping around my parents' house like someone had just kicked my puppy. They watched on with equal concern, but neither of them pushed, giving me space to come to them if I needed it.
Eventually, on New Year's Day I sat down with my father and told the story once more for him as Mom flittered around the kitchen cooking our traditional New Year's dinner. He offered me a steady shoulder, but kept his opinions of Quinn to himself, telling me he'd said all he needed to say the night of the Winter Showcase; that I was a grownup who was going to travel my own paths, but at the end of the day he'd be there for me no matter what.
"I've just got a lot on my mind," I said to Kyle.
He walked through the doorway and plopped down in the torn leather chair across from my desk. "I'd say. You've got about six feet, three inches, and 22o pound of muscular man on your mind. Yeah, babe. That's a lot."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and sat back in exasperation. "What's wrong with me, Kyle? It's been a month. Why am I still hung up on a guy who never really wanted me in the first place?"
His eyes grew sympathetic as he studied me. I was not going to cry. I wasn't! I'd cried more than any sane human being thought possible these past few months. I couldn't risk another tear. I'd more than likely die of dehydration.
"Honey bun, that's easy. It's because you love him."
I dropped my head into my hands with a groan. "I do. Damn it. It's so easy to fall into love, but fucking impossible to fall out. It's not fair, Kyle!"
"If it's any consolation, he does want you."
I snorted at that. "You're wrong."
Sitting forward in the chair, he propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "I'm not. That man was crazy about you, but he's broken, Lil. Undeniably so. I've never seen a man more shattered before, and that's really saying something, seeing as I'm a gay man who was raised in a strict Southern Baptist household. Talk about being shattered."
"I just … " I pulled a deep breath in through my nose and let it out on a heavy, heart-sick sigh. "I wanted to help him. Every time I got close enough to help fix things he'd push me away."
"Oh, sweetheart." His tone was so soft, so full of sympathy that my eyes began to burn. "You can't fix a man like that."
One lone tear broke free and slid down my cheek. Sniffling, I batted it away and looked over at Kyle angrily. "So, what? He's just supposed to walk around living half a life until the day he dies? How is that fair, Kyle? Explain that to me."
Standing from the chair, he made his way around the desk and squatted down so he could wrap his arms around me. "I didn't say that," he whispered. "What I mean is, you can't fix a man like that. But you can try to be what he needs in order to make him want to fix himself."
The heaviness of my emotions was too much to bear at the moment, the weight of everything sat on me like bricks. I needed to lighten the tension, so pulling out of Kyle's arms, I gave a small laugh and asked, "So you're like a gay Gandhi now?"
Being a good enough friend to know exactly what I was doing, he gave me the out I was in desperate need of and teased back. "Don't hate on my mad intellectual skills."
I let out a watery laugh and stood up, wrapping my arms around Kyle's trim waist and resting my head on his chest as he returned my hug. Kyle really gave the best hugs. "Thanks."
"Anything, honey bun. You know that."
We pulled apart, Kyle heading for the door as I set about locking up the studio for the night. My cellphone rang just as I hit the back stairs to my apartment.
"Hey Mom, what's up?"
"Sweetheart."
Her voice cracked on that one word, the tears so evident in her voice that every fiber in my body froze, my blood running cold.
The hairs on my arm stood on end as I asked the question I dreaded the answer to. "Mom? What's wrong?"
"Honey, I need … I need you to come home. Your father … "
"No," I shook my head frantically as uncontrollable tears broke free. "No. No!"