By Chance (Courtland Chronicles) (4 page)

He cast a quick look around the room, alarmed at the messy bedcovers spilling onto the floor, half-empty coffee cups and a bottle of aspirin littering the bedside table. The air smelled stale and sour. If he squinted, he could still see the spot on the carpet where she’d vomited last weekend.

“Why don’t you get dressed and take a walk outside with me?” he asked softly, giving her hand a tiny squeeze. “Give Estellita a chance to clean up the room.”

“Oh, I don’t know… It looks terribly cold.”

“Actually, it’s pretty mild today. At least we’re not knee-deep in snow like we usually are this time of year. Let’s take advantage of it while we can.” He smiled the widest smile he could muster. “I could use a little fresh air myself after a whole week cooped up in stuffy classrooms.”

She thought it over a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. “All right. I’ll throw something on and meet you in the foyer.”

He stopped in his room two doors down to deposit his backpack. It looked exactly as he’d left it last weekend, books and CDs lining the shelves on either side of his desk in perfectly even rows, the bed neatly made, every visible surface pristine and free of clutter.

Usually he found such order comforting, but today he couldn’t suppress a twitch of irritation. Looked like no one had set foot in here in ages. Ironic, since he’d spent most of his childhood in this room, when he wasn’t hiding out in the kitchen with Estellita.

On the other hand, he mused as he slipped his gloves back on and headed downstairs, maybe he was just getting used to Nick leaving his mess everywhere.

His mother joined him a few minutes later, dressed now in a cable-knit turtleneck sweater the color of blackberries and black wool slacks tucked into knee-high snow boots. An artful application of makeup had concealed the dark circles and given her a touch of healthy color. Eric smiled softly. No matter how much of a mess she was otherwise, she never left her room without looking absolutely stunning.

Eric got her black sable coat from the foyer closet and helped her on with it, draping a cashmere scarf over her hair before ushering her out the door into the frozen January afternoon.

“Mom,” he said quietly, “there’s something we need to talk about.”

She looked at him as if she had no idea what he meant, but he knew better. “Darling, we’re having such a nice time. Why do you want to—”

“This has been preying on my mind for a while. I can’t let it go any longer.” He glanced down at the wet pavement, then sucked in a breath and forged ahead. “How many times have you overdosed now? Five? Six? Even I’ve lost count.”

“I, I can’t help it, sweetheart. Sometimes I forget how many tranquilizers I’ve taken. You know I need them when my back gives me trouble.”

He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. Denial had become her default setting. But it’d taken him all week to screw up enough courage to broach the subject. He wasn’t about to back down now. “Maybe the first time was an accident, but not the rest. We can’t keep on pretending nothing’s wrong. You need help, Mom. Professional help.”

She stared at him. “A psychiatrist, you mean?”

“That, or maybe even rehab.”

Her chin quivered. “No. I’ve been in enough hospitals to last me the rest of my life.”

“Then we’ll find you a good therapist. Somebody who’ll help you get off the pills and the liquor for good.”

“We’re private people, Eric. Your father’s an important man. He wouldn’t approve of me sharing the intimate details of our lives with some stranger.”

He’d tried to be patient, but this was beyond the fucking pale. “Oh, for God’s sake, what do you care what he thinks? He’s got no right telling you what to do. You haven’t even lived together in five years!”

“
Stop it!
” She tried to back away, nearly losing her footing on a slippery patch, until Eric darted forward and caught her by the elbow. “Why are you saying these things to me?”

“Because someone has to. I can’t stand watching you destroy yourself over him.”

“Your father has nothing to do with my problems.”

“He has everything to do with them.” He had to summon up his last ounce of willpower to keep from shaking her. “I don’t understand how you can still defend him after the way he’s treated you. Why didn’t you divorce him the first time you caught him cheating?”

“You just don’t understand love, Eric,” she replied, with all the firmness and certainty of the completely deluded.

“If this farce is what you call love, I don’t want to understand it!”

She studied him for a long moment, eyes brimming with pain. “I’ll think about it,” she said at last. “I was planning to spend next month in the city anyway. I’ve got a board meeting to attend at the Metropolitan, and…well, one of my friends sees a therapist. Maybe she can give me a referral.”

They walked back to the house and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the living room talking. She grew genuinely animated as she told him about her charity work, which Eric found incredibly dull, although he was pleased she had something to keep her busy. Hard to believe this was the same woman he’d had to sweet-talk out of her own bedroom a couple hours ago.

Estellita called them in to dinner at six. The long train trip, combined with no lunch and their stressful conversation earlier that afternoon, had left Eric ravenous. To his relief, his mother’s appetite had apparently revived. She finished half her entrée, followed by a small bowl of Estellita’s fruit compote. Usually it was all Eric could to do to cajole her into a few listless bites before she pushed her plate away.

They went back to the living room for coffee and more conversation. Around nine, she reached over to clasp his hand. “It’s been lovely visiting with you, dear, but I’d best get to bed.”

Eric kissed her good night, then grabbed a book off a nearby shelf and tried to read, but within a few minutes his eyelids started to droop. Sighing, he rose and headed upstairs.

A sliver of light seeped out from under his mother’s bedroom door. He was about poke his head in to check on her when he heard her voice, low-pitched yet urgent.

“Yes, Edward, I have the papers right here, the courier brought them yesterday, but I don’t—there’s no need to take that tone. I’ll review them when I have a spare moment—Eric is here, if you must know. No, of course I haven’t told him. We’ve been visiting, but I don’t see any reason to—I will not be told what I can and cannot say to my own son!”

Christ, not again. Even at long distance, his father kept poisoning her life. He didn’t want to hear this, but he couldn’t help it. He pressed his ear to the door, hands tightening into fists.

“For the last time,
no
! You don’t need my proxy until the quarterly meeting in March, so stop trying to rush me!” She slammed down the receiver with such force, Eric gave a start and bumped his head on the door.

Seized by panic, Eric turned and bolted for his room. He perched on the edge of his bed clutching a pillow until his pulse steadied and his breathing returned to normal. He’d thought he was done with this—with running away, cowering like a frightened rabbit every time his parents had another fight. Thought he’d learned to be more detached and self-reliant.

At school, he could maintain the illusion of being distant, detached, an island unto himself. No one there had ever seen him like this. No one there knew how weak he really was.

And if he had his way, no one ever would.

* * *

Eric spent most of the night tossing and turning, punching his pillow. Around four a.m. he switched on the light and sat up reading until sunlight poked through the curtains. Gritty-eyed yet restless, he pulled on his sweats and sneakers and went downstairs to the exercise room. He hopped on the treadmill, jogging until his sweats were soaked, an eerie sense of exhausted calm settling in his bones.

He went back to his room for a shower and dialed the water up to near-scalding, breath hissing sharply through his teeth as the pins-and-needles spray slammed into him.

He took his time soaping up, savoring the slippery sensuality of it, the smooth feel of his own skin beneath his fingers. School had been kicking his ass this year, but if a little exercise could make him feel this good, he’d have to clear some time in his schedule for it.

He wondered what Nick did to stay in shape during the off-season. Did he run? Hit the campus fitness center? Eric made a mental note to ask him. Exercising was a lot more productive, not to mention safer, with a partner. He wasn’t about to take off jogging down the streets of Manhattan by himself.

His hand drifted down to grasp his semihard cock, bringing it to full erectness with a few strokes. He hadn’t had much time for this lately either. Every morning this week he’d had to rush through his shower because Nick’s alarm always went off first, and once his roommate got in the bathroom, nothing short of an atomic blast could dislodge him.

Head lolling back against the cool tiles, Eric breathed deep and spread his legs wider, one finger circling his hole before pushing inside. An image took form in his mind—dark wavy curls coupled with a dazzling smile, broad shoulders tapering down into well-muscled abs and powerful thighs, a thick, meaty cock rising to meet Eric’s own greedy lips, salty precome bursting onto his tongue as Nick let loose with a full-throated growl, grabbing him by the back of the head to thrust in all the way—

Orgasm crashed into him like a runaway train, wrecking and unraveling him. He slumped against the slick tile, his vision blurring for a moment before the world righted itself at last. Fingers still trembling, he dialed the water temperature down to cool and let it rain down on him until the blood stopped roaring between his ears.

He climbed out, dried off quickly and shaved, taking care to avoid his own gaze in the mirror. So this was what a month of not getting laid had apparently reduced him to—a sleazy soft-focus porno-loop fantasy about his roommate. An exceedingly
hot
fantasy, even if it left him feeling…weird. Rattled, in more ways than one.

The kicker was, if he’d met Nick in another place or time, he would’ve jumped his bones in a second. But now they were…well, not close enough to be called friends, but definitely friendly acquaintances. They had to share space, see each other every day. Despite that inauspicious first day, they’d learned to get along fairly well. He didn’t want to jeopardize that.

He liked Nick. He liked him too much, and certainly in the wrong way. But nothing would ever happen. He wouldn’t let it. He didn’t fuck people he knew, and especially not people he liked.

And if there was a more pathetic commentary on the state of his life, he couldn’t think of one.

* * *

Eric deposited his bag and jacket in the foyer when he went downstairs for breakfast, surprised to discover his mother already in the dining room, sipping coffee and thumbing through the Sunday
Times
.

He got himself some coffee, toast and fresh fruit from the sideboard, then sat down and reached for the financial page. A quick glance at his mother told him she’d had a restless night as well, no doubt for the same reason.

Might as well bring it up now and get it over with. “I overheard you on the phone with Dad last night.”

“Did you?” Her tone was cool, though the lines around her mouth grew tighter. “I should remind you that eavesdropping’s a very rude habit, but at this point I suppose it’s irrelevant.”

“I heard you say something about signing some proxy papers. What does he want with them?”

“It’s nothing. He just wants my signature on file in case I’m not available to vote my stock at the quarterly meetings.”

“You mean, he’s pressuring you to give him control of your third of the company.”

“Which I have no intention of doing.”

“That’s not what it sounded like last night.”

She let out an annoyed huff. “Eric, I’m perfectly capable of handling my own business affairs.”

He scooped up his coffee and took a slow, deliberate sip, using every millisecond to try to regain his earlier Zen-like calm. “You know he’ll just keep browbeating you until you give in. It’s what he always does.”

“I’ll stop taking his calls.”

“Then he’ll drive up here in person again, which is exactly what you want.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Eric!”

“That’s the real reason you keep overdosing, isn’t it? It’s a pathetic, manipulative ploy to get his attention.” So much for calm; now he could barely keep from hurling his plate across the room. “He’s never coming back to you, Mom. Why should he? He’s got a majority stake in the company now. He doesn’t need you or your money anymore.”

Now she looked like she was about to burst out crying—and that was a manipulation too. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“It’s the truth.” He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and stood. “I’ve just realized something. I can’t save you, Mom. You don’t want to be saved. You want to drown in your booze and your pills so everyone will pity you. Well, I don’t pity you. If you don’t want to lift a finger to help yourself, so be it. But I’m not going to stand around and watch you commit suicide by slow degrees.”

He marched to the foyer, grabbed his things and headed out to the car. He waited there a few minutes, in the vain hope his mother would emerge and try to smooth things over. Too late, it dawned on him that he hadn’t said goodbye to Estellita, but no way was he going back inside. He’d drop her a note once he got back to the city.

He arrived in Rochester in time to catch the ten o’clock train. Luckily, the last car was deserted, so he tucked himself in a quiet corner seat and buried his nose in his economics book.

It was already dark when the train pulled into Grand Central Station around five. He waited until the other passengers disembarked, securely zipping his jacket and clutching his backpack close to his body before he stepped onto the platform.

He walked toward the stairs at the far end, giving a start when someone brushed past him, bumping his shoulder.

“Sorry,” the guy said, glancing back at Eric, making eye contact. Very pointed eye contact, in fact.

He was about six feet tall, with dark wavy hair and olive skin, dressed in a clean pair of jeans, sneakers and a navy-blue parka. Eric kept his gaze locked on him, but the guy didn’t look away. Instead, he dropped his hands to his belt, thumbs wound in the loops, hitching up the crotch of his jeans in open and unmistakable invitation.