Chapter Five
Aaron
Okay, so I had an ulterior motive. I obviously still cared about Tad, and I really did want to make sure he was okay. But I could’ve done that over the phone. I surely didn’t have to make him homemade chicken noodle soup and take it over to his house at nine o’clock in the morning. But whatever. It was still a nice thing to do, right?
I couldn’t sleep last night. Not after seeing Finn. So I’d stayed up all night cooking the soup and as soon as it was appropriate time-wise, I’d driven over to Tad’s house. Plus, I hadn’t returned my key to his house yet, so I had to go over there anyway.
Wanting to get information on Finn had nothing to do with it.
I chuckled to myself at the lie. I couldn’t even pretend to believe it.
Without thinking, I used my key to let myself in out of habit. I walked in and set the hot soup pot on the stove, then made my way upstairs in search of Tad. I was actually surprised he wasn’t awake yet. He was usually an early bird, so I was a little worried that his concussion was worse than I’d originally thought.
“Tad?” I said quietly once I reached his closed bedroom door. I knocked lightly, then pushed the door open. “Tad, I let myself in, sorry, I wasn’t really thinking and I had a heavy pot of—” I cut myself off when comprehension finally dawned on what I was seeing.
Fuck. Fuck. How could I have been such an idiot? Of course Finn would’ve stayed with him. I mean, why wouldn’t he? They were boyfriends, Tad was hurt, and Finn had always been a caring guy. He used to be the kid that would bring home injured animals from the woods and try to bring them back from the brink. Oftentimes they didn’t make it and it broke his heart, but it had never stopped him from trying. He’d always had a soft spot for helping others.
Still, even though I should’ve known, it came as a shock to see two people I cared about cuddled in bed together.
“Aaron?” Tad’s sleepy voice called out. “What’re you doing here?”
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. It was like when you drove past a car accident, and even though you knew you shouldn’t look—you knew you might see something that would upset you and that it was probably rude and disrespectable—you couldn’t help but look. That was how I felt now. I felt like my chest was constricting more with each passing second, but I couldn’t seem to look away.
Finn rubbed his eyes, then smiled at me. “Hey, Aaron.”
I still couldn’t look away, but neither could I speak.
Finn gave me a weird look, but then he looked down at Tad, who was still in his arms, and asked him, “How are you feeling?”
Tad looked up and smiled shyly at him… at my Finn. “I’m okay, I think. Just tired.”
“What about the headache?”
“It’s gone for the moment.”
“Good,” Finn said as he started helping Tad sit up.
That was it. I couldn’t look anymore. I was going to be sick.
I turned on my heel and made a run for the bathroom. I locked the door, turned on the sink, then proceeded to empty my stomach into the toilet.
Fucking hell. Seeing them like that, all casual as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they did that every morning, made me sick. Literally. At least they had clothes on. Oh god. The thought of them not having clothes on in bed together made me hurl again. Though I was at least sitting on the edge of the tub across from the toilet this time.
Someone started knocking on the door.
“Aaron?” It was Finn’s voice.
Oh no. Nonononono.
“Aaron? Are you alright?”
He started knocking again. “Aaron, come on. Are you okay?”
I still didn’t answer him. I couldn’t.
He knocked and called my name several more times, but still I didn’t answer. I heard him trying to twist the doorknob, trying to get it open. “Aaron, if you don’t answer me, I’m seriously going to knock the door down.” Then I heard him yell, “Tad? Do you have a key to the bathroom?”
I heard a muffled response back, but I had no idea what Tad said.
But then a minute later, Finn said, “Okay, Aaron, I have the key, so I’m coming in.”
I stood up and leaned against the sink with my arms folded over my chest when I heard him using the key.
When he finally opened the door, I didn’t expect him to just stand in the doorway, staring at me. I’d thought he would’ve come in, but he just stood there, leaning against the doorjamb. After a minute of watching me, he said, “I’m glad to see you’re alive and didn’t drown in the tub or something. It would’ve been nice of you to let me know you were okay.”
I glanced at him. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants—Tad’s sweatpants. I huffed, but didn’t say anything. There was really nothing to say at this point. I was pretty sure I’d made enough of a fool of myself this morning. I didn’t need to open my big fat mouth and add to the stupidity.
“So,” he said, dragging out the word. “In the past twelve years, you’ve learned to cook, huh? I never thought I’d see the day.”
That made a reluctant laugh spill out of me. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously, I think the last meal you tried to cook,” he used air quotes, “was that weird hot dog and tater tot thing with a million gross ingredients that looked like vomit and didn’t taste any better. What the hell did you call it?”
“Pirate’s Casserole,” I said with another reluctant laugh.
“Oh yeah, Pirate’s Casserole. God, that stuff tasted like shit. I still don’t know how you ate it.” He fake-shuddered.
“I still do.”
“What?”
“I still do eat it,” I said with a smirk.
“Oh my god. No you don’t.”
I laughed. “I do.”
“Ugh. I don’t believe you.”
“No, he totally does. He made me try it once. So gross.”
Finn turned and smiled at Tad behind him. “Thank you.” Then he looked back at me. “See, I’m not the only one. It’s gross.”
“No, it’s not. You just don’t like it on principle,” I said, a little annoyed that Tad interrupted us, even though this was his house.
“What? Yeah, right. I think you just talked it up too much, so when you finally made it I was disappointed,” Finn replied.
Tad laughed as he came to stand beside Finn, leaning against the other side of the door frame.
“You know it’s good,” I argued. We’d probably had this argument a thousand times when we were teenagers.
Finn pointed between himself and Tad, then to me. “Two against one. Pretty sure we win this argument.”
I rolled my eyes at him with a smile, but then I saw Tad smiling at him too and I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest again. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry I interrupted you this morning. I didn’t even realize I used my key until I was already in the house.” I looked at Tad. “I was worried about you.”
He shot me a half-smile and whispered, “I’m okay. But thank you.”
“I put my key on the counter near the stove. Sorry I haven’t brought it back until now.”
He shrugged. “No big deal.”
The three of us fell into an awkward silence. But Finn eventually broke it, asking, “Do you guys want to eat? I’m pretty hungry. We skipped dinner last night.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry too,” Tad said before looking at me. “You’re staying to eat with us.” Then he turned and walked away. He hadn’t even asked. He’d told me I was staying. He could probably read on my face that I was about to take off.
“Are you okay?” Finn asked before I could escape the bathroom. He made a move like he was going to pull me into a hug, but I waved him off. If he hugged me again, I’d either burst into tears, throw up all over him, or possibly refuse to ever let him go. Or maybe some combination of the three.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I know you’re lying. I guess you haven’t gotten any better at it since we were kids. But I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about it.”
I sighed, but didn’t respond. There was really nothing to say to him. I just looked at him and shrugged.
A flash of hurt crossed his face before he turned and walked out of the bathroom.
What the hell did he have to be hurt about? He wasn’t the one forced to watch two people he’d once loved together. And in bed, too!
I shut the bathroom door and searched out the toothbrush I’d left here a few months ago, praying that Tad hadn’t thrown it out yet. I breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t, then I brushed my teeth and prayed that I could get through one meal of watching them together without needing to hurl again.