Catch Me If You Can (boyxboy)

Chapter 7

Owen’s pov.

Damn, Tate is heavy. I grunt and crack my back as I deposit him in an unceremonious heap on the ground. He stirs in his sleep and I stop all movement until he relaxes again. I sigh and run a hand through my blue hair. My blond roots are starting to grow in. I need to re-dye it. Maybe I’ll do purple next.

I put my hand under Tate’s wet shoulder and pull him up, allowing his weight to lean on me. It’s too much for me to handle and we end up landing right back on the floor, causing Tate to jolt awake. Curse my noodle arms.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Tate says, looking around frantically. “Why am I on the floor? And… why am I wet?” He looks at me quizzically and I blush, playing with my fingers. Suddenly, he stops inspecting himself and his muscles go rigid.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as a lone tear cascades gracefully down his cheek. He looks away.

“Maggie,” he sighs. “The doctor said she’s not gonna make it.” I can feel my heart contract at his words. He loves Maggie. This must be hard for him. I feel a twinge in my heart, but I ignore it, dismissing it as a feeling of empathy towards Tate. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.

“I would say I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t make you feel any better, would it?” He shakes his head and I sigh, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“How long does she have left?” I ask and he shudders.

“They don’t know. They said it depends on how long her body holds out.”

“Well, that means it could be years, right?”

“Yeah, but it could also be months. Weeks. Days,” he whispers the last word as if it is tabooed.

“Don’t think about it like that,” I mutter, even though that’s exactly how I would think about it. But look where pessimism got me. I’m depressed. I don’t want that for Tate.

“What else am I supposed to think of it as?” he asks, sounding defeated.

“Instead of thinking of it as ‘she might live for only a couple more days’ think of it as ‘I have Maggie for today. Today is all that matters.’ Think of everyday as a gift you have to spend with her. Don’t worry about the future. She sure as hell doesn’t.” Tate nods into my shoulder and I yawn, the fact that I have been woken up at 2 in the morning finally taking its toll on me.

“C’mon,” Tate urges me as he pulls me up. “You’re wet and tired. Let’s get you cleaned up and it’s off to bed with you.” I sigh and comply with his wishes, enjoying the hot water that caresses my skin, followed by the fluffy, warm, purple towel and comfy pajama bottoms with pancakes on them. I pull on an oversized sweatshirt and climb into the bed, Tate following closely behind. I snuggle into his chest and he pulls me closer, encasing me in his warm embrace.

Today might’ve been a good day, if it weren’t for Cyren, of course. And Maggie, too. Who would’ve ever thought they’d be working together to make my day miserable? I know I didn’t.

As I lay here in silence, I can’t help but think about Cyren’s threat. Would he really kill Maggie if I told anyone about his plan? What did he mean by ‘I’ll be back for you in two weeks’? Why is he making my life more difficult than it already is?

These thoughts and more do laps in my head, their monotony slowly lulling me into a deep, dreamless slumber.

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I notice is the lack of the heat source that was previously warming me. I shiver and climb out of bed, pulling on my slippers. They’re the ones with the ears that pop up when you take a step.