Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(31)

Doyle didn’t seem to inspire that same defensiveness in him.

After Mevi did the test and returned it to him, Doyle turned to leave.

“What time is it?” Mevi asked, not wanting him to go just yet and still unable to bring himself to open up.

“Nearly midnight. I wanted to get another test before I went to bed.”

“Holy crap. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“It’s okay. Like I told you, I’m here to help you. Working is helping you. I’m not here to disrupt your life. I’m here to try to help you learn how to hold it together. That’s why I’m not trying to get you to talk to me yet. I do want you to keep in mind that even if it’s the middle of the night and you need to wake me up, I want you to if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.” He knew it was Doyle’s job, but still…

It felt like a genuine sentiment. In a way he’d never felt from his counselors in rehab. Sure, they’d meant it, but like it was their job.

This felt more like it was just how Doyle was. Calm, steady, dependable. That it wouldn’t matter if he was a client or a friend or a distant relative he hadn’t spoken to in years, that Doyle would still drop everything and listen.

“Good night. I hope your work’s going okay for you.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

After a nod, Doyle headed upstairs.

Mevi noticed he was barefoot, and watched the way the man’s thighs and calves flexed as he ascended the stairs.

And his cute ass.

Shit.

He needed to focus.

Turning back to his notes, he started to play again.





Standing there and listening to Mevi, watching him…it was easy to see how and why he’d become successful. There was almost an invisible inferno alight inside the man, the intensity washing off him.

That level of determination wasn’t something often seen in failures. Hell, it wasn’t seen very often in many successes, either.

That’s why Portnoy’s Oyster had endured and thrived where many bands who’d started out at the same time or later floundered and failed, or broke up.

What Mevi created came from his heart, his soul.

Doyle headed to bed, lights off and door ajar so he could hear and see. He lightly dozed, waking when he heard Mevi ascending the stairs. A quick glance at his phone showed it was nearly two a.m.

He would soon find himself adjusting his daily schedule to Mevi’s, he knew.

Now able to go to sleep, he did, starting awake at some point later.

Fumbling for his phone, he saw it was nearly eight in the morning.

Sitting up and trying to orient himself, he took a deep breath.

No sounds from inside the apartment.

He used the bathroom, listened at Mevi’s door to make sure he was in there, and then went to make the coffee and do his tai chi.

At least he personally felt more settled now that they were in one location. Tonight, dinner at Tilly’s. Maybe being around some relatively “normal” people would be good for Mevi. Especially people he could relax around.

He was pouring his own cup of coffee when he heard Mevi’s toilet flush. He had the test kit already sitting on the end of the counter, and Mevi did it without being asked.

Negative.

“Can I make you something for breakfast?” Doyle asked.

Mevi seemed a little…lost. “No, I’m all right,” he said. “I’ll get something later.”

But he didn’t move, didn’t head downstairs.

“Are you all right?”

Mevi shrugged.

After a moment, Doyle tried again. “Did you want to talk?”

Mevi finally looked up from his cup of coffee. “Anything I tell you is confidential?”

“Yes. Unless you admit a serious crime to me. Or tell me you’re thinking about hurting yourself or someone else. Those are contracted stipulations I insist on so I’m not hamstrung in exceptional cases.”

Mevi slowly nodded, gaze back on his coffee.

He edged closer to Mevi. “Are you thinking about hurting yourself?”

Finally, Mevi shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”

A little relief crept in. “Are you struggling with a craving to drink?”

“A little today, yeah.”

Two down, countless possibilities to go. “Is it something you’ve never told anyone else?”

Mevi nodded, a long, shuddering sigh reflecting the man’s dark inner mood.

Okay, that narrowed it down even more. In Doyle’s experience, it probably meant one of a few obvious subjects, and he hesitated on whether or not to push him harder.

Then Mevi turned and headed for the stairs.

Shit.

Part of him was torn between wanting to follow and press, or to let him be and not pressure him.

“Do you want me to come get you at lunch time?” he opted to call out.

Mevi hesitated. “Yes, please.”

Then he descended the stairs.

Doyle walked over and stood at the head of the stairs. Mevi had left the door at the bottom open and Doyle heard him start playing.

Whatever weighed Mevi down, it was close to breaking the surface, like a huge pustule trying to explode.

How long it took to coax it to a head remained to be seen.