Broken String

XXVII

"Imma need to call my teacher." he says as soon as he's managed to get himself installed in the passenger seat, slightly out of breath from how hard it was to get there. "Fuck. And Anna. Jesus. Will I need to call the con? How about the Sibelius?"
"Don't worry about it now." Brett says gently. "I can call, too."
"My partner, huh?" he tries to quip. But Brett doesn't smile, he just shrugs. 
"She saw me basically carry you in, I don't blame her."
Eddy's lip quivers as the memory floods his brain. 
"Yeah. Thanks, Brett. So sorry I'm putting you through this."
"Please." Brett says. He's got a pamphlet in his hand that Eddy guesses he must have picked up from the front desk, just now. "Look... why don't we go past this place, pick a chair up? At least we can take you for a walk then, get some fresh air?"
A tear wells up and Eddy swallows it down. He's not losing it, right now, he's so not losing it. He's not putting Brett through that as well."
"Eddy, I get it sucks. But you... you can't walk right now."
"And maybe not ever again?" he says bleakly, before he can stop the fatalistic thought spilling out of his mouth.
"Don't think like that, please. That conclusion is still a long way away."
"You're right. Okay. Let's go pick up a chair."
He needs to keep it light, you see. That's the only way this'll work out. There's no reason to make it all more dramatic than it already is. He smiles manfully as Brett starts the engine and reverses out of the spot. 

Seriously, how does anyone get through something like this without a Brett by their side? He seems ever-powerful as he flits into the place, comes out with a wheelchair and folds it into the boot, drives Eddy home, as he helps him into the lift, which thank God they finally fixed last week after several months of them walking up and down four flights of stairs, as he settles him into the couch and makes green tea while Eddy calls his teacher with shaky fingers. 

"What did she say?" he asks as Eddy hangs up and he sits down next to him with two cups of steaming tea. 
"She's worried." Eddy says, managing to keep his voice quite neutral. "Said to take care. She's going to talk to the conductor." He swallows, then swallows again, but these are the words that hurt, these are the ones that really hit where it harms. He says them anyway.
"They're going to get an understudy for the Sibelius."
"Jesus." Brett says.
 Eddy nods and takes a deep breath. He won't cry, not now, not after today, not after last night. He just won't.  
"The part is still mine, though. For now. Anyway. You don't have to stay here, Brett. I know you need to practise. And isn't your violin lesson at two?"
Brett eyes him, clearly torn.
"I can stay."
"I know, and I love you for that. I don't want you to miss your lesson, though."

Look, he's well aware that he sounds a lot braver than he feels. But he can't keep Brett here for selfish reasons. It would just be all sorts of wrong. 
"What will you do?"
"Watch TV, I guess. I'll be fine."
Brett is silent for a long moment, then he nods. 
"Will you promise to call me if there's problems?"
"Yeah." he says quickly, although he already knows he's lying. His foot could fall off and he wouldn't call Brett. Not after all this. 
"Okay."

Brett grabs his stuff, throws his violin on his back, checks he has everything, asks again whether Eddy is sure that he'll be okay. 
To be honest, Eddy isn't sure at all, but he is sure that Brett needs to go and live his normal life. So he nods bravely and settles himself a bit deeper in the couch as Brett smiles at him and closes the front door behind him. He can hear his footsteps fading as Brett runs lightly down the stairs that he himself can hardly brave. 
But look. He's got this. Of course he does. He'll take it lightly, and it will be sorted.
He flicks on the TV and looks through the channels to see if anything is on, then leans back and closes his eyes.