Page 87 of Addiction

“I don’t blame you for thinking that.”

“But you can change that, Asher. Help me understand what’s going on, what made you turn back.”

I shake my head, the tears clouding my eyes. “I’m so fucking scared, Gray.”

“About what? Whatever it is, we can sort it. You just have to talk to me, so I understand.”

“I’m not the man you think I am,” I whisper. “There’s more to me than you know.” My insides coil. My heartbeat is loud, battering against my rib cage as the unprecedented silence falls between us. I’m on the precipice, not knowing whether to jump or turn back—whether to lie or speak the truth that’s been eating me alive for as long as I remember. How can I say the words that I’ve been frightened to say all this time? How can I tell the man in front of me that my life as his best friend has been nothing more than a lie?

“I… I don’t know where to start.”

“At the beginning. What made you turn to drink to begin with.”

As if he knew that this was his cue, Wyatt’s face is in my thoughts, and the smug fucker is laughing at me. He’d made coming out as a gay navy SEAL look so easy, yet the thought of doing the same terrified me. He’d made being gay look natural, like I was fearing it for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I had been. Maybe I am. But despite our sexualities, we’d been very different people.

My friendship with Wyatt had been based on lust. I’d wanted to know the answers to so many questions racing around my head, and he’d somehow silenced the voices whenever he was near. Be it for a second or for a day. The questions had stopped in his company, and over time, the desire for him had built to the point where I’d barely been able to breathe.

Until the day he’d stopped breathing after begging me to not let him die.

Along with my pop, losing Wyatt has been one of the hardest things to face.

Picking at the wood on the table, I open up about why Iraq has been like a life sentence for me.

“I never told you the full truth about Iraq because I was ashamed. I loved my job as a SEAL. I lived and breathed everything about it. I was at the top of my game. But over time, my feelings for something else slowly took over and it became hard to stay focused.” I swallow, reliving that very day in my mind. “We were on a mission to rescue a hostage. Some billionaire ended up on the wrong side of the border and was captured. The task at hand was simple. Cole’s security would go in and secure the area, each of us having eyes on the enemies that surrounded the building to the hostage. We’d fire, take them out, free the hostage. It was simple. It was easy.”

I can still feel the dry, dusty air on my skin—hear the crackles of the radios and the pleas.

Don’t let me die. Don’t let me die. Asher, please. Don’t let me die.

My palms start to itch, and the need for more alcohol heightens as my earlier intoxication slowly fades from my bloodstream.

“My head wasn’t in the game, and my eyes weren’t on the target. I wasn’t doing my job because I was too engrossed by what was going on in my head. I was confused and angry and at the same time wanted to escape the feeling inside that had consumed me for some time. I was distracted.”

“Why?”

“Because of Wyatt,” I whisper, wiping my eyes with the ball of my hand as my chest tightens with grief. “Everything happened so fast and, before I could do anything, gunfire filled the air. Men fell. Some were already dead while others shouting out for help. But it was Wyatt that I ran to. It was him I wanted to save. But I couldn’t save him.” My lip quivers. “I had so many uncertainties about myself that I knew only he could answer. But I couldn’t save him, Gray. I promised I’d save him, but I couldn’t.”

I bury my face in my hands and let out the years of agony that have been locked up in my heart for so long—the agony of secretly loving Wyatt Erikson yet never getting the chance to tell him; the agony of knowing deep down who I am inside yet failing to admit; and the agony of years of heartache, I’ve brought upon myself, Wyatt, my parents and Nora.

My addiction.

If only I’d have fucking spoken out before now. Maybe my life wouldn’t have been such a fucking mess. However, there’s still a part of me that remains closed, and as I begin to control my emotional outburst, my friend is quick to hit me with the question I’ve been dreading.

“I don’t understand. How would Wyatt have been able to answer your uncertainties and questions about yourself?”

My blood runs cold, and shame fills my body. It all comes down to this.

The beating truth of a secret that has been left hidden for so long, locked away in the dark abyss of my soul. Getting the words to physically leave me is harder than I’ve ever imagined.

Say it.

"Asher, what questions did you need him to answer?"

“I… Erm.”

Like I’ve just swallowed sand, the words are lodged in my throat.

Say. It.