Fuck. Those words have more presence than the area rug.
“I understand I’m not allowed to, and nothing will ever happen, but I can’t help it.”
Oh, Sabrina, if you only knew the torment awaiting you. The years of self-inflicted fucking misery. “You’ve met his family. Yet you still feel that way?”
Her nervous laugh cut the somber mood like a saber. “You’re either brave, or all kinds of stupid.”
“What does that make you then, huh?” All the blood in my body is draining, sinking me like an anvil onto the sofa. Suddenly her comforting touch is too hot, too much. Recoiling, I sit upright and put some much-needed space between us.
“Trystan,” she offers, reaching for my hand. “I worked it out.”
You worked out what?” A swallow paralyzes my throat.
“When did you know you were in love? With Mason.”
“Bri, it's not that simple.”
“It can be,” she says with a hopeful smile radiating warmth and understanding.
“Love is love until it isn’t.”
“You love him. I see it. Your ex, Cal Vincent, couldn’t look more like Mason…”
“Don’t let either of us hear you say that to anyone else, Bri. Mason would fire you without a second’s hesitation. And his lawyers would skin you alive and feast on your rotting corpse. Do not, I repeat, do not mention any?—”
“I won’t. I never would. But you’re hurting, Trystan. I see your pain.”
She protests and I begin to fall apart just like I did fifteen years ago. Oh God, the ache. “And it makes no difference, Bri. My family—his family. Neither would accept a same-sex relationship. Ever. Hell, I can’t access my trust fund unless I—” Raising my hand, I count the clauses on each stretched finger.
“Marry a woman. Have a son with said woman. Remain married and raise that son to attend only the most prestigious of schools and colleges for pre-orchestrated degrees that he’ll achieve with honors, of course. I can’t be photographed near other men. I can’t touch other men. I can’t fuck or love anyone other than my wife and mother of my son. Do you understand now?”
Her lips curl in disgust. “Mason gave you a job to keep you employed and earn a salary.” She looks both resigned and devastated by proxy.
“He knew I was too proud for a handout. I didn’t want Mercer charity. Magnus Mercer, old fucking homophobe he is.He’d strip Mas of everything if he knew the truth. While we were at boarding school, we formed a close bond.We experimented. Only it was an experiment for him, and an all-out obsession for me. I kissed him in our dormitory one day. No one around but us. He was shirtless; I was naked, fresh from the shower. We were both hard as fuck. Kissing and rubbing each other. Later that week he fucked me in our tent using cooking oil as lube. I completely unwound. I fell so hard and fast for Mason there and then. Once our camping trip ended, he said he was confused. And that it shouldn’t happen again. I disagreed. I implored him to want me back.”
Bri’s hand squeezes a series of soft pulses, both comfort and compassion. Twin aquamarine eyes threatening with tears, implore me to continue.
“Back on campus, I kissed him hard until we heard Magnus in the hallway talking to the Dean. It was all a blur. The door handle was already turning. He pushed me away. Putting this unfair amount of distance between us. I reached for him, thinking that if Magnus saw us both, he’d understand what we felt,what I felt,was real. Mason didn’t think so. He drew his arm back and let fly. He punched me so hard that my nose was near my ear. The Dean separated us. Magnus was fuming. My dad threatened to press charges until it was settled the way older gentlemen do. With a lot of money, old whiskey, and multiple prostitutes. For them, it was all some misunderstanding.”
“Oh my God, Trystan.”
“Anyway. Mason said no one could ever know. That he’d look after me as long as our secret went to the grave with me.”
“But you just told me!”
It’s not an accusation, nor a slight on the promise I made to the man we are both head over heels for. It’s a statement of fact. “Yeah, I did, Bri, because I need to warn you about what lovingMason Mercer will do to your soul. It consumes you from the inside out, like a disease. Something crueler than cancer because no matter how much you tear open your heart for him, you never get a fraction of it back. Is that how you see your future?”
“Tryst, he loves you back. If you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t want to?”
Her words strike as intended. Tiny truth arrows sent by this feisty, empathetic archer.
“He does love me,” I agree, “but not in the capacity either of us can live and thrive in. He isn’t attracted to men. I’m not attracted to women. Two parallels destined never to meet. He won’t ever give up women. Now I don’t expect him to.”
She balks, realization covering her face like a blanket. “But you were the one who came up with the idea of an EPA. How? Why would you do that?”
“Ugh.” I feel my stubble burst through the skin on my chin. I’ll never match the beard-growing ability of Mason because he does everything better than me, faster than me, richer than me. “Because he had his own self-destruct button. He worked his way through women—a lot of women. It became almost a conquest. Perhaps to wave them in my face like a banner that he was addicted to pussy. To convince him, or me? I don’t know. But around a year and a half—almost two years ago—there was a shift indynamics. He had withdrawn. He was moody and took to isolating himself from everyone. Or with a masseuse or two.”
Her pained features mirror mine. Yeah, I shouldn’t have said it, but while we’re both out here dropping truth bombs, that one may as well land too.
