Page 140 of These Secret Years

“You’ll stop?”

“The parties at the house, right? You want me to stop giving head to guys for money?”

I nod. “Or for any other reason.”

“Yeah, that’s…not a problem.”

I don’t miss the shudder that runs through him. Maybe this was an awful time to bring that up. Ever since Sullivan told me what happened to him—the night in the tunnel, I mean—I’ve been wondering how he thinks about sex. I’ve thought of the first few encounters we had. The way he didn’t want me touching him or “returning the favor.” The way he wanted to set the terms, top, whatever, even when I was the one inside him. And I thought of how it was last spring when his walls started coming down, and he let me explore him, pleasure him. The way he let me want him more openly in a way I no longer felt ashamed of.

But now…now something’s different. Despite him saying what happened last week wasn’t any different than any other time, it’s beyond obvious that it was, and so much worse. I think it shocked him as much as it shocked me, and it’s impossible to know yet what kind of lasting damage it did.

“Okay, good,” I say. “You’re mine, then. It’s official.”

He laughs, a soft, genuine laugh. “No. You’re mine.”

We don’t touch, but we do share a smile.

“You’re gonna fucking hate me for this, but I got you a present.”

His brows draws together, and his expression morphs into a glare. “This is so fucking unfair. You ambushed me with Christmas.”

I stand to retrieve his gift from behind the couch. “It’s all very obvious if you take two seconds to think about it.”

“Well, I didn’t have two seconds today. My dad’s practically dying, and my mom is dating. Did I mention I think my dad’s also gay and somehow has health insurance? It’s been a lot.”

I hesitate before bending over to grab the box. “Wait. What?”

“Maybe not dying, dying, but he looks like shit. He’s clean, though, so I guess that’s something. And so’s the boyfriend. Davy.”

“He has a boyfriend?”

“He calls him his roommate, but he also slipped and called him babe like twice while I was there, so…you do the math. You’re good at math.”

“Yeah, it all adds up. Can we circle back to the dying part?”

“He has atrial fibrillation. It’s a heart condition. I mean, again—this shouldn’t be surprising. He basically did everything he could to stop his heart in his thirties, so, of course it sustained some damage, but⁠—”

“A-fib is super common,” I tell him.

“I know, but…just with everything else. I always feel like this time was the last time. So, yeah, I’ve been crying all day, and I didn’t get you anything, so now I feel like an asshole.”

“When were you supposed to get me something? I’m just glad you came.”

“Because my presence is such a gift?”

I shrug. “To me it is.”

I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. “Just give me the present. Let’s get this over with.”

I chuckle and lift the box with both hands, walking it over to the tree and setting it down carefully in front of him. He looks up at me suspiciously. “Why is it so big?”

“Because I put it in the box my mom’s new office chair came in. Just open it.”

This seems to satisfy him enough to rise to his knees and take the bow off.

“You need help?”

“Maybe.”