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He stalks toward me and grabs me by the shoulders. He drops his head down so we’re eye level. “I don’t fuck people I like, and I don’t like the people I fuck.”
His eyes widen in horror the same time as mine do. He lets go of my shoulders and steps away.
My stomach sinks as I replay what he just said. I can’t make sense of it, or the dread they fill me with. “What does that mean?” I whisper. I stare at him, and I see something in his eyes that terrifies me and breaks my heart.
“Forget I said that.” He turns his back on me.
“Graham, what aren’t you telling me?” I grab his arm, and he doesn’t turn around. I walk to stand in front of him. He keeps his eyes firmly on the ground.
“Apollo, drop it,” he says quietly. A very cold tingle runs down my spine. Something is wrong.
“Graham, look at me.” I plead. He shakes his head no and the tingle spreads to my chest. “Please, you can trust me. You don’t have to deal with whatever it is alone.” I place a gentle hand on the center of his chest.
He steps back from my touch, turns his tormented eyes away from me and starts to pace the small studio apartment.
“I can’t. And I may never be able to. I’m sorry.” He stops pacing and faces me. His shoulders are slumped, his expression defeated.
I feel sadder than I can remember feeling in a very long time as I look at him. Close enough that I could reach out and touch him, yet we’ve never been farther apart.
“Why did you say all of those things in the cab?” I ask him quietly but let him hear the accusation in my voice. Yesterday he sent my hopes soaring, and now, he’s clipped their wings and sent them into a free fall.
He walks over and sits down on the bed. He slumps over, his arms resting on his thighs, his hands hanging between his knees, his head bent low.
“Because it’s the truth,” he says quietly.
“Then why are you letting me walk away?” I demand. Confusion, fear, anger, and hurt all whirl around inside me, leaving me breathless.
“Because I can’t do anything about it, Apollo. I can’t give you what you’re asking. Not now.” He runs his hand through his hair as he speaks and I’m sad that I won’t touch that beautiful head of hair again after today.
The first hint of dawn comes streaming through the windows of his apartment and bathes him in a reverent light. But it’s a mirage. The dark is winning. I’m losing him.
I walk toward him. With each step I take, I resign myself to the fact that this is the end.
He turns when I’m just a few feet away, and his posture straightens.
By the time we’re toe to toe, his entire body is taut, and his expression is determined.
I rise up on the very tips of my toes, and I cup his jaw. He closes his eyes as if it hurts, but he strokes his chin across my palm and sighs … like he’s relieved. I stroke the silky hair of his short beard before I fan my fingers on his cheeks. I study his face, admire all the things about it that I’ve always loved.
His eyes are stormy gray pools of memories and feelings. In them, I see my entire youth. I try to see more, but there’s nothing there. No future. Not even the present.
His warm hands close over my mine and then he whispers my name.
I inhale the breath from his words and use it to exhale my own.
“I love you,” I murmur as my fingers glide into his hair.
He groans and slides his hands around my waist and draws us together.
I go willingly, and my body melts into his. His erection molds itself against the yielding flesh of my stomach.
That first delicious quiver of desire spreads and blooms into a flurry of need that grips my entire body. I press closer to him, trying desperately to erase the distance between us and pretend that this moment isn’t, in fact, a eulogy.
My eyes flutter closed as I caress the round curve of his skull before I cradle it in my hands. I savor the soft feathery slide of his hair through my fingers and inhale the lingering scent of ginger from his shampoo.
“I love you, too,” he says softly. His voice is heavy with regret that when I lick my lower lip, I can taste the residue of it.
And then, his lips sweep across mine. The touch is light as gossamer, as fragile as the strands of a spider’s web. Yet it shakes me to my very core.
