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“Anyway,” said Adam, “my point is that eventually, with a successful relationship, we’d have a whole ‘coming out’ problem anyway. We’d have to tell friends. We’d have to tell family. It would be only fair to our girlfriend. And to us.”
Trey looked down at the table. I saw his broad shoulders slump an inch or two, before reaching for another wing.
“I see your point,” he said finally. “But this girl still lied. She was interested in us for an article, for fuck’s sake. And once that thing went to print, with our names on it?” He shook his head. “There’s a good chance we’d be outed. The power to ‘come out’ on our own terms would be taken away from us. We’d be outed by default, and before we were even sure of anything.”
All around us, the noise of the bar blended in. Glasses clinked. Darts thudded. A few dozen voices, all chattering at once.
And us in the center, staring glumly down at nothing.
“Goddammit,” Trey sighed at last, throwing down his unfinished wing. “She really did have a great ass…”
Thirty
BROOKE
I cried all the way home, then I cried some more. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this level of loss. Of having the proverbial rug ripped straight out from under me, without any inkling it was going to happen.
The worst part though, was that I should’ve been prepared. I was days away from completing the article. And with it, my assignment.
How long did you expect this to go on?
Naively, I’d never asked myself this question. Or to be more accurate, I’d never faced it. Yes, I had some vague romantic notion of continuing on with the guys even after I’d put out the article. But that would mean continuing the lie. Living as Hannah instead of Brooke, and avoiding my friends. Lying about what I did. Where I worked. Lying about everything important to me, really.
Everything except my feelings.
Those were real, I knew that now. As real as real could possibly be. Not only had I fallen hard for three separate men, I’d fallen hopelessly in love with the idea of being a shared woman to them. The benefits of my four-way relationship were too incredible to deny, too fantastic to ignore. I couldn’t go back. I wouldn’t go back…
Even as I said and thought those things, a part of me kept laughing at myself. How could I sustain this? How could I possibly be in love with Adam, with Dante, with Trey… all at once, all sharing my heart. Giving one-hundred percent of myself to all three of them, rather than a third to each.
I realized now, it didn’t work like that. Each of my lovers had all of me, all of the time. It was almost like there were three of me, instead of one. Three separate Brookes maintaining three unique relationships, each with its own inner dynamic. Adam and I had things that Trey and I didn’t. Dante and I had inside jokes that the others could never understand.
And on top of all that? There was a fourth relationship. The one between all of us, and that was the best one of all. Suddenly I could see the appeal for the guys, in wanting to do this. I’d seen first-hand the camaraderie and closeness of being together, not just sexually but overall. The fun and laugher and amazing experiences, that four people could have over only two.
I could’ve come clean. Should’ve come clean. At least then they could’ve decided what to do with me. Whether to forgive me or not.
Instead I’d been found out. Left to look like a selfish, careless asshole. One who was only using them for a scoop or a story, one who cared more about advancing her career than actually building something with three magnificent men.
And nothing could’ve been further from the truth.
At the moment, I cared nothing about the article I should be writing. I didn’t even care if I made Chloe’s deadline, or we missed our window with Cosmo entirely. That would mean my job, for sure. The abrupt end of a long, hard climb along the greased rungs of a tight journalistic ladder.
But all I could think about was them.
When my tears finally dried up, I vowed to keep them from coming again. I turned on every light in my apartment. Tried to distract myself with music, with videos on the computer. Eventually even with the television. Nothing worked. I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing, no matter what I did, no matter where I went.
I tried lying down, but that made things worse. I considered going for a run, or maybe even to the gym, but it was far too late. I knew I wouldn’t sleep a wink, and that part sucked too. I was stuck. Trapped within the prison of my own mind, with nothing to do but—
Knock. Knock.
My heart leapt into my throat. As I approached the door it began pounding wildly, soaring with hope.
Maybe they’d reconsidered. Maybe they wanted to talk about things some more…
All hope died the second I peered through the peephole. My mouth curled into a bitter frown.
“What the hell do you want, Chris?”
On the other side of the door, my ex shifted from one foot to the other. He looked very small, very weak.
