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Another red flag was that Trey would disappear for long hours and come home with no explanation. He guarded his phone and never left it lying around unless it was within reach of his own hand.
Deep down, in the depths of his own personal darkness, where the demons of his insecurity and self-worth danced, Connor knew Trey wasn’t a likely prospect for fidelity. The evasiveness, the lack of eye contact, the unexplained times and whereabouts that cropped up with increasing frequency all pointed to something being very wrong.
He should have noticed such signs with Steve, but back then he’d been oblivious, sailing along on a kind of loving naivete. Besides, except for their spectacularly bad end, Steve had never given him any reason not to trust him. Not once.
But now, he’d been scarred by being wounded so deeply by Steve. He was mistrustful, not something he welcomed, but when you’re abandoned as Connor had been, it changes you. When Steve left, it was like Connor’s life was a multipaned window and Steve had simply removed all the supports between the panes.
He’d shattered.
But the thing was: he wouldn’t let it happen again. He couldn’t. If he were writing himself as a character, he’d edit out his hopes for seeing the good in a spouse when there were things staring the other spouse right in the face that should give pause. If he didn’t, he knew the critics, both amateur and professional, might brand his characters as too stupid to live.
Now, as he walked up behind Trey, he wondered how he would react to Connor’s own evasiveness.
He slid open the sliders to the balcony and stepped out. Although the day was still sunny, the promise the sunlight held was a lie. It was cold and the wind off Lake Union immediately chilled him in his black T-shirt and jeans.
Predictably, Trey closed his iPad as soon as he heard the sliders opening. For once, Conner would like him to just leave a device open, not because Connor was so nosy, but because he desperately wanted to live in a world where trust for his husband was automatic, unquestioned.
Trey turned a little to look up at him. “Ideas for dinner?” He grinned. “I was actually thinking about getting out there and rattling some pots and pans. You’ve never had my spaghetti Bolognese. It’s to die for.”
Connor felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made him reevaluate his plans to meet with Steve. He could just text him and say he wasn’t feeling well—could they reschedule? Then he thought of Steve’s despair, and it tugged at his heart, despite the fact Steve had cavalierly dumped him not so long ago.
Connor was forgiving to a fault. And, as painful as the breakup had been, Connor couldn’t deny he still loved Steve. So ignoring his plea for help was out of the question. Still, it made his stomach churn to voice the words about to come out. “Uh, I was thinking I might slip out for a bit.”
“Oh?” Trey’s smile was guileless, which made Connor feel even guiltier.
“Yeah, uh.”Why can’t I just tell him the truth? If it was anyone else… But it’snotanyone else.“About that. I, uh, got a text today that an old editor of mine is in town just for tonight. And I told her I’d have a drink with her and, you know, sometimes a drink can lead to dinner.” He could think of only one word for the smile on his face—goofy.
Connor expected Trey to at least nod. But he stared at him, eyes boring into him, exposing.
“Okay. You didn’t mention this before. I was hoping for a quiet evening at home. Who knows what we could rustle up for dessert?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Tempting as that is, I just got the text.”Please don’t ask me to see it.
Trey thought for a moment and then said, “Where are you guys meeting?”
“At that little bar on Nickerson? You know, just down the hill, near the university.”
Trey nodded. “What’s it called again?”
“The Cut,” Connor answered, praying Trey wouldn’t suggest joining them. “We’ll be talking business, you know. It’ll probably be a bore, but this woman really helped me along with my career. Gave me lots of insight into what works and what doesn’t.”Just shut up. No need to embellish your lie.
“Well, you must go, then. I wouldn’t want you to disappoint her. She here from New York?”
“Right, right. Uh, there’s that leftover minestrone I made still in the fridge and a loaf of sourdough. You’ll eat better than I will.” He chuckled.
“Sure. Go have fun.” Trey opened his iPad. On it, wallpaper of purple clouds.
“I won’t be late.”
“Take all the time you need. I’m a big boy. I’ll be just fine.” He gave Connor the kind of winning smile that normally made him weak in the knees. Tonight, it increased the nausea blossoming inside.
Connor leaned down to kiss Trey, and Trey pulled him close, slipping his tongue inside. When Connor pulled away, Trey asked again. “Where did you say? The Cut? That’s down by that bakery we like, right?”
“Right. So I can walk there and back. Easy peasy. I won’t be gone long.”
Trey eyed him, smiling. “You better not.” Was there a threat in his eyes? Or was Connor imagining it, suspicion born out of guilt?
Chapter Twenty
