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“I trusted you!” His voice wavers with emotion. “I bared my fucking soul to you and I thought…” He looks away, his jaw tense.
It’s like I’m drowning, knowing I can’t save myself but fighting anyway.
“Everything between us has been one-hundred-percent real,” I say fiercely. “I…like you so much and I don’t want anyone else. This past week has been the happiest week of my life. You have to believe me.”
“You lied to my face.”
I close my eyes, desperate for someone to throw me a lifeline. I’ve never had a real partner, and the past week has opened my eyes to everything I’ve been missing. Colby is the first person on my mind when I wake up and the last one I think of before I go to sleep. He does small things for me every day that make me feel special, like getting my travel mug of coffee ready if he’s in the kitchen first.
Now that I know what it feels like to be cared for this way, I don’t want to lose it.
I keep my chin up and my voice level. “I lied for a good reason.”
He steps back from the island, throwing his arms out at his sides. “Is that how this works? As long as it’s a good reason, I can lie, too? Because I could’ve lied to you about my parents, but I” He looks away and clears his throat, tears shining in his eyes. “I told you the truth. Do you know how fucking hard that was for me? And now I find out I shared that—something I’ve never told anyone—with someone who lies to me and doesn’t trust me.”
There’s nothing I can say to defend myself because he’s right. I should have been honest with him. At the very least, I shouldn’t have lied.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
The old Mila would have defended herself to the death. I would never let anyone convince me I was wrong. But Colby has softened me. I don’t want to be a person who shoots first and aims later anymore.
“Who is he?” he demands, flexing his hands into fists. “Does he know about me?”
I shake my head. “It’s not what you think.”
“I think you lied to me about where you were going and who you went to see and then went to see another man.”
I sigh heavily, on the verge of telling him the truth when he picks up his keys and grabs a hoodie from a hook in the mudroom. The slam of the door makes me jump.
Once I’m alone, I let my tears fall.
“Oh, honey.”
Quentin steps onto his front porch and puts his arms around me. I press my face to his shoulder and cry.
When I finally step away, he keeps an arm around me and ushers me inside. I texted him as soon as Colby left, asking if I could come over. I’ve never been inside his house and I know I’m intruding, but I needed a little comfort.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sliding my coat off. “I won’t stay long.”
Quentin’s boyfriend Jacob walks into the room, passing me a glass of wine. “Stop that. We want you here.”
“Thanks,” I say, grateful for the wine.
I take a sip and Quentin motions me to follow them into the kitchen. It smells like a bakery, homemade noodles lying on every available counter space.
“Wow, it’s like a nonna’s kitchen up in here,” I say.
Jacob is a chef. He and Quentin spend a lot of time cooking together in their kitchen.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Quentin asks, topping off his own glass of wine and Jacob’s.
“Not really.” I sit down on a stool at the island.
Jacob moves around the small kitchen efficiently, taking containers out of the refrigerator and putting dishes in the sink. Quentin sits down next to me.
“We got this wine from the place near Colorado Springs I was telling you about,” he says. “What do you think of it?”
“It’s great. Sorry I’m in more of a drinking mood than a sipping one.”
He laughs. “We do a lot more drinking than sipping around here.”
Jacob moves a piece of noodle-covered parchment paper from in front of me on the island and sets down a plate. I look up at him, surprised.
“Roasted chicken and mushroom risotto,” he says, returning to noodle duty.
Fresh tears prick my eyes. It’s comforting to be cared for. I didn’t get a single bite of dinner at Colby’s and my stomach is rumbling.
“Thank you, Jacob,” I say, emotion welling in my throat.
I eat quietly, Quentin and Jacob working on the noodles and glancing at me occasionally to make sure I’m okay.
I’m not okay, but at least I’m not alone. When I finish my food, Jacob sweeps my dirty plate away, refusing to let me clean up after myself. Quentin takes me into their living room, settling me into a comfy recliner and covering me up to my chin with a big warm blanket.
