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To top it all off, I’d rushed out of the house, at Daniel’s frantic insistence, and forgotten my phone.
“I could’ve sworn I slipped it into my coat,”I’d said from the back seat of the chauffeured sedan, checking and rechecking each pocket.“We need to go back.”
“There’s no time for that, Jasper. Especially if you plan on leaving early to meet your brother,”he’d dangled over me.“You can use my phone to call him if you need to.”
That was the last thing I needed to do.
The Smithen brothers dominated their sector of the hospitality industry, and were in the market for new legal representation. Since Daniel was the only gay, married man of the three partners, and both Smithen brothers were gay and happily married, it was decided he’d be sent in for the kill, so to speak.
Alcohol flowed, and Daniel had effectively snagged and held their attention. Jacob Smithen’s husband had taken an interest in my work, and for once, Daniel didn’t mind me doing more than looking pretty. Things were going well, too well, and so it came as no surprise when the brothers begged me to stay.
“Cole is a successful businessman. He knows how these things work. He’ll understand,”Daniel had said from the corner of the event space he’d hauled me to, smiling and waving as the brothers watched on from the bar.“This is important to me,”he’d stressed for the second time that night before closing my hand over his phone and cheerfully making his way through the crowd, accepting the drink Jacob offered him. It was already late. The show would’ve started by then. I called Cole, but he didn’t answer.
A few hours later, I arrived home to no missed calls or text messages, and somehow that felt much worse. It felt like resignation.
“You found your phone,” Daniel said, yawning on his way to the stairs.
“I don’t remember leaving it here,” I said, staring questioningly at the coffee table.
“Tonight was a success,” he said from the landing, “But I’m exhausted. Are you coming to bed?”
“Yeah. In a minute.” I waited until I’d heard our bathroom sink cut on, then dialed Cole. I got his voicemail and hung up. I spent the next hour gazing over the city from the living room, thinking, knowing I needed to do the right thing, because we couldn’t go on like this, and I was held prisoner by a promise and by guilt, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.
Daniel was fast asleep by the time I got to our bedroom, but I knew rest would evade me if I didn’t go to Cole tonight. So knowing what needed to be done, and hating it, I went to him.
Cole wasn’t home when I got there, and I fought the temptation to call again, to text him my location, because a twisted part of me wanted to lurk and see if he’d show up with someone. The same part of me that would see the act as a betrayal, irony be damned.
I wanted to know how easy it would be for him to replace me, now that he’d need to. Or maybe I just wanted him to be as wrong as me. Either way, the idea that he might try to bring someone else here, again, made me violent.
My bones were cold, giving me a sneak peek of what life without him would be like. What life without himwaslike. I took the liberty of starting a fire, and then waited near his balcony doors.
His footsteps sounded a lifetime later, and then stopped at what I assumed was the archway to the room. With my back to him, I wasn’t left to imagine his shock at finding me there, because I could feel his anger pounding at my spine. Could almost taste his need to cut me open, to rip me apart.What have I done to him?I’d swallow the blame for it all.
“Do I even want to know where you’ve been?” I asked, knowing I had no right to. There was the sound of fabric, and then a thunk as what I guessed was his coat hitting the sofa. I couldn’t turn to him. Couldn’t even face his reflection in the glass doors. I kept my gaze downcast.
“I could ask you the same,” he said, “but I’d rather not know.” His tone was limp, tragic, deserving of its own ballad, and my chest constricted from the pain of hearing it.
“It’s always the worst at night,” he said, getting straight to the excruciating part. “When I don’t have a busy day to distract me. When I don’t have your busy day, or Daniel’s, to bring me comfort, because then I know at least he doesn’t have you.” He exhaled. “But at night, I imagine him holding you. His arms around you in bed, testing the waters to see if you’re in the mood. I tell myself you’re not, because I’ve been more than taking care of your needs. But still he holds you, and I imagine you pretending it’s me, and while that soothes my ego, it does nothing for my fracturing heart, because whether you’re pretending to want him or not, whether it’s my face you’re seeing instead of his, he does in fact have you. And the sad part is, he doesn’t even appreciate it.”
I was breaking apart, my fingers digging into my ribs from where my arms crossed over me protectively. “You said you could handle this,” I tried, finding his reflection in the glass.
“I lied!” he roared, throwing his hands in the air. I flinched. He slapped his hands at his sides, and then echoed in a whisper, “I lied. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
I did, but I’d hoped.Goddid I fucking hope. I dropped my chin, because even seeing a faint image of his heartbreak through a sheet of glass was too much. But then I turned to him, because I owed him. I owed him full absorption. I owed him more than this.
“And then I think,” he said, facing the fire, hands drifting into his pockets, “I never should have come here. But chasing that thought is the realization that I’ve experienced more happiness here, even during moments of private misery, than I have in all the years I’ve spent without you.” He nodded thoughtfully, and I stood there willingly bleeding for him.
“I don’t blame you. We’ve all gotta heal in our own way,” he said, as if reciting some piece of advice he’d heard before. I wanted to throw myself at his feet. Plead for his forgiveness and vow that from this point on I’d choose him. But then Franklin flashed into my mind, and the vision of my mother taking her last breath on my bedroom floor, and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say the words to make him okay, becauseIwasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.
“You know what hurts the most?” He took a beat to formulate his words, and I braced for the next blow, wanting it, even. Wanting all his pain to be piled on top of the hill of mine, because as much as it would hurt, as much as I was already weighed down by my own pain, going through my day knowing I hadn’t given him closure, or something close to it, would destroy whatever was left of me, which wasn’t much to begin with.
“What hurts the most is that I can’t make things right for you. That my love isn’t enough to make you want to try. Hell,” he started, “you tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. I’m listening now, angel. I’m listening now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, angrily wiping away a lone tear. Iwassorry. Both apologetically, and pathetically. Sorry was all I had to give.
He moved closer, ferrying the scent of expensive booze with him. “Don’t be sorry,” he gritted out, hands combing through his hair as he stopped an arm’s length away from me. “How can you stand it?” he asked, begging for me to provide an explanation he could work with. “You don’t love him. There’s no room left in your heart for him. It’s filled to capacity with loving me.”
“What would we tell your father?” I asked, hoping to make him comprehend the impossibility of us.
