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“Probably not.”
“Tell me anyway,” I whispered. I’d suffer through whatever it was, so long as he was telling me things.
“I got it after one of many lonely fuck sessions,” he said, and I tried but failed at hiding my flinch. I’d never adjust to hearing him speak about having sex with someone other than me. “I just…needed something to hold on to that night. Something to help remind me that I could be more.”
“You are more,” I said. “You’re everything, Leland.”
Leland closed his eyes, and I didn’t comment on the look of contentment overtaking his face. I was sure it would have only angered him if I pointed out that I’d made him feel better.
Once dried and dressed, we moved to the kitchen, where we waited for the sandwich and soup order I’d placed to be delivered. I’d been kidding when I said I’d make it myself.
Leland managed to feed himself the sandwich with his left hand but nearly gave himself third degree burns with the soup.
“What were you doing in the middle of on-coming traffic, Leland?” I asked, blowing a spoonful of soup before bringing it to his parted lips.
“Resisting the urge to run back to you,” he admitted, as if the earlier shower ordeal, and the accident itself, left him too tired to lie or pretend.
“I hope this taught you to never resist. Open up,” I cooed, spoon already reloaded with noodles and broth. Leland frowned but did as told.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Immensely.”
He chewed slowly, swallowing before speaking again. “You have the painting I made for you hanging in your bedroom,” he said, accepting another helping of soup.
“His Storm,” I said, voicing the title of it.
“What did Cole and Jasper say about it?”
“They haven’t been in the bedroom since I hung it there.”
“They’ll eventually see it. What will you say when they ask why my watermark is on it?”
“I’ll tell them the truth.”
“Which is?” He shook his head, refusing to eat more until I answered.
“That the man I love created it for me. That it depicts the passion we once shared. The darkness of that passion.”
Leland shoved the spoon away, not even wincing when the broth fell on his pant leg. “You can’t tell themthat.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not together, Franky. And I never said we would be. You’ll ruin everything for nothing.”
I set the carton of soup aside and gripped the armrests of his chair when he tried to drive away. “Listen to me, Leland. Stop looking at this in terms of what you and I will be to each other, and start thinking about what you need to be free of the secrets and lies holding you prisoner. It’s a burden, and it’s killing you. It’s killing me too.”
Leland tried to stand, then yelled in frustration at his inability to easily move. I let the armrests go, allowing him to back up a few feet, giving him the breathing room he needed. He nibbled at his lip in thought, scanning the countertops and cabinets. “You say you love me,” he whispered. “But I don’t even know you anymore.” He’d said as much in the restaurant.
“Brown is still my favorite color. Specifically the shade of brown that shines like burnished honey in the sunlight. Like now,” I said as the afternoon sun shone through the kitchen window to light up his honey-gold eyes.
“I no longer prefer to work by the water. It distracts me, slows me down because I’m constantly drawn to it, and the view causes me to get lost in my thoughts. I prefer to get my work done first and then reward myself by taking a stroll along the river.”
“With a bottle of Stella?” he asked hopefully, as if he needed something about me to be as it used to be.
“Yes, because some things will never change,” I said. “I made a friend. He’s sometimes more of the father I never had than a friend, but I care about him, and his sage advice helped me a lot. His name is Joe.”
“Just Joe?” Leland asked.
