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He opened the alcohol and grimaced. “This is going to burn, but I’ll try to be quick.” He waited for me to nod before pouring it over the cut. It stung like a son of a bitch, but once the blood washed away, the cut wasn’t nearly as bad as it had looked at first. It probably could have benefited from stitches, but I had no desire to spend an evening at the emergency room in Cobb.
I glanced down at his hand as he bandaged me. My blood smeared across every inch of his palms.
“I get tested,” I said, worried that that’s where his mind had wandered.
“What?” he said, staring at me like I was an idiot. “What the heck does that even mean?”
“Blood. I get tested,” I repeated, staring down at my hand. “I’m negative, and I’m on PrEP. Not that it really matters. I haven’t even had sex in three years.” There was a sharp sting in my hand, ruling out my theory of severed nerve endings in the most unwelcome of ways. His thumbs were pressing directly into my cut. “What the fuck, Grayson?”
“Sorry! Sorry, you just sort of took me by surprise there.”
“Well, rein that shit in before I bleed out.”
“Three years?” His eyes looked everywhere in the room except at me. “That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
“Not really. Not for me, at least. I’ve always been more interested in the emotional bond than the physical side of things, I guess. Sex is—Jesus, you’re doing it again!” I winced. As the pain dulled, I wrapped my good hand around his wrist. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”
He nodded, but as he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes focused on my neck. “I’m just not used to talking about it. Me and Sarah, we haven’t ever … you know.”
“Do you want to?”
“I’m a man,” he said, without looking at me.
The most I’d ever seen them do was hold hands. Even then, it always seemed forced on his part. Gray may have been a man, but he was also a gay man. Just as gay as me. Just as uninterested in women as me. The thought of Gray having to force his way through a heterosexual roll in the hay felt like a pile of bricks on my chest. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t what he wanted. I knew Gray, and I knew it would traumatize him.
“Gray,” I whispered, leaning in. “Baby, look at me.” Our eyes met. “This is me you’re talking to. How do you think that’s going to work? When you marry her, she’s going to expect sex. It comes with the territory.”
He looked down at my hand, his thumb brushing back and forth against my palm. “I know that. I’m not stupid, Kent.”
“No,” I agreed. “No, you’re not. That’s why none of this makes sense. You don’t have to do this anymore. You get that, don’t you? I’m home. I’m not leaving again.”
He forced a smile, still refusing to look me in the eyes. Reaching up, he brushed his fingertip against my neck again. “How did you cut yourself here?” He leaned in slowly, and be it the loss of blood, the three-year dry spell, or just the fact that I was absolutely, positively, completely in love with him, I leaned in closer, trying to meet him halfway. My lips parted and when we connected, it was like fireworks and sonic booms with trace amounts of passion and power... and iron?
No. Not iron.
Blood.
I opened my eyes to a pitiful sight. Gray’s hand was over my mouth, shielding himself from me.
I pulled away from him, wiping my mouth and feeling more rejected than I ever had. “Sorry.”
“I can’t.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have done that.” I grabbed one of the clean gauze pads and used it to clean the blood off my face.
“If I could be that guy for you, I would. I swear that I would, because you deserve it.”
“You could try,” I whispered. “I know I’m not much, but I’m worth the trouble.”
He stared down at my bandaged hand and sniffled, shaking his head. “We should probably close up and head home. Tomorrow’s truck day. It’s going to be an early morning.” He turned to walk away, and I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop the words from falling out of my mouth.
“Gray, wait.” I opened my arms, inviting him in for a hug. For a second, it looked like he would come back to me. That he wanted this just as much as I did. He took one step, and then he stopped.
“You promised. You said you wouldn’t do this,” he said without looking back. “You just come in here with your big ideas and that face of yours, and … You’re ruining it. You’re ruining everything I’ve tried to build while you were gone. Please, Half-pint. You gotta stop. I can’t be what you’re wanting me to be.” He looked back at me, and there was a tear falling down his cheek. “I wish I could. God, you don’t know how bad I wish I could.”
“I can’t just shut it off. I try. I’ve been trying.”
He wiped his eyes. “Try harder. I need you to try harder.” His voice was frail. A tiny, fragile sound, full of hurt and loss. He wasn’t demanding compliance, he was begging for mercy. “Kent, please? I can’t. This is killing me.”
