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“That wasn’t—,” he stops, recalibrating. “It was heat of the moment; you weren’t trying to—.”
“It was heat of the moment.” I mimic, cruelly. “Yeah, said every rapist ever.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” He’s lifted both hands in front of him, palms toward me, in a way that’s so reminiscent of six years ago it’s hard to look at. “I don’t know what you’ve convinced yourself happened that night, but if you think I didn’t want you then you’re deluded.”
My voice has risen and I’m dangerously close to shouting. “Tell me you weren’t scared. Tell me you weren’t scared ofme.”
“Of course, I was fucking scared!” He explodes, palms slapping down onto the counter between us.Yes, I think,lose control. Yell at me. “Coming out, being with a man? That was never going to be an option for me. So, I lied and I pretended, and everything was fine until you came along, and I wanted you so badly I couldn’t stand it. I wanted you so bad I let you kiss me in a public alley where anyone could see. Scared? I was terrified.”
He runs a hand through his hair, turning away from me slightly. When he speaks again, his voice wavers only slightly, clearly struggling to regain control after his outburst. “I hadn’t done that before, okay? Any of it. Not with someone I actually wanted, not with a man. I was just…overwhelmed.”
He looks tormented, like telling me his secrets is causing him actual physical pain. My presence is only good for misery, it seems. I close my eyes, inhaling deep through my nose. “How many times?” I ask, quietly.
“What?”
“How many times did you ask me to back off?” I open my eyes and catch his gaze with mine. He is completely missing the point again.
“It doesn’t matter.” He tries, and I wait, wondering if he’s going to lie and tell me he doesn’t remember. “Four.” He answers, eventually, and his eyes skitter away from mine.
“Four.” I repeat, adding this to my own memories of that night. “Glad I was able to give you such a good experience for your first kiss.”
Something flashes across his face too quick for me to discern, and he turns around under the pretense of needing to stir the spaghetti sauce. I eye the back of him, the long line of his spine and the rigid set of his shoulders. I wish this was a different sort of night; one where I could step up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and press against him, kissing his neck. But this isn’t that sort of night at all, and too many lines have been crossed in the past to know where we might end up in the future.
When he turns back around, he’s holding a spoon filled with red sauce; wordlessly, he holds it out to me and waits for me to take it gingerly from his hand. I bring it to my lips, blowing on it softly before putting it in my mouth.
“What do you think?” He asks, quietly.
“Well, I can’t taste a single one of those vegetables I saw you cut up, so I’d say it’s a success.” One side of his mouth twitches, trying to smile. “It’s delicious.”
I hand the utensil back to him and am surprised when he pops the same spoon into his own mouth. Narrowing his eyes, he mutters something about parsley, and goes back to the pan. I wait, patiently, giving him silence and space. When he finally rejoins me at the island, I feel like the mask has slipped just a little bit, and the real Corwin is peeking through.
“I think maybe I’m the one who owes you an apology.” He says, and I very nearly drop my head down to the counter in exasperation.
“I can’t wait to hear it.” I deadpan.
“You’re right, that maybe things got a little out of control and, yes, you should have listened when I asked you to stop. But,” he holds up one hand, seeing that I have every intention of interrupting, “I shouldn’t have left like I did, without explaining myself. I was worried, Nigel, because you knew this secret about me, and I wasn’t sure what you would do with it. I was freaking out, and I thought the best thing to do was to distance myself from what happened, but obviously all that’s done is make things worse.”
“You thought I was going to tell people? Out you?” I’m a little peeved by this; I haven’t even outed myself. “I’ve never come out to any of my teammates before, Corwin.Never. I sure as hell wouldn’t waltz into the locker room and tell them about you.”
He shrugs, helplessly. “I didn’t say it made sense. But that’s what I thought.”
“And that’s why you turned down that contract.”
“Partially. Mostly though, I just didn’t think I could stand to be in a locker room with you and not… Well, anyway.” He waves a hand, before running the pad of a finger over the striations in the marble, tracing a vein. He’s not looking at me when he says, “I really am sorry.”
“So am I.” I can’t look at the top of his head without remembering how it felt to run my fingers through his hair. “I’ve pretty much been thinking about it every day for six years straight.”
“Me too.” His head comes back up, eyes meeting mine. “I haven’t…I don’t ever, um, do that.”
Oh, sweetheart.“Nobody since then?”
He shakes his head and I blow out a soft breath. He deserves better than a quick grope against a brick wall. He turns around again, facing the stove, and I assume my thoughts were written loud and clear across my face.
“Dinner’s ready, if you still want to eat.” He glances back over his shoulder at me, voice wary like he’s expecting me to leave him after all that.
I stand up, rounding the outside edge of the island toward him and stopping with a foot of distance still between us. “I’ll help you.”
Together, we plate the food and bring it over to his massive dining room table. I wait, unsure of where I’m supposed to sit when a dozen choices are presented to me. Corwin takes the decision out of my hands, however, when he pulls two chairs out, one on the end of the table and the other on the corner next to it.
