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“Is that so bad?” he asked quietly. “You love Flynn, and you and Ez were friends not so long ago. Why is it so bad to share her with us?”
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. He was free to get it on with anyone. But they had expectations. My family put pressure on me without even knowing it. The weight of my father’s loss and the risk of my family’s disappointment were heavy burdens to carry.
I couldn’t cave. I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t want it.
I couldn’t want them.
I stepped back, let go of his shirt, and smoothed it down, my attempt at removing the creases utterly futile. “You need to leave,” I rasped.
“Ry—”
“Please leave.” My shoulders fell, slumping under the weight. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, the outcome would be inevitable.
He nodded and stepped out of the door, hovering with his hand on the frame. With his back to me, he spoke softly, barely loud enough for me to hear. “If it’s me—if it’s us—don’t let it stop you from being happy with Zali. You have a real shot, Ry, and I want that for you. For both of you. I won’t give her up. But I’ll give up time with her so she can be with you.”
I didn’t answer him. What was there to say? Thank you? Yeah, no.
“Aren’t you tired of denying it, Ry? Denying yourself?” I stayed still and quiet, and he sighed. “Fall. We’ll catch you.”
I huffed out a laugh that held no humour. My falling and their catching me were the two things that I just couldn’t allow. He tapped the frame with his knuckles and added, “Just… think about it,” before he walked away.
Five
Ryder
Itasted blood and swiped my tongue over my lip. I’d been worrying it from the moment Tristan walked out of my office. I’d wanted to call to him to come back. I’d wanted to talk. But what could I say?
Now hours had passed, and darkness had descended over the yacht. Zali’s Noble Steed. Fuck, I wished I could ride the thing right the hell on out of here. I needed a break. I needed to be able to steal a breath without going under, water filling my lungs and drowning me.
I was tired.
Exhausted.
The fatigue was bone deep. Tristan was right. I was spent.
But what choice did I have? The baggage was mine to carry. I couldn’t just pass it off to someone else.
Uncle Kev, Tom, and Chris believed in me. They saw me as the kind of man they could clap on the back and say, “Well done, mate,” to. They were proud of me. I’d done that. I’d made them proud.
I’d dragged myself out of the depths of despair and made sure that the people closest to me were right there with me. I was strong enough to do it, to be a real man. My shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight of expectation.
I was the alpha of the pack. But that didn’t make me one of those chest-beating dickheads. I knew what I needed to do, and I did it. I’d proved to them they could trust me. I always tried to lead by example—be a good person, care for the people around me, and be kind to them. I kept my family safe. I wasn’t aggressive to them in some need to show off my masculinity, but I would defend them to the death if they needed my protection.
It wasn’t all a hardship. I got to play with the most fantastic toys—cars, yachts, planes. Who could complain?
But I was a fraud too. They saw me as a man they were proud of. Would they feel the same if they knew the truth? Would they even still like me? Out of fear, I’d buried my sexuality a long time ago. I didn’t think I could cope with losing anyone else. Mum’s disappointment would gut me with a rusty knife. Disappointing Uncle Kev, Tom, or Chris would be like losing the last remaining piece of Dad all over again.
I’d worked fucking hard to get where I was, to be seen by them as their equal. It’d been drilled into me that a real man steps up when needed. They’d turned me into a man who would make Dad proud. But if they knew the truth, would they still think that? Or would their disappointment in me, in what I craved, be the end?
I couldn’t risk doing something just for me when the outcome could hurt them. And them being disappointed in me would hurt them.
So I sacrificed that part of me to keep them safe and happy because that’s what a real man does.
I’d watched Uncle Kev, Tom, and Chris with Dad over the years. They watched sport and knew every team’s stats. They knew every player; they could recite their height and weight, tackles, or how many hundredths of a second they’d driven the lap faster or slower than their competitors. They kept team photos and copies of signed memorabilia up on the wall, and their favourites were obvious.
But they were always manly about it. That manliness was as much a lifestyle as a mindset.
They told me to find the prettiest girl and marry her. A round arse, perky tits, kissable lips, and a tight pussy in the one woman made her a keeper. My stomach had rolled when they’d told me that, but I’d nodded, taking it in and knowing that my sexuality would give me nothing but problems. Being pansexual at least gave me options, though, and I thanked God for not making me gay.
