What He Left Behind(25)

“We never would’ve let that happen,” Ian growls. “Another few months with him, and no one would’ve ever found that f*cker’s body.”

The fierce protectiveness in his voice makes me shiver. Michael too.

“I know,” Michael says quietly. “That’s why I’m grateful as hell to have you guys. And what we’re doing now, it’s—” His voice cracks, and he quickly swallows some wine. “It seriously means a lot.” Smiling a bit, he raises his glass. “I can even drink again because of you two.”

“You couldn’t…” I pause. “Because of Steve?”

Michael shrugs. “Oh, what isn’t because of Steve? Obviously I got over this one.”

“Was it…” Ian hesitates. “When he hurt you, uh, sexually, was it when he drank?”

The wine on my tongue gets slightly sour. Steve and alcohol had a volatile relationship too—I was pretty sure that was the only kind of relationship he was capable of having.

Michael shakes his head. “When it came to that, the booze was a blessing in disguise, actually. Sometimes I’d encourage him to drink too much because then he couldn’t perform.” His cheeks color. “The alcohol could make him violent, but…” For a moment, his eyes are distant. Then he brings his glass up again and mutters into it, “That was better than the alternative.”

Ian and I exchange wide-eyed glances. We’d seen Michael with concussions, cracked ribs, stitches, the occasional black eye, even a broken wrist. That was better than the alternative? How bad did it get?

He must see the question in my eyes, because he adds, “Trust me on this one.”

“I do,” I say. “It’s just hard to imagine.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ian breathes.

“Well, a lot of it’s behind me.” Michael pushes his shoulders back and rests his head against the edge of the tub. “Five years of therapy will do that to you.” He smiles, and it’s more genuine than I’d have expected during a conversation about his ex. “We’re still working some bugs out, but I’m a lot better now.”

“You definitely are.” Ian smiles too. “It shows.”

“Now if I can just forget him in the bedroom, I’ll be in good shape.”

“Well.” Ian turns to me. Then back to Michael. “I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Michael meets my gaze. “Yeah. I’d say so too.”

And I hope like hell that they’re right.

We all drink a bit more than usual tonight. Not enough to get sloppy drunk—none of us care for that—but we’re probably all pushing the legal limit to drive. There will be some mild hangovers all around tomorrow, but a few gallons of coffee and some more of water will get us through our respective workdays.

Ian’s got the highest tolerance out of the three of us, and he stops drinking first, so at the end of the evening, he drives Michael home. By the time they leave, he’s sobered up, so I’m not concerned.

While he’s gone, I cover up the tub, take care of the animals and try to ignore the creepy-crawly feeling that seems to follow every conversation involving Steve. It’s especially pronounced after tonight’s discussion. The more Michael tips his hand about what happened, the more I worry about what we’re doing. And having Ian admit to his reservations about all this isn’t helping. I’m glad he’s honest about it, of course. But going forward, knowing he’s not sure, is challenging.

Maybe I should’ve had more wine. Or less. One of the two. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not even sure if a few puffs off a joint would be enough to unwind me tonight.

It’s nearly bedtime, so I start going through the motions. Ariel announces that Ian’s home, and I’m just finishing up brushing my teeth when he joins me in the bathroom. As soon as I see his face, my heart skips. His jaw is tight, his brow furrowed.

“You okay?” I ask as I slot my toothbrush beside the mirror.

“I’m fine.” Ian wraps his arms around my waist and kisses the side of my neck. “Listen, um, on the drive home, I did a lot of thinking. About Michael. And you.”

My stomach tightens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I told you guys tonight I had some reservations.”

I turn around in his embrace and meet his gaze, but don’t speak.

Ian swallows. “After everything Steve put him through…” He takes a deep breath, and the intensity in his eyes startles me as he whispers, “You have my unconditional blessing to give Michael anything he needs to put that son of a bitch behind him.”

“Are—”

“I’m absolutely sure.” He cups my cheek with an unsteady hand. “After tonight, whatever doubts I had, they’re gone.” He draws me in, and our lips brush as he murmurs, “And he’s damn lucky to have someone like you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one right now.” I kiss him softly. “I can’t imagine anyone else who’d let me do this.”

“I trust you. I know both of you.” He draws back a little, and that intensity is still there, but different now. Clearer. As if he’s…haunted. “I just can’t live with the idea of him struggling through this by himself.”

Before I can respond, Ian kisses me, and he holds me so tight, it’s almost painful.