What He Left Behind(3)

“I know.” He sweeps his tongue across his lips. “It actually took me a long time to even tell Dr. Hamilton. And she’s helped me through so much, but this…” Michael shakes his head. “The thing is, I really do like Dr. Klein. A lot, but how do I put this far enough behind me to not be a goddamned basket case with him? Or with anyone else?”

“What does Dr. Hamilton suggest?”

He shrugs. “She thinks this might be outside of her expertise. She’s tried, but so far, we’re just not getting anywhere. She’s said a sex therapist might be the way to go.” In the dim light, Michael’s cheeks color. “But I’m… I mean, it took me this long to even tell you. I don’t know if I can talk about this with a complete stranger, you know?” Through gritted teeth, he adds, “Maybe if I were comfortable with that, I could stomach the idea of sleeping with someone I’ve never touched before. But I can’t. So why would I…” He waves a hand and shakes his head.

“Shit,” I breathe. “I am so sorry, Michael.” It sounds so f*cking useless. Especially directed at someone like Michael, who’s got every right to be jaded when it comes to apologies.

“I’m just afraid…” He chews his lip. “I’ve gone out with a few guys over the years, and the second things got physical, I freaked out. It’s not as bad as it used to be.” He shudders. “The first time, f*ck, I probably scarred that guy for life.”

“What happened?”

“I panicked.” He meets my eyes, and his eyebrows pull together slightly, as if to silently add, Don’t make me go into detail.

“Was it better the other times?”

“Better, but not…” He rubs the bridge of his nose again. “There’s just this wall up. And I don’t know how to get over that wall with someone without killing the mood completely, you know?”

I force back that lump in my throat. I remember all too well stumbling over mental obstacles and being scared to death I’d disappoint a guy because I was too nervous and too inexperienced and too freaked out. And I got over those obstacles because of Michael. He was patient, and reassuring, and coaxed me over each and every one of those barriers until we were having the kind of sex I thought existed only in pornos.

“It pisses me off,” Michael goes on. “I mean, every time I think I’ve left that * in the past, something else comes up and reminds me of him. I love sex. Well, loved it. And now, I can’t even…” He swallows and looks in my eyes again. “I used to get turned on if a guy put his hand on my leg under the table. The last time I went out with someone? He just brushed my leg with his knee, and my skin started crawling. I spent the rest of the evening thinking he was going to touch me for real. When I bailed on him because I was”—he makes air quotes—“feeling kind of sick, it wasn’t entirely a lie.”

“Jesus.”

Michael holds my gaze, but then he shakes his head and picks up his fork again. Stabbing at his food, he sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. And you’ve probably got to get back to work pretty soon.”

I glance at the clock on the wall behind him. Yeah, I’m cutting it close, and technically I should bail in the next ten minutes, but I think my boss will understand if I get back late this one time. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Michael spears a piece of penne with his fork. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

His eyes flick up for a second. We’ve had this conversation before—Michael knows damn well I mean it when I say I’m always here for him. Day or night, no questions asked. I’d move mountains for him, and right now, I wish like hell I could move this one.

“Have you thought about just going out with the guy?” I ask. “Maybe tell him up front that you prefer to take things slow?”

Michael nods. He nibbles his lunch, and his eyes are unfocused as if he’s lost in thought. Then he takes a drink and says, “Honestly? That just makes it worse.”

“How so?”

“Because moving slowly is still moving. We’ll still get there.” He chases another piece of tomato around the edge of his plate. “And I’ll be sweating bullets the entire f*cking time.” He stabs the tomato and nearly puts his fork right through the ceramic. “Sometimes I think it would be better to just dive into bed with a stranger and get it over with.”

My neck prickles. “That…doesn’t sound like a healthy way to approach it.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Got any better ideas?”

I hold his gaze. He holds mine.

And no, I haven’t got any better ideas.





Chapter Two


By the time I get home from work at ten after seven, I’m starving. If traffic had moved even a little bit slower, I’m pretty sure I would’ve started eyeballing the steering wheel or the passenger seat’s upholstery.

And yet at the same time, the thought of food makes me gag. I’ve been reeling all day from what Michael told me over lunch, and that’s to say nothing of all the things he didn’t tell me. I know just enough about that hellish relationship to be able to fill in the blanks. As I’m getting out of my car, a thought smacks me in the back of the head: What if one of those times I met Michael at the ER, when he was shaken and bloody, it had been after Steve—