What He Left Behind(31)

I prop myself up on my arm beside him. “How do you feel?”

“A lot better.” He reaches up and brushes a few strand of hair off my forehead. “About everything, oddly enough.” He pauses, then quickly adds, “But you’re probably right about taking things slower. So I don’t freak the f*ck out.”

“You still might.” I stroke his cheek. “If you do, we’ll just do like we did tonight—step back, catch our breath and start again.”

He flinches. “I think…” He closes his eyes. “I know you’ll never get impatient with me, but part of me is still afraid you will.” Before I can get defensive, he meets my gaze. “It’s like in high school, when people would lose their virginity too soon because they were afraid they’d get dumped if they didn’t put out. We weren’t like that. We never were. But some irrational thing in my brain thinks we are now. Even though…” He sighs, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“Probably more than you think. I mean, when we slept together years ago, all we were up against was inexperience.” I take his hand and kiss the backs of his fingers. “You’ve got a lot more to work through now. I’m sure there’s plenty of irrational crap that he put into your head, and we’ll just have to face it as we come to it.”

Michael searches my eyes. “I have no idea how much there is or how long it’ll take to work through.”

“Neither do I. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“But there’s also…” He chews his lip. “Look, you’re going out on a limb for me, Josh. Every night you’re with me takes away from time you could be with your husband.” His eyebrows pinch together. “I guess, in a way, I want to get through this faster to minimize the impact on your marriage.”

My lips part. “Michael, my God. I’m not in any—”

“I know. Up here”—he taps his temple—“I know. But it’s not rational. So this will probably come up again.”

“Then we’ll deal with it when it does. As for everything else, you’re calling the shots. Please, please, don’t push yourself too hard for my benefit.

Avoiding my eyes, he nods. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I press my lips to his. “The only one who needs to apologize for anything is—”

He kisses me before I can utter his ex’s name, and we both let it linger for a long, long moment. As he draws away, he says, “I hope Ian knows how lucky he is to have you.”

I slide my hand into his hair and kiss him again but don’t speak.

Because nights like this, as I learn how dangerous and devastating his relationship with Steve really was, I think Ian and I are the lucky ones.

Because as battered as he is, Michael is still with us.





Chapter Nine After that, we take it a little slower. Massages, making out, hand jobs—it’s slow enough to frustrate Michael, but it also seems to keep his demons at bay most of the time. I’m happy to stay in safer territory while he finds his equilibrium, even though part of me is itching to go farther. I’d never dream of pushing him, but I want him to be back to as close to normal as he can get.


And who am I kidding? I want him. This is about him, not me, but the desire definitely exists. I’m only human, and he’s one of the most gorgeous human beings I’ve ever encountered. When he’s ready to take things further, he’ll hardly need to twist my arm.

Slow and steady, though.

A couple of weeks go by. Another hot tub Sunday rolls around, and I have a few errands to run before Michael comes over to hang out. Ian and I always take turns handling drudgery on the weekends—dry cleaning, grocery shopping and all that other shit that inevitably falls by the wayside during the work week. Especially since lately, my evenings have been a bit…full.

By the time I get home, Ian’s car is already in the driveway. I park in the garage, pop the trunk and grab some grocery bags. When I let myself in, Ariel comes thundering and barking to the door as always.

“Careful, baby.” I hold up the grocery bags so she doesn’t knock them out of my hands. “Down.”

She whines a little but stops jumping. As she calms down and follows me toward the kitchen, I can hear Michael and Ian talking.

“…might have a shot, but their bullpen is a f*cking disaster.”

“Ugh. It is. I’ve seen stronger Little League pitchers.”

“I was a stronger pitcher.” Michael clicks his tongue, and I can just imagine him rolling his eyes. “I probably still am, and my team was last in the division.”

I chuckle as I step into the kitchen, where Michael’s leaning against the counter and Ian’s pulling some glasses down from the cabinet.

“Are you two still hung up on all this sportsball nonsense?” I ask with a grin and hoist the grocery bags onto the table.

Ian laughs. “It’s only nonsense to heathens who don’t pay attention.”

“Uh-huh.” I put my hand on his back and kiss him lightly. “At least it’s not football season.”

“Not yet,” Michael says. “The preseason starts soon.”

I groan, and it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. Baseball. Carry on. At least that game makes sense.”