What He Left Behind(49)

Michael drains his glass. He puts it aside, shoots me a quick glance and then turns to Ian. Their eyes lock. My heart speeds up. Didn’t I just bring this up like two minutes ago? And they’re already looking at each other like that?

Ian rests his hand on Michael’s shoulder. They inch closer to each other, holding each other’s gazes and holding their breath, and I realize I’m not breathing either. Michael’s hand slides up Ian’s chest and snakes around the back of his neck. Ian tilts his head a little. Closer. Closer. Almost touching.

They stop. Neither pulls away, but they don’t move either—as if they’re each daring the other to cross the last little gap. My heart could not possibly beat any faster. This is a bad idea, isn’t it?

And both suddenly burst out laughing and separate.

Panic and relief both shoot through my veins—what the hell happened? Okay, it didn’t turn into a flashback or something for Michael. But…?

Ian lets his face fall into his dripping hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Michael rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know what’s funny.”

“Neither do I.” Ian glares at the two wine bottles. “What did you do to us, you bastards?”

All three of us laugh this time, partly out of genuine amusement and partly because, at least in my case, I’m worried as f*ck about how this thing might play out. We definitely jumped from discussion to execution way too fast—time to rein it back and talk about it before it blows up in our faces.

I open my mouth to speak, but Ian beats me to it.

“I’m really sorry.” He clears his throat, and his tone is completely serious when he continues. “It’s just…”

“Nerves?” Michael asks.

“Just a bit.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Look, I really do want to do this. If you think it’s going to help you move on, then…” Ian twists around, facing him fully. “I want to follow your lead. What do we do?”

“One thing at a time, I guess.” Michael lifts his hand out of the water and reaches for Ian. He pauses, his fingers hovering tentatively as droplets fall in the water right in front of Ian’s chest. They lock eyes again, and Michael moves in closer, this time meeting Ian’s face with his fingertips.

I chew the inside of my cheek. We should talk this through.

But Michael’s drawing Ian closer. They’re touching, looking at each other—and like Ian, I want to follow Michael’s lead. So with my heart in my throat, I watch and hope for the best.

Ian runs the backs of his fingers along the edge of Michael’s jaw. “You can trust me. I would never in a million years—”

“I know.” Michael smiles, but there’s tension written all over his tight lips and in his eyes. “It’s PTSD, though. There’s nothing rational when that shit kicks in.”

Ian gulps. “What do you want me to do, then?”

Michael shivers, eyes flicking toward Ian’s lips. “I really want you to kiss me.”

Ian’s other hand rests on Michael’s arm, though I can’t decide if he’s steadying him, slowing him down, or keeping it there in case he suddenly wants to push him back. “Are you… Is this…” He glances at me, eyebrows pinched together. Facing Michael again, he whispers, “I don’t want to make things worse for you.”

And right then and there, I thank God for the man I married—he’s as concerned about Michael as I have been from the beginning, and if ever there was someone I could trust with Michael, it’s definitely him.

“You won’t make it worse.” Michael’s features relax, and he combs his fingers through Ian’s dark hair.

Ian isn’t convinced, though, and draws back. “I…”

“We can stop any time, right?” Michael asks.

“Of course!”

Michael’s smile melts my knees, and he cups Ian’s jaw. “Then you won’t make it worse. As long as we can stop, it’ll be fine.” Now he draws back, though, his smile fading. “But I don’t want to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not a question of wanting to.” Ian exhales, running his hand along Michael’s forearm. “Trust me. I definitely want to.”

“Me too.”

They hold each other’s gazes. After a moment, Ian’s lips curve into a grin. Then Michael’s do the same. He leans in, and Ian mirrors him, and I hold my breath, not sure if this is going to be the hottest thing imaginable or a hot mess.

Good God, they’re really doing this. Drawing each other in, gazes darting from eyes to parted lips and back—please, please, don’t let this backfire.

They’re both all smiles and confidence right up until they’re close enough to kiss, and then they slow down. Michael bites his lip. Ian’s forehead creases.

Damn it. Another attempt to move too far, too fast, and it’ll only be a setback that’ll—

Michael kisses Ian.

And my glass nearly tumbles into the water.

Michael grips the sides of Ian’s neck in both hands, as if he’s afraid Ian will pull away. At first, I’m certain Ian will. His spine’s rigid, and his shoulders tense as if he’s about to bolt. Then he wraps one arm around Michael. And the other. His hand slides up to cradle the back of Michael’s head, and…