What He Left Behind(6)

“But, I mean, even if you’re right, I don’t want to do some kind of damage to us.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m not suggesting you cheat on me. I know about it, and I’m endorsing it—it’s not cheating.” He brings my hand up and kisses the backs of my fingers. “You’d be helping him get his confidence back and undo some of the damage that motherf*cker did to him.”

A shudder runs through me as my mind’s eye tries to show me what might have happened to Michael back then, and I tamp those thoughts down. “I don’t… I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Talk to him.” Ian squeezes my hand again. “See if he’s even on board with the idea, and then play it by ear.”

I hold his gaze. “You’re really sure about this.”

“If it means getting him back to a better place so he can find a better relationship?” Ian nods. “Absolutely.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “What if I make things worse for him?”

“Josh.” Ian releases my hand and cups my cheek. “You’re the sweetest and most generous man I’ve ever been with. You and I both know you’d never push him further than he wanted to go, and you would never hurt him. There is literally nothing I can imagine you doing that would do more damage.”

“Still. He’s already gotten hurt so badly…”

“And I couldn’t imagine him being in better hands.”

I’m not so confident, but Ian is right about one thing—there’s no way in hell I would deliberately do anything to hurt Michael any more than I would do anything to hurt Ian. It’s the inadvertent stuff that worries me.

“Talk to him,” Ian says again. “Who knows? He might not even be interested. But if he is, just set rules and limits, take it slow, and maybe it’ll help.”

Fair enough. That I can do. Though I’m not completely sure how to broach that subject. Carefully, I guess. Still, despite my worries, I do feel better knowing there might be something I can actually do to help Michael get back to a better place. Might.

I meet Ian’s gaze and smile. “You’re amazing. You know that?”

He laughs softly and kisses the tip of my nose. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” I run my fingers through his hair. “Any rules?”

Ian seems to mull it over for a moment, but then shrugs. “I trust you. And him.” He pauses. “Just, you know, be honest with me about anything that’s going on. Not necessarily details, just…”

“Just be honest.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I will. I promise.”

Ian smiles. He lifts his head and kisses me softly. “We should get some sleep. Let me know how it goes when you talk to him.”

“You’ll be the first to hear.” I kiss him once more and then settle onto my pillow. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”





Chapter Three


It’s almost six o’clock in the evening, and I still haven’t contacted Michael. I tell myself it’s because I’ve been wrapped up in paperwork and PowerPoint, and that I don’t want to bother him at work, but that’s bullshit.

Sitting in my cubicle beneath the fluorescent lights, playing with my phone, I want to text him, but I don’t. I can’t. Fact is, I can’t figure out what I want to say to him, or how to say it, or if I really should follow through with Ian’s suggestion. What would that even mean, anyway? Friends with therapeutic benefits?

And regardless of what we call it, I’m worried sick that this could get complicated. Sex was never complicated for us, but there was never so much riding on it. During those times when we’d fooled around, neither of us had ever been otherwise attached, never mind married to one or traumatized by another. Over the years, we’d wandered in and out of each other’s beds in between relationships, but it was never a good time for us to pursue something more than sex together. One of us was coming off a breakup, or the other was too tied up with real life to even think of anything more serious.

When life calmed down and we were mature enough to know which way was up, Michael was already happily in a relationship. By the time he’d rebounded from that breakup, I met someone new. We leap-frogged like that all the way through college, until I started working and Michael was in vet school, and then came Ian, and Michael had known before I did that I’d met the man I’d marry. He was the one who told me I was being a dumbass when Ian and I broke up over something stupid, and he was the one who helped us get back together, and damn if he didn’t earn his spot as best man at our wedding.

Sometimes I catch myself fantasizing about the sex we used to have, but I never think of him as the one that got away. Just very fond, very hot memories. My relationships with both Ian and Michael turned out exactly the way they should have—I wouldn’t trade my husband for anything, and I have the best friend any man could ask for. The best friend who gave me all the confidence I have in the bedroom.

The best friend who’s lost all that confidence because of the * he started dating six months after I got married.

The best friend who might be able to regain that confidence with my help, if I’m willing to slip off my wedding ring, get into his bed for the first time in over a decade, and…