What He Left Behind(73)

“And if they find out anyway?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” He meets my gaze. “We were both freaked out about the school district figuring out I was gay, and yeah, they don’t like it, but there isn’t a damned thing they can do about it.”

“An arrangement like this, though…”

“Then, like I said, we’ll be discreet. If it comes out…” He shrugs again. “We’ll deal with it. But I think this has the potential to be something really amazing for all three of us. I’m not going to pass that up just because someone who’s stuck in the Dark Ages might find out about it. The only ones whose opinions matter are you, me and Michael.”

“Question is, what will he think of the idea?”

“All we can do is talk to him.”

“Except I’m not sure if he’ll even take my calls right now.” Just saying it makes me sick to my stomach.

Ian’s eyebrows jump. “What do you mean? Did something happen?”

“When we talked, he said he needed some time. He didn’t come out and say it, but it was kind of a ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ type of thing.”

Ian scowls. “Well, all you can do is try. If he isn’t receptive right now, then we’ll wait until he comes out of the woodwork.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “He isn’t gone forever. We both know he’ll come back.”

That damned lump is rising in my throat again. “I know. I just…” I shake my head. “Fuck.”

“He’ll come back.” Ian gathers me in his arms. “And if by some chance he doesn’t, I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes and hold him tight. This isn’t over yet, not until we’ve talked to Michael, but all I can feel right now is the most profound relief. After being so terrified that Ian was ready to walk out the door, I should be dragging him upstairs and f*cking him into the ground just to make sure this is real and we’re both really here, but I can’t move.

Truth be told, I don’t want to move. We’ve joked in the past that the best part of fighting is making up, and we’ve had some explosive makeup sex over the years, but I don’t see that part happening this time. I’m physically exhausted. I’m emotionally exhausted. More than that, though, I just want to hold him like this for a moment. Right here on our couch, fully dressed and not even a little bit turned on, this is all I want.

Ian lifts his head and tips my chin up so we’re looking in each other’s eyes.

And then he kisses me, and it’s chaste and gentle, and I don’t have to ask if he feels the same way.

The sex will come later. Just…don’t move.

I want to believe Michael will come back, but right now, I’m just grateful Ian’s still here.





Chapter Twenty-Five


It takes me until almost bedtime to finally work up the nerve to text Michael.

We’d like to talk—dinner?

Of course, that’s a mistake. Now I’ll be up all night wondering what he’s thinking, if he’ll respond, if he’ll be upset that I broke the silence. His departure wasn’t hostile by any means, but especially in the years since he left Steve, Michael has been fiercely protective of his space. If he wants to be left alone, he wants to be left alone.

As I’m getting ready for bed, I have visions of him looking at the message and then shoving his phone in his pocket without responding.

“Give him time.” Ian snaps me out of my thoughts with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “He’s got a lot to think about.”

“I know.” I toss my shirt in the hamper and sigh. “But you know I’m going to freak out about it until—”

Ian kisses me softly. “I know. And there’s nothing I can say that’ll stop you, but you know I’m still going to try.”

I meet his eyes and can’t help laughing. “Yeah, true. I don’t know why I bother trying.”

He smiles, and then hugs me gently. “It’ll be—”

My phone buzzes on top of my dresser, and both our heads snap toward it.

“Is that…?”

“Maybe.” I grab the phone, and sure enough, there’s a text from Michael.

Are you sure that’s a good idea?

I gulp.

“What’d he say?” Ian asks.

I show him the message, and he frowns.

“How upset was he when you guys talked?”

“He was pretty shaken up.” I look at the screen again. “He might be afraid to face you.”

“Me? Why would—” He pauses. “Because of how he feels about you.”

I nod.

“Maybe I should message him,” Ian says. “So he knows I’m not upset.”

Gnawing my lip, I try to think of a better idea but come up empty, so I sigh and lower my phone. “It’s worth a shot.”

He takes out his own and starts typing out a message. Before he sends it, he turns it so I can see it.

There’s no hard feelings. Just want to talk.

I nod, and Ian sends the message. We both stare at our screens, waiting for the icon that indicates he’s responding, but nothing happens.