“Can we still be friends?” he asks me, and my heart drops. Because, as nice and comforting as I’m trying to be right now, I can’t be friends with him. Not while I watch from the sidelines after he goes after the person he loves, while I’m still fighting my feelings. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or envy that he’s brave enough to go after what he truly wants.
“Not right now, Trent,” I say, trying to soften the blow as I step away from him.
The trip home gives me a lot to think about, wondering how we came to this point. The thoughts and feelings I’ve been harboring are battling their way forward, tearing down every wall I’ve carefully constructed to fight off the influx of sentiments regardingAdam.
Yes, he hurt me. I know that, logically, but there’s still a part of my soul that’s tethered to him, even after all this time, and I can’t fight it off. My feelings for him are as inevitable as the feelings Trent had for Kian. Fighting them only drains you further and leaves you more vulnerable in the end.
Flashes of Adam in college, all the times he held me and listened to my inner ramblings. When he fed me after I had forgotten to eat all day. Buying my favorite snacks so I wouldn’t have to go to the store to get them myself. Lazy days spent in his room while we studied and worked on homework.
So many memories held in that small room, love confessed and bonds forged. As much as I want to fight away thememories, they are relentless in their pursuit of making me remember.
Trent drops me off at my house, and I open the door, letting myself in and really taking in what has become of my life.
I’m 27 and painfully single. I have one friend who lives four hours away, whom I haven’t talked to since I quit my job. Parents who love me. A roof over my head and groceries in my fridge. I shouldn’t have this bone-deep ache and desire for something more in my life. But I do, and it’s not something that I can wish or will away. I tried to do that before and tried to replace him, but it's painfully obvious that avoidance is not the answer to my problem.
I need to confront this once and for all.
44
ADAM
Collins:Can we meet?
My eyes track over the text again and again, convinced I’m hallucinating. But I’m not, it’s right there in front of me in black and white. Hunter is asking me to meet up,me.After all this time.
I haven’t heard from Trent since he got back from his trip, which isn’t unusual. The two weeks he spent in Arizona with Hunter were weird, sitting in my quiet office, wondering all day what they were doing. Were they having fun?
Maybe he and Hunter are deciding to move their relationship forward, and Hunter needs to clear the air with me before he can get the closure he is looking for. That’s why I haven’t heard from Trent either.
Fuck, if he asks me to never show my face around him again, I’ll have to pack up all my belongings and flee to Fiji. I think I would like that island more than others—tropical beaches, bars where I can drink away my problems and not think about what is happening here in the little town of Madison, Texas.
Adam:Yeah, when?
I look around my house, it looks like a tornado blew through here. Clothes, clean and dirty, are splayed across every viable surface. The latest romance book I started is sitting dog-eared on my coffee table, surrounded by empty bottles of water and soda. I don’t even like soda, but the fizz burned my throat going down, so I placebo-ed myself into thinking it was alcohol without all the bad side effects.
It’s a pigsty in here, and if he asks if we can meet here it’ll be a two-week turnaround time before I’ll have this place looking presentable enough for him to step foot into. Knowing him, he would start cleaning it before we could talk.
Collins:Now? If you’re not busy, I’m at the bookstore.
The bookstore. His bookstore. The one he built from the ground up that acts as a safe haven for the LGBTQIA+ community. He’s gone above and beyond to make the place welcoming, giving it the homey feeling that so many people crave as an escape from their lives. He did all of that on his own. I’m so proud of him for bringing his dreams to life, even if it took him a while to get there. He did it, and more than anything, I wish I could have been standing by his side, cheering him on. But that’s not my place anymore, and I don’t know if it will ever be again.
Adam:I can be there in 15.
All I get in reply is a thumbs up, and my nerves are frayed. I rush around the house, getting dressed in presentable clothing and making sure it isn’t wrinkled or stained.
Too soon, I’m parking on the side of the street in front of his bookstore, with an iced lavender oat milk latte in my hand. It’s cold outside, so I don’t know if this was the right idea, but this was his favorite.
Was.Fuck. It’s been eight years; he’s changed. I’ve changed. I’m not the scared college kid I was then, worrying about things that I couldn’t change.
I scan my surroundings for a trash can. It was a stupid idea to bring him coffee. It’s also freezing outside, so I could have at least gotten a warm drink.
“You came,” he says, stunning me. I feel like a kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar. He looks at the cup in my hand, then back up at me. “Well, come in. It’s cold outside, and I’m sure the ice in that drink isn’t making it any better for you.”
My chuckle is forced as I walk in the door he’s holding open. The warm smell of vanilla and cinnamon greets me; it smells like Cheryl’s kitchen when she makes gingerbread cookies.
I take in the space while he watches me, and I fiddle with the sleeve on the cup of coffee, trying to distract myself from what this could mean.
“Thanks for coming,” Hunter says, coming up behind me. His warm smell surrounds me, the scent that I thought was coming from the store was actually him, with a deep, masculine aroma underlying the sweetness.
