“But seriously, welcome to the queer club,” Evan said, one corner of his mouth jacking up into a half-smile. “If you want some recommendations on places to go—on the internet or in real life—I can point you in the right direction. It’s hard at first, before you have friends who are on a similar path.”
“There’s a club in London. I’ve been thinking about going.”
“Do you know anyone who is out at work?”
“Not at my station, but yeah.” That was a whole other layer. “It’s hard to imagine coming out there. I’ve been with Jess for so long.”
“Take it one step at a time. You don’t owe anyone any explanation about your past.”
“I wasn’t the best husband. I don’t want to compound that by starting any kind of rumours that she wasn’t…that we weren’t…”
“Love is complicated.”
“It wasn’t with her,” Brent said. The confession slipped out of him. “Not for a long time. She was perfect.”
“Nobody is perfect, but I see your point. If you were into women, your marriage would’ve survived.”
Brent frowned. “I—”
Evan blinked at him slowly.
Brent swallowed hard again.
Evan waited.
“What?”
“What, what?”
“You’re staring at me.”
Evan blinked again. “You’re standing in front of me.”
“Stop fucking playing games,” Brent yelled, suddenly furious again. “You know what you want to say, so just fucking say it. I don’t know what I’m doing, I know that. How can a man make it to thirty-five and not fucking know himself, right? It’s embarrassing.”
“Yeah, you should talk to someone about that. But I’m not a trained therapist, so that’s not going to be me,” Evan said dryly. “Okay, let’s do it this way. Are you still into women as well?”
“I’m not into anyone other than my own fist right now.”
“That’s not an answer to the question.”
Brent scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. How the fuck am I supposed to know how I feel about anything when everything I’ve thought about myself was some kind of lie fuelled by repressed fantasies I didn’t want to look at?”
Evan stalked toward him. “Your wife took me home the night of the gala. She crawled into my lap and begged me to—”
Brent knew better than to throw a punch. He did. But he threw it anyway. Hard and fast, clipping Evan on the jaw. A glancing blow that bruised his knuckles and probably rang the other man’s bell.
Evan charged, slamming him against the door. “You still want her,” he growled.
“It’s complicated.” Brent’s voice cracked. “I love her.”
“She wanted me, not you.”
That hurt. That sliced hard through his heart. “She deserves you. I wasn’t good enough for her.”
“Because you kept secrets from her.”
“I had to.”
