“I really want to believe that, but the fact that I can’t is proof that I have work to do too.”
Thomas’s expression fell with his posture, and he turned to look at him once again. “Not forever?”
“I hope not.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Me neither,” he agreed, digging his nails into the palms of his hands to ground him in the present, to stop his heart from taking over when it needed to take a back seat.
Thomas stood and Ben followed suit, more out of habit than intention. It felt like a spear in his side, and he squeezed his eyes closed, hating himself as much as he hated Cody.
“Can I…” Thomas trailed off with a strangled noise and Ben opened his eyes in time to watch Thomas’s hands flex and ball into fists.
“Can you what?”
“A kiss,” Thomas said quickly, taking a step away like he knew the answer would be no. “Just one more kiss before I go. Until I see you again.”
It was the optimism that did Ben in, and he’d barely finished nodding his consent before Thomas was on him. Thomas grabbed his face, yanking him forward and bringing their mouths together in a kiss far fiercer and more passionate than Ben had expected. He whimpered, curling his fingers around Thomas’s wrists so he didn’t fall over and he returned the kiss with all of the desperation and apology he could muster. Neither of them got hard, and the kiss ended sooner than he wanted, but he knew it was for the best. His body would fight his brain on this one; he knew himself well enough to know that much.
Finally, Thomas released him, taking another step backward. He looked down at the bandage on his hand, tracing it with the tip of his finger like it was Ben’s skin. Ben grabbed his own hand, like he could feel the touch if he concentrated hard enough. He couldn’t, though.
“Until I see you again,” Thomas repeated, reaching the door.
“I love you.”
“I’m a patient man,” Thomas said.
“I love you,” he repeated.
Thomas opened the door, still in Ben’s old t-shirt, both of their tears smeared across his lips. “I love you too.”
CHAPTER28
THOMAS
After two weeksof radio silence from Ben, and from Dakota, it took Thomas half a bottle of wine and all of his weight to work up the courage to call Trent. As a general rule, he hated to walk into unpredictable situations, and the call to his adulterous and abusive son’s husband was the textbook definition of unpredictable. But he swallowed the last of his third class of wine, scrolled through his contacts, hit call, then sat on his hands, resigned to not move until he either spoke with Trent or left a message.
“Hello?” Trent answered before Thomas even had a real chance to figure out what he wanted to say.
“Trent.”
“Mr. Fullier.”
“You know I hate that.”
“What did you need, Thomas?” There was an unmistakable edge to Trent’s voice. “I don’t know where Dakota is, if that’s why you’re calling.”
“It’s not,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “Well, I’m calling about him, but I don’t care where he is.”
“I filed for divorce. I don’t know if he told you.”
“He didn’t, but he deserves it.”
On the other end of the line, Trent laughed quietly. “That he does.”
“I found out recently that he’d…not been faithful.”
“Yeah. That’s a thing that happened. Hence the divorce.”
