Michael closed the gap between them, hooking his fingers through Jag’s belt loops to pull him as close as possible. “Because you’re here now.” And maybe he was an idiot, but he was hoping he could convince Jag to stay if he gave him a good enough reason to.
Jag arched an eyebrow. “You’re crazy.”
Michael resisted the urge to say ‘for you’; it was far too corny. “Maybe,” he said instead. “But I think it would be even crazier for us both to walk away without at least seeing where this might go.”
“Nowhere,” Jag said, his voice tetchy. “It won’t go anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jag tipped his head forwards, leaning it against Michael’s chest. “You’re exhausting, do you know that?”
“I prefer tenacious.”
“Annoying,” Jag countered.
“Resilient.”
“Frustrating.” Jag lifted his head and stared at Michael’s shirt. “And you’re wearing a shirt covered in body paint.”
“You’re deflecting,” Michael said. He placed his fingers beneath Jag’s chin and tipped his face up. “Would you at least take some time to think about it instead of dismissing the possibility of there being an ‘us’ out of hand?” He kissed Jag tenderly. “If we both want this and we both go into it with our eyes wide open, where’s the harm?” He ran his lips over Jag’s jaw, not kissing, just caressing for a few seconds, inadvertently tasting the body paint, which had a metallic tang. “Think it over, please?”
“Fine.” Jag let out a heavy, defeated sigh. “I’ll think about it. At home.”
“You’re going home like that?”
“Yes.” Jag flashed Michael a wicked grin. “The showers aren’t very private around here.”
Michael chuckled but didn’t rise to the bait. The last thing they needed was to end up fucking tonight. He let Jag go. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Jag headed towards the door.
“Jag…” Michael knew he was going to regret his next words.
Jag paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“What are you running from?”
Jag bit his lip. “I can’t tell you.” He turned away and hunched his shoulders, took another couple of steps, and then paused. “I didn’t break any laws, and I haven’t hurt anyone, I promise.” He didn’t wait for Michael to answer before walking out and shutting the door behind him.
Michael blew out a breath. That answer would do. For now.
14Jag
Jag couldn’t sleep. At first, he’d tossed and turned before giving up any hope of getting some rest. His mind was simply too full of confused thoughts. He lay on his bed, arm flopped over his forehead, staring at the sloping ceiling above him.
Why had he said as much as he had to Michael? It had been stupid and reckless, but then, his whole affair with the man had been. He’d known from the outset that Michael was different from the men he normally gravitated too. He was too nice, too stable, too tender. The kind of guy a man who lived a normal life would choose to settle down with, just as Edward had. It seemed cruel that fate had given Michael the love of his life, only to snatch him away so quickly. He hated that Michael was lonely and grieving, but Jag knew he was no substitute for the man Michael had lost. Even so, in some alternate fantasy version of Jag’s life where he was good enough for a relationship, he knew he’d choose Michael.
He sighed and rolled onto his side, hugging the blanket to him. It seemed crazy that Michael didn’t want to end things despite knowing he’d be leaving.
He probably thinks he can convince me to stay, Jag realised. And why wouldn’t he?Maybe he could. Jag squeezed his eyes shut. So much for rule number four. Fuck, he’d definitely fallen through the ice, and now he was desperately trying to find a way back out before the achingly cold water dragged him down forever.
He wanted his life back. No, that wasn’t true. There was no way he would ever return to the life he’d had before running away. He wanted to forge a new life for himself, one where he was happy and didn’t have to run, but like everything else he wanted, it was unobtainable. Michael was the one stable thing he had. He could have Michael for as long as he dared to stay. But when he left—and he would have to leave—he’d break both their hearts. It wouldn’t be fair for either of them despite Michael’s ‘eyes wide open’ spiel. Continuing to experience the thing he wanted most but couldn’t have, had the potential to destroy him. Assuming he was able to walk away at all.
And if he wasn’t? That outcome was clear: his family would track him down, and he’d lose his freedom again, possibly permanently. He doubted they’d be convinced by his lies again if he tried to pretend he’d been ‘cured’. He’d already played that hand. They wouldn’t be happy until he was an unthinking, impassioned drone, walking around with glazed eyes, doing as they told him to. As much as he’d fight against it, he knew the ‘therapy’ they would subject him to would eventually batter him down and strip away everything that defined him. He clenched his fists. He couldneverlet them take him back there; he would sooner die.
It was the best reason to stay the hell away from Michael, but God help him, he didn’t want to. Michael made him feel worthy and wanted for more than just sex. One day, he might even make him feel loved. He was hopelessly torn in two, split between the need to preserve his freedom and his desperate desire to be loved, even if it was only for a few brief weeks.
