“You really hurt him Thursday night,” I tell him. “And before that. Pulling away from him.Thatpissed me off.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt him, or you. I love you both.”
“There will be some new rules going forward,” I tell him, and after he nods, I continue. “Rule one—you donotmanage me through Declan,” I say. “You don’t try to figure out what’s best for me by making unilateral decisions like that about him.Especiallydecisions that can hurt or harm him. OnlyIdecide what’s best for me.”
He nods.
Yeah, I know that’s hypocrisy of the worst kind, but fuck you. I’ve kept George alive this long. Obviously, I’m doingsomethingright.
“Rule two—outside of beating his ass in a scene, if youevermake him cryanythingbut happy tears again, Iwillmake you wish you’d never been born, much less ever met me. I will fucking ruin you, and don’t think I won’t, because you damn well know I can. That was fucking cruel. I’ve known you to be a lot of things over the years, but I’ve never seen you be cruel before.”
He slowly nods. “I’m sorry.”
“I’mnot the one you need to apologize to. Are weperfectlyclear?”
“Yes. I’ll apologize to him.”
I sip my gin. It’s bright and cold and I know he poured me the same amount he poured himself, but it will hit him harder and sooner than it will me. He’s still a lightweight after all these years.
“Rule three—Declan’s moving back in here, withyou.Thisis his home.”
“Okay.”
“Rule four—you’re his Sir. You willnotcut him off like that again without talking to me first about it.”
Every rule is pounding George’s soul, driving home how much he hurt Declan, and I can see it.
He nods and takes another sip of gin.
“Rule five—I’m his Ma’am. You and I are equals, though. Whether or not I eventually decide to have more with you ismydecision alone. I still need space and time. I will come over more often at nights, but that’s onmyschedule,notyours.”
“Okay.”
I mirror his stance as I lean against the counter and watch him drink. He’s definitely hit bottom—this time for good, I think—and he’s in pain.
Ihatethat he’s hurting like this.
I hate that he’s hurting like this in large part because ofme.
Dammit, Idolove the sadistic sonofabitch. I’vealwaysloved him, even when I hated his guts for stealing Ellen’s heart.
I couldn’ttrulyhate him, though. That’s the bitch of it. I saw how happy he made Ellen. I saw what a fantastic, devoted husband he was. I saw what a doting, loving father he was.
I knew what a great friend he was to me, personally.
He had no clue what he’d done to me.
He had no idea how much pain I was in, or that he was the cause of it.
This version of the man standing before me was born of the hell he survived in the Pacific, of a plane crash that stole not only the love of our lives, but his very sanity.
My friend George—the old George—might always be stuck on an airplane with a fatal hole ripped in its side and with my dead girlfriend’s hand clamped around his.
This new George…
For the sake of his children, for Declan’s sake, and for the sake of our state, I need to figure this out with him. I didn’t realize before how much this was genuinely tearing him up inside. Part of me wishes I never told him about me and Ellen. Then he wouldn’t be carrying that guilt, and it’d make my job infinitely easier.
Declan loves him. Worse, Declantrustshim. And George loves Declan.
