“I didn’t think I was,” Darren admitted. He squeezed my hand, the one holding the key had never been steadier. “Everything was dull without you—I’m making my choice, Lucas. You always wanted me to commit, well here it is. I’m choosing you. If you’ll have me.”
I could feel myself trembling, and vaguely I was aware of other people milling around us, but everything had faded into the background. Surely this wasn’t a real conversation; it sounded so much like what I’d imagined Darren would say, back in my darkest moments.
I pinched the key between my fingers, holding it out between us like a shield. “This isn’t a yes,” I managed shakily, trying to ignore the way his face lit up, the color returning to his cheeks. “It’s an ‘I’ll think about it.’”
“Of course,” he said in a rush, “that’s all I could ask for, after what I did. Please—” He gestured shyly to the corner table. “Can ... can we talk for a bit? Catch up?”
I nodded numbly, grabbed my muffin, and allowed him to guide me to the chair. He left briefly before returning with a coffee for himself.
“It’s been weird not talking to you,” Darren said after he’d sat and there’d been a long, tense moment of silence. He fiddled with a napkin. “I’d ask how you’ve been, but I guess I know.”
“It hasn’t been pretty, I can tell you that.” My eyes dropped down to the table. The barely scabbed-over shame and hurt trickled back in. I wanted to scream, to tell him exactly how badly he’d hurt me, but I shoved it down. Instead, I gave him a self-deprecating little huff. “Really dramatic, you know me.”
He smiled softly. “Yeah. I do. And to be fair, I was pretty messed up too. I got wasted at the bosses’ dinner party.”
“The one you uninvited me to?” This was followed quickly by: “Wait, you gotdrunk? At a work party?”
Darren chuckled. “I told you, I was messed up. I needed to call a rideshare to get home. So much for acting like a responsible adult.”
The idea of Darren McKinley publicly losing his shit at an event as important as his bosses’ anniversary was unfathomable. “Well,” I said with a tentative grin, “that makes me feel better about the destruction of my apartment and complete and utter breakdown.”
He laughed, an achingly nostalgic sound. His eyes were bright as he appraised me. “I’ve never seen that shirt before, is it new?”
I’d forgotten about the shirt I’d grabbed from Andie’s closet. “No, it’s a loan; there was ... a bit of a situation last night with the roommate. Remember I told you about him? Armand Demetrio?” Just saying his name sent a confusing wave of emotions through me that I hurried to push back down.
“Yeah, the disgusting boomer living in your apartment? Mothman, right? You finally meet or what?”
You could say that.“It... wasn’t the meeting we’dplannedon, and there was blood and first aid involved, and anyway I was covered in dirt from being with Milkshake, and honestly he wasn’t as old or disgusting as I’d thought he’d be—”
“Hm.” There was a smile on Darren’s face, but it had gone rigid. “You’re blushing.”
Was I? I touched my cheek and found it warm. “It was just awkward. He was naked and he’d cut his foot open on something.” And now I was thinking about Armand again.Stop it.
“Not following why you needed to borrow that shirt, but, yeah, sounds awkward.” Darren picked up his mug and gestured toward me. “Maybe grab a bigger size next time.”
Cold jolted through my skin.
My body felt tight again, like it didn’t fit. I became uncomfortably aware of every pore, of the way I was sitting in the chair, of the snugness of Andie’s shirt against my chest.Darren was sipping his coffee, his eyes gleaming at me over the rim.
“I’m so stupid,” I finally managed, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I can’t believe I never noticed you doing this.”
Darren’s smile froze on his face. He cocked his head. “Doing what?”
“Criticizing how I look. What I’m wearing, how I’m standing—you said you weren’t embarrassed by me!”
“Lucas.” Darren was calm, too calm. “Lower your voice, please.”
“No.” I had never stopped gripping his key, but now it was burning a hole in my palm. My legs were shaking as I stood. “Darren, I can’t keep trying to be good enough for you.” I smacked the key onto the table, relishing the way his mouth dropped open. My fingers trembled as they grabbed the pastry bag, crushing the muffin I hadn’t touched. Unbidden, a different image pushed through the rest: a plate of homemade muffins sitting on the kitchen counter.
I could easily call to mind dozens of times I’d cleaned Darren’s house, or cooked, or bought groceries, especially if he’d had a rough week. Even though he had never done the same for me.
But Armand had. And he hadn’t needed to know me for ten years to do it.
And Darren was still shushing me. “Let’s talk about this, okay? Like adults,” he stage-whispered, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. “Please, you’re overreacting. Sit down and finish your muffin—”
But his words couldn’t reach me now. The curtain had fallen and all I saw was an insecure douchebag who would always choose his own ego over me.
“Stop,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
