“Of course,” I said. “It’s his company. But I think you’d like to know there’s something else I’m going to tell him.”
“What’s that?”
I looked up at Brock, dabbed my eyes, and laughed away a few tears.
“I’m moving out of that house,” I said. “I know it will affect me somehow, but I just want my freedom.”
And to have you over. If that’s still possible. I…
“Brock…”
I looked up at him. I wasn’t sure what I would say next, but I knew what I wanted to do next.
I pulled him in for a kiss.
But this wasn’t the fiery, tongue-darting kiss that had started our first sexual encounter. This was a tender, loving kiss, a kiss that said I hoped he’d never leave me again. It said that I valued him, cared about him, perhaps even loved him in a certain sense.
I didn’t feel odd thinking that. He’d been in my life for as long as Steele had. Just because we had never formally dated didn’t mean I couldn’t love him. It didn’t mean I couldn’t care for him. It just meant that if someone wanted to put a title on it, it would feel rushed.
But it didn’t.
“And a little privacy,” I added, making us both laugh and lean into each other.
From my spot on Brock’s chest, I looked back into the office. I saw Steele looking at me. My laughter faded, and for a moment, I feared that Steele would react. He may have saved my life, but…
Instead, he just nodded and turned away.
I suppose that was how acceptance manifested itself. Not in some grand speech about letting go, not in some magnificent gesture of handing off, but with a subtle act, with the removal of overt expression. I didn’t think this was the last time Steele and I would ever have a moment, but it said a lot about him that, seeing me and Brock kiss, he’d moved on.
For now, at least, it appeared I had one less thing to worry about. I could focus on Brock, my job, my new place, and my safety—I didn’t have to worry about Steele impacting any of it.
“Well, speaking of privacy,” Brock said, clearing his throat. “You have had a hard night. You should come back with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Out of context, in a different setting, maybe that would have sounded like a man trying to take advantage of a shitty situation. With Brock, I knew it was the truth. He’d take care of me. And if that involved sex, I knew it would be for the right reasons.
“Agreed,” I said. “You better have some Merlot at the house, though. It’s my favorite.”
Brock laughed.
“Don’t be too surprised when I show up.”
I didn’t have any expectations other than to feel safe with him.
* * *
It was an enormous pleasant surprise when, after seating me on his couch, Brock went to his cabinet, pulled out a bottle of Merlot, and poured us each a glass. The wine glasses were not exactly high-quality; in fact, they were plastic. But it would have felt out of character for Brock to be someone who cared that much about wine glasses.
And I sort of liked not having to be perfect. I liked accepting what was. I liked things being a smidge unpredictable—starting with the very fact that I was back in this man’s apartment.
“Cheers,” Brock said. “To making it through the night.”
“Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch,” I said with a smile. “But yes, agreed. Thank you, Brock. You saved my life.”
He nodded, bit his lip, and sighed.
“What’s up?”
“You know…”
