“Nah, I’ve got work.”
He walks past me as though I’m nothing, as though the last couple of months never happened. The slam of the door makes me jump, releasing one of the tears that had already formed in my eyes. Shit. I thought I’d cried everything I had already.
“You okay?” Tank asks.
“Um…” I swallow a few times, trying to clear the lump in my throat. “How much do you know?”
“We know you were together,” Tank says gently, “well, we knew from the start… but he just told us you’ve had a fight, that it’s over.”
“He said it’s over?” I ask.
My heart sinks, the hope I had that he’d come around shattering to pieces. I wipe the tears on my cheek and blink my eyes to clear any new ones.
“Yeah,” Pretty Boy says, “sorry, darlin’.”
More tears threaten to escape, so I look away from them, trying to compose myself.
“I… um… I guess I’m here to get my stuff then,” I say, trying to sound matter of fact, but knowing my voice betrays me.
“You don’t have to,” Pretty Boy says, “you’re welcome to stay.”
Tank nods. “Yeah, where are you gonna go?”
They’re right, I have nowhere to go. But I can’t stay here with him, seeing that cold look in his eyes. This feels like three years ago all over again. Me, alone, all my belongings fitting into a suitcase and a couple of boxes, with nowhere to live...
“I’m not sure yet, I’ll figure something out,” I say, “thank you for the offer, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea to stay.”
I head to the stairs, but I’m stopped by a voice I rarely hear.
“Wait,” Slim says, as he walks towards me. “Here.” He’s holding out a key.
“What’s that for?”
“You can come and stay with me until you figure this shit out with Diablo.”
“Slim, I can’t—”
“I won’t take no for an answer. I don’t know what you fought about, but I know you’ll sort this out. And if youdon’t, at least stay with me until you find someplace else, preferably not Midtown Apartments.”
I hate having to rely on someone else, but this is my best option. I don’t have the money for a hotel, or even a motel, and I definitely can’t stay here.
“Thank you,” I say, tears fully rolling down my face.
And more surprising than him talking to me, he pulls me into a hug. Even though his physique lives up to his nickname, he feels strong, and I let myself be held by him as I cry into his shoulder.
When I’ve stopped crying and lean out of the hug, he gently wipes some tears from my face.
“Just make sure you get a copy made, okay?” he chuckles as I take the key.
“I will, thanks.”
I’m able to give him a small smile, which is something at least.
Angel was nowhere to be seen when I left the clubhouse, and even though I had my suitcase and backpack, I opted to walk instead of accepting a lift from one of the guys. By the time I got to Slim’s place, I was exhausted. Not sleeping last night has really taken its toll on me, even though I’m used to surviving on very little sleep. I’m curled up on a mattress on the floor in Slim’s spare room; I hadn’t gotten around to decorating this one yet, but I figure it will make a good distraction project while I’m here.
As tired as I am, sleep eludes me. I’m replaying the last couple of months in my head, arguing with myself that I should have seen this coming, I should never have assumedthat Angel was different to how I first imagined. That I shouldn’t have let myself fall for him until I knew for sure he wasn’t a homophobic piece of shit.
I’d tried to work him out, purposefully choosing films and TV shows with LGBTQ+ characters, trying to gauge what he thought of them. Not once had he said anything negative, in fact, he’d been so positive about so many of the stories and characters that I was sure that when Donovan came out that it would be okay. Would he be shocked? Of course, and I could almost forgive him needing some time to process; but this, the way he’s handled it, absolute deal-breaker. It doesn’t make losing him any less painful though.
