I was glad for Leo and predicted he’d be okay. Sometimes it took that one special person to get you out of your funk. I sneaked a glance at Press’s profile, and the words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“I’ve been doing better.”
Press stiffened next to me, but Monroe gave me an encouraging smile. “That’s wonderful, Nate. Do you want to share any details? No pressure, of course, if you choose not to.”
“My father’s sudden death brought to light some family issues I won’t go into here yet. But it had a profound impact on my life. I pushed away and broke up with a man I’d been dating for years. I turned selfish and angry, and it spilled over to my job and my relationship with my brother. I felt abandoned and betrayed by the person I looked up to most. My trust in people was damaged irreparably, I thought.”
“Sometimes broken trust can harm us in ways we can’t even imagine, and it extends years into the future. It affects the way we interact with people who’ve never harmed us, like your ex and your brother, or future relationships.”
“You’re right.” I nodded, no longer viewing Monroe as the enemy who wanted to steal Press from me. “And for three years I let it eat away at me. Then I met someone, and he made me look at things differently, myself included. I don’t know why him, but I’m grateful my initial bad behavior didn’t scare him away.”
“I’m glad for you. That sounds like a true breakthrough, but take care to make sure you aren’t leaning too much on this new relationship to solve everything. You’ll still need to come to terms with those issues of abandonment and betrayal on your own.”
I grimaced, and Monroe leveled his gaze at me, forcing me to straighten up in my seat. After being certain he’d captured my attention, he directed his comment to everyone else in the group.
“I wanted to caution you all that everyone grieves losses. And we all handle it differently, but the one constant is that there is no magic cure. Love may conquer all, but in this instance, I recommend going with what your head tells you. We’ve all been fools for love at some point.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I heard Press mutter to himself.
With half an ear to the rest of the group, I thought back to the conversations I’d had with Press in the months we’d gotten to know each other. Never once had he really explained why he was attending grief counseling. I hated that I didn’t believe his story about mourning a best friend who’d died suddenly, but something didn’t sit right. Maybe it had to do with his parents.
The meeting ended, and I had some questions of my own that needed answering. My concentration rested on the man next to me.
I touched Press’s arm. “So, do you have an answer for me?”
“You don’t give up, do you?” But he said it with a smile I returned in full force.
“Not when it’s something I want badly enough.”
“Oh? You want me badly?” With another guy it might’ve come off flirtatious or a cute way to get me to reveal my feelings. But Press didn’t play those games, and he didn’t need to use artful maneuvers to get me to speak my feelings. I had no trouble laying it out there for him to see.
I took his hand in mine. “So, so bad.”
We didn’t speak on the way to my house or when we got inside. A strange unease rose between us, and despite my wanting to tear off his clothes right there in the entranceway, I held off, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” He didn’t even remove his coat before asking me. He knew something was off too.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. Care to stay awhile?”
He removed his overcoat and draped it over the banister. “Better now?”
I tossed mine over his and took his hand. “Let’s go downstairs and have a snack. And talk.”
“Talk?”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “Yeah. You know, using our mouths for something besides kissing and sucking? Even if they are two of my favorite things.”
“And you do them so well.” He kissed my ear.
“Flattery will get you everything you want, don’t worry. Just after. I’d really like to talk.”
His lashes fluttered against my cheek. “Okay. I think you’re right.”
Once in the kitchen, with a bowl of chips and our bottles of beer, I rested my chin on my tented fingers. “Can I ask you…did you really come to grief counseling because of the loss of your best friend?”
He paled and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle. “Why’re you asking me that?”
I’d learned in law school that when you don’t want to answer a question, you ask one of your own, giving yourself time to think of a response that reveals nothing but will hopefully satisfy the person asking. It never did.
