“He was… controlling,” Tom says carefully, like handling glass. “I thought it was love — but I was being managed. Stripped apart bit by bit.
“He had a gambling habit too,” he continues. “It was getting progressively worse. Which was making him progressively worse. It had put a big dent in our finances by the time I found out what was happening. I bailed him out too many times. Took me too long to leave. I should have gone earlier, but he had this hold over me. And even now, I still hear him sometimes. In my head. Asking where I am. Why I didn’t reply sooner.”
“No, I understand, I do.” Pete admits. And he really does. “That must be hard to move on from.”
“Yeah, definitely. I’m naturally the type of person who sees the good in people, trusts them. I don’t want to get my defences up, but sometimes I can. Sometimes I hold back. I overthink. Question every little thing. Assume the worst. Think the worst, most negative things about myself. It’s not a trait I’m proud of, but…” Tom loses his words.
“It’s something he’s instilled in you?” Pete suggests.
After a pause, Tom can only nod.
“Was he ever violent?” Pete asks before he can stop himself, voice soft but blunt.
Tom’s pause says enough. He stares at the ceiling, then shakes his head faintly. “I don’t want to spoil tonight talking about my ex,” he says.
“Okay,” Pete says, meaning it. “Another time.”
Tom exhales, presses his forehead to Pete’s. “Another time.”
Soon Tom drifts, arm heavy across Pete’s waist, his breath evening into sleep. Pete lies awake, watching the streetlight’s sweep across the ceiling.
He should feel only good. Tom laughed at all his stories, did that thing with his hands that made Pete’s legs forget how to function, and now lies beside him, feeling his warmth. But dread slips into the room anyway, as punctual as guilt.
Because Pete lied.
Too many times tonight.
Of course, James knew about our date.Lie.
Yes, we’re both happy to explore new connections.Lie
James is a brilliant, loving man.Lie. Lie. Lie
Pete had painted honesty as the spine of it all, told Tom with a bright, reassuring voice that polyamory meant care, respect, openness. And Tom had believed him—because Tom, with those kind eyes, believes in people. Pete had been given his trust and immediately stained it with omission.
The truth: James didn’t know about tonight.
He wouldn’t understand.
No doubt, his response would be aggressive, volatile.
But lying here with Tom, Pete knew this was something he had to explore.
Tom was caring, loving, honest, he knew that much already. And this was a relationship he wanted more than anything to progress. To take him to the next stage in his life.
James would not be happy.
And an unhappy James was more than just a complication.
As he’d witnessed before, this could be a matter of life or death.
Chapter 12
DANIEL
He lies on his back, arms pinned at his sides, the wood cold through the shirt. The darkness is total, along with the feeling of dust and the sour scent of furniture polish. He thinks of coffins. Not metaphorically, literally. The narrowness around him, enclosed.
Above him, there is a rhythmic thud, once, twice, again, again, in a jagged tempo that refuses to settle. The vibration travels through the floorboards into his shoulder blades.
