He shakes his head.“I mean, it’s a bit weird that you don’t like to share, but as one of the people you hate to share, it feels endearing and at times good.”
Yet there’s something that he’s not saying.“What bothers you about it?”
Barret narrows his gaze, as if he’s thinking deeply about the answer.Then, after taking what appears like a cleansing breath, he says, “We get all this attention and love and then you fucking leave.You take off without a word because you think it’s best for everyone.It fucks with people, you know?”
“It seemed like the best thing to do at the time,” I confess weakly because I know it wasn’t, and that I should’ve handled it differently.
“Both times?”He glares at me.“Because they fucked me up deeply.I was already in a hole, and then the only person that I had to lean on disappeared—because it was the best for me.”
“I should have handled it differently,” I admit.
“You still think leaving was for the best?”He asks, and it feels like a challenge.
“Trying to fix the past isn’t going to help either of us, B.The answer is no if you’re asking me if I’ll do it again.This ...”I point at him, at Cleo, and myself.“What we’re doing here, while we’re helping her get out of that fucked up situation, is the plan.Communicate about everything that’s hurting either one of us.I’m not just going to jump out of this because it got hard—I learned my lesson.”
He nods a couple of times and pokes at me again.“How is this going to work in a world where being queer is unacceptable?”
“The Deckers have done a great job,” I say, because his sponsor, Chris Decker, has been hiding his relationship with his best friend for years.Nobody knows they have three children.
“I don’t want my man parading some bimbo—or for Cleo to look like she’s only yours or only mine when other people are watching.”
“I’m not saying we have to announce it,” he says, low.“But I don’t want us pretending, either.Making up stories so the paparazzi don’t sniff around twenty-four-seven.”
I drag my fingers through my hair until it protests.“You’re not making it easy today, are you?”
“I’m thinking about her—about us, too.”
We both turn to look at Cleo at the same time, as if checking together will keep whatever fragile thing she has left asleep and untroubled.Her breaths are calm and small.The blanket is tucked up under her chin the way she used to when she’d fall asleep on Roderick’s couch during practice, a textbook splayed over her stomach.The living room light painted her lashes gold.Up close, her face looks younger, unguarded.
Today drained her dry.Her brothers.Kit.The baby.The questions she dodged.The questions I gave.The way her face changed when she snuggled baby Arlo.
I promised everyone we’d do questions tomorrow.I almost said next week.What I really wanted to say was never.
“Should we reward Alfie for not bringing the Duchess?”Barret cuts through the silence.
I snort.“We’ll reward him with cookies for that one,” I pause, then blurt, “I feel like Dexter and Alec should’ve been here.”
“We said family only,” Barret answers, polite and final.
“They’re family,” I state, adding, “We’re their only family, B.”
He cocks an eyebrow.“Is that why you’re always inviting them everywhere?”
“Yeah.They’re getting better, you know?”I say it almost like an afterthought.“Alec is going to therapy more often, and Dexter is dating some starlet.”
He groans.“Oh, fuck, there comes the drama.”
“Why do you assume?”
Barret points at me.“I’ll remind you of this the next time you have to hire a PR because of some sex tape or whatever scandal you’re cleaning up for Dex.”
“It was a one-time thing.”
“You have a very short memory where our fuck-ups are concerned.”He exhales.“You never let us go.Even when you started your company, you still came back to fix us.”
“That’s what you do for family.”
“I’m learning that,” he admits.“But for this—maybe we don’t include them.Not yet.Don’t you think?”
