I needed it.
I grabbed the soap and lathered up the cloth, leaning back a bit as I started to methodically wash myself. The whole time, he watched without comment, and I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt the moment by speaking again.
Finally, he said, “I want to stay.”
I dropped the cloth. “What?” I couldn’t have heard that right.
He swallowed hard. “I…” He sighed, looking away from me and squirming. “I can’t stay at home. Things are…” He shook his head.
“You didn’t tell them,” I said slowly.
He shook his head again. “No. They…” He sighed, fidgeting with the bottom hem of his shirt. “Nothing’s the same, and I… I miss you,” he admitted again, this time in a near-whisper.
I wished I wasn’t in the tub so I could wrap my arms around him and pull him close. But my heart sank as I realized I had to have broken him even more deeply than I’d thought. “That’s because of what I did to you,” I said softly. “You shouldn’t be here.” I got out of the tub, grabbing the towel he’d set nearby.
“It’s… it’s not…” He bit his lip. “It’s not like that. Don’t you want me here?” he pleaded.
It was so strange to hear him ask, and I blinked at him. “Of course I do. I just… I fucked up enough before. I don’t want you to regret it, especially because I know your family will probably be worried and pissed off.”
And they’d eventually realize where he’d gone and putthe pieces together. As much as I wanted — needed — more time with him, I didn’t want it to end that way.
“I left them a note,” he said, looking down at the floor.
I dried off and quickly dressed in a t-shirt and boxers. Then I went to him, not bothering to dress before pulling him into my arms. “How do you know you’re not making a mistake?” I whispered, kissing his brow.
“Because I wanted to be back here from the second I left,” he said. “I’m not Ryder anymore.”
That had been what I’d wanted, so why was I so sad to hear it?
He must’ve understood the look on my face because he hurried to add, “I mean, I am. But I’m not the same Ryder I was. I’m… Toby.”
I closed my eyes, resting my chin atop his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t know what you’re say?—”
He pulled back, looking up at me. “Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m saying or doing,” he said, glaring. “You’ve decided enough.”
I flinched back.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
We both fell silent for a moment, then I beckoned him close again. He pressed against me, molding himself against my body, and I stroked his back. “So what now?” I asked him, unsure of how to proceed.
“I don’t know,” he said.
I didn’t know either, and it wasn’t something easy to figure out. Did he only want to be here because of what I’ddone to him? Had I been that successful in twisting him into what I wanted?
Or had he really learned to care about me on his own?
It was probably a mixture of the two, but it was so easy to doubt everything when I knew what he’d insisted from the start: he was straight, and he didn’t like men. But he’d kissed me when he’d left, and he’d kissed me when he returned, and that had to mean something.
Didn’t it?
