“Yeah… friends,” he says, his voice a little flat. It must be muffled in my chest. I release him from the hug, and he sits up again, cheeks pink. “You’re going to be a fantastic father, Nash. The way you take care of people?” He tilts his head at me. “It makes them feel safe. Special.”
His words quell some of my panic, and when he meets my eyes, I feel myself lean forward a little, closer to him.
“At least, that’s how you made me feel when I felt like I was one stiff breeze away from coming apart at the seams. And if your child’s been in foster care?” he says, questioningly, and I do a weird sort of shrug-nod, that says both ‘I don’t know’ and ‘yes, most likely’, “for whatever the reason might be, then they’re going to need to feel both of those things.”
I smile at his words, glad he felt safe when I was taking care of him. Glad he felt special. Corey is special. He’s sweet and open. Vulnerable and yet so fucking strong. I find myself wishing that the timing were better. That he wasn’t in the midst of recovery from a traumatic relationship – one that may very well still come back to bite him on the arse, if his concerns about being found are anything to go by – and that I wasn’t on the precipice of an adoption that will require all my time and focus.
No, I don’t wish I weren’t about to become a father. It’s what I’ve wanted all my life, but Iwish I could have met Corey in a year or two’s time, when we might both be ready for more. Instead, we’ll have to settle for friendship, not that he’s given any indication he’d want more from me anyway. I’m almost thirteen years older than him, and about to become a single parent. I’m grumpy and set in my ways, and my need for control and organisation extends to all aspects of my life. And I mean all aspects. After what he’s been through, we probably wouldn’t even be compatible.
I sigh in resignation and resolve to focus on being the best friend I can to this man, and hope that maybe, just maybe, he wants to be friends too.
But I think, at least for a little while, until the rightness of having him in my space, in my fucking arms, fades, I need to keep my distance. He’s dangerous for my willpower. Dangerous for my heart. And if I’m not careful, he could consume me.
In just a few hours, we talked more than I have with anyone, except my sister, in years. He listened to my fears about telling my brothers about the adoption without judgement, but he wasn’t afraid to challenge me either. As a doctor, it’s too easy to get used to being the one in charge, the one whom everyone defers to,especially in clinical care settings. And it’s far too easy to let that go to your head until you start to expect that kind of deference.
Corey gives me none of that. In a few words, he held a mirror up to me in a way that nobody – not my parents, not Wren, not even Shelley – has been able to up to now. I think it’s because the weight of his experiences throughout his life gives him a perspective nobody else I know has. And it gives him wisdom far beyond his years. Wisdom he should never have had to learn the hard way, but that shaped him, nonetheless.
When I get home later that afternoon, having dropped him off at Aidan and Rain’s, I pull out my phone and scroll to the image gallery, tapping on the most recent photograph. I’d snapped a quick shot of Corey in profile this morning, just as he turned toward me with the most beautiful, carefree smile on his face, the sun rising behind him casting him in an ethereal glow, the grey seals dotting the beach behind him.
The way the sunlight makes his auburn hair burn like fire, his pale skin glow, and his green eyes sparkle takes my breath away.
Fuck.
“I’m in big trouble with you, little rabbit,” I say to my empty house.
I look at that photo for a long time.
Thirteen
Corey
Nash dropped me off at Aidan and Rain’s house earlier this afternoon.
“Tell your brothers, Nash. About the adoption. Let them be there for you. Trying to do life alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I’d said as I climbed down from the truck. I gave him a wave, and he watched me until I entered the house. If my hips swayed a little more than they usually do, then that’s between me and my conscience.
After being put so decisively in the friend zone, which I’ll admit stung just a little, I swallowed down my nascent attraction to Nash and accepted that at least if we can be friends, then I’ll have him in my life. Nash is one of thosepeople who come into your life at just the right moment. Although a part of me can’t help but think now is entirely the wrong moment.
He’s the kind of stable friend I need in my life: older, wiser, and a whole lot more level than Rain or Emma, for example. Rain is just as emotional as me, and while I absolutely love that about him, when I am at my most overwrought and feel myself falling into a downward spiral of doomsday thinking, Rain is not the best person to help ground me. He’d comfort me, hold me, but he’d also cry with me, and when I’m in that headspace, I need rationality, not empathy.
Emma is Rain’s complete opposite. She’d snap me out of it with tough love and a glass of wine, and while she’s kind and loving as a person, she’s also somewhat unforgiving when it comes to sentimentality.
Nash strikes the perfect balance between the two, and if I can’t have anything more than his friendship, if I can’t even explore anything more than that, then I’ll accept it for what it is. But in the back of my mind, a little voice keeps nagging at me that maybe if we’d met even six months or a year down the line, things might look completely different.
His casual revelation that he could just as easily be in a relationship with a man ashe could a woman had taken me by surprise. I’d been fully anticipating my role as ‘gay man in love with his straight friend’ – a modern-day classic – until he’d dropped that little humdinger. The swoop in my stomach had been proof positive that I had a crush, and then all too quickly it was ‘welcome to the friend zone’, and the tiny flame of hope had been snuffed out almost as quickly as it had been lit.
Ah well. It’s probably for the best. I’m so much younger than him and have so much baggage, he probably thinks I’d be a nightmare, high-maintenance boyfriend anyway. I’m actually very low maintenance in a relationship. All I’ve ever wanted was a family of my own, a man who loved me for exactly who I am, and a safe, peaceful home we built together.
But even I can admit the likelihood of being able to achieve that, while Dominic and his brother may or may not still be looking for Rain and me is slim to non-existent. And so, friends it is. It has to be.
If nothing else, I won’t put him or his future child at risk by getting too close and dragging them into Dominic’s line of sight. I’m not that stupid. I’m not that selfish.
Rain and I spend the afternoon watchingThe Vicar of Dibley,laughing at the gentle comedy that is so British I’m not sure it could translate anywhere else.
“Did you have fun with Nash this morning?” he asks, a knowing look on his face.
“I did,” I say. “Hey, did you know there are like hundreds of seals breeding on the beach right now?”
Rain jerks his head in surprise.
