Not your fault. I knew what I was signing up for.
Griffin
Doesn’t make it less frustrating.
I looked around my apartment—at the couch where Wesley and I had been when Holloway intruded, at the kitchen where we’d eaten lunch, at the space that should have felt like sanctuary but felt like another stage where I had to act.
Four to six years of this. Four to six years of sneaking around and interrupted intimacy and the constant vigilance required to protect a secret that felt increasingly impossible to keep.
Wesley
For what it’s worth—I’m glad you remembered my sandwich order. That meant something.
I smiled despite the frustration and fear.
Griffin
Everything about you means something to me. Good night, Wesley.
Wesley
Good night, Griffin.
I sank onto my couch and stared at the blank TV screen. I sat in the silence of my apartment and acknowledged the truth I’d been avoiding since Vancouver, since the hotel room, since the moment I’d invited Wesley into my life and my secrets.
This arrangement—this relationship—required sacrifices I hadn’t fully understood when I’d asked Wesley to try. It meant no spontaneous visits, no casual afternoons together, no simple act of having someone over without calculating every risk and consequence.
It meant living in a constant state of awareness, even in my own home.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wesley
I made it to the elevator before my hands started shaking.
The adrenaline that had kept me calm enough to say goodbye to Holloway, to walk out of Griffin’s apartment like everything was normal, to press the button with steady fingers—it drained out of me all at once. The elevator doors closed, and I leaned against the wall as the numbers descended.
We’d been seconds away from disaster. Maybe less.
What if Holloway had shown up thirty seconds later. If he’d heard something through the door before he knocked. If Griffin and I had been too lost in each other to hear the knock at all.
The doors opened to the parking garage, and I walked to my car on unsteady legs. My apartment was only a six-minute drive away, but I sat in the driver’s seat for a long moment before starting the engine, trying to catch my breath.
My hands were still shaking.
I pulled out of the garage and headed toward home, mymind replaying the moment over and over: Griffin’s hands in my hair, our hard cocks grinding together, the sharp knock that had shattered everything.
Holloway.
By the time I reached my apartment, the shaking had gotten worse. I let myself in, locked the door behind me, and stood in my entryway trying to process what had just happened.
We’d gotten careless. I’d let myself get comfortable enough to make out with Griffin in his living room on a Sunday afternoon when any teammate could show up unannounced. The guys had been coming over for video games and bonding; I should have considered that.
What the hell was I thinking?
I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stripped off my clothes mechanically. Maybe hot water would help. Maybe if I stood under the spray long enough, I could wash away the sick feeling in my stomach.
The water didn’t help.
