This was it. The moment that could destroy everything.
“The other day… when I helped you up…” My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. “I almost kissed you during those PT exercises, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m attracted to you. Maybe I have been for a long time, I don’t know. But definitely now. And I can’t keep living in this house pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”
Silence. Heavy and suffocating.
“I know you don’t feel the same way,” I continued, the words tumbling out faster now, desperate to fill the quiet. “And I’m not—I’m not expecting anything. I just can’t keep hiding it. Can’t keep acting like everything’s fine when I’m losing my mind.”
More silence.
Then Marco laughed.
It wasn’t a happy sound. It was sharp and slightly hysterical, edged with something that sounded like pain.
“You thinkyoucan’t keep doing this?” He laughed again,running his hands through his hair. “You think you’re the only one losing your mind?”
I stared at him. “What?”
“I’m gay, Étienne.” He looked up at me, and his eyes were bright with something that might have been tears. “I’ve known for seventeen years. Since I was fifteen.”
The air left my lungs in a rush at his admission. “You’re?—”
“Gay. I’ve been hiding it my entire life. Seventeen years of pretending, making sure no one ever suspected.” His voice cracked. “And then you moved in and I couldn’t—I can’t?—”
“I thought so,” I said quietly.
He froze. “What?”
“I thought so. I’m sorry, I guessed.” The confession tumbled out before I could stop it. “I found your book. A few days ago. I was doing laundry, changing your sheets, and it was under your pillow. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t snooping, I swear—but I saw it and I…”
His face paled. “I was worried about that.”
“I’m so sorry. I should have told you right away, but I didn’t know how, and then I read some of it and I realized—” I stopped, my hands shaking. “It made me understand things about myself. About what I was feeling.”
“These past few days, you thought I was gay and you didn’t say anything?”
“I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.” I took a step closer. “And I didn’t want to force you to talk about something you weren’t ready to share.”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. “I’ve been so secretive for so long. And then you just… stumbled onto it while doing laundry.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t know if I should be angry or relieved.”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“I know.” He rubbed his face. “But I’m also—God, Étienne, I’ve been carrying this alone for seventeen years. And now you know. You’re still here and you’re telling me you’re bisexual and attracted to me and?—”
He stopped. Looked up at me. His expression shifted—with fear, maybe, or desperation, or surrender.
“I wanted to kiss you too,” he whispered.
My legs weakened. I sank down onto the couch beside him, our hips touching, my mind trying to catch up with what he’d just said.
“You’re attracted to me.”
“Yes.” He wouldn’t look at me now, his gaze fixed on his large hands. “In the shower, I know you saw. That was all you, and I thought it freaked you out. I would never do anything that would make you uncomfortable. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you when you’re right here.”
“Marco.” My voice came out hoarse. “Look at me.”
He did, finally. And I saw it all there in his face—the desire, the pain, the fear, the desperate hope he was trying to hide.
“When I said I was attracted to you,” I said carefully. “I didn’t mean casually. I didn’t mean theoretically. I meant I lie awake at night thinking about you. I meant I can’t focus on hockey because you’re all I think about. I meant that almost kissing you during PT was the hardest thing I’ve ever done… stopping myself, pulling away.”
