Cal frowned, stepping closer. “What does that mean?”
“It means I know you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “I know you’re not like me. When women touch me… I feel nothing. It’s just skin. It’s just a job. But you…” I gestured to him, my hand shaking. “You aren’t gay, Cal. You can look at her and feel something. It’s not a lie for you the way it is for me.”
Cal stopped. He looked at me, really looked at me, his brow furrowing as he processed the words.
“Wait,” Cal said slowly. “You think you’re just… strictly gay?”
“I think so,” I admitted, looking at the floor, the realization terrifying. “I don’t look at them and feel anything. I never have. But you have options. You could be with her and actually be happy. You could have the wife, the kids, the magazine covers, and it wouldn’t be a performance.”
I looked up at him, feeling the tears pricking my eyes.
“That’s why I can’t watch it,” I whispered. “Because I’m terrified that one day you’re going to realize you can have everything you want with someone who doesn’t force you to hide in a stairwell.”
Cal stared at me. The anger vanished, replaced by a fierce, devastating clarity.
“You think because Icanlike women, that I want them?” Cal asked quietly.
“I think it would be easier,” I said.
“I don’t want easy!” Cal grabbed the lapels of my shirt, slamming me back against the concrete wall. “I don’t care about the options, Silas. It doesn’t matter who else Icouldbe with. My heart only works for one person.”
He pressed his body against mine, hard and undeniable.
“I choose you,” Cal growled, his face inches from mine. “Every single day, I wake up and I choose this. I choose the hiding. I choose the secrets. Because the alternative is a life without you, and that’s not a life. That’s just breathing.”
He moved his hand down as he pressed his hips into mine. Hard. A desperate, grinding friction that told me exactly how hard he was, how much he needed this contact.
“Feel that?” Cal gasped, his hand gripping my hip, digging into the flesh through my jeans. “She didn’t do that.Youdid. Just by standing there. Just by existing.”
I let out a shaky breath, my hands resting on his waist.
“Just…” Cal pleaded, resting his forehead against mine, his breath hitching. “Just ground me. Remind me who I actually belong to. Because out there? I’m drowning, baby.”
I wrapped my arms around him. I held him tight, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and the faint, cloying vanilla of the girl’s perfume that clung to him.
“You’re mine,” I whispered into his skin, tightening my grip until it must have hurt his bruised ribs. “You’re fucking mine. That’s who you are.”
Cal shuddered in my arms, a rough, broken noise escaping his throat. He bucked his hips against me once, brief and telling, seeking the friction, seeking the proof that this, us, was the only real thing in the building.
We stood there in the dark, swaying slightly, sweating, aching. Two liars holding onto the only truth we had, while the music pounded on the other side of the wall.
Nobody came in. Nobody interrupted. It was just us, suspended in the heat, terrified to let go.
Eventually, Cal pulled back. He took a deep breath, fixing his collar, shaking out his hair. The mask slid back into place. The “Deadlock” smirk was plastered on his face, but his eyes were sad.
“Showtime, Si,” Cal said, his voice hollow.
13
AUGUST - SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Now playing: Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood
“IthinkI’mdying,”Evan moaned from under a mountain of hotel duvets. “I think I ate a radioactive clam.”
I stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed, trying not to laugh. “It’s food poisoning, Ev. You insisted on eating ‘street chowder’ from a cart in the rain.”
“It smelled authentic!” Evan wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Go on without me. Save yourselves. Tell my mother I died a champion.”
