My stomach dropped.
Gently,sogently, I put a hand on his chest, regret already welling up under my ribcage, tight and uncomfortable.
“We’re not nearly sober enough for this,” I murmured, taking in the hurt look in Kieran’s eyes and wanting to kick myself for it.
I could havehadthis. This one time.
But you don’t want it one time.
I shoved that thought aside. What Ireallydidn’t want was for Kieran to regret this. Whatevermyhangups were, he deserved better than a drunken fumble with a friend who should have stopped him.
If he really was unsure about his sexuality, he deserved the chance to explore with someonesafe. Someone who wouldn’t take advantage of him when he was anything less than completely in control.
Kieran made an unhappy noise, flopping back into the sofa and scrubbing his face with his hands.
“You’re right,” he said, muffled behind his palms, looking at me with those incredible eyes over the tips of his fingers. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I put a hand on his arm—that felt like safe territory, somewhere I would’ve touched him anyway. “You’re really… you’re not… sure, are you?”
Kieran shook his head.
“I’m screwing you around,” he said. “And I don’t want to! I mean, I think you know that. Ihopeyou know that.”
“I do know that,” I promised, stomach aching at the uncertainty in Kieran’s voice.
I remembered my first time—confusing, unsettling, a little painful and not nearly as kind as I deserved.
If I was going to be Kieran’s first inanyway, I wanted it to feel good, to be something he could look back on as a nice memory.
“Why now?” I asked, since that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Whynow, whyme?”
Kieran sighed.
“There was never time,” he said, fingers brushing my hand again.
This time, I curled my hand around his, squeezing tight, promising him I was listening. “I mean, that sounds ridiculous, I’m twenty-nine years old, you’d think I’d had time, yeah? But… when Dad died…”
Kieran paused, toying with my fingers.
“I had to step into his place, y’know? I had to be the grownup from then on.”
A sympathetic noise vibrated in the back of my throat, and Kieran looked at me with the barest hint of a smile—a small, sad, tired smile, one he must have smiled dozens of times at people who felt sorry for him.
Anit’s finesmile. Except itwasn’tfine, and it never had been fine.
“Don’t give me that look,” I said, sharper than I meant to, and Kieran’s eyes widened.
“I mean it,” I said, setting my jaw. “That’s adon’t worry about melook. I didn’t get to be with you while you were going through this, but I get to worry about younow. I’ve earned that.”
A twinge of anger at losing Kieran when I had flared up again, a pain I’d thought was forgotten.
Imissedhim. And he wasn’t getting away with pushing me away now, not when we were so close to getting somewhere.
“Felix—”
“Kieran.” I turned to look him in the eyes, still holding his hand. “Talk to me.”
For a moment, it looked like he was going to, like this sudden tough-love approach had actuallyworked, like I wouldn’t have to carry a lead ball of guilt around in my stomach for the rest of my life over pushing my best friend too far.
