* * *
“Wait, hold on, slow down.”
Huh?
It was still dark when I blinked myself awake, maybe only a handful of hours after we’d fallen asleep.
Hayden was on his phone, fingers still linked with mine. I squeezed them gently to let him know I was awake, and he squeezed back and met my eyes.
In the harsh light of his phone screen, the lines of his face looked like they were etched into stone.
“Broke his foot?” Hayden asked, pausing to move his phone away so he could look at the screen. “It’s a little after five in the morning.”
I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but my stomach sank as I watched Hayden’s face run through surprise, concern, and then finally resignation.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice tiny.
I squeezed his hand again, for moral support this time.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Hayden said. “Listen, I’m happy for you, okay? And tell Omar I’m… happy for him, too, except for the foot thing, which I hope doesn’t hurt too bad. Text me details and I’ll send chocolate.”
Another pause.
“Then he’ll just have to fight you for it,” Hayden said, breaking into a tired, but warm smile. “And I know you’d win even if he hadn’t broken his foot.”
I could hear laughter on the other end of the phone—startled laughter, the kind you laughed when you were upset and someone cracked a joke to make you feel better. Hayden laughed, too, stroking my knuckles with this thumb.
“Okay. We’ll talk later about what happens next. If you need anything, just call. I’ll even take my phone off silent for you. Okay?”
I watched as Hayden said his goodbyes and hung up, leaving the phone on the bed between us.
What happened nextwas Hayden went back to New York.
I’d known it was coming, but why did it have to benow?
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“My sous-chef broke his foot,” Hayden said. “While he was screwing my manager, which, y’know, they’re adults, they’re allowed. But they’ve been dating for months and didn’t tell me.”
“Why?” I frowned.
Hayden sighed. “Partly because they knew how miserable I was and didn’t want to rub their happiness in my face, I guess,” he said.
“Partly because Marissa wants to break out on her own, start a more traditional patisserie. With Omar as her head chef? She could totally do it. She’s so good at keeping on top of trends, and Omar’s… he’s… uh, less temperamental than I am. I guess she didn’t want me to worry that she was right on the verge of abandoning me.”
“You’re not temperamental,” I said. “You’ve had a rough couple of years.”
“I’ve had a rough decade,” Hayden responded. “But I was always like this. Moody. Brooding.Difficult.”
I smiled at that. “Oh, I know. I’m the one who had to paint your room,” I said. “Black, really?”
Hayden shrugged. “I was seventeen. And gay in a small town. I’d already dated and broken up with every other gay boy I knew—which wasone—so no one was ever going to understand me, and I was going to die alone.”
I raised Hayden’s hand to my lips, kissing his knuckles gently. “Poor baby emo Hayden,” I said, smiling against his hand. “Are there pictures?”
Hayden snorted. “There might be. You can ask Dad for them if you want.”
