Reese’s mouth fell open as he stared at the man he loved more than anything. He wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to help Brantley make sense of any of this. Hell, for six months, Reese had been trying to make sense of it on his own.
No matter how hard he tried, it never fucking worked.
*
BRANTLEY HAD KNOWN THAT ONE DAY HEwould be face-to-face with Reese again. It was inevitable since their lives had been entwined before the events that had ripped them apart.
However, had he known that day would be today, he never would’ve gotten out of bed.
He’d spent the past six months trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong, how he’d managed to fuck things up bad enough to send Reese running back to the arms of a woman he’d previously proposed to. A woman Reese said had turned him down because their relationship hadn’t been as solid as either of them pretended. No matter how Brantley played it in his head, nothing he’d told himself made sense; there was no logical reason he could come up with. Yet, he’d lived through it. Had seen Reese laid up in the hospital bed, a bullet having gone through his fucking chest because he’d been having dinner with a gangster’s sister.
That was the day Brantley had walked away, shutting himself down in the process. Since then, he’d focused solely on work and Tesha, nothing else. He’d put in time with his family just to keep them off his ass, but aside from that, he’d become a shut-in. He went for a run every day because he knew Tesha enjoyed it. He worked out in an effort to exhaust himself so he could sleep. And he dedicated the rest of his time to training Tesha because she’d become the only thing that mattered to him.
And every single minute of every single day, whether awake or asleep, he thought about this man.
“It’s all where you left it,” Brantley managed to say, lifting his beer bottle to his mouth and turning back to the island.
He planted his hand on the top again to keep himself upright. It took every ounce of his strength not to unleash on Reese, not to tell him how much he hated him while still fucking loving him. Never had he allowed anyone to hurt him, and the one fucking time he’d opened himself up, the man he’d thought he would spend the rest of his life with had shredded him.
As though once hadn’t been enough, here Reese was, coming to get his shit. Brantley would never admit it aloud, but seeing him again ripped at his already devastated insides.
“I’ll just pack it up,” Reese said softly before turning away.
Brantley took a swig of his beer, set it down, unable to watch Reese walk down the hall to the bedroom they’d shared.
He waited for Reese to return. One minute turned into twenty, then into thirty. Two beers later, when he thought his heart was going to beat right out of his fucking chest, he set down the bottle and headed for the bedroom.
Brantley found Reese sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands planted firmly on his thighs, head hanging down. He looked like he was in pain, his chest rising and falling heavily.
“Problem?” he asked, the single word coming out more of an accusation than a question.
When Reese looked up at him, Brantley felt the last tethers holding his heart together snap. Reese looked as torn up as Brantley felt. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he was battling back emotion and losing. Brantley knew the feeling. He’d run the gamut these past few months. Anger, hurt, heartache. There were days when he hurt so fucking much, the emotional pain was a physical ache, shredding his insides until he could hardly breathe from it. Never had he expected to feel so much for one person, but he’d learned his lesson the hard way.
“Why don’t I help you out,” Brantley hissed, hating the agony flaring to life, his consistent bedfellow these past six months returning with a vengeance.
Brantley marched toward the closet. He flung the door open, yanked the string to turn on the light. It snapped in his hand thanks to the power behind the movement, but at least the damn thing came on. He found one of Reese’s shirts, jerked it off the hanger, threw it out the door. He wrenched another, then another, tossing them into a pile in the bedroom. He was so furious, plastic hangers were snapping, falling to the floor at his feet. By the time he’d created a decent pile, he was breathing hard, his chest tight.
“Brantley, stop,” Reese said from the doorway.
“Why? It’s what you want. You’re here to pack your shit and go. Good, because I don’t fucking want you here anyway,” he bit out through clenched teeth, jerking another shirt from the hanger.
It got caught up, infuriating him more. Before he could rip the entire rod down from the wall, a firm hand circled his arm. Reese wasn’t gentle when he spun him around.
“Stop,” Reese snapped, stepping up to him.
Brantley’s breaths raced in and out of his lungs as he stared back at the man. His hands balled into fists, his body primed to fight.
When Reese’s hands cupped his face roughly, Brantley hissed. “Aww, fuck.” His chest heaved, his heart clenching like it was trapped in the vicious grip of a jagged-edged vise.
“I don’t want to go,” Reese whispered, leaning in, his mouth so close Brantley could feel his breath. “I never wanted to leave.”
The headache that’d started earlier began to throb violently, a sensation he’d gotten too familiar with over the years since the migraines had taken over his life. They’d grown increasingly worse in both frequency and level of pain in the past few months, taking him down three to four times a week versus the one or two he’d endured before Reese went and got himself shot.
He shrugged Reese off, stumbling out of the closet and into the bedroom. He made it as far as the bed before dropping onto it, gripping his head as the pain blinded him. It was a testament to the agony he was suffering when he allowed Reese to ease him down onto the bed. A second later, the lamp on the bedside table shut off. He was aware of Reese’s footsteps as he went into the bathroom. He heard the water come on, then a minute later, Reese returned.
Brantley didn’t reject the pill he handed over. He didn’t thank him, either.
After passing the glass back, he rolled to his side, pulled the pillow over his head to block out all noise. He doubted it would help because nothing seemed to help him these days. He figured it had a lot to do with his mood, the darkness that had consumed him. The pain he felt was a living, breathing thing inside him, created by Reese’s betrayal and fueled by the love Brantley couldn’t seem to let go of.
