“Damn, Duke. I wish I’d known how bad it was.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he says. “You hadn’t forgiven me, and you were right not to. I would have just fucked you up worse. But that was when it really hit for me, how close I was to dying, how fucked up I was from taking all those drugs. As soon as I was out of the hospital, I went straight to rehab. I never went back. I know I’m lucky. That it’s rare. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re scared.”
“That is rare,” I say, reaching for his knee, running my thumb over the wrinkle in his jeans. “You’re rare.”
“Yeah, well, I hope that answers your question from yesterday. Where I went. Why I left. I needed to start over, to cut ties with everything that reminded me of—of that time. But also, of you.”
I draw back. “Me? Why? We barely used together.”
He shakes his head. “You really are an idiot sometimes.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.
Duke swallows, rubbing his thumb against the side of his fancy little espresso cup as he frowns down at it. “I thought about texting you again,” he says. “But I kept talking myself out of it. After a year sober, I thought, maybe now. I didn’t have a good job, though, so I told myself I’d text when I was making a little money. And when I was, I said I’d text when I had a nicer place. And now… It’s not perfect, but it’s good. I could have. But maybe… Maybe I was scared.”
“I would have answered.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “But what if, after all that, it still wasn’t good enough?”
“Duke.”
He keeps rubbing his cup until I lay my hand on his forearm, stopping him. He stares down at my hand instead of his, but still not at me. I slide my fingers along his arm until they reach his wrist. He swallows audibly, his gaze following the trail of my movement as I slip my hand to the inside of his wrist, his palm, and lace my fingers through his.
“You were always good enough,” I tell him.
“Bullshit.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “I was with someone else. I was in love with someone else.”
“I fucking know that.” He tries to pull his hand away, but I only hold on tighter.
“I know I hurt you too, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t because you weren’t enough. You were always enough, Duke.”
“Then why wasn’t it me?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.
This time, the squeeze I give his hand is comforting. “It just wasn’t the right time for us. You said it yourself.”
“And now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know.”
“Then when is the right time, Colt? It’s been five years. I won’t say I waited for you, but I never gave up hope. So tell me when. Just tell me if it’s time to give up. If it will never happen, just say it. I’d rather know it will never happen than keep holding onto something that’s only holding me back.”
There’s no reason to say no. We’re both sober. We’re both single.
But that doesn’t mean we’re ready.
“How would that work?” I ask carefully.
“I don’t know,” he says. “We figure it out as we go along. You said you don’t plan ahead.”
“Yeah, but my life is in Arkansas. Yours is here.”
“So you move in,” he says. “I have plenty of space.”
“You’re asking me to give up a lot.”
“What, Arkansas? We both know it sucks there.”
