“Nothing,” Andre had lied, not looking up from the sink. “They are just tired.”
“You’re tired too,” Blake had observed quietly. “You haven’t painted in a week. You barely sleep.”
“I am fine, Blake. Just a creative block.”
Blake hadn’t pushed it. But the question remained, hanging in the air between them, a silent, growing chasm.
It was a Tuesday night, three days before Blake was scheduled to play in the Dubai Tennis Championships. His bags were already packed, sitting by thefront door, a familiar, comforting sight that usually signaled the rhythm of their lives.
Andre couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady, even sound of Blake’s breathing beside him. The flat was silent, the street outside quiet.
The memories of that night were playing on a continuous, inescapable loop in his mind. The smell of the cannabis. The heat of Talia’s skin. The taste of Liam. The sheer, horrifying ease with which he had destroyed everything that mattered to him.
He couldn’t carry it anymore.
The weight of the secret was destroying him, breaking him down piece by piece. He felt like he was choking, drowning in his own hypocrisy.
Andre slipped out of bed, his movements slow and careful. He walked out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room. He didn’t turn on the lights. He sat down on the sofa, pulling his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs.
He buried his face in his knees, and for the first time since that morning in Waterloo, he allowed himself to cry.
It wasn’t a quiet, dignified weeping. It was a harsh, ugly sobbing, his body shaking with the force of it, the tears hot and fast against his skin. He cried for the man he had been, the man Blake thought he was, and the man he had actually become.
He didn’t hear the bedroom door open. He didn’t hear the soft tread of bare feet on the hardwood floor. Suddenly, the living room was floodedwith harsh, yellow light. Andre flinched, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes.
Blake was standing by the light switch. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, his chest bare, his hair messy from sleep. But his eyes were wide awake, sharp and focused, taking in the sight of Andre curled on the sofa, his face wet with tears, his body shaking. Blake didn’t move toward him. He didn’t offer comfort. He just stood there, his posture rigid, his jaw set.
“Enough,” Blake said. His voice was low, but it carried across the room with the force of a physical blow. “Enough is enough. What is going on.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.
Andre looked at him. He looked at the broad shoulders, the strong, capable hands, the blue eyes that had always looked at him with such unguarded trust.Tell him, a voice in Andre’s head said.Tell him and end it. Andre took a shaky breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He sat up straighter, forcing himself to meet Blake’s gaze.
“I did something,” Andre said, his voice trembling. “While you were in Melbourne.”
“I went to Liam and Talia’s flat,” Andre continued, the words tumbling out of him now, a snowballing, agonizing purge. “Liam had… he had cannabis. We baked it into scones. We ate them. We got very high. Higher than I have ever been in my life. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t feel my own hands.”
Blake’s expression didn’t change, but Andre saw the slight tightening of the muscles in his neck.
“And?” Blake asked quietly.
Andre closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Blake while he said the rest. He couldn’t bear to see the trust die.
“Talia kissed me,” Andre whispered, his voice breaking. “And I… I kissed her back. I didn’t stop it. I let her touch me. I touched her. We were on the sofa, and I was inside of her.”
The silence in the room was absolute. It was a heavy, ringing silence, the kind that follows an explosion.
“You slept with Talia,” Blake said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. It was flat and vacantly calm.
“Yes,” Andre choked out, wrapping his arms tighter around his knees. “But… but that is not all.” He opened his eyes. Blake was staring at him, his face pale, his eyes dark and unreadable. The stillness in Blake’s body was more frightening than any screaming or throwing of objects could have been.
“Liam was there,” Andre said, the shame burning in his throat like acid. “He was watching us. He was sitting in the armchair, watching us, and he was… he was touching himself. And when I was finished with Talia… when I pulled out of her… Liam came over.”
Andre swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. He had to tell the whole truth. He owed Blake that much, even if it destroyed them both. “He came and stood next to me,” Andre whispered, the tears starting again, blurring his vision. “He asked if I wanted it. And I… I couldn't reason in my own mind. I took him in my mouth. I swallowed him.”
The words hung in the air, ugly and brutal and impossible to take back. Blake stared at him. For a long moment, Blake didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, looking at the man he loved, the man he had built his life around, the man he had fought his own father for. Then, Blake took a step backward.
