“Here,” John says, holding the phone out to me.
“This is perfect. I’m so happy, John,” I say, still staring at it, already imagining it framed on the wall somewhere. “Now I never have to be alone here again.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize what I said and who I said it to, and guilt immediately consumes me.
“Is that what this is about, Chad?” John asks, looking slightly concerned.
I hesitate, my fingers still curled around the phone. “No. Well… I don’t know.” I reach up to scratch behind Jenny’s ear as she leans harder into me. “You know I don’t like being in this house alone,” I admit since this isn’t new information. “It’s too quiet and big, and it’s creepy. It’s so different from the city. The silence here is just… scary.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and he looks like he’s thinking hard, so I continue. I don’t want to make him feel bad for asking me to move out, especially not after last night with learning more about his need for control.
Besides, it’s not like he ever really asked me to move in. I just invited myself out of some fairy-tale belief that we’d live happily ever after without having to put any work in to get there. John’s helped me realize working for something I want can be fun though. So much fun.
“But I respect your space,” I add. “Or I’m trying to. I know you need it, and I’m doing my best.”
Which is true. Because I’m trying more than he realizes by not asking him to stay, by not asking him for more than the arrangement he offered me. Understanding him means not rushing him or trying to take away the thing that makes him feel secure.
“You know, if something is actually wrong, you can call me,” he responds after a moment.
“Thank you, John. That means a lot.”
And it does, but I know he means emergencies. Broken pipes, mini donkey crises, or real intruders.
Not loneliness.
Not when I miss him.
Because that would mean his phone would never stop ringing.
And when he eventually walks out the door to head home for the night, my heart aches for him to come back.
20
JOHN
I’m here to deliver the quote for my brothers, I repeat to myself.
Just because I’ve never done this part of the process for anyone else doesn’t mean I’m making up excuses to see Chad on a sex day. I’m also telling myself I’m not worried that it’s nearly five p.m. and I haven’t heard from him. Especially given that a few days ago, he literally broke into my house just to see me, and on Friday, he was waiting in my driveway when I got home from work. Part of me was disappointed he wasn’t already waiting naked in my room again, but that didn’t stop him from stripping the moment we were inside and dropping to his knees.
Still, he texted me nearly a hundred pictures of his donkeys yesterday, so the silence today is definitely odd.
He probably lost track of time playing with those damn donkeys, or maybe one of them stepped on his phone or something equally ridiculous. There’s no reason for me to jump to worst-case scenarios. He’s fine. No one has broken into his house to hurt him. He didn’t choke on anything. If he’d gone to the farm and something happened there, Wyatt would’ve helped him.
Although Wyatt wouldn’t think to call me. Why would he? It’s not like I’ve given anyone any reason to think I care. I’ve made Chad keep us a secret, which, to my knowledge, he’s done incredibly well.
Was it a mistake that I was so insistent on him moving out? No, I needed space. Besides, he’s too tempting for me to be around, so if he didn’t move out, we couldn’t have sex. It would be way too complicated. Way too much like real husbands.
Still, I worry about him more than I should, which is my own shit to work on.
It’s just… listening to him the other day made me question myself for just a second. Of course I don’t like knowing that he’s scared to be alone in his house. Hopefully those damn donkeys bring him some comfort. I’m sure he won’t know another moment of quiet with them around.
Relief hits me as soon as I pull into the driveway. His Range Rover is parked where it always is.
He’s home.
I’m sure he’s fine.
I get out of the car and walk up to ring the doorbell, but there’s no answer. It’s old, one of those twist ones that rings an actual bell, so maybe he didn’t hear me? I can hear the donkeys braying inside in response though, probably knocking into even more shit, so maybe Chad’s got his hands full with them. That’d make sense why he hasn’t called.
I try knocking this time, and still nothing. Fuck. What is he possibly doing in there?
