Page 98 of The Art of Drowning

“That’s like…”

“Four blocks over? I know.”

“You moved?”

“Yeah.” I set my half full beer on the coffee table and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. “I sort of wanted to start over. You see, there’s this guy that I’ve been mostly madly in love with since I was a teenager, and I made him a lot of promises that I never kept. And maybe, if he’ll let me hang around, I can start making good on those promises.”

“Callum…” Damien looked like he was barely breathing. “Are you serious?”

“Bowie seems to think so because he gave me your address, finally. He made me work for it, though. He’s a good friend.”

“He’s the best,” Damien whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He cleared his throat. “And here I thought you’d have to leave soon because the drive back is so long. I thought maybe that’s why you’ve been nursing that second beer for an hour.”

“Worst-case scenario, I walk four blocks home and get my car tomorrow. I was actually taking it easy because, well, I sort of don’t like this beer, but Bowie said it was your favorite.”

Damien shook his head. “You don’t have to drink my beer to impress me, Callum. You don’t have to watch my favorite show, or eat my favorite pizza.”

“What if I like your favorite show?”

“Name one character from Sons of Anarchy. You know, the show you’ve been watching for the past two hours.”

My mouth opened and closed, then opened again. “Charlie Hunnam.”

“That’s the actor. Who does he play?”

“The… son of anarchy?”

Damien reached over and shoved me playfully. His hand was warm on my shoulder, and I savored that brief contact.

“In my defense, I’ve been sitting here for two hours trying to get up the courage to tell you that I’m sorry I failed you then and I’m sorry I let you down more recently.”

“Callum, your brother died.”

“I know. And he wasn’t my brother. Not by blood or love or anything else. I’m sorry we were ever apart, and I’m sorry for how we reunited and how tangled up I was and how unclear it made me about my intentions toward you.”

Happiness glowed in Damien’s expression. I could tell he was trying hard to keep himself in check from the way his lips kept twitching up into an almost smile before he’d pull them back into a flat line.

“Your intentions?”

“Yes. I intend to take you out to dinner tomorrow night. Be ready at seven.”

“Is that all you intend to do?” Damien had somehow moved closer and his knee pressed against mine.

“I intend to take you to dinner and maybe for drinks in a nice quiet bar where we can talk until closing. Then I’m going to take you home and kiss you goodnight at the door.”

Damien’s arm was draped over the back of the couch and he was dangerously close to touching me. I kept my eyes focused on his face, determined to not let my gaze wander to where his knee pressed against mine or where he was almost touching my shoulder with his fingertips.

“Is that all you intend to do? Kiss me goodnight?”

“Oh, no, not even close. I intend to make you fall in love with me again.”

Damien stared at me. He didn’t move or breathe or even flinch, and then he let out a long, slow breath. “And if I already love you?”

God, he sounded so miserable. Well, not miserable, but… tortured. Like loving me was an old wound that had never healed. I knew how that felt because it was the same for me. Every day of my life from then until now.

“Then I intend to make you believe that I love you too. That you’re my everything. That if I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you that I’m crazy about you. That I can’t breathe without you.”

“Fuck, Callum,” was all the warning I got before Damien launched himself at me.