In Safe Arms (My Truth Book 2)

by Ann Grech

  Angelo’s touch was tentative on my hair. He ran his fingers through it and whispered, “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I thought you were him. Your hand—he did that. I got scared. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I turned to him and hugged him close, his warmth seeping into the bone-deep cold that had shrouded me. I cried. I couldn’t stop the tears even if I’d tried. When he embraced me back, the relief pulled me from the brink of drowning. It let me breathe again. A fresh set of tears fell, and I pressed closer, desperate to hold onto him.

  “Who did you think I was, Trent?” he asked quietly after a time. He’d never stopped running his fingers through my hair. He’d never loosened his grip on me. He was the only thing keeping me grounded. The only thing tethering me to earth, stopping me from getting sucked up in a tailspin and losing myself completely. His question settled on me, and the walls I’d hid behind, the ones I’d tried to protect myself with gave way. Crumbled around me, leaving me amid the rubble. With the walls went any desire to keep hiding. I wanted out of this prison and the nightmare that my life had turned into. I wanted freedom and happiness so badly I craved it. I sensed how close it was. I could almost taste it. And I could finally see the path. I could finally see the light guiding me.

  “Him.” Angelo’s hand stilled in my hair for only a moment, but it was enough to jolt me into action. “My godfather. He hurt me.” Those words, the first of my story, weren’t hard to pronounce, but I’d never uttered anything more difficult in my life.

  “I’m here, Trent,” Angelo encouraged. That was all I needed this time. I’d hidden from him. I’d covered up my shame in an armor of bravado and a sword filled with the same poison used on me. I’d hidden from the horrible things I’d done before and after. I was now at a crossroads. The light was pointing down one path, but I could see from its aura the dim opening to the other way too. A rocky track covered with brambles. One that I knew I’d travel alone.

  I took a breath and pulled my face away from his tear-soaked chest to look up to him. I needed to see his beautiful face one last time before I confessed to him. My greatest fear had always been seeing Ryan again, but in the years since I’d met Angelo that had shifted. My greatest fear now was losing my best friend. From the moment we’d met, he’d been there for me, and the thought of him walking away because of my shameful history broke me. But I had to tell him, because that poison-tipped sword had turned on us now. It was going to drag me into the depths of oblivion if I didn’t come clean, and in doing so I’d hurt him. I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. If it meant saying goodbye to Angelo now, I’d do that to protect him.

  I memorized every inch of Angelo’s face. His hair always swooped back, but it was now falling to the side. I wished I could run my fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked. His eyes that were always so warm and filled with affection. The curve of his lips I’d wanted to kiss, and his strong nose and jaw. Then I looked down, gathering my courage to come clean.

  “He was my first. I was in trouble; he tried to teach me a lesson. I… It wasn’t good. I hated it.” I took a deep breath and held it, willing the wobble in my voice to subside. When I let it out, I continued, but my voice broke and the tears started again. “He hurt me. I remember it. I wish I didn’t, but I remember every single part of that night.” Shaking my head, I tried to keep the memories at bay. They always came rushing back when I wasn’t strong enough to block them anymore, but I was already on the brink. I didn’t think I could handle them assailing me. My next words were nothing more than a whisper. “I never wanted him to do it again. I never wanted anyone to do it again.”

  The look of horror on his face told me he understood exactly what I was telling him. He knew why I’d kept my past locked down. Why I was so ashamed of my stupidity and what I’d done. But instead of blame, his question surprised me. “How old were you, Trent?”

  “Sixteen,” I huffed, remembering how grown up I’d felt drinking my first beer in an adult’s presence. “I haven’t been able to drink beer since.” I shook my head. “I only had one. My parents thought I’d drunk all of them, but it was Ryan. He told them I got drunk. They were gonna send me back to him to clean up.”

  “Was that why you were being punished? Because he said you drank the beer?” Angelo grated out the words between clenched teeth, his hands shaking as he rubbed my back.

  “No. I told him my secret. He proved to me I was wrong, but I wasn’t. It’s still in me.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and sucked in a shuddering breath. Sitting on the floor with Angelo wrapped around me as I confessed what I’d been keeping from him and everyone else for over a decade and a half wasn’t how I’d pictured the day beginning, but now it was there, I had to keep following the light. I couldn’t give up and let darkness swallow me again.

  “He proved it by hurting you?” Angelo asked tentatively, pain and grief in his eyes but tension radiating from his body.

  I nodded and looked down, then whispered, “He put it in me. Held me down and showed me that it wasn’t what I ever wanted again.”

  “Motherfuck,” Angelo growled and dropped his arms. He clenched his fists and breathed in and out. Long, slow breaths that seemed to calm him down while I sat there, my heart shattering. I’d shared my secrets twice in my life. I’d told two people, and the fallout was colossal. A breath hitched in my throat, and I tried to scramble to my feet. I wanted to run again. To escape the pain stabbing me over and over. Angelo didn’t want me anymore. He’d seen my damage. He was pulling away. My nightmares were coming true and I couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

  But Angelo stopped me. He reached out for me and hauled me back to him. Held me tight, his grip bruising as he rocked us gently. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he wiped away my tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Trent. So sorry you had to go through that.” He repeated it over and over, softly, gently. His voice low, his accent more pronounced. He murmured comfort to me until I’d cried my tears dry and exhaustion permeated every cell in my body. I slumped in his arms and he pulled me tighter.

  “Angelo,” I whispered, not knowing how to tell him what I needed. Not even knowing what it was myself.

  “I’ve got you,” he promised, part lifting me, part guiding me to the sofa. He stretched out, pulling me between his open legs until I was curled up on his chest. His arms and legs snaked around me, holding me close. “Sleep, baby. Sleep.”

  I closed my eyes, his warmth surrounding me. His scent enveloping me. Safe in his arms, I drifted.

  Fingers running through my hair roused me; a gentle kiss on my forehead brought me back to wakefulness. I groaned, my head pounding. “Shh, go back to sleep,” Angelo whispered, and I nuzzled back into him. I wanted him to kiss me again. I wished he would. But he didn’t. He did hold me close as I drifted again though and that was more than I ever could have asked for.

  I floated in warmth, a tight embrace. Firm muscle, the most inviting pillow I’d ever laid on. Fingertips rested lightly along my spine, lips against my forehead. His warm breath in my hair. Angelo’s breathing was deep, like he’d fallen asleep too. I wanted to touch him as well, to comfort him like he’d done me. I shifted, and he startled, his arms coming around me tighter as he mumbled hoarsely, “I’m awake, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, Ang.” I glided my fingertips over his chest, touching him for the first time. Mapping the contours of his pecs and abs.

  He hummed, and I could hear the need in his voice. The want. I didn’t realize I’d paused until he grasped my hand and whispered, “Please don’t stop. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched me. I need it.” The trauma from my sharing faded as I went back to lazily drawing my fingers over his skin. When I pressed my lips to his throat, he let out a strangled moan and tightened his arm around me. I closed my eyes and breathed him in. The light at the end of the tunnel I’d been traveling down was suddenly a lot brighter. It was Angelo. My guiding light.

 
“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” I asked quietly. He gave me the smallest nod in response, and it broke my heart. He deserved everything. Whoever it was he was in love with was a damn fool, and I despised her for hurting him. “You told me you loved someone. Do you remember? You were nearly asleep.”

  I felt his heart rate spike, thudding against his chest under my cheek, and he swallowed. “I didn’t realize. Did I say who?”

  “No. But I can tell you, whoever she is she’s clueless. She has to be.” I shook my head, frustrated that she’d kept her distance from Angelo. Angry that he was alone because she didn’t love him back. “Jesus, she’s put you through hell. You’re in love with her and she’s left you hanging for how long? I wish you could get over her. Find someone else.”

  Angelo shifted then, scooting away from me. I sat up, giving him the space he needed but regretting my line of questioning immediately. He was still facing me, but had curled in on himself. And I was no longer able to touch him. Wringing his hands together, he took a deep breath and let it out, only then looking up at me. “I’m not straight, Trent. I’m demisexual.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, not really sure how that changed anything. Maybe I was clueless… actually, I was. “What does that mean, Angelo?”

  “I don’t feel any sexual attraction unless I’ve built up a relationship with a person. Instant lust for someone doesn’t exist for me. I can’t walk up to someone and want to jump into bed with them. I can’t even go on a few dates with someone and want them like that. It’s taken me years to feel that.”

  “And you can’t just switch it off and move on,” I finished for him. “Does she know? Is she yanking your chain, fucking you around?”

  He squeezed his eyes closed and blew out a breath. “It’s a man. I’m homoromantic demisexual.”

  Shock hit me square in the chest. He loved a man.

  He. Loved. A. Man.

  My mind blanked. Whited out entirely. Shocked surprise held me fast, my mouth hanging open—catching flies, like my grandma used to say. He’d hidden it from me, let me think that he was attracted to women because of my warped world view. Fuck. Shame replaced the shock. Anger at myself replaced the surprise. Disappointment in letting him down, in preventing him from trusting me had me lowering my gaze. I promised myself I’d do better. For him. For me. Angelo had come out to me, and there was no way I was letting him down again. He’d entrusted me with his truth, and I needed to be there for him. Resolve burned in my veins. No one, especially not Angelo, should be shamed for who they loved.

  Then it hit me. No one should be shamed for who they love. Yet that’s what I’d been doing to myself for all those years. Never admitting my sexuality to anyone because of what had happened. My godfather had cracked my foundation with his words, his actions. The fallout from that night was like an avalanche. Picking up speed, the mass hurtled down the mountain collecting everything in its path. Destroying everything. His words still swirled around in my head, and I fought to block them out. Fought to let the realization that forcing myself into a set mold wasn’t the only option. In doing that, in projecting my self-loathing onto everyone else, I’d hurt Angelo. I’d made him hide from me. My best friend had to have been living in hell, not even safe to be himself in his own home. The same man I’d fallen in love with. I reached for his hand and threaded our fingers together, needing to touch him in that moment.

  “I’m sorry for being such an insensitive bastard all these years. I’ve hated myself for so long. Blamed myself for what Ryan did to me. The what-ifs never stop. What if I hadn’t admitted it out loud? If I hadn’t provoked him until he decided to teach me a lesson? What if I’d just stayed in the closet? Everything would have been fine. But I was stupid. I was sixteen and clueless. Then he showed me what it was like to hate something so fundamentally you have to stamp it out. He infected me with it, and I’ve spent years projecting it onto everyone else. Onto you without even knowing. No wonder you didn’t tell me. I’m surprised you haven’t told me to fuck off and never spoken to me again.” I paused my ramble at that thought. “Why didn’t you? I don’t deserve you, Angelo. Why’d you put up with me? Why didn’t you kick me to the curb?”

  Angelo looked at me, his eyes full of a mix of pain, trepidation, and something else unnamed. “I’ve told you before. Because I love you. I’ll always choose you.”

  12

  Angelo

  The room went silent for the second time in as many minutes. I’d just dropped a bombshell on Trent. Coming out wasn’t something I’d planned on doing today or anytime soon actually, but his story, his horror-filled moments that changed the way he viewed himself made me understand him on a level I never had before. Instead of thinking of him like a badly behaved frat boy when he saw two men together, I finally understood that it was a reminder of the evil his godfather had left him with. The hatred. The self-loathing. Now all I had to do was make him realize that he was perfectly imperfect. He’d survived being raped. Now he needed help—and not just my own, but professional help—to heal from what he’d endured.

  When he’d asked me if I remembered our conversation, it’d scared me. Coming out was one thing, but this was too much to pile on him. Yet, when he asked why I was still friends with him, I found I couldn’t lie. He deserved to know he was special. I didn’t want to build a charade that would inevitably come crashing down. It was now or never. But Trent’s silence after my words terrified me. Would I shatter any chance at building our relationship because of what I’d just said? I was me. I couldn’t change that. But should I have stayed quiet?

  He released my hand and stood, walking away from the sofa I was sitting on. He turned away from me, hiding his expression. I didn’t need to see it though. His ramrod straight back, the fists he’d clench and release, and his choppy breathing were all signs I’d seen before. I knew them like I knew the back of my hand. He was angry. My hope was snuffed out like a flame starved of oxygen. Like sunlight during an eclipse. This was the end of us. Unless I truly was a masochist, I knew I needed to move on. And living here would eventually kill me. Maybe not literally, but any chance at living a happy life and finding someone who could love me back would die a slow death. His feelings about my revelation were obvious. Any hope that one day he might open his eyes and realize how I’d treasure him and love him was an impossible dream. He wouldn’t let me, because he simply didn’t love me back. He doesn’t love me.

  I closed my eyes and willed myself not to break down in front of him. Or smash a hole through the wall. I wanted to run and hide at the same time as screaming and lashing out in frustration. I gathered every ounce of strength I possessed and stood up, ready to walk the long way around the back of the sofa to my bedroom. My keys were there and I needed to get on the open road. Winding corners and steep bluffs with Lake Wakatipu by my side. At least I’d be able to lick my wounds in private. But I didn’t have the chance. Trent spun around when I stood and pinned me with his gaze. The emotions running across his face stilled me in my tracks. Anger, loathing, pain. I stepped back, not because I was scared of him—he’d shown me for years how gentle a soul he was—but because I didn’t have the strength to face him. I was broken and bleeding inside. He’d flayed me.

  “We… I….” He let out a frustrated breath and tried to continue, but I cut him off. I couldn’t listen to it.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Trent. There’s nothing more you need to say.” I sounded defeated even to my own ears.

  “Angelo, what are you talking about? Of course there’s more that I need to say.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m not sure where this leaves us, whether we can still be friends.” I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing my bangs back off my face as I tried to come to terms with the fact that at some level I knew I would always love him and it’d break me to see him with someone else, but it would inevitably happen. Although we’d always been friends, the idea of staying that way after what I’d revealed seemed like an impossibility now. “Maybe one day, bu
t I think I probably need a clean break. You’re angry, and I’m upset. I don’t want either of us to say something we’ll regret, so let’s just leave it.”

  “Like hell,” he huffed, frustration lacing his tone. “I’ve been sitting here dirty at this woman you’re in love with since the day you told me about her. Wondering how she could be so blind not to see you. Not to see how lucky she was. How privileged she was for having your love. And all along it’s been me. I’ve done nothing but hurt you. I say shit you shouldn’t have to put up with. I’ve done things, I still do things that should make you ashamed of me and yet, here you are. Telling me you’ll always choose me. That you love me. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That it’s not some random woman you’re in love with, but me?” He paused, wild-eyed and amped up, waiting for me to acknowledge that yes, it was exactly what I was saying. I could only manage a nod because I knew if I opened my mouth, I’d let slip just how hard I’d fallen for him. “My anger, my frustration, it’s not with you. It’s with me. Myself. Like usual. I fuck everything up—”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Trent. My falling for you isn’t a failing on your part,” I sneered, feeling all kinds of foolish and frustrated with myself.

  “No.” He shook his head and took a step closer, getting in my personal space. “My failing is not seeing it earlier. My failing is not telling you that I feel the same. My failing is denying that I was gay for so long that I hurt you. No matter how much I wanted to believe the lie, the truth is in front of me.” He reached for my hand and linked our fingers together. The warmth of his grip, the strength in those healing hands momentarily distracted me from what he was saying. “My fuckup is that I’ve let you think for far too long that you’re not everything to me. That I let you think for a moment I don’t love you too.”