Matters of Heart

by Yolande Kleinn

  Ready to bolt, Marco realized.

  "This was a mistake," Adam announced, and shifted toward the end of the booth.

  "No." Marco followed instinctively. He made a grab for Adam's arm, his fingers closing too tightly around the narrow wrist. When Adam froze and stared down at the offending hand, Marco eased his grip but refused to let go.

  "Marco—"

  "Stay." Marco's voice sounded gruff. "Talk to me." He was an engineer. He could fix anything. But only if he knew what was broken.

  Adam's eyes closed, just for a moment. The length of a sigh. Then Adam shook off Marco's hand and settled back into his seat. When he looked at Marco again, there was resignation written across his face.

  "It wasn't just sex," Adam said, so quietly Marco strained to hear him over the din. "That's the problem."

  "That's— You— I don't understand." Marco was bluffing. He did understand. He recognized the misplaced possessiveness still alight in his chest, and he knew damn well he'd shown his hand in Adam's office. He could protest all he wanted that it didn't mean anything. Adam was far too smart to be fooled.

  Adam hesitated. He dropped his gaze to the barely touched drink in front of him as though in surrender, but his voice was pure defiance. "I'm in love with you, asshole."

  Marco's brain abruptly short-circuited. "You're what?"

  "You heard me the first time," Adam snapped in a tight, unhappy voice. "I'm not saying it again."

  Marco stared at Adam in bald disbelief. He had never seen Adam look as appalled and uncomfortable as he looked now, refusing to meet Marco's eyes, knuckles white around the glass in his hand. The chaos of noise around them was suddenly overwhelming. Marco couldn't think past his own stunned incredulity.

  "I didn't know."

  The line of Adam's mouth pressed thinner. "You weren't meant to." He made little effort to mask his hurt now that the confession hung between them. "Are we done here?"

  Guilt nearly swamped Marco in that moment. He had put that look on Adam's face.

  There had to be a way to fix the damage done, but Marco sat frozen by the cascade failure shutting down his brain. It was one thing to realize he wanted to know his best friend intimately; it was another to fall in love. Marco had done enough harm already. He wouldn't compound his sins by leading Adam on when he was still trying to make sense of the mess in his own head.

  A ridiculous thought broke through the tumult of Marco's thoughts. Oh God, what if I break his heart? It was an idiotic question. He had already broken Adam's heart. His silence damned them both.

  Eventually Adam got tired of waiting for Marco to collect himself. "That's what I thought."

  This time when he shifted toward the end of the booth, Marco didn't stop him.

  Adam threw a handful of bills on the table to cover the drink he hadn't finished. "See you at work."

  Marco only stared after and let him go.

  *~*~*

  He went for a run that night—outside along familiar streets—even though the sun had long since set beneath a cloudy, drizzling sky. He jogged longer than usual, block after block, trying to outrun the confused clatter of feelings crowding his head.

  It didn't help.

  Marco returned to his apartment winded and exhausted, but no closer to the answers he needed. He took a longer shower than was necessary, then picked up his phone and called someone he hadn't in months.

  His ex-wife answered on the first ring. "What's wrong?" No greeting, no small talk, no bullshit. The unreasonable hour was more than enough to tip Zoe off that something was up.

  "I need advice." He glanced at the clock above his kitchen sink. "I know it's late. Can I buy you a drink?"

  "Only if you come pick me up. My chauffeur already clocked out for the night."

  Marco preferred to do his own driving anyway. "I'll be on your doorstep in twenty minutes."

  He let her choose the venue, then handed his keys off to a valet when they arrived. Inside, the restaurant was busy despite the hour, full of couples murmuring in private conversation, nursing drinks and lingering over delicate desserts.

  The host caught Zoe's eye and smiled. "Mrs. Dane. A pleasant surprise. Would you like your usual table?" Then he led them to a small booth in a dim corner of the restaurant. He had barely disappeared again before a server brought two glasses of red wine without bothering to ask their preference. Marco had no doubt it was Zoe's favorite Malbec.

  "I like it here," she said, raising her glass and holding it in the air until he clinked his own against it. "The owner's an old friend of Ryan's."

  Ryan could only be Ryan Dane, Zoe's new husband of nearly six years. Marco knew the man reasonably well, mostly because Zoe kept insisting on inviting Marco to their holiday dinners. Hell, Ryan even asked Marco to babysit the little ones sometimes, though only in moments of dire need. It was an impressive show of character that Ryan always welcomed Marco without hostility. It was even more telling that he seemed genuinely untroubled at having his wife's ex-husband underfoot.

  "Have you eaten?" Marco glanced without interest at the tiny menu beneath his hands.

  "Yes." Zoe sipped her wine and eyed him curiously. "But I wouldn't mind some bruschetta."

  Their server materialized as if on cue, took Zoe's order and disappeared, leaving an expectant silence behind. Suddenly faced with Zoe's patient attention, Marco had no idea where to start.

  He took a sip of the wine instead. It was an excellent Malbec, and Marco was quiet an extra moment. Partly stalling, partly savoring the flavor across his tongue. Zoe allowed the delay, but only so far. When he set the glass down she closed in.

  "Talk." She slowly swirled the dark wine in her own glass. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad." She spoke the words with complete confidence. She had, after all, seen Marco at his worst and still harbored genuine affection for him.

  "It's about Adam."

  Zoe peered at him for several seconds before pressing. "What about him?"

  "I slept with him," Marco confessed.

  "Okay," Zoe said. "And?" Because she knew him too well.

  Marco shook his head and drew a deep breath. "And it turns out he's in love with me." Zoe blinked at him, still expectant—as though still waiting for him to drop whatever bomb had left him so riled—which made Marco glare at her. "Well?"

  "Well what?" Zoe asked. "Why is this a problem?"

  "You're kidding." Marco stared. "How is it not a problem?"

  "Come on. Seriously?" Zoe's expression was too sincere for her to be having a laugh at his expense. "When you said this was about Adam, I was sure you were having an aneurism because he rejected you. You know, gave you the whole 'you're my best friend, I just don't feel that way about you' speech."

  Marco blinked helplessly. "He is my best friend. I need to figure out how to fix this before I fuck things up beyond repair."

  "Yes, but..." She paused, and suddenly she was looking at him—really looking at him—hard and deep and piercing. Her lips were parted around whatever words she'd been about to say, and it took her a moment to restart. "Oh my lord."

  Marco scowled. "What?"

  "Marco. Sweetheart. I hope you understand I'm only asking because I care." Then, holding his gaze so steadily he couldn't look away if he tried, she said, "Are you really this stupid?"

  Marco bristled despite Zoe's gentle tone. He clenched his jaw to keep from swearing in reply.

  "This is Adam we're talking about," Zoe said at last. "He is literally the most significant relationship in your life. Hell, Marco, you were halfway in love with him when you were married to me." She paused as though to let him absorb the truth in her words. "You're only now realizing it could be something more, and you're running away? No. I call bullshit. You need to go back and sort this out."

  Marco's chest gave a painful twinge as her words hit home, and for a moment he couldn't hear the sounds of the restaurant through the rushing pulse in his own ears. She was right. Fuck. Maybe he was this stupid. How else could he have mi
ssed something so agonizingly obvious about himself? How had he managed to not see the scope of his own feelings when all he wanted was to keep Adam to himself? Worse, how could he have let his own willful oblivion cause so much hurt?

  "Easy there." Zoe reached across the table to cover Marco's hand with her own. "You need to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack. Drink your wine."

  Marco obeyed, taking a slow drink and instantly feeling better. He wondered how late it was now. He desperately needed to see Adam, and he didn't think he could wait until morning.

  The server appeared with the bruschetta, and the plate was barely down on the table before Zoe said, "I'm so sorry, but could you box that up for us? And bring the check as quickly as possible?" The server murmured something agreeable and immediately took the bruschetta away again, disappearing through the swinging door to the kitchen.

  Across the empty table, Zoe met Marco's eyes, a glint of mischief passing between them.

  "Thanks," Marco said, overwhelmed and grateful.

  Zoe shrugged, but her smile was affectionate. "What are ex-wives for?"

  *~*~*

  Zoe and Ryan's house was a ridiculous mansion at the very edge of the city. Marco shifted his car into neutral, letting the engine idle in the enormous driveway. He could feel Zoe watching him as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

  "I'd ask you to come in and say hi to the kids, but it's... A little past their bedtime." An audible smile softened Zoe's voice to something humoring and exasperated.

  "Yeah," Marco agreed. He liked Zoe and Ryan's children. They liked him, too. But even if it weren’t past midnight, he would be in too much of a hurry to accept the hospitality right now.

  "Good luck," Zoe murmured. Then, surprising Marco, she leaned over the gearshift to kiss his cheek. Her voice in his ear was kind. "You can do this."

  "Thanks," Marco said through a throat gone dry. When the car door slammed behind Zoe, he didn't bother waiting for her to reach the house before he rounded the circular driveway and got back on the road.

  Every minute of his drive was agony. Adam lived nearly downtown, clear across the city from Zoe's large estate, and the distance gave Marco plenty of time to reflect on his feelings. They were so clear and obvious now—he was appalled he hadn't seen the truth before. Doubt gnawed at him through every stoplight and intersection, a simmering fear that there might be no fixing what his carelessness had broken. Adam had forgiven Marco for all kinds of stupid mistakes over the years, but this was different. This mattered. And now that he knew exactly what he wanted, Marco was terrified he might be too late. What if he had fucked things up beyond repair?

  Even if he had, there was only one course before him. He couldn't chicken out now.

  This close to downtown, the streets were never truly empty, but there was little traffic when Marco turned onto the avenue in front of Adam's building. The edifice rose high into a cloudy sky, a fragment of cityscape that was never truly dark. Even in the middle of the night there was a constant gleam of light pollution casting the air an eerie gold.

  This was the easy part. Marco had ready access to this building—parking permit, pass codes, even a key to Adam's condo on the twenty-sixth floor—and it struck him now that even this was one more clue that should have tipped him off ages ago. Sure, there were practical reasons they had exchanged keys and security codes, but somehow those reasons seemed irrelevant in the face of Marco's new understanding.

  He parked in the guest lot beneath the building and forced himself not to pace as the elevator carried him up and up and up. Silent hallways took him to a door that looked exactly like the ones to either side of it. His heart beat a frantic rhythm in his chest, and he felt like a terrified teenager. Hell, he could still turn back, try to muster up the courage for this conversation in the less oppressive light of day. But the thought of spending another night beneath the weight of this misunderstanding was enough to steel his resolve.

  Marco's key would have let him silently inside the condo, but he knocked on the door instead. Not too loudly—there were only a handful of neighbors on this floor, but Marco didn't particularly want to wake any of them. Pissing off the neighbors wasn't a great way to begin an earnest courtship.

  He had to knock several times before he heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

  A moment later and Adam stood in the open frame, tousled and bleary in a t-shirt and sweats. He blinked against the bright hall light, the entry behind him dark as midnight. His hair was a mess.

  Marco had never seen him look so utterly perplexed.

  "Marco, what the hell? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

  "No. I mean, yes. I need to talk to you."

  "At one in the morning." Adam looked more awake now, but still wore an expression scrunched with confusion.

  "It's important."

  "Too important for a phone call?"

  Marco didn't hesitate. "Yes."

  Adam stared at him for several slow seconds without inviting him in. There wasn't anything angry about the way he stood frozen with his hand on the door, blocking the way. More like surprise to the point of disbelief, as though honestly wondering if Marco might be a hallucination. As though maybe if he waited long enough the illusion would dissipate into empty air.

  Finally Adam shook off his stillness and stepped aside, leaving Marco to catch the heavy door before it could swing shut.

  "Come in, then."

  Marco stepped across the threshold and into the dark hallway. The door thudded closed behind him as he followed Adam down the short entrance hall.

  "Do you want coffee?" Adam asked.

  "No. Thanks." Marco was already far too wired. If he added caffeine to the adrenaline and energy roiling inside him, he might vibrate straight through the molecules of the floor.

  "I need coffee." Adam stifled a yawn. He bypassed the living room light switch on his way to the kitchen. Even in the kitchen he only turned on the light above the stove, illuminating the cupboards and counter, and leaving the rest of the room in indistinct shadow.

  Marco watched as Adam fussed with the coffeemaker, loading it with grounds and water, setting it to percolate. There was something deliberate in Adam's silence, more like resignation than anger. Marco's chest ached with a pulse of guilt. He didn't need reminding that he'd made a complete hash out of everything.

  Adam turned and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, and Marco's throat went tight at the guarded look on his face. Knowing he had earned that expression didn't make it any easier to stomach.

  "I'm in love with you, too," he blurted.

  The blank of Adam's expression turned chilly. "Bullshit."

  Marco's pulse sped and his chest felt raw. "Adam..."

  But Adam was already turning his back, restlessness in the movement. After a moment's aimless fumbling, he reached for the cupboard above the stove, trying and failing to seem like that had been his intention all along. Marco cursed himself in the privacy of his own mind and moved to intercept before Adam could finish opening the cupboard.

  Catching Adam's wrist in a strong grip, he hesitated only a moment before using the leverage to make Adam face him. It was impossible for Adam to look anywhere but directly into his eyes from this close.

  Adam didn't look cold any longer. He looked hot as a bonfire—furious—and both the spark in his eye and defiant jut of his chin told Marco he should let go. Rational conversation wasn't likely to happen like this, hovering uninvited in Adam's space, facing down a wall of anger. But instead of letting go, Marco held on just a little bit tighter.

  "I know I got this wrong before," Marco said, struggling to corral his spinning thoughts. "I'm sorry. Please let me try again."

  Adam's brow creased more deeply, his eyes narrowing with unvarnished skepticism. "What are you really doing here, Marco?" He sounded genuinely confused. More than that, he sounded tired and hurt, and Marco burned with the need to make it right.

  Instead of answering with words—he'd
never been good with words anyway—Marco found himself reacting to more urgent instincts. He'd already crowded Adam against the counter's edge, closer than he intended to stand. He couldn't convince his legs to retreat, any more than he could convince his fingers to let go of Adam's wrist. Now, his heart beating at a painful speed, Marco leaned down into Adam's space—smoothly, as though he had any right to this—and pressed a kiss to Adam's startled mouth.

  Adam held perfectly still beneath Marco's hands, allowing the kiss, opening for the first tentative press of Marco's tongue at the seam of his lips.

  But unlike the night of the press gala, Adam didn't reach for Marco in return. He seemed more patient than eager. And clueless or not, Marco wasn't an idiot. He drew cautiously away, breaking the kiss but reluctant to let go. He opened his eyes to find Adam's still closed, and Marco waited—watchful and anxious—for any hint of reaction.

  When Adam didn't open his eyes, Marco let go and retreated a single step. His backside bumped into the island counter that filled the center of the kitchen, and he braced himself against the solid edge. Patience. He needed patience. Because Adam didn't owe him a second chance. That thought made it hard to breathe.

  Finally Adam opened his eyes and looked straight at Marco. The expression on his face was serious and determined in the faint, uneven light. He looked like he was trying to read straight down to Marco's soul and wasn't sure he approved of what he saw.

  Marco held perfectly still, despite the desire to drop to his knees and beg for another chance. "How do I convince you I'm serious?" He met Adam's eyes, searching for any break in the practiced armor. "Look, I know you don't owe me the benefit of the doubt. I messed with your head, I got everything ass-backwards, I made a complete disaster of what should have been a good thing. But if you let me try again, I swear I'll do better."

  Adam crossed his arms, but he dropped his guard just enough to give Marco hope. The dim kitchen, with its one source of ill-placed light, cast overdramatic shadows and deepened the vertical crease between dark eyebrows.

  "Okay. I'm listening." Adam spoke the words with total sincerity. His expression said he really was listening, ready to absorb whatever uncomfortable truths Marco might be about to throw at him.