He shut me up with a kiss, thankfully. His next words were chuckled against my lips. “So you want to move in because it’s convenient.”
He was laughing at me, but I could hear the yes in those words. “I wanted to point out the various benefits.” I ground my hips forward once, slowly. “But if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, I do—” He was cut off by the shrill scream of my phone, the other hard thing in my pants. He sighed, undoubtedly recognizing the ringtone I’d set for my mother. “You have to take that, don’t you?”
I groaned, contemplating, for a moment between rings, not answering. But then the screech sounded again and I remembered that she would keep calling until she reached me. She said that since she didn’t call often, I should always be available to talk to her. I shoved my hand between Logan and me and whipped out my phone. He didn’t back off a millimeter.
I put the phone to my ear and rested my forehead against his shoulder. “Hello.”
“Hi, dear! I hope I’m not interrupting!” She always said that, but never actually asked if she was. “I wanted to confirm that you’ll be down for your father’s birthday.”
This was the first I was hearing about it. “Um, are we doing something special?” Usually I sent a card. Although at least now I’d been reminded that I needed to buy a card.
“Yes. I told you”—she most certainly had not—“because he’s turning fifty this year, we wanted to have a special to-do. And it falls on Father’s Day, so it’s pretty much meant to be! You did keep the nineteenth open, didn’t you?”
I quickly put her on speaker so I could check the calendar in my phone, and Logan finally stepped back with a muffled sigh. I had a movie marathon scheduled with my friends for the eighteenth, but I’d be fine for the nineteenth. “Yep. I wouldn’t forget about this event that you hadn’t told me about.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, young man. I most certainly told you about this.” She sniffed. “But good. I’ll see you then. I’ll take care of all the food, but be sure to get your father a gift. And will you be bringing anyone special?”
Logan’s head shot up, his dark eyes meeting mine, and I switched the phone off speaker and pressed it to my ear, my own gaze dropping to Logan’s feet. “Uh, no.”
Logan took a step back.
“You really should work on having someone in your life, honey. I hate to see you alone.”
I locked my eyes with Logan’s. “I’m not alone.”
His stony expression softened.
“Then you should bring her!”
I winced. “There’s no ‘her,’ Mom.”
And his expression clouded over again. Damn it.
“Then you are alone. I know your friends mean a lot, but it’s not the same as having someone special, who you love, who shares all of life’s struggles and successes with you! By your age I already had your father and you. You don’t want to die alone, do you?”
I was so startled, and distracted by Logan’s downcast face, that I blurted, “Jesus, Mom, that’s morbid!”
She sniffed. “It’s the facts of life. I just want you to be happy. And give me grandkids.”
I sighed as Logan turned away and began emptying the bags we’d brought up. “Okay, Mom. I’ll see you on the nineteenth. I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay, dear. Don’t forget a present!”
“Yeah. Love you, bye.”
“Byeee!”
I hung up and shoved my phone into my pocket. “Sorry about that.”
“Yeah?” He slid a box onto a cupboard shelf and then turned back to face me. “Which part are you sorry for? The interruption? Not telling your mom about me? Not taking me to another family event?”
“It’s not that easy,” I said, to avoid having to analyze which I was sorry for.
“I know!” He slammed his hand down on the counter edge and gripped it hard, as if it was holding him up. “I know, Isaac. But it’s been six months. What happened to ‘I’ll tell them when it’s serious’?”
I didn’t have an answer for him, but the thought of telling them, of losing them, made my insides quake with fear.
“Or is this not that serious?” Logan asked, voice cracking.
“You know it is! I want to move in with you. Isn’t that something?”
He stared at me for a long, long moment. He looked hurt, and angry, and . . . decided. It was the last that made my stomach lurch and curl in on itself. I was terrified of what decision he’d reached.
I wet my lips with a dry tongue and croaked, “I love you.”
Maybe he didn’t hear it. Maybe he was mad enough that he couldn’t say the words back. His tone was flat when he finally spoke. “So you want us to live together, but won’t tell them about me.”
It wasn’t a question. “It’s not like that.”
But it was like that. Exactly like that. And yet the hurt and anger on his face still wasn’t a stronger driving force than the terror I felt at the sheer thought of telling my parents.
“I see how it is,” he said, his words building into a growl as he continued. “If it’s not serious enough for you to tell them, then I don’t think we should move in together.”
“But—”
“No! I won’t be your ‘roommate’ or your ‘good friend’ or whatever other goddamn lies you’d tell them to explain why you’re living with another man! I—” His head twisted left and right, as if he was searching for something. Unfortunately, he found it. “I have to go.”
He snatched his keys from the kitchen table and started toward the front door.
“Wait!”
He didn’t wait. Why would he wait for a cowardly piece of trash like me? I ran to the door after him.
“I’ll tell them!”
He froze—as still and icy as my insides. But they didn’t thaw like his expression when he slowly turned to face me. “You will?”
“But . . . but not yet.”
Any hope that had begun to take shape on his face cracked and flaked away.
“Logan, I’m not ready.”
“I know.” He inhaled deeply. Twice. “But I also don’t think you’re ready to move in together.” He spun back around. “I should go.”
I grabbed his arm, all my words clogged in my throat, trying to get out but unable. My desperation must have made its way through my touch, because he folded his hand over mine—warm and comforting in its tenderness.
“Not for good. This isn’t goodbye. I just need to leave.”
He pried my hand off, kissed my knuckles, then let go. My arm fell like a deadweight beside me. I could only stare as he shoved his feet back into his boots and walked out the front door. It closed with a thud that felt more permanent than his words had promised.
He’d said it wasn’t goodbye, but he was still gone.
That night, as I lay alone in my bed, my thoughts wouldn’t shut up. Mostly a stream of He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, but also echoes of everything he’d said reverberating through my skull and shivering down my bones. It all felt unfair. I shouldn’t have to come out to my parents if I wasn’t ready. But then he shouldn’t have to move in with someone who couldn’t be completely honest about their relationship.
I wanted him here. I wanted to not think about telling my parents and what that would mean. I wanted him beside me, his warm body a source of strength and comfort instead of the soft, cold pillow I was wrapped around in his stead. To get him back—even if he hadn’t technically left—I just had to do one simple, huge thing.
He wasn’t asking too much, I supposed. It wasn’t like this was some teenage drama and I’d be kicked out of my house and have to live destitute on the streets. The only thing I’d risk losing was my family. And not all of my family. But most of it. My parents.
The thought hardened the knot in my stomach.
I’d lose my parents, but I’d keep Sue. I’d prove to Logan that I loved him. That I wasn’t ashamed. Not that I thought he thought I was ashamed.
Maybe I t
hought I was ashamed. Maybe I was ashamed. Not of him. He was amazing. But of myself. Knowing how my parents would react made a wave of shame wash through me: I wasn’t being a good son, I was a disappointment, I was ruining the family.
Yet if I let that shame and guilt win, I would never be happy, because I’d never fully have Logan.
Fuck.
Maybe I wasn’t giving my parents enough credit. Maybe they’d be understanding—after a while. I mean, they hadn’t loved the idea of Logan when he’d been supposedly dating Sue, but they’d been courteous to him. And I could explain that he was educated and doing well for himself—not that those things made him a better man, but my parents would think so. I’d trade the thug-life image he’d presented with being gay. It all balanced out, right?
Fuck. I didn’t know anymore. The thought of telling them had become this monster in my mind—I no longer knew what was real and what was fear.
However, there was someone who could tell me. I texted Sue.
How do you think Mom and Dad would react if I came out?
It was late, but my phone rang a second later.
“You’re going to tell them?” Sue said as soon as I’d answered.
“I— Logan— I— Fuck,” I finished eloquently. I struggled to inhale. “Logan’s hurt that I’m hiding him from them and wants me to tell them. And I’m not sure if they’ll actually react badly or I just think they will and he has a point, or if . . . I dunno.” I sighed. “Tell me.”
Her exhalation was a staticky murmur across the line. “I can’t tell you whether you should tell them or not. And Logan shouldn’t be forcing you to either. I mean, Zacky, they wouldn’t take it well. I don’t know if they’d outright disown you, but they’d ignore it or try to talk you out of it. Mom would definitely ignore it, I think.” Her voice softened, until I could barely hear it. “I don’t think Dad would take it well.”
My stomach sank. I had wanted her to tell me that it was all in my head. That it would all be okay. I swallowed. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could— I wish they wouldn’t. But you’ll always have me. I love you.”
My voice cracked twice before I managed to say, “I love you too.”
A moment of silence hung between us, and then she said, “So Logan’s pushing for you to tell them?”
“Yeah. Mom called about Dad’s birthday, and Logan wanted . . . We’d been talking about moving in together.”
“That’s great!”
I winced. “Yeah. But when I wouldn’t tell Mom and Dad about us, he changed his mind. Said if I wouldn’t, then he didn’t think it was serious enough, didn’t think I was serious enough about it to move in together.”
The sharp sting of hurt hadn’t faded at all over the hours, and it washed fresh across my heart with renewed intensity.
“Well”—I could hear the grimace in her voice—“he shouldn’t pressure you, but . . .”
“But you see his point,” I finished.
“Yeah. Like what did you think when I told you about my sudden boyfriend that I was bringing to Christmas?”
“That you were ashamed of us.” I sighed. “Or him.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re actually ashamed of him, but he probably still feels that you are. You know?”
I squeezed the pillow I was hugging. “I know.”
She gave a long yawn. “So do you know what you’re going to do?”
“No. Well.” Another swallow to dislodge the lump in my throat. It didn’t help. “I’m going to talk to him and try to make it better. As good as I can. As for Mom and Dad? I have no clue.”
“I’m sorry. Good luck.”
My laugh was hollow. “Thanks.”
We hung up, but despite my emotional exhaustion, sleep was a long time in coming.
I woke to a gentle kiss on my temple and the faint smells of exhaust and spring air. Without checking, I knew it was Logan, and a smile crinkled across my face. When I finally opened my eyes, I found him leaning over me, one hand braced on the headboard and the other on the mattress by my shoulder.
He looked like shit. Dark smudges under his eyes, a day’s scruff on his face, and a flatness to his skin, like the life had drained out. I felt guilty for lying in bed, for having slept. He didn’t seem to have gotten much, if any, rest.
I reached up, cupped his cheeks, and traced my thumbs along the corners of his mouth. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
I pulled him down until our foreheads touched. “I missed you.”
“Fuck, Isaac, I missed you too.” He climbed into my bed fully clothed before I could respond, not that I was complaining. Although as he gathered me in his arms, his clothes were a bit chillier than I was under the blankets, and I shivered. It didn’t stop me from drawing him closer.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too.” God how those four words soothed the gaping wound from yesterday’s unanswered declaration. “And I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to tell your family.”
“I’m sorry that I’m not ready yet. I—I was thinking about it all last night. I want to tell them, but I’m not ready to lose them.”
“I know.” He tucked my head against his chest, as if he were protecting me from something. Maybe from his words. “I just . . . don’t get it. You have shitty parents—no offense—and they treat you like crap, and yet you keep going back for more—”
A choked grunt escaped me from that punch.
“—but you have great friends who are a better kind of family. Why do you keep going back to your parents?”
“They’re friends, though. They aren’t family.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth—his family and his friends were the same to him.
He tightened his arms around me. “Family is made up of people who love you, not people connected by blood. Not people who make you feel guilty and shitty. Not people you feel obligated to. You should want to see and help your family because they’re family and you love them. Because those you love are family and those who love you are family. Your sister is family. Jackson and Emmett are family. Your parents are . . . biological incubators.”
“Jesus,” I exhaled, “tell me what you really think.”
His arms tightened again. “I want you to be happy.”
“Fuck.” I wrapped my arms and legs around him as best I could, like some insufficient octopus. “Logan, I want to tell them. I want to not care.”
“But you can’t.”
I winced at the disappointment in his voice. My own words were timid, like a frightened child’s, and I hated that I felt that way. “Not yet.”
“I understand.” But it still hurts, I heard unspoken. His arms didn’t loosen their hold though. “But do you understand that I don’t want to move in together until you’re ready to tell them?”
I had known that was the case and hadn’t expected it to change but, fuck, it stung. “I do.”
“It’s not an ultimatum.”
It sure feels like one, I wanted to snap back. I held my tongue. Taking a leap into a life together was hard when you weren’t sure if the other person’s hand was in yours. Of course, knowing that didn’t soften the blow. “I still want to move in.”
“So do I.” He loosened his hold enough to kiss my temple and meet my gaze. “But not yet. When we’re both ready.”
Ready. My own word used against me. I wished I was stronger—strong enough to be ready. “Okay.” I leaned up and kissed him.
A kiss to promise that I would be ready someday, hopefully someday soon. A kiss to let him know how much his patience—well, what showed of his patience—meant to me. Clearly it was hard for him, but he seemed to understand that it was hard for me too. And if he didn’t understand everything, he at least was willing to work with me.
The second kiss was filled with the yearning from the night spent apart with hurt and anger in our hearts. It wasn’t like we weren’t used to sleeping in separate beds, although that had bee
n happening less and less, but last night was the first time we hadn’t resolved a problem before separating.
The third kiss happened seamlessly, as natural as breathing. As natural as his hands stroking along my back. My hands met cotton and denim, and I had to dig to get to the flesh. Against his lips, I murmured, “You’re wearing too much.”
“I didn’t want to assume I’d be welcome,” he murmured against my lips.
My heart tripped, and I clenched his T-shirt in my fist. “You are always welcome.”
“Shh,” he whispered, before he kissed me once more, delving deep with his tongue and thoroughly distracting me from what had led us here. Instead, it became vital to get him naked so our skin could touch from toes to mouth. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged, but it was pinned between him and the mattress and only moved a little.
I grunted and tugged again. “Up.”
He chuckled and began nibbling on my jaw. “Maybe I should stay dressed and spread you out, swallow you down until you cry out in pleasure. You know—” he nipped, hard, probably leaving a mark, but I didn’t care if it was high enough for my coworkers to see “—make up for having a hissy fit.”
I snorted and gave up on his shirt, dropping my hands to his pants, where the zipper and buttons were cooperative. “Then maybe I should strip you and spread you out and swallow you down. You know—” I reached in and pulled out his cock, already hardening in my hand “—to make up for being a coward.”
He hissed, although I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I’d said or because I’d given him a slow, long stroke. “You’re not a coward.”
“If I—”
He kissed me hard, knotting his fingers in my hair to hold my head still, so I couldn’t free my mouth to try to argue.
“You’re not a coward,” he repeated when he’d finally finished shutting me up. “You just need time.”
I sighed against his mouth, the most I was willing to concede, and dragged my palm up his cock and then circled the head.
“Mmm, seems like we both have things to apologize for,” he said.
“Then you’d better get naked.”
Hard Truths Page 11