The Fishermen (Infidelity #2)

by C.P. Harris

Moving through the office space overlooking downtown Seattle, I did my best to smile as rich men in pricey suits measured their dicks.

It oddly felt like he’d given me more than a name. It felt like he’d given me a taste of his vulnerability without even realizing it. It didn’t taste half bad.

Maybe I hoped I’d discover I was a daisy,” I said under my breath. “A daisy?” His brows puckered in confusion.

“Things are less scary when holding hands,” I said, wiggling my fingers.

He felt trapped. I knew because caged men recognized other caged men, even if our prisons were of a different kind.

“Who lets you fuck them with that?” I asked, his erection taking up most of my view. I often joked that it was the size of a small human and would need to start contributing to the rent.

Dark and stoic men had always been my weakness, running a close second to men who didn’t give a shit about me—because if they didn’t care, I didn’t need to worry about them wanting to stay. No one got to stay.

We were from two different worlds, and the chances were slim that those worlds would ever collide again.

Noon had named it A Winter Meadow. I simply called it the story of my sad fucking life.

It meant the person who now owned it deserved it because they took the time to find it. They’d ventured to this dark, dank area in search of something more, and they found me.

Franky’s serious nature brought out an urge in me to tease him, to bend over backward for the pleasure of seeing one of his almost-smiles.

“You shouldn’t let anyone get away with giving you less than you’re worth,” he said.

The way he stressed my name made it sound important. Was it wrong that I wanted to ask him to make me feel important again?

“Goodbye,” I said to his retreating back, but I privately hoped this was somehow the first of many hellos.

“Sorry, I tried your phone, but it’s on do not disturb.” “That’s usually what I do when not wanting to be disturbed, Patricia.”

I wanted to rely on myself this summer. I wanted to drive, to walk, to ride the damn bus, and imagine my father turning over in his grave because of it.

It was much easier to change in front of someone who didn’t know who you were before. Or in my case, who I’d been pretending to be.

“I have two sons. Cole and Jasper. Jasper’s my stepson, but that’s a technicality I often forget. They’re away at college.”

Was he happy to see me? Did I want him to be?

“Did you know the daisy is one of the strongest flowers? They spread like wildfire and are hard to keep at bay.”

“This daisy has hope,” I said, pointing at the vibrant, floating wildflower. “It’s taking a chance on the unknown, while the rest of the meadow opts for the familiar, even if it will possibly kill them.

I never tried for anything more than what I had, because there was safety in the predictability of my mundane life.

I’d rather die in the meadow not knowing that something better waited for me, than to reach for the stars only to come crashing down.

No one else could hurt me in my meadow. I’d made it that way. I’d made it so nothing good lived there because everything good would eventually leave.

:'(

maybe one day we can both be daisies.”

why did his confessions have to affect me the way they did? I would’ve made a terrible priest, because no way could I have ever handed Franky’s problems over to God. As it stood, I wanted to be the one to absolve them all.

“Okay,” I whispered, even while knowing that this would be the moment I lived to regret. The moment I stayed.

Everything’s better when holding hands.’” “I believe it’s: ‘Things are less scary when holding hands,’” he corrected. “Same thing, smartass,” I said, snagging a chuckle from him.

I wanted to know everything about him. All that he’d faced, survived, and even the things he hadn’t, because some things we never quite make it through. We merely learned how to walk through life while still living in our own hell.

“Someone needs to hit the gym,” I muttered, rubbing my lower back. “Are you alright?” he asked, steadying me by my shoulders. “You can’t pick me up, Leland.” “No shit. I got carried away in my excitement. What the hell are your bones made out of anyway? Bricks? I’ll be fine,”

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best. Then why did it feel like a betrayal?

Was that normal? Did that just happen? Did two people meet and click that instantaneously?

Why couldn’t I be grateful for the life I had instead of wishing for something…else.

“You have a right to change your mind about who you want to be in this world, Franky. To decide you’ve had enough of living a lie.”

“Your mother was a model?” I’d assumed she was a sociopathic, love-obsessed attempted murderer from the heartbreaking tidbits he’d shared.

I didn’t care what any therapist said. The sins of our parents became our problems too, because we were left to find a way to deal with them, to get past them.

I’d never been a violent man, but someone needed to pay for how good it felt to touch myself to thoughts of him, and since it couldn’t be Leland—could never be Leland—it had to be me.

“I’ll have you know I won the national sandwich making contest four years in a row in high school.” “Please tell me such a thing did not exist, and that if it did you weren’t uncool enough to participate.” He looked downright horrified. “It didn’t. But if it was a thing, I would have won.”

“I wake up early every morning to watch you drink tea on the dock as the sun breaks past the horizon,” he said. “I love how the sun looks when it rises around you, when it makes room for you.”

“See,” I whispered. “You’re a daisy after all.” His grin was boyish and bashful as he whispered back, “So are you, Leelee Bear.”

The flames made his light eyes nearly transparent, and if I looked hard enough, I could see right through them and into his soul.

Your brand of love isn’t perfect, but it’s still love, Franky.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Leland. But you haven’t had the privilege of seeing me fall apart. I hope you never have to see what I’m truly capable of.”

We were two dogs finally allowed off our leashes, and being caged had made us savage.

Why did people find it so easy to get rid of me? To walk away?

I needed him to spell it out, to write it out, to fucking bleed it out.

I’ve wanted you since the day I laid eyes on you. That day on the roof, your fears called out to mine. You made me want to be brave before you’d ever said one word to me. That’s how much you affect me, Franky.”

“You scare me,” I admitted, closing in on him with purpose. “But I want to face you anyway, because you make me want to face everything that terrifies me.

“You’re more than complicated. You’re a stick of fucking dynamite, Franky. Capable of blowing me to pieces, but I want you anyway.”

You taught me to ask for what I want, even if the answer is no. I’m asking if I can have you, even if it’s only for a little while.”