Seven years. That was how long Larkin and Noah had known each other. And it had been good in the beginning. Like waking from a restless sleep and getting an overdose injection of serotonin and dopamine. The effect had been immediate and intense, and Larkin should have known to slow down, to be careful, because he was damaged goods and most people weren’t in the market for those bruised apples at the bottom of the produce display. But the love had felt so good. And Noah had said he understood. He’d listened, sympathized with Larkin when no one else had. Until he hadn’t.
