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What I can’t deal with, day in and day out, is watching Easton love somebody else and make a life with them. I don’t want to leave. God, I don’t want to.
“I love you,” I tell him. It’s not the first time I’ve said it, but I have to say it again now. It feels necessary. Wyatt is quiet for a moment before he replies, “I love you, too,” his voice choking over the words.
“I would always choose him. Over and over again, no matter how it ends. In any world where there’s a Wyatt and an Easton, that Wyatt would find his Easton and fall in love. And maybe that’s just my story, to be the brokenhearted. Maybe I’m okay with that.”
Easton is my soulmate. He’s part of me, and even if there’s never more than what we have now—and let’s face it, I’ve already accepted there never will be—it doesn’t matter. It’ll never matter.
“Because my fool heart has, and always will, love that man. I would do anythin’ for him, and right now, he’s broken and alone. If I can help him feel that a little less, it’s what I’m gonna do.”
“It’s worth it to me. He’s worth it. That’s enough.”
“Wyatt.” “Yeah?” I stop again, hanging in the doorway. “Y’know I love you, right?” Fuck. The things he says sometimes. I force a smile. “You tell me often enough.”
In one instant, life is as it always has been. And, in the next, my friend’s lips are against mine, and everything—everything—has changed.
“What, did you think I came out here to wallow in my heartbreak, like some kinda bad country song?”
“Thank that heart of yours for me,” I tell him. “I’m glad it never let go.”
“Thank you for lovin’ me,” I tell him again. “Easiest thing I ever did,” he replies, voice hoarse but true.
The way I love you,” he shakes his head slightly, “it’s just a part of me, of my very makeup. You’re in my atoms. My bones. My head and my heart. I wish I could show you. I wish I could hold it in my hands, so you could see just how brightly that love shines. But I can’t do that. What I can do is promise that my love for you will never go away. It won’t fade. It won’t falter. It won’t die.
“What’s that smile for?” “You,” I say simply. “Just thinkin’ ’bout you.” “Well, Easton William Moore,” Wyatt says, humor dancing in his golden brown eyes. “You look like a fool.” “A fool in love,” I tell him. Wyatt lifts his hand, tracing my lower lip, before he rests his palm over my heart, right where he belongs. “Makes two of us.”
