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“I love you,” he cries, and the words make my blood boil. “I love you so much. You can’t leave me here.”
“You don’t love me,” I tell him coldly, keeping every sliver of emotion I have for him out of my voice. “You love the idea of me. You love how I don’t turn down the high, and how I don’t turn away from the rush. You love the way we fuck. You love the money we make off this shit, you love the power it gives you. And you love that even when you treat me like nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of your shoes, I come running back to you every fucking time.”
I stand still and determined, using my own anger and frustration to my advantage. When it finally registers that I’m not moving, he throws his body at me, his arms around my neck, his legs practically climbing me, his mouth aggressively pressing against mine. “Kiss me,” he says through a muffled sob. “Kiss me.” Tears land on my lips, and the salty taste of his pain pours over me, like blistering, hot water being poured over ice. My heart cracks, in just enough places to shatter.
Jordan waltzes through the door, looking as sexy as ever. With his full lips, god-like jaw, and gray-blue eyes, there was a time when I thought he could be the guy who changed the game for me. The guy who could replace my past and be my future. But, unfortunately, that bounce in his step and smile on his face has nothing to do with me and everything to do with his partner, Gael.
I haven’t made a life for myself, no matter what anybody else thinks or says. I’ve just managed to figure out how to exist. One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time.
Time promised to heal wounds, but when it came to Frankie, the more time that passed, the deeper the hurt ran. I may have learned to rise above rock bottom, but I was yet to rise above and forgive Frankie York. What was worse is, I was certain I hadn’t yet learned how to unlove him either.
“So much of Frankie and I and our relationship was tied up in the drugs. What if that’s all it was? What if I built up this whole connection and heartache in my head, and he’s just been living his best life in Seattle, not giving me a second thought? And that’s why it was so easy for him to leave.”
He just continues to stare at me, his hazel-colored eyes full of longing. Full of yearning. Full of desire. For me. It hits me harder and cuts me deeper than any indifference and disappointment ever could. Because he’s looking at me the way he always has. Like time hasn’t passed. Like nothing has changed. Like he needs me. Like he loves me.
He may be a different man, and I know there’s more than just a black cloud hanging over us, but he’s still familiar. He’s still safe. He’s still my home.
Sexuality isn’t something we’ve ever discussed, whether it be a conversation between Lennox and me, or the five of us talking specifics. It’s always been an unspoken rule: you are who you are and you love who you love; you never need to explain that.
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My mind mulls over the term. Have we ever really been just “friends”? For everything we’ve endured and experienced together, “friends” was inadequate. Whether I liked to admit it or not, he’d always been my other half in every way.
Now, with every part of me touching him, I was certain it didn’t matter who it was or what gender they identified as, I would never be able to see anyone but him. After a life filled with neglect and broken promises, he was always there. He always would be.
In fact, Lennox can’t take his eyes off him. I watch as his eyes do a quick dance over the length of Rhys’s body before returning to his face. His curiosity does not go unnoticed.
I knew that Lennox, Clem, and Remy were all his family, as much as they were mine. That he hurt for them as much as I did and that their happiness weighed on him as much as it did on me. While it felt like the romantic bond between us had been bent and beaten beyond repair, the familial connection between us all tied Arlo and me together, no matter what.
His strength surpassed how much he could lift or how far he could run. His strength came from within. It was in his insistence to change and determination to stay sober. It was in the success of this building and in the camaraderie of his clients.
It’s his turn to crowd me in now, arms on either side of me, head lowered, his warm breath hitting my ear. “You don’t want to hear about how leaving you turned my world upside down? How it nearly killed me?”
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“You don’t want to hear about how I fucked my way through Seattle trying to forget you?” Fingertips ghost down the length of my neck, starting at my chin, passing my Adam’s apple, and stopping at the hollow of my throat. “Or would you rather hear about all the guys I let inside me, imagining they were you.”
He stops when he reaches my ear and whispers, “Leaving you broke my heart.”
We melt, falling into one another. Into a kiss of habit, a kiss of what used to be, and a kiss of what could’ve been. Arlo’s body presses against mine, solid muscle backing me into the door. He effortlessly slides his hands past my waist and down my legs, gripping the back of my thighs and lifting me up. With my legs around his waist, he settles himself between them, his hard length grazing my own.
I’d kissed a lot of men. Men I wanted to kiss, men I used to forget, men whose names I could never remember. But nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to Arlo. Not his mouth, not his taste, and not the way he kissed me. He kissed like it was the first time, every time. Unhurried and thoughtful. And even after all this time, this kiss was no different.
Rhys had taken teaching us ASL very seriously, and I was eternally grateful to whatever stars aligned to have him here in our lives. Teaching Lennox—teaching all of us—had allowed for Lennox’s healing to be private and personal.
Frankie joins us, and I don’t know what possesses me, but I twirl some spaghetti onto the fork and bring it to his mouth. His eyes lock on mine as he accepts the food.
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“God, I missed you,” he murmurs against my skin. He peppers kisses across the expanse of my chest, stopping and licking and teasing each nipple. Back and forth, again and again. “You’re beautiful.”
“You haven’t told me much, but from what you have, I know you didn’t have any trouble keeping your bed warm most nights.” “Are you jealous, Arlo?” he taunts. Slowly, I shift my attention back to Frankie, holding his stare. “Always,” I confess. “Always have been and always will be.” Licking his lips, Frankie drops the menu onto the table and leans forward, and I find myself copying the movement. His voice is low in the loud space, but I don’t miss a word. “Don’t be. I thought of nothing but you. Every. Single. Time.”
“It didn’t matter if I took everything or nothing with me to Seattle. No place has ever or will ever feel like home without you.”
“I love your broken.” He rubs his thumb over my lips and kisses me gently. “I love your wronged.” He kisses me again, this time a little firmer. “And I love your selfish.”
“I love you, Arlo. Every part of you. The things you love about yourself and especially the things you hate. I love them all.”
“You taught me how to love,” he exclaims. “Before you, I didn’t know what it was like to be loved, let alone to love someone in return. I love you, Frankie York. I always have and I always will.”
“I have never stopped loving you,” he declares. “And I don’t think there’s a world in which I ever will.”
He drags his mouth to my ear. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you,” I say back. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”