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“Von’s going back to Sweden. We’re done.” My voice is flat and even with my eyes closed, I know they’re shocked.
“When?” Shane chokes out.
“Day after tomorrow.”
I hear them take the seat across from me, most likely having a conversation without words.
“Why so soon? His show is after that. Will he be back?” Cole’s tone is calm.
“Nope.” I don’t bother answering his first question.
“Alec.” Shane says my name with such emotion that I open my eyes. His face is broken-hearted and anxious. Cole’s features are smooth and patient.
“Do you want to talk?” Cole asks.
“Nope.” I can’t handle Shane’s emotions and Cole’s concern. Cole will be concerned if I tell him what happened. I can’t explain how I let my guard down and he’s taking all my trust with him. Prolonging the agony is pointless. I pat my pockets and realize I don’t have any of my antacids with me.
“Are you going to Sweden with him?” Shane presses.
“Did you not hear when I said it’s over?” My voice is harsh and accusing.
“But—”
Cole stops what Shane was going to say with a light touch to his arm. Shane glares at Cole in response.
“What are you doing tonight? Have you eaten dinner?” Cole ignores Shane’s death stare.
“Not hungry.” Food has zero appeal for me.
“Are we—”
“Pretty boy, will you grab me a cup of coffee?” Cole cuts Shane off again with his request.
Shane’s entire body flushes and goes rigid. He’s furious. The nonverbal conversation is a full dialogue at this point.
“He wants you out of the room,” I add to Shane’s irritation.
“I know,” Shane says, not taking his eyes off of Cole. “I’m trying to understand why.”
Neither of us speaks.
“Cup of coffee, my ass.” Shane pushes back his chair and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
“It’s going to be a rough night at your place.” I watch the door, waiting for Shane to burst back in with a tirade Cole can’t interrupt.
“He wants to push you to talk about it. He’s a therapy guy. Wants everyone to admit their feelings.” Cole shrugs in response to my raised eyebrow. I’m a hundred percent sure Shane has done the same to him. “But I know you. If you aren’t ready to talk, you won’t. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, man. I’m not in the mood to be therapized.” I’m staring at the ceiling, too numb to move.
“For what it’s worth, I believe he loves you.”
“He doesn’t and we’re not having this conversation.” I can’t believe Cole is going to push this after I let him grieve for five fucking years.
Blessedly, Cole remains silent.
I should’ve known I’d be thrown away. Again. Actions speak louder than pretty Swedish words. I should’ve known better than to believe.
I probably don’t deserve love––that’s why I’ve never had it.