Page 3 of Boyfriend on Parole: The Care of Broken Things Extended Epilogue (Breaking Free #2)

“But I do want you to know. I do. I was just afraid to make you sad. Because Eli cried, and I didn’t want you to cry.

I didn’t want you feeling bad at all.” But that wasn’t the only reason he’d kept silent, and now that Nathaniel was spilling, he felt it was only fair to spill too, to be entirely honest. “I also didn’t want it affecting how you’d be with me.

I think after Eli learned about it, he stopped seeing me as someone he could touch.

I know he did touch me, and I know he doesn’t imagine I’m some fragile victim or whatever.

But it’s also not something he can un-know now that he knows it, and he’ll think of it, sometimes, and he’ll be thinking about it when we have sex.

The first time, anyway. Because he’ll be waiting to see how I react and worrying about whether I’ll be freaked out or traumatized or whatever.

But I’m not. I was, yeah, maybe. But when I’m with him, I’m not thinking that.

I’m not feeling that. So I wasn’t hiding, and I meant to tell you, but I planned to do it after the fact so that our first time wouldn’t be while you were thinking of Mr. Edwards.

But then last night when I couldn’t—when my body wouldn’t let me—I realized it was too selfish to hide it.

And it would be worse to have you thinking, in case things didn’t work out, that it was because of you , as if you weren’t attractive enough, or I wasn’t attracted enough, when nothing could be further from the truth. ”

It was quiet for a moment, except for Nathaniel’s breath, which was a little fast the way his own was, and a little loud, but not unraveling. Not crying. Still stable.

“I do think about it sometimes,” Nathaniel admitted.

“The way I think about Marie sometimes. Or that stupid brat Gemma from Hailey’s school.

But I don’t think that’s what I’ll be thinking when I touch you, and I don’t think you’re right to say it’s what Eli is thinking either.

Were you thinking about that bastard while you were kissing our husband? ”

“No.” It was the first time he was even considering that idea, and maybe that should have been strange to him, but it wasn’t. “Not at all.”

“I think that’s more proof that it’s not going to go the way you think.

When I’m with you—when we have our visits—or even when it’s just phone calls like this one or when I’m opening one of your letters, I just feel good, Sam.

It surprises me sometimes how good it is.

How uncomplicated it is. I was sure it wouldn’t be.

I was so sure there’d be all kinds of drama and jealousy and guilt, and of course there might still be, but with every day I become sure there won’t be—at least for me, anyway.

I think Eli gets jealous sometimes, but he’s aware of it, and it’s already fading as he grows more secure in our new dynamic.

Mostly, it’s anticipation he feels. He’s so excited to have you here, Sam.

You should see the way he clatters about destroying the house as he makes it ready for you.

Every weekend it’s some new DIY project he’s certain is something you need and won’t hear any critiques on the matter except for yours. ”

“What kind of projects?”

“It’s a secret, apparently. But if he accidentally hits the water main and we all end up sleeping in the park, you’ll know why.”

His chest was hurting again. That tight feeling that just squeezed and squeezed, extending all the way up into his throat. “Jenny will fix it. If that happens. She can fix anything.”

“She’s already offered to get us some contractors, but Eli insists it won’t mean anything unless he does it himself. Though frankly, it all might just be an excuse to use his new power drill.”

“That’s silly.” Too tight, he was going to cry after all. “You’re silly.”

“I wish you were here, Sam. Then we could go down to the kitchen to eat ice cream together.”

“I haven’t had ice cream in six years.”

It was perhaps the single most shocking thing Nathaniel had heard in his life if his reaction was anything to go by. “Six YEARS?”

It brought the smile back to his face. Not six—almost seven. “It’s the same with pizza and French fries. Chicken nuggets. M&M's. Sour pickles—”

“Stop. Stop! I’m getting a pen and paper. Wait!”

It was so sweet, that panic, the hot urgency of it, as if his food cravings really constituted some kind of medical emergency.

Nathaniel made him sit there on the phone for another fifteen minutes, making him recite all the things he missed from pre-prison life.

Honestly, it wasn’t even that he missed them so much.

It was just fun to talk about. Everything was fun with Nathaniel.

“You’re being silly again,” he told him as the man read back the laundry list of items, rebuking him sternly when he tried to cut him off and telling him to include anything else he remembered in the next letter he wrote.

“Make your bucket list,” Nathaniel said. “With everything you’ve ever wanted to do. I don’t care if you think it’s silly. We’ll do it, Sam. There are so many things I want to do with you.”

Eli had said something similar. It was why he did have a list, albeit a small and very secret one. “I want to see a waterfall. A real one.”

He said it as a sort of test. The least embarrassing thing on his list.

Nathaniel sighed. “And here I was getting my hopes up thinking you’d ask for something perverted.”

He laughed. “Maybe next time.”