Page 39 of How Freaking Romantic

His expression changes, like a wave of guilt hits him, and his eyes dart away from mine.

I pause. “Is that what you’re worried about? Jillian finding out?”

He looks around the room, as if that will help him organize his thoughts.

“It’s not just Jillian; it’s everybody that helped me before.

If they find out…” He finally meets my eyes, and I can see he’s close to tears.

It clicks into place then, the desperate logic behind his shame that got us to this point.

I reach across the counter and put my hand on top of his. “Then they’ll be there to help you recover again. Simple as that.”

He looks up at me, and for a moment I’m not sure he’s heard, if he processed what I’ve said.

But then his face crumples and he’s sobbing; great, heaving sobs that bow his shoulders as his head falls into his hands.

I envelop him in the tightest hug my arms are capable of, letting wave after wave pass through him.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it’s long enough for his sobs to subside, for him to take a few deep breaths and lift his head, eyes swollen. “I need help.”

I give him one more squeeze. “Then let’s get you some.”

We spend the next couple of hours online researching rehab facilities, emailing counselors.

It’s laborious and exhausting, with discussions about in-patient versus outpatient, treatment goals and methods, location—everything—until we finally find the right fit: an in-patient facility in California near his parents.

I book him on a flight Friday afternoon to Sacramento.

It’s only then that I look at the clock and realize the time.

“Shit. I have to get to campus soon,” I murmur, closing his laptop and running a hand through my matted hair. Sleeping on the floor has not done it any favors. “Can I steal the shower?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, staring down at the countertop.

I pause. “Are you okay?”

He looks up at me and offers me a watery grin. “I’m okay. Freaking out a little, but okay.”

“Do you want me to stick around?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He lets out a long breath. “Just realizing all the conversations I have to have this week.”

I understand. He already texted his parents to tell them he was coming out, but he didn’t tell them why. That still leaves our friends.

“I’ll call Jillian,” he continues. “See if she can take Tex and watch the apartment.”

“Do you want me to tell Maggie and Travis?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah. That would be great.”

I let a moment pass before I ask, “What about your lawyer?”

He closes his eyes briefly. “Bea…”

“Josh,” I say, my voice laced with warning. “You have to tell him.”

“I will. I just… I just don’t know when yet. Maybe before I leave. Maybe when I get back.” A thought occurs to him then, a realization as he lifts his head and stares at me. “You can’t say anything, Bea. Promise me.”

My eyes go wide. “What?”

“I know how you get when you’re pissed, and you already stormed his office once about the alimony. You said it yourself, if he finds out about this from anyone else but me, it’s going to be awful. A fucking disaster. So just promise me.”

I nod, even as a knot tightens in my gut. “Fine. I won’t say a thing. I promise.”

He sighs. “Thank you.”

I reach up and pull him to me again, holding him in a tight embrace. It’s a long moment before I pull away, but even as I do, I hold his hand tightly and maintain his gaze. “You’re going to be okay, Josh.”

He nods, the grateful smile on his face slowly becoming a grimace.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve got some dried spit on your chin.”

I frown. “You’re a dick.”

“And holy shit, your breath, Bea—”

“I’m going to take a shower and steal all your hot water,” I mutter, tossing my so-called coffee in the sink and heading down the hall to the bathroom. His laughter follows me until I slam the door shut.

I turn on the shower and use my finger and some toothpaste to brush my teeth while it heats up.

By the time I step in, the water is scalding, and I stay under the hot spray longer than I need to—partly because it’s a novelty, and partly because I really do want to steal all his hot water.

It’s not until I’m out and have found a clean towel, a mint-green one that is entirely too small to be considered a bath towel, that my mind begins to race.

I wrap it around my body and begin combing out my wet curls, trying to focus. All I can think about is Nathan.

I don’t want to lie to him; I don’t even know if I can. But is not telling him about this really lying? After all, this isn’t my information to share. It needs to come from Josh to protect them both, so all I have to do is wait for Josh to tell him.

That’s it. I just have to wait. I let out a long breath, a knot of anxiety loosening in my chest. I can wait.

I’m just stepping out of the bathroom to grab my clothes from the bed when I hear the doorbell.

Its familiar, disjointed version of Beethoven’s Fifth echoes through the hollow apartment, and I perk up at the sound.

It’s not quite nine o’clock in the morning.

Who would be stopping by? But even as the question forms, it’s replaced by the realization that it’s probably the same person I kicked out only yesterday: Gerald.

Anger rolls through my chest as I storm out of the bedroom, holding the little green towel around me as I march down the hall to the front door. I have to get there before Josh, before he’s tempted.

It’s the only thought in my head as I throw open the door.

Nathan is standing on the threshold.

A stuttering jolt goes through my body, paralyzing me in the doorway. All I can do is stare up at him and blink. He stares back, his expression marred with confusion.

“Bea?”

My mouth opens—to say what, I have no idea—but then I hear “Nate!” from down the hall, followed by the thump of Josh’s footsteps.

When I left him in the kitchen to take my shower, he had still only been wearing his sweatpants, and with each step I send a silent prayer out into the universe: please let him have put on a shirt, please let him have put on a shirt, please let him have put on a shirt …

But when he stops at my side, smiling and still bare chested, with his sweatpants low on his hips and Tex dancing at his heels, I realize the universe hates me.

“What are you doing here, man?” Josh asks.

Nathan is still looking at me, his eyes traveling down my wet hair to the tiny towel wrapped around my chest. And then, slowly, recognition clicks into place.

“Did you want to come in?” Josh offers. “Grab a cup of coffee? Fair warning, it’s instant. Bea hates it, but I don’t think it’s so bad.”

Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.

Nathan’s gaze is locked on me, and I try to communicate everything I need to say through my eyes. It’s not what you think! Please don’t look at me like that! Wait for me downstairs and let me explain!

But then Josh throws his arm over my shoulder and Nathan looks away.

“No, thank you,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was hoping to talk to you before work.”

“It’s okay. Bea’s taking off in a sec.”

“No, that’s all right,” Nathan says, already taking a step back. “It can wait.”

Josh nods. “No worries. I need to talk to you about a few things, too.”

Another step back. “I’ll let the office know, so we can set something up.”

“Sounds good.” Josh says.

Then Nathan turns around to start down the stairs without saying goodbye. He doesn’t even look back.