Page 28 of It’s Only Love

Mike

Dennis digs his front teeth into his bottom lip, and I think the anger in my voice equally surprises us both.

Then again, I’ve been on edge since I tried to call him, and he didn’t pick up.

All sorts of wild and terrible images went on repeat in my head.

Dennis lying injured or worse on the beach after a fatal fall from the cliffs.

Dennis bleeding from a head wound, calling out for me, with no way for me to reach him.

I know he was kidding about the bears, but he wasn’t that far from the truth.

By the time I arrived at the picnic area and he wasn’t there, I was close to panicking, ready to tear down the entire forest to get to him.

I hadn’t felt that sense of loss and desperation since I lost Dad.

Then came the sensation of my heart trying to break free from my chest, at the utter relief of seeing him appear with that kid. Bruised and battered, yes, but alive. It was like my world shifted back into place at the sight of him.

On its own, my hand trails up his back to his shoulders and further up his neck until it comes to a rest against his cheeks, cradling his face. He’s shivering under my touch, a world of agony lingering in his eyes .

“Tell me,” I say quietly as I try to keep my feelings in check.

The last thing he needs right now is for me to lose my cool.

I brush my thumb along his cheekbone, and his eyelids flutter closed briefly as he sucks in a deep breath.

When he opens his eyes again, there’s a newfound determination in them.

“I had a professor in college,” he starts, licking his lips. “I told you about him, I think. My favorite professor.” I nod for him to go on. He chuckles bitterly. “I looked up to him so much. Put him on a fucking pedestal. Shit, that’s why I never even saw it coming.”

My mind instantly imagines the worst, threatening to spin me out of control, but I manage to hold it together.

I need to hold it together for him. Dennis continues, his voice growing steadier, like he wants to get this off his chest once and for all.

Like holding it in all this time has been killing him.

“I went to see him after the breakup because he said he had something he wanted to talk to me about. To think that I was actually excited to see him, convinced he would make me feel better about myself, not worse. Then when I got there…” His voice breaks, and he shakes his head, a few additional tears breaking free from his lashes, trailing down his cheeks.

I swipe at them with my thumbs, trying to hold back what resembles an angry ocean inside of me.

“He made a pass at me, Mike.” He looks at me, his eyes swimming with sadness and regret. “I didn’t want it. I don’t think… Shit, I don’t know anymore. I always thought I was nothing but professional around him, but maybe I did something to make him think that—”

“What happened?” I croak, that urge to tear down the whole world back. “What did he do?”

“Nothing. I mean… He came on to me. Told me he wanted me. Started to touch me —”

“He touched you?!” I almost tilt into the tub, taking Den with me, my hand falling from his face, gripping the edge of the tub instead. Fuck keeping my cool. That asshole actually touched him. He touched Den. My Den.

“He cupped my junk and tried to kiss me. I stopped him. I stopped him, Mike. Nothing else happened.” His gaze searches mine, and I try to pull myself away from the anger raging inside me, but it’s hard.

I focus on his eyes and the marks the tears have left behind on his skin.

How he sucks his bruised bottom lip into his mouth.

How he looks at me with shame in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, trying to pull away from me to get up, but I grab his upper arms, pulling him back. “Not the perfect college graduate after all, eh, Mike?” He looks away from me, a crimson red washing over his cheeks.

“What the hell are you sorry for? You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me?” I shake his arms carefully.

“If anyone needs to be fucking sorry, it’s that asshole…

well, both of them.” Dennis sniffs, but he still won’t look at me, an air of resignation radiating off him.

My chest tightens, and it feels like there’s not enough air in the small bathroom.

It’s like I can’t breathe seeing him like this.

I feel so powerless suddenly. I should’ve been there.

I should’ve been there to protect him, but I wasn’t.

I couldn’t. What I can do, though, is try with everything in my power to reassure him he did nothing wrong.

That he did nothing to deserve that kind of betrayal.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, and he finally looks at me. “None of that was your fault, Den. What happened… you didn’t deserve that.”

He shakes his head, the tears back now, his bottom lip quivering. “Then why does it feel like I do? Why does it feel like it was my fault, Mike?” His voice sounds so frail, and he looks at me like I hold not only the answer to that but to every unanswered question in the universe .

“I don’t know. Because… because you’re a good person, Den. The best, really. You’d rather think ill of yourself than of others. But fuck, nothing you could ever do could make you deserve that kind of betrayal. And that fucking douche canoe…”

He chuckles a little at that. “Douche canoe?”

“Yeah. That ex-boyfriend of yours.” The word leaves a bitter aftertaste on my tongue because, fuck that Geoff guy or whatever.

He had the best guy in the world, and he blew it.

“And that professor.” I shake my head, anger rising inside me again.

“He deserves to be fucking fired for what he did to you.” I loosen my hold on his arm, moving my hands down to his, squeezing them, still mindful of his cuts, making sure he understands every word I’m saying.

“That’s abuse of power, Den.” He sniffles again, then looks away.

“It is. You said it yourself. You looked up to him. You trusted him. And he turned that trust against you and abused his power over you.”

“Mike…” he croaks.

“Look at me,” I say, but he squeezes his eyes together so I won’t see his shame.

His pain. But he doesn’t understand. I want to see it.

I want to share it and take some of that burden away from him because I see right through him, no matter how much he tries to hide the truth from me.

He feels broken. I can tell. He feels like something inside him is broken, something that can’t be fixed.

What he doesn’t realize is that I can relate to that more than he’ll ever know.

Perhaps not in the same way, but all those failed attempts at being ‘ normal ,’ convincing myself that I was ‘ less ’ because I didn’t feel attraction the way I thought I was supposed to.

That left me feeling kind of broken, too.

“Den, will you please look at me?”

Something about my pleading tone makes him give in, and he finally looks up at me. His chocolatey eyes are bloodshot from the tears .

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I fucked up. Just like I fucked up today with that kid. Shit, Mike… That kid could’ve… I fuck everything up. I almost fucked up our friendship, too.”

“Is that…? Is that what you think?” His words feel like a punch to my gut, sucking all air from my lungs.

“That’s not true. That will never be true.

I will always be your friend, Den. You,” my voice is trembling by now, my eyes stinging, “You matter more to me than anything in this world. You and Mom. You’re everything to me, Den. ”

He goes quiet, staring at me, his gaze shifting between my face and our entangled fingers.

“Even if I don’t deserve it?” he eventually whispers. “Even if I’m weak? Or at least, I feel that way.” And it’s like my heart fucking breaks. I can’t have it. That he feels this way about himself. It’s not right.

“I don’t think you’re weak. And I don’t think any less of you because of what you’ve just told me. I think you’re very brave and strong. Shit, I think the world of you, Den. You gotta know that by now. If only… fuck…” I look down at our hands, brushing my thumb across his bruised knuckles.

His breath catches, his fingers digging into my palm.

“What? Tell me.” And this is it, isn’t it?

I can either tell him now or hold it in like I hold everything else in.

But he doesn’t deserve that, does he? Not when he’s opened his heart to me and shared his painful truth with me.

Doesn’t he deserve my truth that is simultaneously my biggest regret in return? How can I deny him that?

I lick my lips, lifting my gaze back up to his face. “What I wouldn’t give to go back to that night and kiss you back. To kiss you back like you deserved to be kissed, for the first time. I’d give anything to have that moment back, Den.”

He gasps, his breath warm on my face, his eyes wide. “You mean that? ”

I nod. “I do. I would give anything.”

“I would, too,” he whispers. “I would.”

“Yeah?” My heart flutters in my chest like a thousand birds taking flight all at once, and suddenly I’m no longer in my bathroom, sitting on the edge of my old tub, but instead back to that night, on the beach, Dennis pressed up against me, telling me he loves me.

That he’s always loved me. I wasn’t ready to hear it back then, hell, I don’t know if I’m ready now, but I won’t cheat myself—cheat us —out of a chance to find out. But he beats me to it.

Tipping his chin, a challenging gleam in his eyes, he says, “Do it now, then.”

“Den… Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured. If you’re not ready—”

His voice is unwavering when he speaks. “I’m ready, Mike. I’ve been ready for ten years. You were the reason I knew I liked boys in the first place.”

“You mean it, don’t you?”