Page 22

William

Choosing an outfit had to be the most challenging thing in the world when attraction was involved. Any other day, I lounged around in sweats or basketball shorts without giving it a second thought. Ryan was coming over, though, so I’d changed four times, and now I stared into the mirror wondering if the white button down I’d settled on looked too formal for an afternoon in.

I untucked it from my khakis, thinking maybe it would give me a more relaxed look. But with the hem now wrinkled, it made me appear unkempt.

My phone dinged from atop the closet island. The distinct chime assigned to my elevator. Ryan had entered it. I’d offered to pick him up from Safe Haven, but he’d said Peggy would give him a ride on her way home.

“Shit.” I unbuttoned the shirt, my fingers fumbling a few times before they were all undone. Jerking it off, I tossed it to the ground, reaching for the shelf holding my t-shirts. Tugging a plain black one over my head, I sped for the front door.

I shoved one hand in my pocket as I held the door open, trying for casual, the exact opposite of what Ryan would do. He’d keep it real without even knowing it.

Removing my hand, I drummed nervous fingers against the door instead. It felt more genuine. The elevator doors parted, revealing a bundled-up Ryan. He smiled at me with so much joy it nearly knocked me off my feet. I promised myself right then to never hide how happy he made me feel.

“Hey—” My greeting stalled in my throat when he moved into me for a brief hug. He pressed his cold nose into my neck, and I wrapped both arms around him, squeezing once before letting him go.

I hung his coat up while he kicked his Doc Martens off on the welcome mat. I then trailed him from a good distance away as he reacquainted himself with the apartment. I didn’t want him to feel smothered or rushed. Hard to believe he hadn’t been here in over a month.

Following behind him, I got to freely take in how sexy and gothic he looked in all black. The fitted crew neck sweater and matching jeans showcased his long limbs to perfection. The denim molded to his ass and thighs like paint. His curls were back, and just as rebellious as the day we first met.

He visited his bedroom, the kitchen—where we’d shared so many meals—before making a pit-stop at the dining room threshold.

Ryan peered over his shoulder at me, pain and apology in his eyes. The room had been cleaned, but the broken items were yet to be replaced. He moved on to the library next, plucking books from their places and flipping through the pages before returning them.

The nostalgia tour ended in the music studio, where Ryan quickened his pace through the live room to get to his violin. What if he decided to take it with him? I’d lose my only leverage in getting him to come back. To come home. Maybe I should have hidden it. Lied and said it was in the shop getting restrung.

I released those thoughts immediately, feeling the anxious energy they brought on melt away. Those types of thoughts were fear based, and would lead me nowhere good.

Ryan wasn’t obligated to make this his home once he left Safe Haven. His life was his own, which hadn’t been the case for a long time.

“Do you have time for a lesson?” I asked when he held it to his chest. He shook his head, placing it down with care before texting me.

Ryan: I want to watch His Eternal Love. I finished the book this morning.

“That was fast,” I said, unprepared for his request.

Ryan: It wasn’t a long book. Plus I didn’t waste time on the words I couldn’t understand like I used to. I had to get to the end of their story.

“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Have you eaten? I’ve got some food keeping warm in the oven.”

Ryan’s eyes widened.

“Relax, I ordered in,” I assured him with a laugh. “I hope that’s okay.” I realized I hadn’t asked, and just because he ate what the cook’s prepared over at Safe Haven, it didn’t mean he didn’t oversee it.

Ryan: It’s fine. They order pizza on game nights. I sneak a slice sometimes as I watch them play.

I’d never felt prouder.

We ate, and then Ryan excused himself to change into something more conducive to watching television on the couch all day. He’d left some clothing behind. I used the time to switch into something more comfortable too.

He returned in sweats and a baggy t-shirt. The collar hung loose, and I considered he might have chosen that particular shirt because of the access it offered to my favorite spot on him.

Grabbing the giant bowl of caramel popcorn off the coffee table, he flopped onto the cushion next to me. He’d never sat this close to me on the couch before. Our bodies were no more than an inch from touching. He didn’t seem to notice.

Ryan watched the show with the type of focus reserved for test taking. By episode three the two male leads shared their first on-screen kiss. Ryan moved in a trance-like state to the end of the couch, putting him closer to the TV. Unlike the film he’d seen Xavier and I work on in the studio, Ryan didn’t watch this solely for enjoyment. This was an assignment to him.

The kiss lasted longer than any kiss I’d seen before, growing more fevered as the seconds ticked by. Ryan absorbed their palpable need like a star pupil.

The closing credits rolled on the episode after that, snapping Ryan out of his daze. He turned to me wearing an expression that made me adjust my shorts.

Reenacting the scene, he licked his lips and then swallowed before stalking over to me. He settled onto the cushion again, facing me, one arm spread across the back of the couch. If we were sticking to the script, that made me Gregory, the more emboldened one of the two characters.

I twisted in my seat and reached out for him, combing my fingers through his hair before pulling him into my lips—exactly how it went down in the episode. I kept the kiss gentle though, wanting to savor every moment of it.

Ryan’s lips were swollen and shiny when I backed away, his eyes glassy and cheeks red. He smoothed his finger over my wrinkled brow, my pained expression melting away under his touch. I felt ready to explode.

He picked up the remote, skipping the intro on episode four before pulling the throw off the back of the couch and wrapping himself up with it.

The couple made love for the first time at the top of episode five. The blanket fell from Ryan’s shoulders as he crept over to the screen this time.

The director had gone as far as he could without breaking any FCC censorship rules. Very little had been left to the imagination. The sounds alone coming from the men were carnal and explicit.

I couldn’t say which positions they’d done, or what surfaces they’d christened during their night of lovemaking. I only had eyes for Ryan.

His body vibrated, his fingers tracing the sweaty lines of their bodies. At one point his panting became louder than theirs. He seemed stunned and heartbroken, and when his back bowed from some invisible strike of pain, I had to sink my nails into the cushions to stop myself from charging over to him.

Whatever this was, he needed it. I could feel the truth of it in my soul. So I watched and waited while he grappled with himself.

Once Gregory and Steven were sated, Ryan turned to me with an ocean of hurt in his eyes. There were a few familiar emotions there. Hate. Betrayal. Anger. But most of all, an ancient sadness.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then gaped at me with his hands at his throat. He couldn’t get the words out, and my anguish at seeing him struggle pulled me to my feet.

Ryan held a hand up, cautioning me to stay put. He looked at the TV screen then back to me. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me, but I went with my best guess.

“Yes, it can be that way. Loving and passionate and dramatic. It can be all things good.” I’d told him as much before, but now he’d seen it—even if what he’d witnessed was just a fictional performance of the real thing. The portrayal of love and yearning had been spot-on. I’d gathered that much from Ryan’s reaction to it.

“You’re going to be alright,” I vowed. He lowered his cautioning hand, allowing me to swoop in. He fisted the back of my shirt as I stroked his hair, whispering reassuring words until he was ready to finish the show.

Ryan slipped into a desolate silence afterward. Nothing I said helped.

I dropped him off at Safe Haven in time for his evening session with Katherine. I hoped today wasn’t a setback, but if it was, I had faith she could restore whatever progress had been lost.

I returned home and went through my nightly self-care routine before bed, letting the ritual of journaling stitch my frayed threads.

With the lights out and the covers pulled to my chest, I stared at my phone wondering if I should check on him. Maybe he needed space. The Ryan prior to Safe Haven would’ve needed time alone to process.

My phone pinged. Ryan’s name popped up on the screen, saving me from having to decide.

Ryan: I can’t stop thinking about Gregory and Steven.

Me: Me either.

It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all I had.

Ryan: I jerked off tonight.

I scrambled upright, the phone bouncing in my hand.

Ryan: I guess my touch goal for this week didn’t only include touching you.

Me: How did it make you feel?

The question felt insufficient, like maybe I should have said something else. Asked something else. Or maybe it was good enough. Maybe I didn’t need to say the perfect thing, or have all the answers. Maybe I just needed to be there for him.

Ryan: I’ve done it a few times since being here. Tonight was the first time I didn’t feel confused, or dirty afterward. It felt like I was the only one inside my own body for once. Does that make sense?

I pressed the phone to my forehead, consumed with pain and guilt. Guilt because I hadn’t gone through what he had, and yet I suffered all the same. I needed a moment to feel it all.

“Let go, William. Tell him.”

Me: It makes perfect sense. You’re retaking control. You’re refusing to let them win.

“Don’t let them win,” I’d once told him.

Ryan: I never enjoyed it. I didn’t know it could be good for anyone but them. The ones who hurt and take.

I shoved off the covers, and dropped my feet to the floor. Every part of me felt hot and raw, growing weak and heavy. How did I respond to that? I couldn’t, not when everything in me screamed I could’ve done more to prevent this. I should’ve spent less time wallowing in my own pain. I should’ve started Freedom Fighters a lot sooner. I should’ve diverted more resources into search and rescue efforts, instead of what my foundation was primarily known for—raising awareness and life after recovery. Somewhere along the way I’d lost the true purpose of the freedom fighters. We should’ve been fighting, working with investigators and the families of the missing directly, not waiting for the taken to be hand-delivered to us.

I’d made mistakes no amount of meditation, exercise, or journaling could make right. Now it came down to learning how to live with it.

I did my best not to sound like a fraud or a generic inspirational quote when I replied.

Me: Don’t let what happened to you in the past define who you’ll become in the future. You’re on the right track.

What did that even mean? The words felt hollow. Maybe because I was still working on applying them to myself.

Ryan: There’s so much I still don’t know. So much I’m unsure about.

Me: The good news is you’re doing the work.

Ryan: You sound like Dr. Shwartz.

I tried to infuse some levity in my reply.

Me: Sounds like she and my therapist subscribe to the same school of thought.

Ryan: Yeah. There’s still a lot I haven’t told her. A lot I can’t even tell myself.

I wondered what those things were.

Me: Take your time. You’ll get there.

The following silence felt like a moment of reflection, so I let him have it, determined to wait as long as it took for him to be ready to chat again.

Ryan: I’m tired.

Me: Get some rest, then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Ryan: Ask me something first.

Me: Something like what?

Ryan: I don’t know. You never ask me things.

I shook my head in confusion, grinning as I settled against my pillows again.

Me: I ask you things all the time. You just don’t answer me.

Ryan: I guess.

I decided I’d play along, keeping it simple because he was exhausted.

Me: What’s your vision board goal for next week?

He’d said he needed to work on it before coming over today.

Ryan: I decided on more touch. I haven’t touched enough this week.

We’d only seen each other twice this week, so I allowed myself to assume he needed more time with me to reach his goal. My body warmed from the anticipation.

Ryan: My goal for the following week makes me nervous, though.

Me: What is it?

The three dots appeared before vanishing and appearing again. My palms grew sweaty when he finally answered.

Ryan: Truth.

That had been my goal when I resumed therapy, but I seemed to be finding excuses for not obtaining it. I wondered what Ryan’s truth would be, and how it would impact me. Would he be delving deeper into his past with Dr. Shwartz? Would doing so affect his feelings for me? Maybe he’d realize I wasn’t good for him, that being with me would only add to his problems. Perhaps these vision boards weren’t such a good idea after all.