Page 9

CHAPTER 8

THE BEST KIND OF MAN

CHUCK

“I got you a coffee.” David slid the mug across the table as Chuck lowered himself into the booth. The two of them liked to go out for late breakfasts once their seasons were finished and their schedules were no longer constrained by practices and meets or, in David’s case, games. While their work was still demanding, they had more ownership over their schedules in the off-season.

Chuck slid in so he was diagonal from where David was sitting; they’d learned long ago that they were both too tall to comfortably sit across from each other. And while they were both fairly affectionate, footsie wasn’t really their thing.

Chuck busied himself adding cream and sugar to his coffee. “How’s it going?”

David adjusted the brim of his baseball cap as he shrugged. “Really good. I still can’t believe that Sage puts up with me. You know, it’s almost our one year anniversary?”

“You’re adorable as a boyfriend,” Chuck said, grinning. “Are you guys going to celebrate?”

“Fuck off,” David muttered, but he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Sage says she doesn’t care, but I do. I want to do something sweet, you know? Like a special dinner with flowers and chocolate and all of that.”

Chuck watched his friend over his mug as he took a long drink of the lukewarm coffee. He licked his upper lip as he placed it back on the table. “Just tell her you want to do something romantic. You know she’ll be game if she knows it’s important to you.”

David sighed, broad shoulders sinking. “I know.” He shook his head. “Isn’t it crazy that talking fixes everything? Like, I know it’s obvious, but it really works.”

“If you say so, Love Guru,” Chuck teased, shifting in his seat as their waiter came to take their orders. David, always a creature of habit, got a basic breakfast plate with over easy eggs, sausage, and whole wheat toast. Chuck got a Denver omelet. As their waiter walked away, Chuck turned back to David, bracing his elbows on the table. “Did Sage finish her teaching certificate program?”

The smile that spread across David’s face couldn’t have been prouder. “Yeah. She’s had her practicum in the classroom this past semester, but she’ll officially finish at the end of the month.”

“And she’s going to teach in the fall?”

“Yep. She’ll work at The Grove through the summer and then she’ll start up at her school in the fall. They’re keeping her on as a coach too.” He took another drink from his coffee. “We should all do dinner soon,” David added.

“I’d love that. You should invite Tommy too.”

David’s dark brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Be nice,” Chuck chastised, aware that there hadn’t always been the best of feelings between the two men. It wasn’t that they openly disliked each other; it was more like the rivalry and harsh teasing shared by brothers close in age. “He’s been coming over for dinner a lot, and we’ve been swimming together three mornings a week.”

David snorted. “How’s that going?”

“Really good, honestly. We’ve been training for three weeks now and he’s working his bag off. And, contrary to what you think,” he shot a pointed glare at David, “he’s great to have around. He’s thoughtful; brings me homemade cookies and shit like that.”

“I can make you cookies,” David said, a little bit of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “I just miss you, man. I don’t see you as much as I used to.”

“And that’s okay,” Chuck responded. “You’re happily in a relationship with a fucking amazing woman who loves you: of course you’re going to spend a lot of your time with her. Fuck, I wish I had someone like that.” Chuck saw sympathy flare in David’s dark eyes, so he moved on, not sure he was up for a conversation about his lack of a partner at that moment. “There’s also the fact that the two of you have the tendency to bone in the middle of the living room. Makes drop-ins a little weird, man.”

David’s cheeks flushed and he muttered something that sounded a lot like “It was only once, asshole.”

“This is our life, Hughes. Your life has changed for the better, and so has mine. It feels really fucking good to be out with you guys.”

David looked at him from across the table with the kind of unwavering kindness that embodied why Chuck thought of him as family. More so than his own flesh and blood. “I’m so glad you told us,” he said softly. But David’s expression told Chuck there was something else bothering him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I just,” David began, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry if I wasn’t a good friend to you through this, Chuck. All those years living with you, and everything happening with your mental health, and I just…damn it, man, I’m sorry I was always pestering you about women. I’m so sorry.”

Chuck’s own emotions overflowed and he felt moisture gather in the corners of his eyes before spilling down his cheeks. “David,” he said, his own voice breaking. “No. Don’t do that. I didn’t,” he paused to take a breath. How did he explain why he’d stayed in the closet to someone who knew nothing of what it meant to have lost people— important people—because of who you loved? “It had nothing to do with you,” he managed. “Not at all. It just felt like too much, you know? My parents—” yep, he was really fucking crying now . He wiped his palms over his cheeks. “When I came out to them, it didn’t go well. They heard I was gay and decided they were done with me. That’s why you’ve never met them. Why they’re never around. I’ve been scared to lose all of you, because when I lost them, you guys became my family.”

David sniffed, mouth wobbling, and then he was reaching across the table and wrapping one of Chuck’s hands in one of his. “I love you, man,” he said. “You’re my family, too. And I can’t wait to get to know this part of you. You have always loved all of me, and I’m going to return the favor so hard you won’t even know what hit you.”

Chuck’s laugh was watery, but he flipped his hand up and threaded their fingers together, holding tight and taking the comfort David was offering. “Love you too,” he whispered.

“And you’re going to tell me if I screw up, okay?” David went on. “I’m probably going to accidentally say some ignorant shit along the way, and I want you to tell me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

Fuck , David Hughes was a good man. The best kind of man.

“You know you’re a really good friend, right?” Chuck asked, nudging David’s leg under the table with his foot.

David waved away the compliment, but his cheeks turned that shade of pink Chuck knew meant he was pleased.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Chuck walked out of the nondescript professional complex feeling like a tenderized cut of meat.

He wasn’t used to it, the full range of ups and downs tugging him in different directions. And after the therapy appointment he’d just had, he wished he was back on his previous dose of meds, where everything felt more contained. Where he felt more in control.

But today, Dr. Anderson had brought up Chuck’s past relationship, which was never a good time. No matter how many years had passed, it still festered in him like an untreated infection. Tender and raw, still, after all that time.

According to Dr. Anderson, they needed to go there. They needed to dig into those tender spots, the ones Chuck would rather ignore, because they were still “ruling his life.” The fear and hurt from his past relationship still overruled his desire to grow and move forward. A part of him was trapped there, still heartbroken by his first (and only) serious boyfriend.

He’d met Ethan in some intro geology class their senior year of college. Ethan was a soccer player, also in the closet, and they’d spent weeks making eyes at each other during class until finally Ethan had slipped Chuck his number.

They’d dated secretly throughout their senior year, building a routine of sneaking around, spending all of their time together at Ethan’s apartment, where he’d lived alone. Occasionally they’d go out to one of the gay bars, but both of them had been too nervous to fully relax and enjoy themselves.

When Chuck first got his depression diagnosis, Ethan had been understanding. He’d wrapped his arms around Chuck and pressed soft kisses to his face, promising he’d be there with him through it all.

But their lives were both busy, each of them enmeshed in separate friend groups, and their time together was limited to one or two nights a week. They watched movies or sports, fucked, and slept with their legs tangled together.

It was all Chuck had ever wanted.

When they graduated, each of them got their own place, and they got into the habit of spending more time together. Things that hadn’t mattered before came to the surface: Ethan was terrible about cleaning the sink after he shaved, didn’t like to cook, and got frustrated when Chuck wasn’t in the mood for physical intimacy.

Chuck’s depression transformed over time. It would sneak up out of nowhere, tugging him down until he felt like he could barely get out of bed. There was an apathy that would settle over him like a weighted blanket, and he couldn’t muster the energy for anything beyond the minimum that kept him alive. Episodes would last for days, with questions like What the fuck is the point of this? rattling around in his head.

Therapy had barely helped. Swimming helped, but he struggled to get his ass out of bed and to the pool when it got bad.

Through it all, Ethan retreated, overwhelmed in the face of dealing with someone in the throes of deep depression. For a while, he’d made the effort to ask how he could help, but when Chuck didn’t know what to say or what to ask for, his boyfriend grew more distant.

It all fell apart when Ethan found Chuck buried under his duvet in the middle of the summer, on a day when they were supposed to go to the beach together for a date—one Ethan had planned. But Chuck had been trapped inside his own head, stuck somewhere he couldn’t explain, held down by invisible hands he didn’t know how to shake, and Ethan lost it.

He’d tugged at his soft, black hair, cheeks flushed pink with frustration. “I can’t do this!” he’d shouted, pacing up and down the length of Chuck’s bed. “I can’t just sit by and pretend this is normal, Chuck. I can’t do it. I don’t know how to love you like this,” he’d said, tears streaking down his cheeks. “It’s just too much.”

And as he’d grabbed all the things he’d left at Chuck’s place—a sweater and flip flops, a graphic novel he was reading, and his to-go coffee mug—yelling all the while, Chuck had lain there, silent, unable to speak. He couldn’t think of anything to say to defend himself.

Not when he was pretty sure Ethan was right. He was too much. His depression was too much for him to handle, much less a partner.

He’d started taking an SSRI soon after, the medication getting him to a place where he could get out of bed and go back to fully participating in his life. It leveled him out, shored up his defenses, and had worked, keeping him up and running for years.

Outside his therapist’s office, Chuck found a bench by a sidewalk, collapsing and burying his head in his hands.

His skin was clammy, the hairs on the back of his neck just damp enough to make him itch. It was one thing to go back and recount his breakup with Ethan, but then Dr. Anderson had asked Chuck if he felt like he was worthy of being loved.

“Sure,” Chuck had responded on autopilot. “When things are good and my depression isn’t?—”

Dr. Anderson had interrupted. “No, Chuck,” he’d said in his deep, warm voice. “I’m asking you if you think someone can love you and your depression. On the days where it’s the hardest and it hurts the most, do you believe you are worthy of being loved?”

Chuck hadn’t known what to say. But his eyes had welled up, threatening tears. He’d clenched his jaw, trying to hold it all in, but still, wetness had tracked down his cheeks. Finally, he’d managed to choke out a quiet, “I don’t know.”

“Chuck, the medication can help level things out. It can help with getting out of bed in the morning and continuing to move through your life. And the therapy can help with things like acceptance and shifting your perspective.” He paused as he leaned forward in his seat, looking intently at Chuck. “But none of it makes the depression go away. It’s a part of who you are, just like your humor and your success as a coach and the fact that you are a caring friend. All of it is you, and all of you is worthy of being loved.”

Chuck sighed. He couldn’t shake Dr. Anderson’s words, haunted by the question.

Was he worthy of being loved?

Fuck, maybe it was the titrating getting to him. A month into reducing his meds and he was—well, he was fine. A little raw around the edges, like there was a sensitive bruise in his chest that never fully healed.

But there was also a bit more life in his body. He hadn’t even realized that there was a numbness he had grown accustomed to over the years, like a thick layer of cotton separated him from his nervous system.

Just the other night after watching Spartacus , he’d actually come, the load shooting out of him so unexpected that he’d accidentally spilled all over his jeans.

He’d been so horny, so fucking hard listening to Tommy talk about asses and bodies and sex that he hadn’t been able to stop himself. His oblivious, hot, straight friend talking about asses with his strong arms crossed over his chest and his thick thighs splayed out on the couch had been too much.

Telling Tommy to get out of the house so he could jack off maybe wasn’t his finest moment, but fuck, he’d been out of his mind.

Thank god Tommy hadn’t brought it up at swimming practice since then. He kept showing up, all jokes and big grins, and got to work. He was getting better, too, starting to keep his face in the water and rely more on his kick as his legs got stronger.

But sometimes, when Chuck stood up and demonstrated something on the side of the pool, he thought he caught Tommy watching him a little more closely than usual. He could have sworn he felt his friend’s gaze lingering on his bare chest.

He had to be imagining things.