Page 24

CHAPTER 24

Ben

T he rays of sunlight filter weakly through the city smog as I step out of the Coffee Bean and Me, the surprising chill in the air a sharp contrast to the warmth I've just left behind. Inside, over two cups of coffee that went from steaming to tepid, Max had peeled back a layer of his past, revealing the jagged edges of his scars and the nightmare etched into them by The Butcher. My heart races, not just from the caffeine but from the weight of his trust and the burden of my own silence.

As I walk, my mind replays the conversation, every detail magnified. Max's hands, trembling slightly as they wrapped around his coffee cup; his eyes, dark and deep, holding back a reservoir of pain; the way his voice had caught when he finally spoke of the night that changed his life forever. He had laid bare his darkest moment in a way that spoke of deep trust and vulnerability. Trust in… me. And yet, despite the perfect opening he provided, I couldn't bring myself to confess that I was the surgeon that night, the one who stitched his life back together, thread by delicate thread.

The street noise buzzes in my ears, a cacophony that I can't seem to tune out. People pass by in a blur, their faces unregistered as I grapple with my cowardice. I had rehearsed the conversation a hundred times in my mind, each version smoother and more reassuring than the last. But faced with the reality of Max's pain, I'd faltered, the words dying in my throat. The fear of altering the delicate balance of our burgeoning relationship had paralyzed me. I am a surgeon for fuck’s sake. I should be used to having difficult conversations.

Now, with each step I take away from the café, the urgency to make things right gnaws at me. This secret, a link between our pasts unbeknownst to him, grows heavier. It's a barrier of my own making, one that stands between us and a future that should be built on complete honesty and deep mutual understanding.

The warm breeze whips around me, and I unzip my jacket, trying to stop the rising flush of heat that’s no doubt reddening my cheeks. I stop at a street corner, waiting for the light to change, and my mind wanders to the possibilities of our next encounter. How will I say it? The words need to be precise, the setting gentle. I can’t blurt it out; the revelation deserves more respect than that. It needs to be a moment where Max feels safe, supported, not cornered or overwhelmed.

As the pedestrian light turns green, I cross the street, determined to make this right. I know what I need to do, and the clarity feels both terrifying and vital. I'll invite him over, to my place where he’s laughed and shown me fragments of his lighter side. I'll cook for him, create an atmosphere of warmth and care, then ease into the confession that has been burning inside me.

Or something like that. Maybe?

With each step, I rehearse the words, trying them out silently to gauge their weight and impact. "Max, I can only imagine how much you don’t want to talk about this, but there’s something about that horrendous night, the night you were hurt, that you don’t know. I was there, not just in the hospital, but in the operating room. I was the surgeon who helped save your life." Each iteration sounds both too dramatic and not significant enough for the gravity of the admission.

The thought of his reaction sends a shiver of anxiety through me. Will he feel betrayed by my silence up until now? I could explain I only just found out myself. Or will he understand my hesitation, see it as a symptom of my deep feelings for him, rather than as deceit? The possibility of losing what we have only started, what we could have, looms large, casting a long shadow over my hopes.

Yet, amidst the swirling doubts, a resolve solidifies within me. This is the only way forward. Our relationship deserves a foundation built on total transparency, no shadows between us. I care about him too much to allow fear to dictate our future. It’s a risk, but one I must take, for both our sakes.

As I approach my home, I feel a bit calmer. My inner thoughts finally settling on what needs to happen. I’ll make time to call him. I’ll set the stage for a conversation that might just be the most important one we ever have. For now, I hold onto the hope that the feelings and trust between us are strong enough to withstand the truths of our pasts.

Inside, I hang my keys by the door and head straight to the kitchen. I need to keep moving, keep planning. There’s a meal to prepare, a setting to perfect, and a future to fight for. The stakes have never been higher, but then, neither has my resolve. Although, I haven’t even invited him over yet, I smile. He could be busy. He could say no.

Instead of starting the cooking process, I decide to take a long, hot shower instead, clear my mind and move on with my day. After the long walk home, I’m not exactly as fresh as a daisy. Stripping down to nothing at all as I head upstairs with my clothes in my hand, I toss the sweaty items into a hamper and turn on the water. The steady stream of the shower dulls out my chaotic thoughts and I feel instantly better.

Max and I will be just fine. I know it.

There’s a sudden loud noise and I turn off the water, listening.

Thump .

Was that the front door? Someone knocking?

Grabbing a towel, I step out of the shower, quickly drying myself off.

Thump .

“Hold your horses,” I say, not that someone outside could hear me. I reach the front door and peek outside through the glass window at eye-level. There’s a male figure walking down my driveway and who quickly disappears around the corner.

Tentatively, I unlock the door, and a slip of paper falls to the ground. Picking it up, I unfold it and read what’s been scrawled across in red ink: Leave!

Slamming the door closed, I lock it immediately. My heart is racing, this has to be some kind of threat. The one word, simple, to the point. Who would have sent this to me and why? Did this have something to do with Max? With what happened a few years ago?

I shake my head. How could that be? His killer was taken out by the cops. At least that’s what the news had said back then. No, surely this is a prank. Logically, my brain did its best to push it aside, but my heart feels conflicted.

There’s more to this story. There has to be, but what?