Page 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Andrew

I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.

The memory of Justin’s face will haunt me forever.

I somehow make it home to my apartment. My fingers shake as I message Adam that I won’t be back in the office today. The most basic task feels monumental when your world is collapsing.

What should I do now?

Justin said he needed space from me right now.

But I can’t just do nothing. I can’t let the most important person in my life slip away because I was too afraid to be completely honest.

So what can I do?

It appears I’m going with blowing up Justin’s phone with messages.

I’m sorry. It started out as a game. But then it became real. Please forgive me.

I love you, Justin. I know you probably don’t want to hear it right now, but I love you so much. I love everything about you.

I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please know that every moment I spent with you and the cats, every time you trusted me with pieces of yourself, that was all real. I might have been pretending at first, but somewhere between our adventures together and sharing cat memes, you made me want to be real too.

My phone shows that Justin has read my messages. It gives me a tiny glimmer of hope.

But he doesn’t reply.

Around two a.m., I start calling him. When he doesn’t pick up, I leave voicemails. Long, rambling voicemails where I tell Justin everything I feel and spill the contents of my heart. I want him to know that every moment we spent together rewrote my definition of happiness.

I have no dignity, no filter between my brain and my mouth, no sense of shame.

None of that matters. I don’t care about anything besides getting to see Justin’s smile again.

Around four a.m., I finally fall asleep, still clutching my phone. I wake up to find myself sprawled face-down on my couch with my phone stuck to my cheek from drool.

I scramble to check my phone, but there’s still nothing from Justin.

The emptiness of my notification screen hits me like a physical blow. I let out a feral-sounding sob.

It’s the kind of noise that would definitely earn me Cassie’s most judgmental stare if she were here. But she’s not.

None of them are here.

The shower doesn’t clear my head like I hoped. I stand under the spray until the water runs cold, trying to wash away the memory of Justin’s face by the river, seeing the impact of every lie I’ve told.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks exactly like someone who has spent the night texting and leaving voicemails for their ex. Except Justin isn’t my ex, is he? He’s the guy I fell in love with while pretending to be someone else, which probably requires a whole new category of relationship disaster.

I put my contact lenses in with shaking hands. I’ve been wearing my glasses more and more, but today, I can’t bear to see the reflection of high school Andrew staring back at me. I’ve spent so long trying to distance myself from that scared kid that I never realized I was still letting him make my choices.

Even though the tube is packed with the usual morning crowd, it feels emptier without Justin beside me. There’s no one to share observations about British commuting etiquette, no one to debate the merits of different M&M colors or share cat conspiracy theories with.

A guy across from me is wearing a Houston Texans jersey, and my chest aches, remembering how Justin’s workspace is plastered with Texas sports memorabilia.

We were both hiding in plain sight, weren’t we? Both so scared of showing our real selves that we built fortresses out of fake personas and careful lies.

The announcement for my stop barely registers through the fog of exhaustion and regret.

Obviously, word about my real identity has spread quickly at DTL Enterprises.

The receptionist, who usually barely acknowledges me, is now practically bouncing in her seat, her face lit up like I’m a celebrity guest on Andy Cohen .

“Good morning, Mr. Yates!” She practically sings my name. “I just want you to know that my nephew is absolutely obsessed with coding, and I was wondering—I mean, only if you have time, of course—if you might sign his copy of Wired magazine?” She fumbles in her desk drawer, producing a magazine.

I manage what I hope passes for a polite smile as I quickly scrawl my signature on the cover.

“You know, I always thought there was something different about you,” she continues, leaning forward conspiratorially. “The way you fixed the printer that time without hitting it first was suspicious behavior for regular IT support.”

I mumble something about needing to check IT tickets and practically flee to the elevator.

But the elevator doesn’t provide a reprieve. The doors open to show Sarah, who takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.

“So, the guy who helped me recover my wedding photos is actually a tech mogul?” She wipes tears from her eyes. “Here I was thinking I was mentoring you about office politics.”

“You were mentoring me about office politics,” I say. “I actually learned a lot from you.”

She gives me a smirk. “I think this definitely means you’re shouting lunch next time.”

“I think I can manage that,” I say as I exit the elevator.

The IT department is even worse. Now that he knows there’s no TV crew, Xander has abandoned his professional clothes in favor of returning to his Dragon’s Sphere chic, but he’s swiveling in his chair with an anticipatory smile. It’s like he can’t wait to see what plot twist today will bring.

Adam hovers by my desk, clutching a stack of papers that look suspiciously like printed copies of my MIT thesis. “Drew—I mean, Mr. Yates—I’ve been reviewing some of your earlier papers on optimization protocols, and I had a few thoughts about?—”

The help desk notification chime cuts him off. I’ve never been so grateful for the sound. My eyes snap to the screen.

Ticket from: Sales Department

Issue: Printer malfunction

I’m out of my chair before either of them can speak, nearly knocking over Adam’s carefully arranged stack of research papers in my haste.

“I’ll take this one,” I call over my shoulder, already halfway to the door.

“But it’s just a printer issue,” Xander protests. “Surely the great Andrew Yates has more important?—”

I close the door on his words. My heart pounds against my ribs as I climb the stairs. What will I say if I see Justin? What can I possibly say that I haven’t already poured out in garbled voice messages?

The sales department is its usual chaos of ringing phones and competitive energy. Dave is demonstrating what appears to be his attempt to break the office record for most rubber bands shot at Pete’s coffee mug in under thirty seconds, but I barely register it.

Because Justin’s desk is empty.

“Where’s Justin?” I ask.

Dave tries to look serious but ends up looking like he’s struggling with a particularly challenging math problem. “Oh, mate, you just missed him. He was here first thing, went straight to Roger’s office, and asked for emergency leave to go home. Apparently, he was scheduled to go back to the States next week anyway. He’s just brought it forward.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, forcing all the air from my lungs. I have to grip the edge of Dave’s desk to stay upright, my knuckles turning white against the laminate.

“Oh. Right,” I say.

“Is it true you’re basically tech royalty pretending to be one of us peasants? Because, if so, I’ve got this brilliant idea for an app that rates stapler-throwing techniques.”

“Sorry, I’m not quite in the right headspace to be pitched tech ideas right now,” I reply.

I shuffle over to the printer alcove and go through the motions of fixing the paper jam like someone sleepwalking, barely registering what my hands are doing.

All I can think about is Justin, probably somewhere over the Atlantic by now, leaving behind two confused cats and one very messed-up IT guy who doesn’t know how to fix the most important thing he’s broken.

Just as I’ve finished fixing the printer, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

My heart skips hopefully. I nearly drop the phone twice while trying to extract it.

But it’s not Justin. It’s Leo.

My stomach feels like it’s riding a broken elevator, hope crashing through every floor until it hits bottom.

“Did Justin find out?” are Leo’s first words to me.

“How did you know?”

“All the missed calls from you gave me some hint. How did he take it?”

The memory of Justin’s face by the Thames hits me fresh, making me fold in on myself like I’m trying to protect some vital organ from further damage. Each breath feels like it’s scraping against something raw inside my chest.

“Not well,” I finally manage to gasp out.

“I’m sorry, Andrew.”

“It’s my fault. I deserve it.”

Leo doesn’t argue with me about that fact. “Look, I’m due to come over there to see a client in two weeks. Do you want me to bring my trip forward?

“Um…maybe. I don’t know….” I take a deep breath through my nose like I’m trying to inhale clarity along with the stale office air. All I get is the lingering scent of Dave’s questionable aftershave choices.

“I don’t know how I’m going to cope without him.” My voice cracks like I’m thirteen again.

My isolated pocket of misery is shattered by Pete and Dave barreling past, engaged in what appears to be a highly competitive game of office chair derby. They’re using rolled-up sales reports as makeshift jockey whips, their ties flying behind them like racing silks.

“I gotta go,” I say to Leo.

“Stay in touch, okay?” I can hear the concern in Leo’s voice.

“Okay.”

I end the call and then stare at my phone screen until it dims like it’s trying to mirror the way everything in my life feels darker without Justin.

Justin’s not here. He’s gone home.

Because he needs to escape London.

He needs to escape me and everything I’ve done to him.

Somehow, I make it through the day.

But I can’t handle going home to an empty apartment. I can’t handle staring at the carefully curated IT-guy décor that is evidence of my deception.

Instead, I find myself walking across Waterloo Bridge. The winter wind whips off the Thames, bitter enough to make my eyes water. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I blink rapidly behind my contact lenses.

London sparkles around me, festive lights reflecting off the dark water below. Couples hurry past, huddled together against the cold, while tourists pause to take selfies with the London Eye glowing in the background. Everyone seems to have somewhere to be, someone to be with.

Through the winter darkness, I spot a man and his teenage son waiting for the river bus. The boy is hunched against the cold, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, but his father’s disapproving glance has him immediately straightening, dropping his hands to his sides.

My stomach twists.

Bobby Ray.

I think of the damage Justin’s stepfather did.

Not only to Justin, but to me and to every kid who got caught in the backdraft of his cruelty. His actions created this domino effect of pain: Justin, petrified of his sexuality, tried to be “man enough,” which led to him targeting me, resulting in me building walls so high I forgot how to let anyone see the real me.

The damage also extended to my parents, whose relationship with me suffered because I was so busy hiding things from them. Every secret I kept, every lie I told about being fine at school, every time I faked a smile at dinner, created this invisible barrier I’ve never figured out how to break down.

The damage was also done to any other kids Connor and Tanner targeted after Justin gave them implicit permission to go after the weak. How many other kids learned to make themselves smaller, to stick to the shadows?

The ripple effects of our actions always extend far beyond what we can see. It’s like dropping a stone in water and never knowing what shore feels the waves.

I’m sure Bobby Ray never realized he was programming a whole generation of kids to hide their true selves.

But the thing about programming is that you can always debug the code if there are errors. You can always write a better version.

A boat passes beneath the bridge, its horn echoing across the water. The sound startles a group of pigeons into flight, wheeling past the illuminated dome of St Paul’s, where Justin first began to open up to me about his past.

And suddenly, I know what I have to do.

I can’t undo what Bobby Ray did. I can’t rewrite our past. But I can stop letting his influence determine our future.

Because Justin Morris looked at all the damage Bobby Ray did to him and still found the courage to be real. To come out at work. To fall in love with a man despite all his fears.

He deserves someone brave enough to match his courage.

I want to respect Justin’s need for space. But if I don’t do everything possible to make this right, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what could have happened.

The class reunion is next week. Justin is doing a speech as the former class president.

I remember my reaction when I first got my invitation to the reunion, my instinctive fear response at the idea of seeing my old classmates again. I should have realized then how much I still wasn’t over everything that happened in high school.

The thought of walking those halls again had made my hands shake.

But now it’s a chance to see Justin, to talk to Justin, and I’m going to take it.

I pull out my phone with shaking fingers and send a quick message to my pilot.

Please get the jet ready to fly to Texas tonight.

My breath clouds in the cold air as I stare at the sent confirmation.

I might be terrible at revenge, but I’m not giving up on love without a fight.