Page 34 of The Time It Takes

The row of townhouses looked boring, but the truth was anything but. Most of the units were filled with wolf shifter families—interesting, kind, and loyal people that I knew and liked. Most didn't make a ton of money, but their interests, relationships, and lives were full and beautiful. They thrived, living close and looking after one another. Sharing meals, watching each other's kids, mixing and matching things in life to make it easier, make it more doable, make it more friendly and fun. I'm sure things weren't perfect. But it felt like a healthier community than most I'd been a part of, with less posturing and more genuine care and connection all around.

"Seriously," said Arlie, his voice low. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so? I mean, I'm doing therapy, right?" If I was trying to sound confident and jokey, I failed. My voice just sounded kind of low and pathetic.

"Well, like, if it's making things worse, you can quit, you know? Try again later." He made an abortive gesture, and stopped himself. "I hate to see you like this. Are you just digging at old wounds and making it all worse? Is he even helping you feel better at all?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But it kind of wasn't working when I was just ignoring stuff."

"Is it all about Darby? Am I allowed to ask that?"

He could ask, but I didn't have to answer. "You can't fix it, bud."

"You just...smell so distressed. A lot of the time. Most of the time. I should be able to help."

"It's not your job to fix me. I'm just...trying to figure some stuff out."

My therapist had suggested that I talk about it with him. Maybe I would have to, if he was actually this worried. I didn't want to stress him out. He'd probably understand a bit better if I told him.

But I just wasn't ready. He'd come to terms with who he was; maybe he'd think I was dramatic for having so much trouble figuring it out for myself.

"You wouldn't keep going if he was making you feel like shit about yourself, right?"

"Right," I said, uncomfortably aware once again that Arlie thought I couldn't take care of myself. That I wouldn't stand up for myself. I gave him a sidelong glance. Did he think I'd gotten through life by being a complete pushover? It was not exactly flattering. I knew he worried, but he didn't have to worrythatmuch.

"You're shutting me out and you're sad and it's not okay," said Arlie. "Obviously you don't have to tell me everything. Hell, you don't have to tell me anything. But I am your partner. And I am concerned."

Arlie did not often push that hard. That was incredibly pushy compared to his usual chill way of suggesting and hinting. But you know what? He wasn't wrong. It was fair for him to be worried when I wasn't sharing what I was upset about. He was my partner, and he didn't know what was going on.

"Okay," I said quietly. "If it's bugging me enough that I can't even hide it, I guess I have to tell you."

"You shouldn't be trying to hide stuff from me. What the hell, Cole?"

Great, now I'd hurt his feelings. I sighed. "I don't like sharing everything, especially when it's embarrassing or confusing, okay? Can you just give me a little longer to figure out how to talk about this?"

He turned to face me and gave me a glare. "You literally told me about the bedwetting thing when you were a kid. How can this be more embarrassing than that?" We weren't even pretending to have a chill conversation now. He looked really upset with me, as well as hurt and worried.

"'Cause I finally outgrew that," I snapped, frowning back at him. My eyes felt like they were going to get damp, and damn it, they'd better not.

"Fine. Don't tell me." He unbuckled his seatbelt. "Ever since I've started dating guys, you've been weird. I still have time for you! I'm not someone different now."

I choked back the things I wanted to say—and didn't want to say. It felt like I was going to cry, and I really didn't want to cry. Arlie and I didn't fight. But we were fighting now, and it was because of something I wasn't giving in on—something I was ashamed and confused about, and didn't want to share.

He put his hand on the door and then paused. "I'll get over it, Cole. I'm not...I'll get over it. But maybe not today." He got out of the car, and I let him.

I felt like shit about it, but I let him go.

#

Of course, with Arlieupset with me, and my therapist continuing to think I should discuss things with him like an adult, and even ask for his advice, I probably should've found it easy to just give in and talk about it all. But somehow, him getting mad at me just made me feel even more stubborn and secretive.

I didn't want to talk about it, to humiliate myself in front of Arlie when he was already annoyed with me. Maybe I'd be able to talk about it better when I'd figured it out. Maybe not. But now? When it all felt like it was in my head and maybe I was just imagining things? Yeah, that did not feel good.

I really, really didn't want to tell him. It felt like I was clinging to what little tattered pride I had left.

It wasn't like I was even sure how to say any of it. With how in my head about it I'd been, I didn't think I was going to know if I was actually bi or not until I tried dating—or something—with a guy. Maybe I'd find out there was nothing there and I wouldn't have to talk about it at all, ever, or even think about it again. Or maybe it would be so obvious I could be into guys that I'd feel even more stupid for taking so long to know.

But I didn't. I didn'tknow. It felt like such a mockery of everything—all the people who'd fought so hard to be who they were, who'd known who they were, who weren't ashamed and didn't try to hide. But I didn't know if I was confused, really good at hiding from myself, or just mistaken and stupid.