Page 30 of When Ben Loved Jace (He Loved Him #2)

“You’re in big trouble, young man.”

Adrien’s voice stops me short, my hand on the door to Jace’s trailer.

Work called, so he’s back in the skies for a couple of days, but when he gets back into town, we’ll have an entire week together.

The opposite of what I’m used to. I’m here to check on Samson, which I was trying to do stealthily, because I’ve been dreading moments like these.

I hurt Jace. His friends won’t like that. Neither do I.

“What do you mean?” I say, turning to face Adrien.

He’s standing on the front stoop of his house with his arms crossed. “Don’t play games with me!” Adrien steps aside and gestures to the open door behind him. “Inside. Now. We need to talk.”

Ugh. I haven’t felt this way since the last time my mom grounded me. I’m led to the living room and instructed to sit, so I plop down on the pristine white couch.

Adrien settles into a chair across from the coffee table that’s situated between a houseplant and a floor lamp. Then he scrutinizes me. “Would you mind moving over a cushion?”

I shrug and scoot to the center of the couch.

“Thank you. I hate when things are asymmetrical. Now then… Let’s hear your side of the story.”

“Jace told you?”

“Mm-hm. Although, to be fair, I saw it all on his face. I didn’t know what had happened exactly until I asked him about it. So he didn’t come crying to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I shake my head. “That’s the least of my concerns right now.”

Adrien crosses one leg over the other. “I’m all ears.”

“I’m sure it’s exactly what Jace told you. I still have the hots for Tim, and when he made a move on me… I couldn’t help myself. But I swear I didn’t kiss him back.”

“What a relief!” Adrien says theatrically. “I’m sure that would have hurt Jace way more than seeing you guys rub your boners together as if trying to start a camp fire.”

I grimace. “He noticed that?”

“Yes, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I experienced some degree of schadenfreude.

This is his just desserts for cheating on me.

Which I still wouldn’t have known about if not for you.

Jace finally admitted it after all these years.

You were instrumental in that, so I intend to repay the favor now. ”

I blink in surprise. “How?”

“To begin with, by putting your problem into perspective. I assume that you intend to remain friends with Tim?”

I take a deep breath before nodding. “I’d like to. But I’m not sure if I trust myself. Or him.”

“Nor should you. Tim obviously hasn’t moved on or he wouldn’t still be pissing on your fire hydrant. And you’re only human. But at least you have a reason to hold back.”

“A really good one,” I croak. “I love Jace.”

“Then I suggest you encourage Tim to find someone just as worthy. That way, while tension will inevitably remain between you, you’ll both have enough motivation to keep it restrained.”

I perk up. “That’s a good idea!”

Adrien nods in satisfaction. “I’m curious… Do you have a photo of Tim?”

“Yeah!” I pull out my phone and rise while navigating to one of his modeling shots. “I have a bunch. Check them out.”

Adrien rises to meet me halfway, his eyes widening when he begins swiping. “You deserve more credit than I was giving you,” he says, handing the phone back. He sits again, composes himself, and clears his throat. “Perhaps there is another way I could be of service to you. Or to him.”

I laugh. “Want me to give him your phone number?”

“Do you think I’m his type?” Adrien shrugs. “I don’t really care either way. He’s sexually frustrated. I’d be more than happy to assist him with that, and if we happen to hit it off…”

“My problem is solved.”

“Would that bother you?” Adrien challenges.

I hesitate. “I don’t really know. But it’s for the best. I can’t have them both.”

“Agreed. I’ll text you some of my best photos. I’ll warn you now, a few of them are quite racy.”

I laugh again, relieved that hope is in sight, no matter how distant.

— — —

When do I get to see you again?

I’ve been avoiding Tim. I haven’t seen him since my brush with infidelity. He stopped by the other day unannounced. I wasn’t home. Allison told him I joined a monastery and that he’ll never see me again. Somehow, I don’t think that will throw him off my trail.

I rise from my bed, carrying my phone with me. I linger by the window, wondering if he’s out there, a silver-eyed shadow standing beneath a tree. I almost want him to be. Jesus… This has to stop. So I answer his text.

You need to move on, Tim.

He calls me immediately. I sigh before answering.

“How am I supposed to do that?” he asks.

“By finding someone else to love. Like I did.”

“Do you love him more than me?”

“That isn’t a fair question!”

“Do you?”

I swallow against the pain, which has so many sources that they’re difficult to pin down. “We can’t keep doing this. I mean it. I still want you in my life. But not if you’re going to constantly chip away at what I have with Jace. We can either be friends, or we can say goodbye.”

The line is silent for so long that I check to make sure we’re still connected.

“I’ll take what I can get,” he says at last, his voice strained.

“Good.”

“So when do I get to see you again? As friends.”

The danger is still there. We’d have to be in public. And ideally with other people around. But not just anyone. I’d want Jace at my side. Maybe a double date?

“Did you get those photos of my friend I sent you?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think?”

“He’s all right. But he’s not…” Tim sighs. “He’s all right.”

“Would you at least try? For me.”

“Sure,” he says after another lengthy pause. “Talk to you later.”

He hangs up. I’m troubled, but I do feel a little better. I said what I needed to say. Boundaries have been set. I won’t be the one who crosses them. And if he takes one more step over that line… We’re finished.

For real this time.

— — —

“Did you ever lose hope?”

I’m sitting in Eric’s living room, interviewing him for my thesis.

Light music plays in the background and wine has been poured.

I’ve been drinking mine slowly, but only to maintain my concentration.

There’s no threat of losing control around Tim.

I made sure to choose the night he’s out on his date with Adrien, so he wouldn’t be here.

Although I did entertain the idea of “accidentally” getting lost on the way to the bathroom, so I could find his bedroom and do some snooping. Old habits die hard.

“There were certainly times that I despaired,” Eric says after pursing his lips thoughtfully, “and others when I was a little too optimistic.”

I glance up from my laptop. “What do you mean?”

“In my youth, I mistakenly thought that progress was a steady march forward, when in truth, it’s more like dancing the cha-cha.” He gets up to demonstrate. “There’s a lot of back and forth interspersed between sideways maneuvering. Do you like to dance, Ben?”

“Yes,” I admit, tempted to join him, but he sits before I’m able to.

Eric’s expression becomes much more somber.

“The struggle for civil rights has been playing out longer than our own movement and provides many instructive examples. There have been great strides, such as the end of legal segregation. The striking down of Jim Crow laws or Apartheid, however, did not bring an end to racism. Redlining is no longer in practice—officially, anyway—and yet districts are redrawn in modern times to disempower black voters. Despite this, I like to think that we’re slowly making progress across the ballroom of equality.

So while my version of hope has become more nuanced over the years, I never lost it completely. ”

I had the foresight to record our conversation with my phone. I can type fast, but my notes wouldn’t have captured the elegance of his phrasing.

“When it comes to the gay experience, do you remember seeing an optimistic outlook in any of the books you read while growing up?”

Eric shakes his head. “I don’t believe so. ”

“Would it have helped if you had?”

“Perhaps. Yes. I wasn’t very political when younger. I was mostly focused on the sort of life I wanted for myself. But then I met someone who embodied that message and many more.” Eric smiles. “That was very motivating indeed.”

“Was he hot?” I ask teasingly.

“Oh yes! I certainly thought so. You can judge for yourself.” Eric rises again and moves to a side table, where he picks up a photo in an ornate frame.

This is handed to me. In the image, Eric stands on the left, his hair darker and longer, his chin covered in a light beard. He’s dressed in a stylish suit, as is the black man next to him, who has a completely bald dome and a pencil-thin mustache.

“You look so young!”

“Don’t remind me that I’m not anymore!” Eric says with a chuckle. “The funny thing is, I still feel like that person. Most of the time.”

I take in the surrounding details. “Wait, is this a wedding photo?”