“Wait!” Andrew thrust a stop-right-there hand at Brian, still not sure if he was upset about what Brian was saying or what he was doing. “I’m the one he called a cheater, not you.”
Brian dodged his hand and went to the drawers for underwear. “He might have pointed at you but he made it clear that he thinks I’m some fucking arsehole who’d sleep with a person already in a relationship with someone else!” His voice rose as he spoke so he ended on a shout that scared Archy and sent the cat scampering out of the room. “Should have told him.”
Andrew shook his head, hoping some sense would magically appear. “Should have told him what?”
Hands full of boxer-briefs, Brian paused over the bag and dragged in a deep breath. As he let it out in a long sigh, he put the undies in the bag. “That we weren’t sleeping together when you were with Elle.”
“I tried.” Andrew sank to the bed, any anger he might have felt gone. Sad, hurting, confused. Guilty. That was what he was feeling right then. “I should have done more, but . . . but I think how I felt about you is why Elle broke up with me. She knew, or suspected I guess, so she left. All I could think when he said that was ‘he’s right.’ I hurt Elle because I wasn’t strong enough to admit what I was feeling.”
Brian’s hand cupped his cheek and Andrew leaned into it desperately. “Do you still love her?”
“Not the same way I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to James about you. I will. After he calms down a bit so there’s a chance he’ll listen.” Andrew turned his face into Brian’s palm and kissed it. “Don’t go. Please stay. I just . . . I need you tonight.”
Suddenly, Brian was on his lap, straddling him. He caught Andrew’s face in his hands and kissed him. Hard, passionately, devouringly. Andrew’s arms went around him, holding him tight, close, needing Brian to know how important he was to him, how integral to his life. Not just as a lover, but as his best friend and foundation. Everything Andrew had ever built was because of Brian.
“I love you,” Andrew gasped between kisses. “I love you.”
Brian pulled back, breathing hard, blinking back tears. “I know.” And for the first time, he sounded like he absolutely believed it. He wasn’t just Han Solo-ing Andrew this time. “I know,” he repeated in seeming wonder. Then with a sharp shake of his head, he was off Andrew’s lap and back at the drawers, getting more clothes.
“You’re still going?”
“I have to.” Brian’s voice was soft but determined.
Andrew grabbed his hand to stop him. “You don’t have to. Who gives a shit about James? If he’s going to suddenly get homophobic then we don’t need him.” He stood and pressed close to Brian. “We were doing great before he found out. When it was just us.” Andrew slid an arm around his waist and nuzzled his neck. “We don’t need any of them. It can just be us again. Please.”
Brian’s body vibrated against Andrew’s, as if caught between two conflicting forces. With a little moan, he pushed into Andrew’s embrace for a moment, then pulled away again. “The problem’s not James. Well, not just him. Like he’s a big part of it, but the rest of it is me.”
All the air in Andrew’s lungs crystalized into shards of ice. He sank back to the bed in pain and shock. “What do you mean?” This was it. Brian had decided he couldn’t do this anymore. The moment Andrew had feared so many times in the past was finally here.
More undies and socks were tossed into the bag. “I mean that everything that’s gone wrong is my fault. If I could only fucking decide what flag to march under in the parade, none of this would have happened. I should have just hardened up and come out with you at the Spit. We could’ve had this all over and done with back then, not a week out from the wedding.”
It was a bit of a relief, but not much. Brian had done this so often in the past with exams and his rotations Andrew should have seen it coming. He worried until he panicked, then he started second guessing himself, convinced he could have done something different, something better, working himself up until he believed he’d failed spectacularly. When he got in these moods, no one could get through to him. Not even Andrew, but he had to try.
“You didn’t know then and you don’t know now, so no, you made the right decision back then.”
“What does it matter anymore, anyway? They all think I’m gay and lied about it.”
“It matters. Remember you’re the only who gets to say what—”
“But I can’t!” Brian zipped up his bag aggressively. “That’s the whole problem. I still don’t know what I am and now it’s worse in my head because no one is going to understand how I can’t know that but let you fuck me anyway. I wish it were as easy as they all seem to think it is. Love sucking dick and going down on a girl? You’re bi! Need some dude drilling your prostate to get off? You’re gay! I want it to be that simple but it’s not for me and no one else is going understand that.”
“They might.” Andrew knew he wasn’t going to be heard, but added regardless, “I do.”
“And you know what else?” Brian steamrolled right past his comment. “I don’t get to choose to come out to my friends anymore. James took that away from me and I’m fucking furious at him for that.”
“You have every right—” Andrew began.
“I reckon James and Troy are talking right now about what a fucking liar I am. I made a big show of being upset and getting apologies when they said I was gay and look! They were right and I was lying through my fucking teeth the entire time.”
Andrew waited a moment to see if this was just a pause for air or because the words had officially run out. Feeling like it was the latter, he said, “I’ll tell them the truth.”
Brian snorted. “Like you told James today. Like you told Sheridan exactly what you thought of him.” He spun to face Andrew the moment the words were out of his mouth, eyes wide and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”
Stomach churning, Andrew got up and walked out of the room.
Is that what Brian really thought? That Andrew couldn’t—wouldn’t—stand up for those he loved, or himself? He didn’t like confrontation but that didn’t mean he just rolled over.
He was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, head in his hands, when Brian came downstairs. The packed bag thunked to the floor by the front door.
“I really am sorry,” Brian said softly. “You know how I get when I’m upset. Word vomit doesn’t even start to cover it.”
Andrew could only grunt in acknowledgement.
“See!” Brian’s tone became imploring. “That’s why I’m going. I’m only hurting you right now. Everything’s all messed up in my head and I need to sort it out before I keep putting my dumb feet in my stupid mouth.”
“Okay.” It barely more intelligible than the grunt.
“Okay,” Brian echoed faintly. Then, firmer, “I messaged Michael. He’s coming to get me. I’m leaving you the Jag so you can keep getting to work. I switch off Michael’s shifts again next week but I can Uber and I need to know you’re not going to get stuck anywhere because I . . .” After a moment, Brian said, “I heard you before. When you said you understand about me not knowing my sexuality. I know you do and I . . . I think that’s part of my problem.”