Forsaking Truth (17 page)

“No. I’m asking you to
take some time and think about what you want. I can do discreet, but I can’t do
this ongoing shame like we’re doin’ something wrong when we aren’t hurtin’
anyone. You need to either deal with who you are and let yourself be
happy, or go find yourself someone you ain’t ashamed of
loving, because I
love you
, Luke. And I’m tired of feeling like
some dirty habit you can’t quit.”

“You’re not a dirty
habit,” he whispered.

“Just think about what
I said.”

Climbing into his
truck and
driving away from Luke was one of the
hardest things he’d ever done. He was terrified, after taking some time, Luke
would convince himself it was just too hard to love him and do exactly what
Tristan suggested and find someone he wasn’t ashamed of loving.

As he drove home his
mouth pursed tight and the road blurred under the sheen of tears. No one else
compared to Luke. He was enigmatic yet loving and when he loved he did so with
a fierceness impossible to ignore. Tristan had never felt so owned by another
person as he did when Luke possessed his body. There were
absolutely no complaints in that department, aside from the fact that Tristan
gave him everything and Luke still held a part of himself away.

The truck slid in
beside Ryan’s and he shut off the eng
ine, lacking the
energy to drag himself into the house. Blinking at the sagging material of the
roof, he let a tear slip past his lashes and fall to his ear. “Fuck.”

He had to do this. He
had to make Luke decide what he wanted or this would never work. He couldn’t go
on, one week blissfully happy the next week fighting over the same old shit. He
had insecurities too, but he never made Luke feel responsible for them. It
was getting so bad, sometimes he almost had the urge to
apologize for stuff that wasn’t his shit.
I’m
sorry I love you and make you face a side of yourself you don’t like.
Fuck that.

The sensor light at
the back door kicked on and Tristan wiped his palms
roughly down his face. It was Ryan taking out the trash.

He climbed out of the
truck and went to give his friend a hand dragging the cans to the curb.

“Hey. How was
O’Malley’s?”

“Packed,” Tristan
said, grabbing a can. “How was your date?”

“Awesome. I
just dropped her off.”

“That’s good.”

Ryan turned. “You
okay?”

“Luke and I had a
fight.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m not even sure how
to explain it. It started because he said we looked like The Village People.”

Ryan looked over his
costume. “What are you
supposed to be?”

“I’m a cowboy. Come
on, man. See the belt?”

“You look like you
always do.”

“Well, my hat’s in the
truck.”

“Oh. What was Luke
dressed as?”

“A cop.”

Ryan snorted. “Damn, I
was hoping he dressed as the sub-looking biker. That would have been
funny as hell.”

“Yeah, right. That’d
be a little too gay for your cousin.”

Ryan smiled
sympathetically. “I’m sorry he’s like that. I honestly don’t know why. My Aunt
Maureen and Uncle Frank wouldn’t give a shit who he loved as long as he was
happy. You sh
ouldn’t have to deal with partiality,
especially from your own partner.”

“Yup.”

They headed into the
kitchen and Tristan grabbed himself a glass and the pitcher of tea on the
counter. “You wanna watch a movie or somethin’? I need to stop thinking for a
whi
le.”

“Sure.” And that was
why Ryan was one of his closest friends. He never judged him or drew lines
between them, thinking Tristan was any less deserving of happiness in this
world than anyone else. He just accepted him the way he was and shared in his
up
s and downs without preconceptions. He was—plain
and simple—a true friend.

Luke’s knee was gonna
snap if he didn’t chill. Breath hissed out between his teeth as he braced
himself and tightened his fingers on the handles of the leg press
machine. Sweat burned his eyes as he tensed and shook with
exertion. A roar cut from his chest as he pressed the weights forward again.
They came down with a clank and he panted.

“Jesus, Luke, take it
easy,” Finn said as he messed with the free weights a
few
feet away.

“Fuck that.” Luke grit
his teeth and forced out another rep. Pain shot up his quad and he nearly
passed out.

When he opened his
eyes Finn was standing over him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Grabbing his sweat
rag, he forced himself to stan
d. His legs quaked, but
he refused to stop. “I’m working out. What the fuck does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re
trying to kill yourself. Why don’t you tone it down a bit?”

“Why don’t you mind
your own business? There’s a nice girly machine over there
that makes you feel like you’re at the gyno. How ‘bout you
go play with that and leave me alone?”

Finn threw up his
hands. “Fine. Asshole.”

His brother turned and
hit the showers. Luke went to the row machine and put it on the maximum
resistance. He was f
reaking out and needed to blow
off some steam before he killed someone.

It had been a week and
Tristan had yet to call, text, or even look at him at work. A fucking week! He
was pissed. Pissed at himself, pissed at Tristan, and pissed off at the fucking
wo
rld. This was bullshit.

When he finished the
rower, he jumped on the elliptical and stuffed the ear buds of his iPod in his
ears, cranking up the volume and setting it to shuffle. He’d been hitting the
gym hard these last seven days, spending at least
three
hours blowing off steam, but it still wasn’t enough. Something had to give and
it would be either his knee or his stubbornness. He was sort of hoping for the
knee.

He wasn’t ashamed of
Tristan. That was a bunch of shit. He fucking loved the guy. He n
eeded him and then he’d gone and pulled this shit and Luke
didn’t know what to do.

He missed him. He
missed his clothes showing up in his laundry, missed the scent of him on his
sheets, missed his face. Enough time had passed, enough thinking. This was who
he was. He couldn’t make himself be anything else and it
wasn’t fair for Tristan to demand otherwise.

At five miles his legs
went numb, but he kept going, kept pushing himself closer to that breaking
point he couldn’t seem to reach. His steps faltered as
heavy metal cut to soft piano notes.

He frowned. Fucking
Tristan was always stealing his iPod and slipping songs into his playlist. He
glanced at the screen and read
Your Song,
by Elton John. Jesus.

His legs rolled over
the pedals as he approached seven mi
les. His thoughts
grew distracted with each softly sung lyric. When the chorus about life being
wonderful while the other was in the world kicked in, a strange tightness stole
into Luke’s chest.

His brow tightened and
he sped up, clearing his throat in an
attempt to
dislodge whatever was choking him. The piano picked up and his eyes began to
burn from more than sweat.
What the fuck?

He grabbed his sweat
rag and wiped down his face, but he couldn’t stop blinking and the pinching in
his heart got tighter th
e more the song carried on.
Was he fucking crying? Jesus. He shook it off, but as each word filled his
ears, images of Tristan and the pain of missing him seemed to multiply with
each syllable.

He glanced around the
gym, glad no one was really looking at h
im. Panicked,
he killed the machine, not having the time to wipe it down. He left his shit
and fled to the locker room. As soon as he closed himself in a bathroom stall,
he yanked out his ear buds and braced his arm on the door, breathing hard past
the lum
p clogging his throat.

He couldn’t stop the
throbbing in his heart. Shoving the heel of his palm into the socket of his
eye, he wiped hard at his face.
It’s sweat. It’s fucking sweat.
He turned and his head fell back against the metal divider. Screwing hi
s eyes tight, his lips pulled wide and he silently forced
down a harsh breath through his teeth. The muscles in his neck bulged as he
tried to fight back the tears, but he wasn’t strong enough.

You fucking pussy. You’re crying over a
guy in the fucking lo
cker room.

His fingers closed
into a fist and he slammed it into the thigh of his bad leg.

Fuck you! I fucking hate you! You loser!
He mentally berated
himself, using every harsh word he could think of, but nothing helped. It hurt.
Physically hurt. Not li
ke a cut. Not even like when
his knee snapped. No, this was something lethal, a malignancy inside his heart
he couldn’t push out. He fucking loved him. Loved him like he’d never loved
anyone.

He didn’t want to be
happy with anyone else. He only wanted
Tristan. He
wanted the fear to go away, wanted the courage to love him like he deserved,
embrace what they were and be someone Tristan would be proud to call his own.

But he was a pile of
worthless shit, too worried about labels and titles and rank to let
go and surrender. If only he could give in, let go, and
trust Tristan to know when enough was enough, to know when to keep quiet and
when it was okay to let down their guard. He was terrified Tristan would expose
them to the wrong people and there’d be hel
l to pay
and he hated that Tristan worked through this fear without him years ago.

He needed him. He
needed his boy to help him through this. It might never be all right, but if
Tristan was at least there with him, it would be doable. Nothing worked withou
t him and he wanted him back.

The following night,
Luke paced his den and waited for the sound of Tristan’s truck. He hadn’t
answered Luke’s text so Luke wasn’t sure if he was coming. Looking over the
table one last time, he checked to make sure
everything
was perfect.

Candles. Check.
Tristan’s favorite beer. Check. Mood music. Check. Burnt chicken because he
fucking sucked at cooking. Check. The only thing missing was the man of the
hour.

He looked at his watch
and waited anxiously. It was ten a
fter seven and he
still wasn’t there.
He’s not coming.

Yes, he is. Give him a few minutes.

Shit. He was freaking
out. He’d sent Tristan a text that day while at work. He’d actually watched as
it went through and Tristan pulled out his phone and read it. No
thing fancy. He’d simply written,
Dinner
at my place at seven? We’ll talk.

Tristan’s expression
remained inscrutable as he’d read the text and slipped the phone back in his
pocket without responding. Luke had scowled at him, but when Tristan’s eyes
remaine
d focused on Ryan who was telling some story
about a girl he’d been seeing, Luke stomped away.

Once he’d cooled off
and convinced himself Tristan avoided replying because he was only trying to be
discreet, he figured he’d get a response after work. That d
idn’t happen. He made up one excuse after another, talking
himself into setting the table, prepping the meal, and lighting the
candles—Jesus, he really was gay—and all without a single word back from
Tristan.

Pissed that it was now
quarter after, he whippe
d out his phone and punched
out a text.
You could have at least let me know you
weren’t fucking coming!
His thumb hovered over the send for only a second before
clicking the message off into Gspace. A second later there was a knock at the
door.

He didn’t
hear a truck. Maybe it was someone from the big house. He
looked back at the table. Fuck. Well, they didn’t know who he was expecting. He
opened the door and stilled.

Tristan’s head was
tipped down as he read his phone. His mouth pursed acerbically as his
lashes lifted, pinning Luke with an unimpressed stare. “I
was parking the truck out of sight. It took me a while to walk here.”

“Sorry. I thought you
weren’t coming and reacted. Come in.”

He slid his phone into
his pocket and followed Luke inside. Luke wa
lked to
the table and turned.

All signs of
exasperation left Tristan’s face as he took in the scene Luke had created. “You
did this?”

Uncomfortable with
scrutiny that resembled praise, he quickly said, “It’s nothing special. The
chicken’s burnt and the be
ers probably warm by now.
It’s just dinner.”

“
You
did this,” Tristan
repeated. “Why?”

Because I’m an asshole and you deserve
someone so much better and I’m hoping you never realize that and leave me for
good.
“Because
I wanted to talk.”

Tristan walked over to
the table. His finger dragged over the cloth Luke had stolen from his mum’s
pantry. He raised a brow and strolled to the iPod dock on the counter, reading
the artist playing. It was U2,
With or Without You.

When Tristan finally
faced
him, Luke wasn’t sure what he was thinking, if
he was inwardly laughing at him or thought his attempt at getting him back was
pathetic. He licked his lips, waiting for him to say something.

Tristan rounded the
table slowly. When he stood only a few inches
away,
Luke’s breath caught. He’d missed his eyes, missed his scent, wanted to pull
him close and breathe him in, never let go.

“What did you want to
talk about?” Tristan asked quietly.

Bono crooned in the
background and all his words fell away. He had so
much
to say but couldn’t form a single syllable. Struggling to keep it together, he
took Tristan’s hand and paused when he flinched. Luke met his eyes and pulled
those tense fingers apart, splaying them wide and placing them on his chest.

“This hurts,”
Luke whispered, pressing Tristan’s hand over his heart.
“When you’re not with me, it hurts and I want the pain to stop.”

Tristan looked at him,
his eyes creased with apprehension. His lips parted and he swallowed. “Oh,
Luke.”

“Please. Please come
back to m
e. I love you. I love us. I don’t want to be
here if you’re not by my side.”

Tristan’s head tilted.
His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Everything inside of Luke tightened
waiting for his rejection. He wasn’t a prize. He was a fucking mess half the
time,
always in a prickly mood and worried about shit
he had no control over. He got no peace aside from the moments Tristan was
there, making him laugh, making him smile. He didn’t want any part of this life
if Tristan wasn’t there to walk through it with him.

When Tristan’s fingers
brushed over his ear and down the side of his neck he moaned, the sound almost
a whimper.

“I love you, you big
stupid jerk. I was coming here tonight whether you invited me or not.”

Luke blinked at him in
shock. “You were?”

“Yeah.
I missed you like crazy these past few days and if you
couldn’t see that we’re right together I was gonna come here and make you see.
I don’t want to fight anymore. We have something too special to waste our time
worrying about the rest of the world.”

He l
et out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank fucking God.”

Tristan laughed and
pulled him into a hard hug. Luke’s hand curved around the back of his head and
held him tight. Their mouths found each other’s and they smiled as they kissed.

“I can’t believe you
did a
ll this,” Tristan said. “I feel so unprepared.”

“I burnt dinner.”

“That’s okay. That’s
how I like my steak.”