L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (29 page)

My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard. A few hours ago, I could have told him without a second’s hesitation that this had nothing to do with Stephanie. But that was before I talked to Rick.

“Dustin?” He was barely whispering.
“This has nothing to do with my ex.”
“Look me in the eye and say it.”

I met his eyes, and the words stuck in my throat. The longer I struggled to say it, the more pained his expression became. “Brandon,” I said finally, silently cursing the unsteadiness in my voice, “this has nothing to do with my ex-wife.”

His jaw tightened and he watched my eyes for a moment. Then he looked away and picked up his beer, taking a long drink and rolling it around in his mouth for a moment. When he swallowed, it looked like that simple task took every bit of effort he had, as if he were trying to physically swallow what I’d said.

Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the counter. “So your brother thinks this is all a phase?”

“He doesn’t know what it is,” I said. “He just thought it was odd to figure out I was gay this late in life.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.” He shrugged. “I don’t suppose anything came into the conversation besides the fact that I’m a man, did it?” The sudden hostility in his voice startled me.

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “If he’s so concerned that this is just a way to get over your ex, did it even come up that you and I have more in common than your ex and I
don’t
?”

“He didn’t ask about any of it, no.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you volunteer it?”

“No,” I said. “Look, I was just trying to get him to wrap his head around—”

 

“Then maybe start with getting him to wrap his head around who I am,” he snapped. “Instead of what I am.”

 

I let out a long breath. “Brandon—”

“Do you compare me to your ex in your head?” He pushed himself away from the counter with his hip, but his arms were still folded across his chest. “When you realized we were good together in bed, was it because I was different in bed than Stephanie?”

“No, of course not.”

 

“Did you compare my sense of humor to your own?” he asked through his teeth. “Or did you compare it to hers?”

 

“I get it,” I said.

“Then why does this all keep coming back to the fact that we’re both men?” His tone shifted from taut with anger to unsteady with emotion. “Dustin, I know you have a lot to come to terms with, and I know it’s nothing simple to deal with, but….” He trailed off. I thought he was trying to decide what to say, but by the tightness in his lips, he was trying to compose himself. After a moment, he took a breath. “You’ve got to look at the small picture as well as the big one.”

“You’re right,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, I am. I just—my head’s been going ninety miles an hour since this whole thing blew up.”

He nodded. “I understand.” He paused. “Listen, it’s late. Why don’t we sleep on it and talk more about it in the morning?”
“Okay,” I said, looking at the floor.

He touched my hip gently. “I know this isn’t easy.” His voice was soft. “And it won’t be for a while. But things will settle down.”

“I hope so.” I met his eyes, trying to find some reassurance in his expression and finding none.
It seemed to take a monstrous effort for him just to add, “You’ll make it. It’s hell, but it won’t last forever.” He kissed me lightly. Halfheartedly. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

Very little was said as we got ready and into bed. Although we held each other as we always did, neither of us tried to initiate anything.
Lying in the darkness, we were both awake, but silent. I stared at the ceiling. His head rested on my shoulder, his eyelashes brushing my skin each time he blinked. Our fingers were loosely laced together on my chest, more out of habit—obligation, even—than affection.

I wondered what he was thinking about, but was afraid to ask. Had he suggested giving me some space because he was the one that wanted some distance? Was he having second thoughts?

My mind went back to my conversation with Rick and all the doubts that had surfaced.

Am I gay? Is this just a fluke? Is this all because of Stephanie? Am I just setting myself—and Brandon—up for more hurt down the line?

Even after what Brandon had said, that I needed to think of him as Brandon, not as “a man I happen to be seeing,” I couldn’t shake the worries and doubts. Hours must have gone by as I agonized over it all, but eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted off to sleep.

E
ARLY
the next morning, I was somewhere between asleep and awake when I realized Brandon wasn’t lying against me. We often separated during the night, only to find each other and come back together before we woke up. Still mostly asleep, I moved towards the middle of the bed to find him.

The sudden chill that ran up my spine wasn’t from the coolness of his empty side of the bed but from the crinkle of paper and familiar rattle of my dog tags in my hand.

I was instantly awake. Sitting up, blinking rapidly as my eyes tried to focus, I grabbed the piece of paper. The muffled sound of my dog tags echoed in the silence as they slipped out of my hand and onto the bed.

I’d often heard people describe the feeling of having their world suddenly come crashing down around them, that simultaneous heartracing panic and gut-twisting resignation of realizing the worst case scenario is not only happening, it’s already happened, and there isn’t a damned thing they can do about it. As the paper crumpled in my hand, the crunching sound echoing in the hollow silence of my bedroom, I suddenly knew exactly what they meant.

Even though they were tucked inside the ball of paper in my tightening fist, the words—scrawled in Brandon’s familiar handwriting—were seared into my mind:

It was more than “nothing” to me.

 

I
STARED
at my cell phone for an eternity, hemming and hawing about calling him. The finality of his departure became more certain with each passing minute, but I couldn’t accept that he was really gone. Brandon wouldn’t leave like that. Would he?

Finally, I called him, swallowing hard as it rang on the other end.

His voice very nearly destroyed my composure. “Hey.” He didn’t seem surprised to hear from me. He didn’t seem happy about it either.
“Hey.” My heart pounded in my ears. “Can we talk?”
“About?”
“The weather.” Pause. “Sorry, I’m—” I cursed under my breath. “Look, I just want to talk. Face to face.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Okay. We can talk. When and where?”
“Anytime, any place.”
He exhaled. “I’ll be at the club tonight.”
Out in public, then. Not in the privacy—or intimacy—of home. No home turf advantage.
Wondering if that was a good or bad sign, I said, “I’ll meet you there.”
After we hung up, I stared at my phone again. We’d reconnected, at least re-established some communication. All wasn’t lost.
So why was I even more nervous than before?
W
HEN
I pulled into the club, he was waiting by his car. He watched me park but didn’t look at me as I moved across the lot to him.
We stood in silence for a moment. Finally, I swallowed hard and said, “What happened?”
“I thought you could use some space.”
“So you just disappeared?”
The pain in his eyes belied the coldness in his voice when he said, “I tried to talk to you. You wanted me to stay.”
“So you didn’t talk to me because you thought I’d talk you out of leaving?”
“I
did
talk to you, and you
did
try to keep me,” he said. “But I’m not convinced that I should stay, only that you think I should.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, willing myself not to look away from him. “Brandon, why are you being so damned cryptic? Christ, just fucking
talk
to me.”
Through his teeth, his tone taut with hostility, he said, “Why? Do you really want to hear what I have to say? Wouldn’t you rather I keep it to myself so you can stay in denial?”
“I want to know why you left.”
“I think it was pretty clear.”
“Yes, you’re right, it was, but I want to hear you say it to my face.”
“What? You think I owe you some sort of explanation?”
“You don’t owe me a damned thing, but I’m asking you to tell me.”
“Fine. Fine. You want to know why I left?”
“Yes. Please.”
The hostility suddenly dropped out of his tone, replaced by the pain reflecting in his eyes. “Okay. I left because I can’t be with someone who can so easily pretend that whatever we have is nothing.”
My heart dropped into my feet. “You know damn well that I don’t—”
“I know that you say you don’t think that. But every fucking time anyone asks, you blow it off without even blinking. Dustin, they all know about us now.” His voice shook with renewed anger.
“And you think this—”
“I think it’s fucking telling when you don’t hesitate to tell them it’s nothing.” Again, the anger diminished, his voice cracking slightly as he said, “But when I ask you if it’s something, you clam up.” His tone and demeanor alternated between furious and deeply hurt, and I could blame him for neither.
I avoided his eyes, chewing my lower lip.
His shoe ground against the pavement as he leaned against his car. “Your family, your friends, they all know. What’s the point of hiding it anymore?”
I blinked. “I, fuck, I don’t know, I’m just—” I ran a hand through my hair. “What do you want me to say, Brandon?”
“I want you to tell me why you’re still hiding me even after the cat’s out of the bag. They know. Just admit it to them all and let
them
get over it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
He folded his arms across his chest, the familiar creak of his leather jacket making me shiver as it brought to mind better times in this very place. “Evidently it is that simple, if you can tell them it’s nothing.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I—” I looked at the floor, chewing my lip. “Brandon, this is a lot for me to figure out, I—”
“What more is there to figure out? Would you be this hesitant about telling them you were seeing a woman they didn’t approve of?”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Are you ashamed of me?”
My head snapped up and I met his eyes. “Jesus, no.”
“Then why won’t you confirm what they already know?” He shifted his weight, his lips pulled into a scowl. “I could understand if it was still a secret, but it’s not. If you’re not ashamed of me, if this
is
something, then why keep denying it?”
It didn’t even matter that my mouth refused to form a single word, because I didn’t have an answer for him.
“Dustin, if this is just a fling for you—”
“We’ve been through this,” I said. “It’s not. You know it’s not.”
“No, I know you’ve said it’s not,” he said. “You’ve told me it’s more than just a fling, and you’ve told them that it’s nothing. I’m trying to figure out if you’re lying to them or stringing me along.”
“I’m not stringing you along, Brandon.”
“Yet you’re still keeping me like some sort of dirty secret.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? Actions speak louder than words, Dustin. You can tell me all day long that this means something to you, then turn around and let everyone else think it’s nothing.”
“Look, maybe I just haven’t gotten to the point where I can tell the world to take me as I am or suck my left nut,” I snapped. “I’m not the unshakeable Brandon Stewart, okay?”
“No, but if this relationship is something to you, then I’d at least expect you to have enough of a spine to admit that it exists.”
“They all know it exists, but I’m—” I paused. “It’s—”
“It’s what?”
I took a breath. “I’m not sure what any of this is. All I know is that everyone in my life has been all over me for days over this, and—”
“
Everyone
in your life?” The bitterness in his tone turned my blood to ice.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m seeing a trend here.” Before I could reply, he gestured sharply at my phone on my belt. “Just once, Dustin, I want to hear you admit to it. To someone. Anyone. Someone other than me so I have a reason to believe that I’m not the one being strung along.”
“What do you want me to do? Just pull out the phone, call someone, and tell them, ‘By the way, this really is a serious relationship’?”
“Doesn’t seem like too much to ask at this point.”
“You make it sound so fucking easy to just—”
“And you make it sound so fucking easy to just pretend that I don’t exist, even though they already know I fucking do. I’m not saying it’s easy to come out to your family, but it hurts hearing how easy it is for you to blow this off—blow
me
off—without even flinching.”
“It’s not easy to pretend it’s nothing.”
“Then why do it?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Because the other option isn’t any easier.”
“No one said any of this would be easy, Dustin,” he said, his voice softening. “But you have to decide whether this—” he gestured at himself, then me—“is worth facing
them
.” He nodded towards my phone. “Pretending nothing is going on isn’t facing them. Look, I’ve been someone’s dirty little secret before. I can’t—
won’t
—do that with you.”
Wetting my lips, I said, “That’s not what I want.”
“The choice is yours.”
I paused, avoiding his eyes for a moment. “So that’s why you left? Instead of just bringing this up, talking to me about it, you just walked out?”
He shrugged. “I tried to talk to you about it. I was hoping this would get your attention.”
“Now you have my attention.”
He swallowed hard, avoiding my eyes. “And now I’m not so sure I want it.”
I couldn’t tell if he sounded more hurt or angry, but it hit hard. “What do you mean?”
“Dustin, whatever it is we’re doing, I’ve put a lot into it. I’ve held your hand—literally and figuratively—while you figured out what you felt, what you wanted. It took walking out to wake you up to the fact that I’m a part of this too, and now that I’ve got your attention, I’m wondering if I’m the one who needs some space.”
My breath lodged in my throat. “Brandon, I don’t want you to leave—”
“Then give me a reason to stay.”
I’m not sure if it was because of the ultimatum in his tone or the way his voice cracked, but my blood turned cold, and I forgot how to speak at all.
“That’s what I thought.” He reached for the car door handle.
“Brandon, wait,” I said.
He stopped, looking at me but not releasing the handle.
I swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to go. I just—” My heart pounded as I tried to find the words. “I just need some time to figure all of this out.”
“Take all the time you want,” he snarled as he opened the car door.
Anger surged through me. “Brandon, Jesus, you’ve been through this yourself—”
“You’re right, I have,” he said, putting one foot in the car and resting his elbow on top of the door as he spoke. “I’ve been through it, and it was hell. It’s
still
hell. But when I came out to my family, do you know what’s the one thing I didn’t do?”
I swallowed. “What?”
“I never
once
pretended that my boyfriend didn’t exist. He was part of my life, and if they couldn’t get over it, then fuck ’em.”
“And you also made the choice of when and how your family found out. If you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t have that luxury. So you couldn’t wait—”
“I think I waited long enough,” he growled. “I gave you plenty of time to figure out how you felt. I was even willing to hold onto that one little glimmer of hope that you gave me that this was something more.”
“Brandon, it’s—”
“Obviously I was in as much denial as you were.” His voice shaking with rage. “I convinced myself that you really were attracted to me, even after you said yourself that it could very well have been just because I wasn’t like your ex-wife. And you’re right, Dustin. I’m not like your ex-wife. I would never have cheated on you, or controlled you, or hurt you the way she did.” His lips tight, he turned away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he looked at me again, his voice threatened to crack as he spoke through gritted teeth, “But I’m also not your fucking doormat.”
The pain in his eyes sucked the breath right out of me.
He moved a bit further into the car but stopped and turned to me again. His mouth was twisted with fury, but it was the tears in his eyes that dropped my heart into my feet. “I have enough members of my own family that pretend I don’t exist. If I want to be reminded of how inconsequential I am, I’ll call them. I don’t need you for that.”
Before I could will myself to speak, the car door slammed. The engine kicked on, and a moment later, he backed out of the space and drove away without giving me a second look.
I slumped against the other car, running my hand through my hair. For all of my worrying about whether I was gay, whether I did or could love Brandon, it was suddenly crystal clear that I was all too capable of one thing: hurting him.