Chapter 11
A single truthcan change your entire life. A single action can make you see the world in a different light.
For years, I fantasized about what it’d be like to be with Levi. I created this perfect image of us in my mind. My heart fluttered at the mere idea of holding his hand, of lacing our fingers together and walking around town as a couple. A light sheen of sweat spread across my skin as I pictured his lips on mine countless times. And my cock ached at the slim possibility of having him in my bed, naked, moaning my name and begging for more.
In my endless stream of wishful thoughts and amorous dreams, I never had a clear sense of the future. Nor a true grasp of the potential reality. My lustful delusions of me and Levi always had this hazy aura. An ugly reminder that we would never be anything more than best friends.
Now, those fantastical thoughts have more definition. A hint of clarity. A touch of substantiality.
But not fully.
Levi West may be mine in all the ways that matter, but he isn’t mine completely. And that stings more than not having him at all.
Is it inconsiderate and foolish of me to want us to go from friends to lovers in a blink? Without a doubt, but does that change the fact that I do? No. Although Levi has told me point blank he wants me, wants more, it isn’t that simple. Not when his family sets ridiculous, unattainable goals and expectations for his life. Not when they force him into relationships he does not want. Not when we have to tiptoe around others and hide the real us.
“You okay, Ollie?”
I startle as Kirsten sidles up to me and stares at my hands. The same hands that have been putting a filter and grounds in the coffee maker basket for who knows how long.
Unsure how many scoops I’ve added to the filter, I dump the grounds back in the container and start over.
“Yeah. Just have a lot on my mind.”
I pop the basket into the coffee maker and press the brew button.
Kirsten leans into my side. “Want to talk about it?”
Can I talk about it? I want to. God, do I want to. But I don’t want to break Levi’s confidence.
In the past three weeks, so much in my life has changed. I’ve never been this happy. I’ve also never been this reserved. It feels as though I am constantly teetering on a tightrope, trying to maintain my balance. Swayed by my heart and head, I revel in my new relationship with Levi while I simultaneously question if I can keep what we have a secret.
Levi hasn’t asked me to stay tight-lipped about us, but I assume he wants as much since everything we do is behind closed doors or in isolated places. Not to mention, he and Abigail Calhoun are still fake dating.
“Not here.” I scan the restaurant for prying eyes. “Maybe later.”
Kirsten rubs a hand up and down my bicep as her expression softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks, K.” Needing to get out of my head, I flip the attention on Kirsten. “How’s our favorite hot officer?” I waggle my brows. “He looks fucking yummy in his snug, short-sleeve uniform shirt.” A dreamy sigh leaves my lips as I fill ice waters for new customers. “Bless the summer months.”
“Ollie,” she chastises as she bumps me with her hip, then chuckles. “Travis is more than man candy.”
I load the glasses on a tray. “Is he, though?”
Her lips curve up in a dopey smile. “Yes.” The way she says it is as if she’s trying to convince herself. “But I have to admit… my man is more than easy on the eyes.”
“Mm-hmm.” I pick up the tray and start for the newly filled tables in my section. “Like I said, yummy.”
“Oh, I forgot to mention.”
I pause and turn to look at her. Her dreamy smile from a moment ago turns mischievous. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Trudie put Old Lady Hensen in your section.” She juts her chin toward a table near the window. A table obscured by a group of brawny workers. “Have fun.”
On a groan, I exit the server alley and move from one table to the next, delivering water glasses. I let them know I’ll be back in a moment to take their orders. And then I head for the table near the window, to Old Lady Hensen and her grabby hands.
Across the table and out of reach, I set a glass of water in front of her. “Morning, Ms. Hensen. Do you need another minute to decide?”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she squints at the menu through her glasses. “Must be time to get my eyes checked again.” She points to something on the laminated page. “What does this say?”
I move around the table and stand next to her. Bend slightly and read the menu where her finger sits. “Spinach Florentine quiche.” Quiche comes out more like key-eee-uh-sh as I inch back from her.
Because, as per usual, Old Lady Hensen takes advantage of my hospitality and grabs my ass.
Although the action is meaningless and a way to get her jollies in her old age, it’s still unwelcome and awkward. Most of us brush it under the rug. Joke about how she’s just some dirty old lady. But after three years of ass grabs, I’m over it.
“Ah, yes.” She tips her head back slightly and peers at the menu through the bottom of her lenses. “I see it now. Must’ve been a smudge on my glasses.” Her eyes meet mine, a purposeful smile wrinkling her weathered skin. “I’ll have the quiche and a hot tea. Thank you, Oliver.”
I scribble down her order. “I’ll get that in for you.”
Bolting from her table, I tend to my other customers. When her order is ready, I let someone else run it to her table. I check on her a couple times, staying out of arm’s reach, but otherwise avoid her table.
As the morning rush thins and I have more downtime than work, thoughts of Levi trickle back in. Rather than think about our relationship, I focus on other things in his world, like work.
He hasn’t mentioned much recently about the huge case he and Tymber are working on. Whenever I bring it up, he skirts around the details. For obvious reasons, his work is confidential. He isn’t allowed to share specific pieces of information. I would never ask that of him or put him in a compromising position.
But it’s difficult to miss the additional strain in his posture since taking on the case. Every now and then, this dazed, haunted look takes over his expression. Accented by the bruisy crescents beneath his eyes, some days he appears lifeless.
Worst of all, he keeps it bottled up. He keeps too much bottled up.
Between the stress of work, the pressure from his parents, maintaining the facade with Abigail, and spending time with me, the burden of carrying so much weight is slowly chipping away at him. He won’t be able to burn the candle at both ends for much longer.
Loading a tray with the sweetener packet holders from the empty tables, I take it to the server alley and refill them. Halfway through the task, Kirsten rests her chin on my shoulder from behind.
“How about a movie night?” She straightens and moves to my side. “Since you have an out-of-town show tomorrow, we should all hang tonight.”
A night with friends, junk food, and laughter is exactly what I need. Something to distract me from my incessant thoughts.
“Sounds great. What should I bring?”
Kirsten pulls her phone from her pocket, taps the screen, and shakes her head. “Just you.” Her gaze lifts to mine, a soft smile on her lips.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out to read her message.
K
Movie night tonight. My place. Dinner on me.
I tap the heart reaction and type out my own response as others pop up in the group chat.
Sky
I’m on snack duty. What time?
Dee Dee
I’ve got drinks. Just us 4??
Someone’s a bit demanding. Side effects of my favorite hot officer ??
Kirsten play-slaps my arm. “You’re ridiculous, Ollie.” Her fingers fly across the screen again.
K
6-6:30 and us 4 only
The backs of my eyes sting as I stare down at the screen. Kirsten didn’t indicate why tonight is the core group only. But since the three of them are in romantic relationships now, we usually only have these types of get-togethers when one of us needs extra support or advice.
And this round, it’s me in the hot seat.
Halfway into my third slice of pizza, Kirsten changes the entire tone of the evening with a single word.
“Alright, Ollie. Spill.”
Since our teens, the four of us have been close.
With our unique differences, we were labeled as too eccentric, goofy or reticent by our peers. We weren’t outcasts in school per se. Just comfortable in our individualism. And because of that, we easily gravitated toward each other. Not all at once, but in separate friendships that came together in time. And since my, Kirsten’s, and Skylar’s freshman year and Delilah’s junior year, we’ve been this close-knit quartet.
There is beauty in knowing someone for years. A comfort. A feeling of kinship. But with it comes them knowing when you are out of sorts. In most situations, it’s nice to have friends you can gush about life with. But when you’re hurting, when you harbor secrets that aren’t yours to tell, it makes sharing more of a challenge.
“Not sure I can.”
Kirsten narrows her eyes, Skylar tilts her head, and Delilah gives a knowing, sympathetic smile.
Hand over her mouth while she chews, Skylar mumbles, “So confused. What does that even mean?”
It means exactly what I said, I want to say but keep to myself.
Levi hasn’t told me not to tell anyone about us. But he hasn’t said it’s okay to do so either. Add in the facts that the town believes he’s dating Abigail and everything we do is in dark, secluded places, I’m assuming there are to be no shared details of our relationship.
Will Levi fault me for seeking advice from my friends? I don’t think so. He knows they’d keep quiet if I asked them to.
I toss my slice of pizza down and wipe my hands with a napkin. “It means I hate secrets. It means I haven’t been told to keep one, but it’s insinuated by the situation.” Sinking into the couch, I tip my head back and stare at the vaulted ceiling. “It means I want to tell you, but would possibly break someone’s trust in the process.”
A hand rests on my knee a moment before delivering a gentle squeeze. “Whether you share or not, we’re here, Ollie,” Delilah says with a gentle, compassionate tone.
If anyone gets where my head is at, it’s Delilah. Her love story and mine aren’t too far apart. Unrequited love is a bitch, especially when you’re gay or lesbian and you’re unsure the person you like will reciprocate your feelings.
“Thanks, Dee Dee.” I rest my hand on hers and return her reassuring grip. “Right now, all I need is my friends.”
Food set aside, they climb onto the couch and swarm me. Wrap me in awkward hugs and tickle my sides. Press sloppy kisses on my cheeks and ruffle my hair.
The movie plays as we huddle on the couch and comfort each other. I may not have opened up to them, I may not have told them the one thing I’ve dreamed about for years has finally happened, but it doesn’t matter. All they know is I need them, and they’ve come to the rescue. They saw me hurting and surrounded me with warmth and love without hesitation.
Although it eases the ache, it doesn’t wipe it away fully. For now, that’s okay.
June 14th
I had a dream last night that felt more like a memory. But when I try to conjure up the memory, I can’t quite see it.
About a week after the Memorial Day Festival, L texted to meet up with him and A at Dalton’s. A’s boyfriend was also going to be there, and they were grabbing beers and burgers. My insides twisted when I read the text. Something felt off as I read the invitation. But I ignored it and went anyway.
The entire night, it felt as if I was an interloper. An outsider as my boyfriend, if he is my boyfriend, was on a fake date with his fake fucking girlfriend. I zoned out frequently. Desmond appeared to do the same.
It was fucking weird, but I didn’t say anything. I wanted to spend time with him.
And then, last night I had a dream, or flashback, of that night. Like I was seeing things I missed in person. It might be all in my head. My mind might be jumbling up what actually happened with my irrational, borderline-jealous thoughts. But in the dream, I caught A staring at L longer than usual. I saw the way she looked at him. Like she wanted him to be more than her friend. Like she didn’t want their relationship to be fake anymore.
I haven’t told L about it. I don’t want him to disregard it as foolish or impossible. I don’t want to be placated.
But fuck, it’s eating away at me. I know he doesn’t want her as anything other than a friend. I remind myself of this every time my thoughts spin out of control. But it’s still hard as hell.
I feel like the third wheel.
I should tell him. He’d want me to share my insecurities with him. He’d want me to be open and honest. But right now, I just can’t. Maybe when his workload tapers off and he’s not so stressed. The last thing I want to do is be an additional burden.