Chapter 34
Brendan
Now
After my night with Ky, I’d used every ounce of energy lying, finding myself more concerned about getting caught than about what I’d done.
At work, I’d told Kate I wasn’t to be disturbed then crashed in my office, head on my desk.
All morning I’d dozed, then I’d spent the afternoon nervous and agitated, my heart racing like a skittish horse.
Denying my desire to call Ky had been excruciating.
I’d wanted to hear his voice and check that he was okay.
But, more than that, I had wanted to touch him, to hold him, be comforted by his scent.
Images of our night together had been persistent, blood rushing south time and time again, causing me to ache for something I had no right desiring.
It was pathetic really, to be so consumed by lust when I had cheated on my husband.
Later that night, I’d arrived home late, pretending everything was normal, all the while wondering how I could ever move forward.
But now, five days later, my jaw is finally unclenching and my shoulders finally relaxing. And with that, I can think a little more clearly.
My biggest concern is my lack of guilt. It didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong when I was with Ky. Which is messed up because there’s no two ways about it—it was wrong. But my body and my heart simply don’t agree, no matter how much I try to convince them otherwise.
I wonder if there are two versions of me.
One is married to Chris and he’s stable and rational, with his emotions firmly in control.
But an essential part of him is suppressed and suffocating.
The other version is in love with Ky. He’s red-blooded and passionate, wild and reckless.
He’s led by his feelings, his gut, and ultimately, Kyle.
Truthfully, I don’t like either of these versions of myself.
If I want to feel whole, I need to find a balance between the two.
I can accept that this will never happen with Chris, but I also have my doubts about Ky.
He can be unpredictable, and I cannot control him.
I never could. And that scares the fuck out of me.
Of course, I shouldn’t even be thinking about this stuff.
I’m married. I made my choice many years ago.
I told Ky it was one night only, and we said our goodbyes.
So why am I torturing myself like this? We needed that night together—to be vulnerable and raw in a way we couldn’t be when we were boys.
The sex had been vital to healing, and maybe that’s why I didn’t feel as bad as I should.
Because goddamn it, I needed to heal. I deserved that much, didn’t I?
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I notice it’s ten minutes until closing time. I’m tired and want to head home, but simultaneously, I don’t. Having to keep a part of myself hidden is unsustainable.
My phone vibrates, and I pick it up. It’s Ky. I’ve saved his number as Tiles R Us, a business we buy stock from. More lies.
Kyle: All clear
I’m relieved Ky’s blood test came back negative, yet my heart foolishly sinks at the short, business-like message.
I’m supposed to be watching TV with Chris, but I’m so stuck in my own thoughts I haven’t heard a word.
The previous night had been a complete shit show, and I can’t seem to move past it.
I’d made the decision to be more honest about my needs and asked Chris to top me.
At first, his promise gave me hope, but it soon became clear it was a huge mistake.
Once Chris was inside of me, it reminded me of everything I was missing.
There was no wildfire igniting under my skin, no frantic rhythm in my chest, and no urgency in the way he moved inside me.
He wasn’t chasing salvation in my body like Ky—a man who fucks me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
After we’d finished, I’d retreated to the bathroom, hovering over the toilet, trying not to upend my guts.
Not only was I thinking of Ky while Chris fucked me, but I was wishing it was him.
Finally, the guilt arrived: for not wanting to have sex with Chris anymore, for lying and cheating, for not being with Ky, for being selfish, for screwing everything up.
It took three long weeks, but the guilt is beating the living shit out of me now.
“Dan, do you think the guy did it or the old lady? Sweetheart?”
The annoyance in Chris’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “What?”
“Are you even watching? Who do you think the murderer is? That guy?” Chris points at the screen. “Or the little old lady?”
“Uh, it’s gotta be the old lady, doesn’t it?” I reply, even though I have no clue.
“Dan, do you wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you? It’s like your body is in the room, but your mind is someplace else. You’ve been like this for weeks now.” Chris grabs the remote off the coffee table, turns off the TV, and stares at me.
I take a few seconds to consider what bullshit story I can spin, then dive in. “I’m just sick of work right now. You know, I’m forty and keep wonderin’ if this is what I’ll be doin’ every day until I drop dead.” It’s not a complete lie.
Chris’s face screws up. “You’re not enjoying your business anymore? Well, this came out of nowhere. Is there something else you want to do? Or is there something you could change to make it more enjoyable?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just been thinkin’ about it a lot lately. I don’t wanna rush into any decisions. Maybe I’m havin’ a midlife crisis.” I huff out a laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but it sounds fake as fuck.
“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Chris reaches out and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “You know, it never works out well when you shut yourself off and deny what’s going on.”
“Yeah, true. Actually, I was wonderin’ if we could head up to Sydney and visit Stace for the long weekend. I wouldn’t mind gettin’ away for a few days.”
Chris sighs, letting go of my hand. “Dan, you know I can’t go. My parents are moving house that weekend and they need my help. I already promised. But you go. I know how much you miss your sister.”
“Yeah, you sure?”
“Yeah, of course. Anything to get you out of this mood you’re in.”
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
After driving for an hour, I’m now sitting across the road from James Johnson’s law firm.
A week ago, after ruminating on what Ky told me about James, I’d stalked my way through his social media, gathering information.
Then I’d searched for James’s work address, and now I’m here acting like a jealous boyfriend.
I don’t know what my intentions are, or what I’m looking for, but my gut tells me I need to do this.
The moment I spot James exiting the building with a young man at his side, anger pricks at my skin.
Slipping out of the Ute, I lean against the door and light up a cigarette, watching them talk.
As much as it pisses me off to say, James is a good-looking man, even though he’s in his fifties.
It’s easy to understand why Ky was attracted to him when he was young: he represents what Ky believed he needed to escape his shitty childhood.
The man with James looks like he might be in his mid-twenties.
He’s masculine and tall with honey-blonde hair and, honestly, looks like he stepped off a GQ cover.
It takes me all of ten seconds to notice the body language between them, and the look of awe and admiration in the young man’s eyes.
I’m not even remotely surprised at what I appear to have stumbled upon.
The two of them seem to be having some sort of playful debate; a few minutes later they head off in the same direction.
I cross the road to follow them. James has no idea what I look like since our conversations have all been via phone or email, so I follow close behind. The two men bump their hands together every now and again and I stifle a laugh, wondering who they think they’re fooling.
When they enter a parking garage, I fall back a little. What I hope to achieve by being here is a mystery. Should I approach them? Part of me wants to beat the living shit out of James, but I’m not sure what that will achieve—either for me or for Ky.
Ky coming back into my life has got me acting in ways I haven’t in many years, and that excites me as much as it scares me.
James and his little gold digger stop at an expensive black sports car, so I position myself behind a concrete pillar, far enough away that they won’t notice me.
When the young guy pushes James against the car and snakes a hand around the back of his neck, I quickly fumble in my pocket for my phone.
By the time I get the camera open and focused on them, they have their tongues down each other’s throats.
I snap multiple photos, then zoom in and take a few more.
I manage to capture two close ups of James with his head thrown back while his young lover licks up his neck.
Fucking gross; James is old enough to be this guy’s father.
Having seen enough, I decide it’s time to head back to my car. I’m pissed that James is cheating on Ky, but I’m also glad I might have secured something useful.
It’s not until I’m halfway home that I curse myself for not thinking to film it.
The next day, I slip out of work to get copies of the photos.
When I return to the office, I type a simple message and print it out along with an envelope labelled Kyle.
Sure, I could give the photos to him in person, or simply text the digital images, but that would open things up between us again when I’m trying so damn hard to get my head straight.
I also don’t want Ky knowing I tracked down and tailed his husband, because nothing says, I’m not over you quite like stalking.
On Saturday, I tell Chris that one of my staff is sick, and I need to head into work.
Instead, I drive to the Johnson house and sit patiently up the road.
Thirty minutes later, James comes out with some golf clubs—of course the douche plays golf—and drives off in his silver Mercedes.
Just to be sure, I wait another five minutes, then move my car closer for a quick getaway.
The three-car garage has stupidly been left open, and both Ky’s Porsche and SUV are there, so I know he’s home. There must be security cameras covering the entire property, but hopefully no one’s paying any attention.
Creeping up the front path at a rapid pace, I place the envelope at the front door, ring the bell, and all but run back to my car. As I drive away, my heart beats wildly, wanting nothing more than to go back and set my eyes on Ky, if only for a second.