Chapter Twenty-Two
Seth
It sounds dramatic, but I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to death than I was in the last three days.
I couldn’t hold my eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time, I was asleep more than I was awake, and the only reason I made it through was because of Ripley.
Had it not been for him, I’m not sure I would have eaten in the last seventy-two hours.
Though, I haven’t let myself think too hard about how he actually cooked for me. I’m not sure he’s ever cooked for himself, let alone someone else.
I don’t like needing people, but fuck, I needed him. Maybe I still do. Maybe I liked being taken care of for once. No—scratch that—maybe I liked Ripley taking care of me.
Like always, it all leads back to him. I can’t get away from it, and a part of me is wondering if I even want to anymore or if I’d rather give up and succumb to these feelings for him. At this point, it’s starting to feel inevitable.
“Seth?” Cary’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, the same spiral I’ve lost myself in multiple times since the camping trip.
His tone suggests it’s not the first time he’s said my name.
I should feel a lot worse about it, I’ve already missed three days of work.
And I do feel bad, just not in the way I normally do.
I’m not berating myself or feeling like a failure.
I was sick, it’s normal. And now… well, now I’m distracted, another completely normal occurrence people deal with.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, trying to reorient myself.
We’ve been looking through resumes for an assistant manager.
Thea wants to get someone on board now so she can train them to transition into the manager position once the B&B opens.
As reality filters back in, the drab surroundings of Thea’s tiny office come back into view with the whiff of the lunch rush assaulting my nostrils.
The aroma turns my stomach a tad, I still can’t handle much more than soup, which worked out well since Ripley made approximately seven gallons of it.
My stomach audibly growls, and I clear my throat to cover the sound.
“Did you hear anything I said?” he asks, eyeing me suspiciously like I’ve grown five heads suddenly.
Pressing my forefinger and thumb to the bridge of my nose, I say, “Sorry, I’m still a bit foggy. Can you repeat the question?” I shift in my seat, doing my best to stay focused.
“No worries, man. I wish you’d given yourself another day. Ripley said you were practically on your death bed. Granted, he’s usually exaggerating, so I didn’t believe it at first.”
My thoughts wander off again at the mention of Ripley.
This time my mind strays to thoughts of Cary, but not in the way it used to.
I’m wondering why I ever thought I was in love with him.
It hits me like a freight train, square in the chest. What did I find appealing about him?
Aside from his work ethic. Sure, he’s a good looking man, but the man bun?
It’s not really my thing. Plus, he’s so muscular, it’s a bit of a turn-off.
Being with someone like him would make me entirely too self-conscious.
I prefer Ripley’s softer features and lithe build.
He’s still toned and muscular, but it’s subtle and not in your face the way Cary’s is.
I’ve also realized I’m infatuated with the way Ripley dresses.
He takes normal T-shirts and makes them his own where they mold to his figure.
One day, I want to push him and see if I can get him into some kind of mesh or lace top purely because I think he’d look breathtaking in it.
The realization makes me want to burst out in laughter.
I never felt for Cary the same way I do for Ripley.
I never had moments of wishing I was with him instead of working or running or doing anything other than being with him.
And I certainly never had thoughts about dressing him or pushing his boundaries.
I didn’t have fantasies about cuddling with him on the couch to watch a movie or cooking together in the kitchen or making each other coffee. I never once viewed him in that way, so why did I think I loved him?
Fuck. The thought only makes me feel like an asshole because I treated Thea so poorly, and for what? Apparently nothing.
“Maybe we should pick this up another day,” Cary says, his tone heavy with exasperation.
“What? No. Why?” I ask, attempting to feign innocence despite knowing I’ve zoned out on him again.
“It’s clear your head isn’t here, man.”
He’s right. My head is swirling with thoughts of the man who took care of me while I was too sick to take care of myself, the same man who’s around here somewhere.
I should tell him. It’s the next step, right?
Coming out or whatever? I need to finally tell the people in my life.
I need to stop hiding this huge part of myself.
It was easier before, before Ripley, before coming to Indigo Hill, before I had to face it head on.
But can I truly go back to pretending I’m a straight man who loves work so much I have no interest in finding a romantic partner?
Furthermore, do I deserve to live that way? Do I want to?
Maybe Ripley is right, maybe I am good enough just the way I am. And if I’m not… well, maybe that’s not my problem.
Cary is leaning back in his chair scrolling on his phone now, clearly over trying to continue this meeting, knowing he could be doing more with his time.
“I, uhh—” He doesn’t even look up from the device in his hand, he probably thinks I’m about to give him another excuse for my work ethic today, the one thing I pride myself on.
Swallowing my nerves, channeling my inner-Ripley for courage, and determined to stop hiding from the people in my life, I blurt out, “I’m gay. ”
Cary’s eyes shoot up from his phone, whatever he was looking at completely forgotten. Aside from slightly raised eyebrows, his face is impassive.
My cheeks heat from the attention as I count the seconds ticking by. The silence is eating up the space between us, threatening to suffocate me as I chant, “Just say something,” over and over in my head.
My worst fear is him getting up and leaving. Thankfully, for our friendship and my sanity, he doesn’t do anything close to that. No, instead, he shuts his laptop, puts his phone down, his eyes never leaving me, and says, “Okay. You have my attention.”
I watch his face intently, waiting for him to crack, to see the disgust I was afraid I’d find.
It never comes.
“Did you just figure this out about yourself?” he asks instead.
Oh, good, we’re going to play twenty questions.
Great. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s his way of showing support.
Cary has never been anything short of the best friend a man could ask for.
I think deep down, I knew he’d accept me, but the possibility, small as it was, that he wouldn’t was too big for me to look past. Before at least, now it seems like hiding it was the harder burden to carry.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “No.” He doesn’t need to know the ugly truth of it all, though, I’m sure he’s putting it together. I’m sure the pieces of our past are slotting into their respective places, creating the picture I tried to hide from him for years.
“Okay,” he replies, a softness to his voice. The tone he uses with Thea or anytime my family comes up in conversation. “Are you seeing someone?”
The question shouldn’t surprise me, but I can’t admit to everything just yet.
I need to talk to Ripley, I’d never want to put him in a position he isn’t comfortable with.
And quite frankly, explaining how we met or that I held out on Ripley for years because I was pining for Cary isn’t something I want to dive into today. Or maybe ever.
“It’s… it’s complicated.”
“Does your family know?” His hands are in his lap now, and I can’t see him fidgeting, but I wonder if he is.
This question is more loaded than it seems from the surface.
He’s my family. Iris is my family. My sisters are my family, sure, but not in the same way.
The idea I’d tell them before telling him is laughable, honestly.
I need to tell my mom though, she deserves to know.
“They do not,” I say calmly, not feeling the need to elaborate.
He nods his head, then takes a second before continuing his inquisition, “I figured… considering, but I didn’t want to assume. Do you… plan on telling them?” Each question he asks is framed so cautiously.
I’m not sure what my face is doing, but he’s looking at me as if I’m a wild animal that will bolt the second things get too real.
And sure, maybe he’s not wrong, but it’s interesting.
I never envisioned how this would go aside from the initial reaction because I never planned on saying it out loud.
I was perfectly content to live my life in secret.
Until Ripley.
Not East. Ripley. The distinction in my head is so prominent now.
I went years knowing him as East, adoring him as East even.
But I never once considered admitting my own truth for East. It’s why I walked away in November.
He was a fling, a person I enjoyed being around, enjoyed fucking, but ultimately, someone I could live without. The same can’t be said about Ripley.
“Also complicated.” Telling my family means dealing with the fallout. I can only handle one potential world-ending confrontation at a time.
“Okay…” He treads lightly, and I can tell I won’t like his next question. “Are you telling me because your complicated relationship is more important than you realized?”
Fuck. I’m suddenly uncomfortable in a way that seems unbearable. The room is closing in around me, I’m feeling a bit flushed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my fever resurfaced.
Unable to give more than a one word answer and knowing he may put it together with this one word, I suck it up and whisper, “Yes.”
The word feels like a confession. Everything about my world could change with that one word.
Three letters, one syllable, a word so simple, yet earth-shattering.
My hands are shaking, my heart is pounding in my chest as everything changes on such a cellular level, it’s not even visible.
But I feel it. I feel it in every breath I take.
“Anything I can help with?” Cary asks, once again, pulling me from the spiral of my thoughts.
I keep it diplomatic, trying my best not to show how fucking terrified I am right now.
“Not at this time.” I swallow the lump in my throat, the same one threatening to cut off my air supply if I give it too much power, if I feed into the fear trying to take over.
“But thank you,” I tell him as I look up to meet his eyes.
I’ve always been grateful for our friendship but not in the way I am today. He has no idea how his reaction to this has kept me at bay, no idea how much it means to me.
“Ready for a drink?” he asks, a slight smirk to his lips.
A small laugh falls from mine. “Fuck. Please.” The words are shaky as I push up out of the chair, a full body tremor running down my spine.
Cary comes around from the other side of the desk and stops in front of me for a split second before pulling me into a hug.
He claps my back, wrapping an arm around my neck as he pulls me tighter.
I’m once again shocked I feel nothing past gratitude for the man embracing me.
For so many years, I had myself convinced this was more.
Later I’ll unpack that, but for now, I squeeze him back, letting him know how much I appreciate the last five minutes.
He lets go but pulls back only enough to smile at me, it’s laced with something I can’t pinpoint, but it feels mischievous. Maybe it’s because he knows why this is so complicated. And maybe, if that’s the case, it wouldn’t be so bad if he did.
We walk out to the bar on the restaurant side of RED, and I take my first full breath since our conversation started. I finally feel like it could all be alright.