Chapter 2
Soren
Present Day
“I think we should break up.”
Fuck. I knew this was coming the moment Tony asked me to meet him at his place.
“Oh,” is all I say.
It’s only been four months since we started dating. We met in a gay bar in the West Village, hooked up, and liked each other so much we decided to keep seeing one another outside the bedroom.
It hasn’t been that long, I remind myself, but there’s no stopping the lump that rises in my throat.
How can this be happening again? Why do none of my relationships ever last longer than a few months?
“Did I do something wrong?” I wait for his answer, heart throbbing. Was I too clingy? Did I rush into things?
“No!” he hurries to assure me. “It’s just… you’re the first guy I ever dated, and I’m not ready to tie myself down yet. I was closeted for so long and now that I’m out, I want to have fun, you know?”
How can I blame him for that? This isn’t on me. “Yeah. Of course. I get it.”
It doesn’t stop my eyes from stinging.
“I’m sorry. You’re a really great guy. Sweet. Sexy. You’ll find someone.”
I nod and mumble my way through our goodbyes, then make my way to the subway.
My body is on autopilot as I board the train.
A fog of heartache obscures the world around me, but somehow I manage to get home.
All I want is to curl up in bed and lick my wounds, get it all out of my system before I have to go to work tonight.
“From your expression, I take it things didn’t go well?” My grandfather Fergus waits for me at the kitchen table. There are two mugs of hot chocolate, one by his spot and another by mine. We have a tradition. Whenever I’m having a bad day, he makes us hot chocolate.
There’s nothing chocolate can’t fix, he always says.
I huff a bitter laugh. Where do I even start?
“Sit down. Tell me everything.”
Wordlessly, I join him at the table. I sip my drink, the warmth and sweetness a soothing distraction.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to Fergus; I just don’t know what to say.
I never hide anything from him. As cheesy as it is, my granddad is my best friend.
He raised me after my mom decided she couldn’t cope with being a parent at eighteen, took off, and never returned.
I never met my father. I’ve got his dark hair and brown eyes, but that’s about it.
By the time I hit the bottom of my mug, I’ve found my voice.
“Tony and I broke up. I swear, there’s something wrong with me.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
I pull at a loose thread in the tablecloth. “I don’t think it. I know it. If I weren’t so messed up, people wouldn’t keep leaving.”
A frown tugs at Fergus’s mouth. “Did he blame you for the breakup?”
“No, but—”
“Then it wasn’t your fault,” he says, as if it’s as simple as that. “I’m sorry, my boy. I know you cared for him.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t, not really.” Guilt churns in my stomach.
“I’m not sad that I’ll never see him again.
I’m just disappointed he broke up with me.
” Tony was a nice guy. I had fun with him.
But every time we kissed, touched, made love—there was this sense of wrongness deep in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t get it!” I scrub my hand down my face, digging my nails into my cheek. “When he texted me this morning, I knew he was going to break up with me. And I was relieved. What the hell’s wrong with me?”
My grandfather is quiet for a moment, probably wondering why his grandson is so fucked up.
He sets down his empty mug and gives me a searching look.
His wise stare always reminds me of an owl, like he sees right through me down to my deepest secrets.
“Your heart is telling you that Tony isn’t the one you’re meant to be with, Soren.
You listened to it and let the relationship end.
That’s a good thing. You’re young. There’s no need to rush into things. ”
“I just don’t get it. None of my relationships have lasted longer than a few months.
It doesn’t matter how much I like them. It never feels right.
” Sighing, I slump in my chair. My eyes sting as I wonder if my life will always be like this.
How many more times will I sit down with my granddad and spill my heartbreak to him?
“I’m done,” I croak. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Putting myself out there only to get shit in return! I’m done with dating, done with relationships. All of it.”
Before my granddad can reply, a look of pain crosses his face. He coughs so hard, he doubles over. “Gramps?” I run to his side and rub his back, my heart thudding as his coughing fit worsens. Before I can freak out, Fergus takes a few deep breaths. “Are you okay?”
He waves a hand and coughs some more, but it’s nowhere near as severe. “I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“You really should see a doctor about that cough.” It used to not happen very often, and he usually blamed it on allergies or dust. Lately, though, it’s been happening a lot more frequently. Is he sick? What if it’s cancer or something else?
Fergus smiles. “I’m fine—”
“Please, Gramps.” My heart drops into my stomach. I can’t lose him. He’s the only family I have left.
He sighs, then pats my hand. “I will, I promise.”
“Thanks, Gramps.” I squeeze his wrist and wonder if it was always so small and bony or if he’s ill.
With worry churning in my stomach, I leave him at the table and head into my bedroom.
I collapse onto my bed, and the mattress eases the tension from my body.
I take my phone out of my back pocket, find Tony’s number, and block him.
No more of this shit.
I’m done being heartbroken.
The Closet is always packed on the weekends. Horny guys grind on each other beneath the swirling lights. Scantily clad men move their bodies to the throbbing beat. The air is thicker than a rainforest with body heat and sweat.
I smile and chat with Tom and Franklin, two of my regulars who come in every week. Hopefully, they can’t tell I’m dying inside as they cuddle up and whisper together. They have been together for almost three years. What’s their secret?
Raising my voice so they can hear me over the music, I ask, “How do you guys do it?”
Tom smirks. “Bit of a personal question.”
Franklin throws back his head and laughs. “Fetch us another round and we’ll consider it.”
Heat warms my cheeks as I let out a laugh. “Ha ha. I meant how have you stayed together this long?”
Tom gives Franklin a squeeze. “We respect each other.”
Snorting, Franklin adds, “Oh, we do? I didn’t feel so respected when I asked you to fold the laundry this morning.” To me, he says, “Do you know what this brat did? He folded the laundry all nice and pretty—and left it inside the dryer.”
Tom interjects, “That’s what you said! Fold the laundry in the dryer.”
The dry look Franklin gives me makes me laugh.
Tom smirks. “The punishment was totally worth it.”
Franklin clears his throat. “We want the same things. I think that helps.”
My exes and I had similar ideas for the future. A marriage, kids, a life together, but that was never enough. There was always something off. Either they ended things, or I did because that gut feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong became too loud to ignore anymore.
Tom adds, “You gotta have four things. Respect. Trust. Communication. Devotion. Those, to me, are key to a happy relationship.”
“And it sure helps if he’s hot and uh-mazing in bed,” Franklin says, bumping his hip against Tom’s.
Tom never takes his arm from Franklin’s wide shoulders, and their bodies press so close Franklin is practically in his lap.
They look so comfortable together. I’m not into the kink scene like they are, but I’d give anything to have the kind of love they have.
No, we’re not looking for love anymore, remember?
I have to look away from them as bitter jealousy tears through my heart. When my shift finally ends, my stomach is cramping with hunger. I stop at a deli and with a hot foil-wrapped sandwich in my hand, I begin the walk home.
The walk up Ninth Avenue toward West Twentieth is a vibrant one as always. Locals and tourists spill out onto the streets, leaving bars with friends or holding hands with lovers. Loneliness leaves an ache in my throat, but it’s a feeling I’m going to have to get used to.
I pull out my keys and approach my front door, exhausted down to my bones. Footsteps approach from behind me, and tension makes my shoulders stiffen.
“H-hello?”
It’s a man’s voice. Heavily accented, deep, and quivering with emotion.
I swear I’ve heard it somewhere before…
I turn and my heart leaps into my throat.
Behind me stands a man. Tall and muscular, with golden hair tied in a ponytail.
Wide glass-green eyes roam over my every feature.
For some reason, they’re damp with tears.
At his sides, his hands shake where they’re balled into fists.
And then there’s the way he’s dressed in an antique tunic and cloth trousers despite the freezing weather.
As our eyes meet, his lips tremble when he smiles, and shit, it’s a beautiful thing, lighting up his face like a sunbeam.
No one’s ever looked at me like this stranger has.
“Can I help you?” I try to keep my voice steady, though my body betrays me by tensing up like we’re about to brawl.
His smile falters to a frown. “It’s me. It’s Lyall.”
Have I heard that name before? When? Where? He says his name as if I should know it. I’m sure I’ve never met this man before in my life, and yet he’s looking at me like I’m his whole world.
“I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.”
The man, Lyall, takes a step back, blinking like he’s coming out of a daze. His voice is barely a whisper. From the look on his face, you’d have thought I'd just slapped him. But it’s true. I seriously don’t know who he is. Do I?
Damn it, now I’m questioning my own memory.
“I said, you’ve got me confused with someone else.”
Lyall stares at me for so long, it starts to make me uncomfortable.
“I see.” He combs a shaking hand through his hair, blinking fast. “I thought you were… someone I cared about.” He pauses, swallows hard. Whoever he thought I was, he’s clearly shaken up that I’m not them. “Apologies for interrupting your evening.” Moisture dampens the corners of his eyes.
Poor guy. I almost wish I were whoever he was looking for.
“No worries, man.” I offer him a smile. “Hope you find them. Good night.”
He says nothing as he steps backward off the stoop. Guilt’s heavy in my chest when I turn away and stick my key in the lock. Should I offer him some help?
“Hey,” I say, turning toward him.
He’s gone as if I’d imagined him.
A chill that has nothing to do with the crisp night air crawls down my spine.
My legs are shaky as I climb the stairs. It was just a case of mistaken identity. No big deal. Happens to all of us. I didn’t know him. I’ve never met him in my life. Maybe he’s a model, and I saw him in an advertisement a time or two. He’s sure got a face for modeling.
Once I’m upstairs, I lock the door. I put my sandwich in the fridge, suddenly too unsettled to eat dinner. In my bedroom I toss my clothes onto my desk chair, then fall into bed.
The devastation on his face keeps replaying in my head.
Why was he so familiar?
It’s hours before I finally sleep.