11. Henry
CHAPTER 11
HENRY
The look on my son's face when he catches us will forever live rent free in my head.
Michael freezes, like he might have walked into the wrong house. But then realization quickly catches up to him and he looks horrified. Possibly a little green, which I can relate to. There's also a slight edge of exasperation that I don't understand, but I'll certainly never have the balls to ask about.
Because they've officially crawled into my stomach to live with the guilt and self-hatred that are warring within me.
I wonder how quickly I can get him into therapy. Not quick enough, probably.
With a flurry of curses, Ian and I scramble to pull up our pants and get as far apart from each other as possible. As if we could pretend that Michael didn't just see his best friend fucking his dad.
Michael's wide eyes move from me to Ian, never quite meeting our eyes, before taking in the discarded food in the kitchen, and the half-empty jar of coconut oil laying on its side on the floor.
"Michael—"
He holds a hand up to cut me off, still not looking at me, before backing out of the room. Both Ian and I take a step forward, but Michael stops us.
"Don't." His hands run through his hair and he grabs his duffle bag from next to the door where he must have dropped in when he came in. "I just need a minute. Or maybe many minutes, I don't know yet. But just… Don't."
Relieved that he isn't running out the door, I watch him retreat up the stairs. My heart lurches, and both Ian and I flinch when his bedroom door slams.
We don't look at each other, or try to talk to each other. We don't get within touching distance, as if the space between us could fix what we've done.
On autopilot, I start cleaning up the kitchen. The sandwich and all the leftover ingredients get dumped right in the trash, and I scrub the pan so furiously I'm pretty sure I ruin the non-stick surface. When I turn back around, the table has been cleaned. The jar of coconut oil is sitting in the trashcan, and there's the distinctive smell of disinfectant cleaner lingering in the air.
I want to go upstairs and scrub myself clean, but I pull on my shirt and sit at the end of the couch instead. My eyes squeeze shut, trying to rid myself of every flash of memory of all the kisses and touches that have happened on this couch, on the stairs, in the laundry room. Nearly every room of this house is tainted by my shame, and I want to crumble with the weight of it.
I'm not ashamed because I fell in love with a man, or even that I had sex with him wherever I wanted to in my own damn house. I'm not ashamed of Ian himself, even.
I'm ashamed that I didn't have a stronger resolve, that I succumbed to weakness. That I turned out to be a pathetic, weak, pervy old guy that preyed on someone half my age. That I snuck around and lied to my son. I'm ashamed that I turned my attention on an inappropriate partner. I’ve probably ruined the special bond he had with the closest friend he’s ever had.
And I'm especially ashamed that I will probably pine for Ian Parrish for the rest of my life.
I don't notice that he's sitting on the other side of the room until his phone chimes. His facial expression is guarded as he types out a text, and then tucks the phone in his pocket. He glances over at me, and I'm struck by the pain and anguish in his blue eyes. A tear tracks over his cheek, and I have to look away. Because I'm weak.
Michael hovers halfway down the staircase, looking like he'd rather walk into a pit of vipers than be in the same room with us. With me.
My eyes sting, and my heart beats too hard. I feel like I can't catch my breath. I might be sick if I don't get away from the smell of the disinfectant and get some fresh air, but I also can't get the words out to say where I'm going or what I'm doing. I stumble as I stand and make a beeline for the closest door, not making eye contact with Michael as I pass the stairs.
Hand on the doorknob, I freeze when Ian blurts out, "I meant it." I’m assuming he’s referring to whatever text exchange happened a minute ago. Maybe an apology.
Not meeting anyone's eyes, I look back over my shoulder. Michael sighs exasperatedly.My hand turns the knob, not wanting to stick around to hear all the reasons this is fucked up.
"Dude. I know you've had the hots for my dad since?—"
"No, Mike. I'm in love with him. I'm in love with Henry."
Wait.
"Really?" The disbelieving but hopeful word slips from me before I can suppress it. I'm afraid to open myself up to the possibility that he could mean it, or that maybe he’s just being impulsive. But what if he felt what I've been feeling? What if this weekend changed his entire world the way it did mine? My entire brain chemistry changed. And as fucked up as it is, as impossible as it seems that this could go on—I'm not ready to let this go.
Because I love him. And I've never felt complete the way I have since he came barging into my life.
"Yes, really.” He scoffs. “You know, for someone as experienced with life as you are, you'd think you'd have figured that out sooner."
"You think that's funny right now?"
He smirks, and I can't decide if I want to kiss him or throw him out of my house.
Before I can decide, Michael plants his ass on the stairs and groans loudly, rubbing his hands over his face and pulling at his hair. "This isn't happening," he says, the words muffled in his hands. He sounds exhausted. Exasperated. Amused?
With one hand held to his temple, he looks up at me. He holds my eyes for a moment, then turns his head to look at Ian, who's moved to the bottom of the staircase. He points at his best friend, holding his finger in the air in front of him accusingly. He looks like he has a lot to say, but he's holding it in, and rolls his lips inward before pulling his hand back. He raises both of his hands in front of him, almost in surrender.
"I literally don't know what to say."
I open my mouth to apologize, but Ian cuts me off.
"Don't do that. Don't say you're sorry." He's not grinning anymore. He looks hurt.
Ian turns his attention to Michael, boring into him with a gaze more serious than I knew he was capable of.
"For real?" Michael says.
"For real," Ian replies.
Michael turns to me. "Dad?"
My eyes burn, and I shrug helplessly. "He lights me up."
Because I can't help it, I am irrevocably in love with his idiotic, sarcastic, insanely hot best friend. I bite my lip and close my eyes to avoid letting any tears spill out.
When I open my eyes, I'm looking into the deep blue eyes of Ian. As much as I want to talk to Michael about his feelings on the matter, to apologize to him for sneaking around the way we have, this conversation is really between Ian and me. He deserves to hear it from me directly.
He beats me to it.
"You love me," Ian says firmly, like he's trying to tell me something I don't already know.
I roll my eyes. "Against my better judgement. Yeah."
His lips quirk, his signature devilish grin wobbly. His nose twitches, and I think he's trying to hold back tears, too.
I don't notice that either of us has moved until we're chest to chest. One hand balls in his rumpled t-shirt, and the fingers of my other hand thread into the hair at his nape, pulling his forehead against mine. He smells like coconut oil and a disaster waiting to happen. One of his hands digs into my waist, right on my so-called "love-handles" that he embarrassingly loves so much. The other cups my jaw, caressing the scruff with his thumb.
Our lips meet in the gentlest kiss I think we've ever shared. Our lips move together, slowly and confidently. At the slightest touch of his tongue against mine, a shiver that starts in my chest sends gooseflesh up the back of my neck. I pull him closer with a deep rumble, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, tasting salt from our combined tears.
Michael clears his throat, and we stop kissing abruptly, but I keep my hold on Ian.Michael stands. "Look, no offense, but I've seen quite enough." He turns to walk back up the stairs, shaking his head. The way his shoulders are moving, I think he's laughing.
My own shoulders relax a little, and I look up at Ian.
"Stay," I say, my voice raspy with emotion. "I don't know how to do this, how to make this work. But I'm not ready to let you go."
He nods, and all the tension in my body releases. Pulling him against me roughly, I kiss him with everything I’ve got.