Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Marco
I grabbed it automatically, my heart kicking up the way it did with late-night calls. Nothing good ever happened after eleven. Late-night calls meant injuries, family emergencies, or—
“étienne?” I sat up, fully awake now. “What’s wrong?”
“Hey, man, I’m fine, everything’s fine…” His voice was tight, strained in a way that meant everything was definitely not fine. “Well, not fine exactly, but I’m okay. I just—there was a fire.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“Electrical fire in the apartment next to mine. Building’s evacuated. Fire department’s still here, they’re—” He broke off, and I heard sirens in the background, the crackle of radio chatter. “They’re saying my place has smoke damage throughout. Can’t go back in yet.”
I was already out of bed, pacing my bedroom floor. My chest felt tight and my mind raced through every terrible possibility. Fire. étienne’s apartment building. If the fire had spread differently, if he’d been fast asleep, if—
“Are you hurt?” My voice came out sharper than I meant it to.
“No, I’m good. I smelled smoke and heard the smoke detectors. Got out of there fast.”
Thank God.
He let out a shaky laugh. “Scared the shit out of me, not gonna lie.”
I pressed my palm against my chest and tried to slow my speeding heart. The relief was so intense it almost hurt. He was okay. He was safe. Everything else could be dealt with.
“Where are you right now?” I asked.
“Standing on the sidewalk with half my building. It’s like a scene from a disaster movie out here. Except Mrs. Smith from 4B is in her bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers.”
I could picture it—étienne in the middle of chaos, trying to make jokes because that’s what he did when stressed. Deflect with humor, keep things light, never let anyone see he was rattled.
But I could hear it in his voice. The slight tremor underneath the casual tone. He was more shaken than he wanted to admit.
“I’m coming over,” I said, already looking around for my jeans.
“What? No. Marco, don’t—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“There’s nothing you can do here. It’s chaos. Fire trucks everywhere, neighbors milling around, smoke—” He broke off, and I heard him take a breath. “Seriously, I’m fine. I don’t know why I called. I’ll—”
“étienne—”
“I’m okay. Really.” His voice was firmer now, that stubborn edge I recognized. The one that meant he’d dig in his heels if I pushed. “You coming here would just… you’d be standing on the sidewalk with the rest of us. There’s nowhere to even park. It’s a mess.”
I stopped in the middle of my bedroom, phone pressed to my ear, every instinct screaming at me to get in my Suburban and drive over there anyway. To see with my own eyes that he was fine, that he was safe…
But he was right. What would I do? Stand around with him in the cold while fire crews worked? Get in the way of first responders?
“You’re sure?” I asked, hating how helpless I felt.
“I’m sure. I’m literally just waiting until they let us back in to grab stuff. Then I’m out of here.”
“You’re not waiting out there in the cold. Come over here. We’ll get your stuff tomorrow.”
“Marco, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
“I’ll just get a hotel or something. I’m not going to impose—”
“étienne.” I gripped my phone tighter. “I have a guest room. Don’t be stupid.”
“I don’t want to—”
“If you say ‘impose’ one more time, I’m hanging up and coming to get you myself.” I ran my hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted. “It’s not a big deal. Stay as long as you need to until your place is fixed.”
He was quiet for a moment. I could hear voices in the background and someone shouting instructions.
“You sure?” he asked finally.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, but I’m going to wait and grab my stuff first. Fire chief just said it won’t be much longer.” He sighed. “This is such a mess.”
“It’ll be fine. Text me when you’re on your way over.”
“Okay. Yeah. Thanks, man. I really—thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Just get your stuff and get over here.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it.
étienne. Living here. In my house.
He’d never been upstairs before—this was my space, my sanctuary—and now he was going to be sleeping down the hall. Possibly for weeks.
Oh, shit.
I moved through the bedroom like I was defusing a bomb. The gay hockey romance on my nightstand—shirtless model, suggestive title, completely damning—went under a pillow. Done.
The bathroom stopped me cold.
There it was. My curved, suction cup dildo on the counter, drying in the open like it was a perfectly normal thing to leave out. Which it was, when you lived alone. Which I did. Until now.
I grabbed it, wrapped it in a towel, and shoved it under the sink. The silicone lube from the shower went in right after. Cabinet closed. Problem solved.
Down to the living room. One more scan…
There. On the sectional. Another MM romance, spine cracked, wedged between the cushions where I'd fallen asleep reading it the night before. I pulled it out, marched it to the coat closet, and buried it behind the boxes on the shelf.
I closed the closet and turned in a slow circle, surveying my house with the critical eye of someone who had something very important to hide.
Bedroom… clean. Bathroom… clean. Living room… clean.
Safe. Probably. Hopefully.
I was going to lose my mind.
But what else was I supposed to do? Let him go to some hotel when I had an empty bedroom? Let him deal with this alone when he was my best friend and clearly shaken, even if he was trying to hide it?
I couldn’t. I physically could not do that.
I’d survived three years of hiding my sexuality from him—keeping it buried deep, making sure nothing slipped, never letting him see what lay beneath the surface.
I could survive a few weeks of him in my guest room.
What I couldn’t quite prepare myself for was losing this—the privacy.
The freedom of being exactly who I was within these walls, without calculation, without caution.
After so many years of living alone, of having a space where I didn’t have to hide, I’d have to start all over again.
I headed back upstairs. The guest room was clean but impersonal—Gia had stayed there when she’d visited last year, and my parents had used it the one time they’d come out to see a game. I checked the hallway bathroom, made sure there were clean towels, extra toiletries.
My house felt different knowing étienne would be living here soon. More alive somehow. Less like the carefully maintained space I retreated to, and more like an actual home.
I hated how much I liked that feeling.
By the time my phone buzzed again, it was nearly two o’clock.
étienne
On my way. Sorry it’s so late.
Marco
Don’t apologize. Drive safe.
I made coffee even though it was the middle of the night, because I was awake and jittery and needed something to do with my hands.
Checked the guest room again. Paced the kitchen.
Tried not to think about what I was doing, about what it meant to have him here when he couldn’t leave, if I’d left out anything incriminating.
When I heard his car pull up to the curb, I was at the front door before he could knock.
The smell hit me first—smoke, acrid and heavy, clinging to everything. His clothes reeked of it, a burned smell that would probably take multiple washes to get out. étienne stood on my doorstep with a duffel bag over his shoulder, his hair disheveled, exhaustion written across his face.
“Hey.” He looked so tired, so worn down by the last few hours, that my heart tore open.
“Come in.” I stepped back, letting him inside. “You look like hell.”
“Feel like it too.” He dropped his bag just inside the door and rubbed his face with both hands. “Everything I own smells like a campfire. Including me.”
“Guest room’s at the top of the stairs. Bathroom’s in the hallway.” I closed the door behind him. “Made coffee if you want some, but you should probably sleep.”
“Coffee sounds good, actually.” He followed me to the kitchen, moving slowly like his body was finally catching up to the adrenaline crash. “I’m too wired to sleep yet.”
I poured us both mugs, black for me, and added a generous pour of creamer to his without asking. Three years of friendship meant I knew how he took his coffee the same way he knew I needed mine strong enough to strip paint.
We sat at my kitchen island, the townhouse quiet around us except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the settling structure.
“Claims adjuster can’t come until Thursday,” étienne said and wrapped his hands around his mug. “They’re saying it could be a couple of weeks before the smoke damage can be cleaned and the place is livable again. Maybe longer, depending on how bad it is.”
“So, you’ll stay here.”
“Marco—”
“Not a discussion.” I met his eyes over my coffee. “You’re staying. End of story.”
He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Why are you so insistent about this?”
Because I was terrified of what could have happened to you. Because the thought of you in some impersonal hotel while dealing with this made my chest hurt. Because you’re my best friend and I can’t stand the idea of you going through this alone.
“Because it makes sense,” I said instead. “I have the space and you need a place to crash. Simple.”
“Nothing with you is ever simple.”
He meant it as a joke, but it landed heavier than he probably intended.
If he only knew how complicated everything with me actually was.
How nothing in my life had been simple since I was fifteen years old and realized I was attracted to the guys in my junior hockey league instead of the girls who hung around after games.
“Well, this is,” I said firmly. “Finish your coffee and I’ll show you the room.”
He followed me upstairs a few minutes later, his duffel bag leaving a faint smoky trail. I didn’t think he’d ever been up here, so I showed him the guest room, the bathroom, and where I kept toiletries in the cabinet under the sink.
“Extra blankets are in the closet.” I stood in the guest room doorway while he dropped his bag on the floor. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“This is great. Really.” He turned to face me, and the gratitude in his expression made me want to look away. “I know I’m going to be in your space for a while. I’ll try not to be annoying.”
“You’re always annoying. This won’t change anything.”
He smiled, but it was strained around the edges. The exhaustion was catching up to him, pulling at his features.
“Take a shower and get some sleep,” I said. “We can figure out the rest tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He ran his hand through his hair, and I caught another whiff of smoke. “Night, Marco.”
“Night.”
I headed back to my room, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling.
étienne was down the hall. In my house. In my space.
This was going to be a disaster.
But as I lay there in the dark, listening to the sound of the shower running in the hall bathroom, I couldn’t quite make myself regret it. Knowing he was safe was worth temporarily losing my sanctuary.
Even if it meant spending the next few weeks torturing myself with his presence, with the domesticity of sharing space, with everything I wanted and couldn’t have just down the hall.
I’d survived worse. I’d survive this too. Because the alternative—letting myself want more—wasn’t an option. So, I’d be alert. I’d be composed. I’d be the same best friend I’d always been, just with him temporarily living in my guest room.
How hard could it be?
The shower shut off, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to picture étienne naked in my guest bathroom.
This was going to be impossible.
But I’d figure it out. I always did.
I had seventeen years of practice at hiding who I was. I could handle a few weeks of étienne Savard living under my roof.
Probably.