Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
étienne
It had been two days since I’d figured out I was bisexual and accepted I was attracted to Marco. Two days of trying to act normal while my entire understanding of myself had been rewritten.
And I hadn’t slept more than a few hours total.
By two o’clock on the third night, I gave up trying.
I lay there staring at the ceiling for another twenty minutes before finally throwing off the covers and heading downstairs. Maybe some water would help. Maybe moving around would quiet my brain enough to let me sleep.
The house was dark except for the small lamp by the couch that we left on at night so Marco could navigate if he needed to. As I came down the stairs, I saw him.
He was awake. Sitting on the couch with his injured foot propped up, his shoulders slumped and his head hung low.
He looked as wrecked as I felt.
“Can’t sleep either?” I asked, my voice rough from lack of use.
He startled and turned to look at me. “No.”
The smart thing would have been to get my water and go back upstairs.
To maintain the distance we’d been keeping since the near kiss.
To protect us both from whatever this conversation might become.
But I was so tired. Exhausted from pretending.
Crushed under the weight of everything I couldn’t say.
I walked over to the couch, stood there looking down at him.
He looked back up at me, and something in his expression—the same exhaustion, the same pain, the same desperate need—broke something in me.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I said.
“Doing what?”
“This.” I gestured between us, at the space in the room, at everything. “Pretending. Acting like everything’s the same when nothing’s the same anymore.”
His jaw tightened. “étienne—”
“I need to tell you something.”
The words were out before I could stop them. But now that they’d started, I had to make a choice. Tell him everything and risk losing him or backtrack and keep drowning in secrets.
“What is it?” Marco asked, his voice cautious.
“I’ve been trying to figure something out. About myself. And I think I need to say it out loud, to you, because keeping it inside is killing me.”
He shifted on the couch, his full attention on me now. “Okay. I’m listening.”
God, this was terrifying. “You know I dated Amelie. That was real—I was attracted to her, the relationship mattered.”
Marco’s gaze slid away from mine, his lips a flat line.
“But…” I paused and searched for the right words. “That’s not the complete picture of who I am.”
Marco’s eyes came back to mine, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not just attracted to women.” My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear my own voice. “I’m also attracted to men. I’m bisexual.”
Marco stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise. “You’re bisexual?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
“Yes.”
“You… when did you…?” He stopped, shook his head. “I had no idea,” he murmured.
“I didn’t either. Not until this week. I just figured it out.”
“Okay.” He nodded slowly, something enigmatic in his gaze. “Thank you for telling me.”
The acceptance in his voice—tentative but real—gave me courage I didn’t know I had.
“There’s more,” I said quietly.
His eyes locked on my gaze. “More?”
This was it. The moment that could destroy everything.
“The other day… when I helped you up…” My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
“I almost kissed you during those PT exercises, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
I’m attracted to you. Maybe I have been for a long time, I don’t know.
But definitely now. And I can’t keep living in this house pretending I don’t feel what I feel. ”
Silence. Heavy and suffocating.
“I know you don’t feel the same way,” I continued, the words tumbling out faster now, desperate to fill the quiet. “And I’m not—I’m not expecting anything. I just can’t keep hiding it. Can’t keep acting like everything’s fine when I’m losing my mind.”
More silence.
Then Marco laughed.
It wasn’t a happy sound. It was sharp and slightly hysterical, edged with something that sounded like pain.
“You think you can’t keep doing this?” He laughed again, running his hands through his hair. “You think you’re the only one losing your mind?”
I stared at him. “What?”
“I’m gay, étienne.” He looked up at me, and his eyes were bright with something that might have been tears. “I’ve known for seventeen years. Since I was fifteen.”
The air left my lungs in a rush at his admission. “You’re—”
“Gay. I’ve been hiding it my entire life. Seventeen years of pretending, making sure no one ever suspected.” His voice cracked. “And then you moved in and I couldn’t—I can’t—”
“I thought so,” I said quietly.
He froze. “What?”
“I thought so. I’m sorry, I guessed.” The confession tumbled out before I could stop it. “I found your book. A few days ago. I was doing laundry, changing your sheets, and it was under your pillow. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t snooping, I swear—but I saw it and I…”
His face paled. “I was worried about that.”
“I’m so sorry. I should have told you right away, but I didn’t know how, and then I read some of it and I realized—” I stopped, my hands shaking. “It made me understand things about myself. About what I was feeling.”
“These past few days, you thought I was gay and you didn’t say anything?”
“I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.” I took a step closer. “And I didn’t want to force you to talk about something you weren’t ready to share.”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. “I’ve been so secretive for so long. And then you just… stumbled onto it while doing laundry.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t know if I should be angry or relieved.”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“I know.” He rubbed his face. “But I’m also—God, étienne, I’ve been carrying this alone for seventeen years. And now you know. You’re still here and you’re telling me you’re bisexual and attracted to me and—”
He stopped. Looked up at me. His expression shifted—with fear, maybe, or desperation, or surrender.
“I wanted to kiss you too,” he whispered.
My legs weakened. I sank down onto the couch beside him, our hips touching, my mind trying to catch up with what he’d just said.
“You’re attracted to me.”
“Yes.” He wouldn’t look at me now, his gaze fixed on his large hands. “In the shower, I know you saw. That was all you, and I thought it freaked you out. I would never do anything that would make you uncomfortable. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you when you’re right here.”
“Marco.” My voice came out hoarse. “Look at me.”
He did, finally. And I saw it all there in his face—the desire, the pain, the fear, the desperate hope he was trying to hide.
“When I said I was attracted to you,” I said carefully.
“I didn’t mean casually. I didn’t mean theoretically.
I meant I lie awake at night thinking about you.
I meant I can’t focus on hockey because you’re all I think about.
I meant that almost kissing you during PT was the hardest thing I’ve ever done… stopping myself, pulling away.”
His breath caught. “étienne—”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to live in this house with you while pushing it all down.”
“I’ve been doing the same thing,” he said quietly.
“For three years. Thinking you were straight. Thinking I’d never—” He stopped, swallowed hard.
“When you almost kissed me, I thought I’d imagined it.
Or that you’d gotten caught up in the moment and didn’t mean it.
And when you pulled away and acted like nothing happened, I thought that confirmed it. ”
“I pulled away because I was terrified,” I said. “Because I didn’t understand what I was feeling yet. I thought I was losing my mind, wanting to kiss my best friend.”
“You weren’t losing your mind.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long.”
The air between us felt electric. Charged with everything we’d been holding back.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “Of what this means. Of everything that could go wrong.”
“Me too.” He finally turned to face me fully. “I’ve been hiding who I am for seventeen years. My parents would disown me if they knew. The team—Boucher’s already suspicious.”
“Yeah, he said at practice that it’s weird how close we are. It sounded like a threat.”
“I’m not surprised.” Marco was quiet for a moment, then continued. “And you—you just figured out you’re bi. This is all new for you. You might change your mind. Might decide this isn’t what you want.”
“I won’t.” I said it with absolute certainty. “I don’t know much right now. Don’t know how to do this, how to be this. But I know I want you… us.”
“Us,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.
“If you want that too.”
“I do.” He reached out, his hand trembling, and touched my face.
Just his fingertips against my jaw, but I felt it everywhere.
“God, I do. But étienne, you need to be sure. Because I can’t…
if we do this and it’s too complicated, I couldn’t survive that.
I’d rather keep hiding than lose you entirely. ”
I turned my head, pressed my lips to his palm, and he shuddered.
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’m terrified, but I’m sure.”
“Okay.” He was leaning closer, or maybe I was leaning closer. Maybe we both were. “Okay.”
This time, when the distance between us disappeared, when our lips met, neither of us pulled away.
The kiss was tentative at first. Soft. Testing. His lips barely brushed mine, warm and uncertain. Like we were both afraid it might not be real, might disappear if we pushed too hard.
But then his hand slid into my hair, fingers threading through and gripping gently, and mine found his waist, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, mouths opening, and everything else fell away.
And it was nothing like I’d imagined. Better. More intense. More right.
He tasted like mint toothpaste and something else that was uniquely him, warm and slightly sweet, that made me want to chase it, to memorize it.
His beard was soft against my skin, the gentle brush of it sending sparks down my spine.
The small sound he made when I pulled him closer—half gasp, half moan—went straight through me, settling low in my gut.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Heat spread through my chest, down my arms, everywhere we were touching.
His other hand found my jaw, his callused thumb stroking my cheekbone with a tenderness that made my breath catch.
I could feel him trembling, or maybe that was me, or maybe it was both of us overwhelmed by the weight of what this meant.
This was what I’d been missing. What I’d been wanting without knowing I wanted it. Not just kissing someone, but kissing him. Marco. My best friend. The person who understood me better than anyone.
We broke apart eventually, both breathing hard, chests heaving.
His forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed, his breath warm against my lips.
I could feel his taut muscles where my hand still pressed against his waist—hard planes and rigid strength, nothing like the soft curves of the women I’d been with before.
Neither of us moved, neither of us spoke, both of us just existing in this moment where everything had changed and nothing could ever go back.
“We just kissed,” he said, his voice unsteady.
“Yeah.”
“We’re really doing this.”
“Yeah.” I pulled back enough to see his face. “Are you okay?”
He opened his eyes, and what I saw there made my chest tight. Relief. Joy. Fear. Hope.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted.
“Me too.” I stroked my thumb across his cheekbone.
“But?”
“But I’d rather have you and deal with the consequences than spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”
His smile was small but genuine. “When did you get brave?”
“About five minutes ago. Still figuring it out.”
He laughed, and it sounded lighter. Less pained. And then he kissed me again, slower this time, deeper.
I shivered, my cock hard.
When we finally broke apart again, he shifted to lean against me, his head on my shoulder.
“Mon Dieu,” I breathed, still trying to catch my breath. “That was incredible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pressed my face against his hair, breathing in his spicy scent. “Different from anything I’ve experienced before. Your beard, your strength, the way you kiss—nothing like being with a woman. It’s harder, more intense. But putain, Marco, it’s exactly what I want.”
We sat there in the dim light, the lamp casting soft shadows, both of us just breathing.
“What happens now?” he asked eventually.
“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers through his hair, marveling that I could do this. That I was allowed to. “We figure it out.”
“It’s going to be complicated.”
“Yeah.” I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Worth it, though.”
He tilted his head back to look at me. “You’re sure about this? About me? About being with a man?”
“I’m sure about you.” I kissed him again because I could. Because he was here and willing and wanted me back. “The rest we’ll figure out.”
“Okay.” He settled back against me. “We should probably sleep. You have a roadie tomorrow.”
“And the personal trainer is making a home visit.”
“Later. Not until afternoon.”
Neither of us moved.
We lay down and tangled together, conscious of his foot, neither willing to break the moment. Neither wanting to be apart after finally having this.
Eventually, we did sleep. Right there on the sofa, wrapped around each other, closer than we’d ever been.
And for the first time in days, my mind was quiet.