Chapter 40 - Deacon
DEACON
The only things left in Evan’s room are the bed stripped of linens, the area rug, and an empty desk. Everything else is gone. Apollo’s bowls on the kitchen floor—gone. The dog beds—vanished. A hint of Evan’s scent lingers in the air, but if I were to open a window, that would disappear, too.
I think the best word for how I feel is stunned. The letter he left is unopened in my hand as I sit on his bare mattress and try to take in his absence. Isaac said he understood. That he “got it.”
I don’t get it. I do not understand. We fought, yes.
I said things to him that probably hit him where it hurt the most because I was afraid and hurting, too.
But to leave his job, his friends, this city without a word?
Evan’s never struck me as particularly impulsive.
Gray would say read the damn letter, and I will, but for now, I’m still trying to understand how this makes me feel.
I open up my notes app and type.
I definitely feel like it’s my fault. No amount of Isaac trying to take a share of the blame is going to change that.
And I know Evan is going to blame himself in the letter.
But I know what I said to him. More than that—I know what I meant.
What I was implying. I was telling him to get out of my way.
Not in so many words, but I can’t deny that my words, and my subsequent actions sent a clear message.
You’re not wanted here. And that was how I felt at the time.
I wanted to be alone with Isaac. I wanted my chance.
I wanted my turn. But now that I’ve had it, I realize something between him and me has irrevocably shifted.
There’s a space between us neither him nor I can fill.
Only Evan can.
The complicated part is that I also feel relieved. Like a lot of the weight on my shoulders disappeared with him. Whether he was holding me back or pushing me away, I feel the absence of whatever pressure he was putting on me, and it’s a little easier to breathe.
I hope he’s happy. I really do. I hope he left because he wanted to and not because he felt like he had to. I hope I hear from him again. He’s kind of my best friend, and I know I never got a chance to tell him that. There are too many things I never told him.
Once Isaac adjusts to what happened to Jake, losing Evan is going to hit him like a truck, and I’m not sure I’m enough to soften the blow. I was fucking useless at the hospital.
I felt better once I could help him out at his apartment, but I can’t be his perfect assistant.
I can’t talk to him and organize his life the way Evan does.
All I can do is hold him and try to take care of him and hope he can feel how glad I am to have the connection I have with him. And hope it’s enough to fill the void.
I open the letter, sliding out the folded paper and finding a neatly handwritten note addressed Dear Deacon.
No hard feelings. No regrets.
Sometimes life is about trying to recognize where you fit and understanding where you don’t. That’s the best way I can describe it, and I hope it makes sense.
Falling for you was probably the easiest thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t wish I said something sooner. I think everything happened the way it was supposed to. I think you were supposed to find Isaac—and he was meant to find you.
You and I were meant to be friends. Not share a lover. And I hope we can still do that. I hope I haven’t hurt you. I won’t lie and say I’m not sad to say goodbye, but I know I’ll be okay.
I know Isaac probably thinks I’ve run off to get back together with my ex, but this isn’t that. Hunter made me a job offer weeks ago, and it’s always been one I’d be stupid to refuse. Do I wish it was in SF? Maybe. But for now, it feels a little like coming home and a fresh start.
I want you to have a fresh start, too.
All my love,
Evan
I flip the page over to see if there’s more.
There isn’t. There’s no explanation for how quickly he left, no indication of whether he’ll be back.
No apology. I leave his old room and walk to mine.
Taking the note, I pin it to the bulletin board near my desktop computer and stare at it, getting used to the way it looks there amidst the purposefully placed photos, quotes, and stickers I’ve collected since I’ve lived here.
One of the pictures is of Apollo taken shortly after Evan moved in.
He’s curled into a perfect ball, doing his damndest to fit his whole body in his slightly too small dog bed.
I’ve never had a pet of my own. My last roommate Ryan had a cat named Bud who was a lot like Apollo.
Lazy. Easy. Black and white. I have a picture of him, too, in the top left corner.
Also on his bed. Also curled up with perfect symmetry.
What now?
I find a new roommate? I don’t need one.
I can afford this apartment on my own, but I’ve been used to living with someone else since college.
It’s useful because I cook too much for one person, and I dislike the idea of wasted space.
I’m twenty-eight years old and perfectly capable of living on my own, but I don’t even know what that would look like.
Is Evan replaceable?
Or am I being ridiculous because I have a boyfriend now? At least I think I do.
Isaac texts, checking in with me. He’s taken the week off work to sit and watch Jake who hasn’t done much more than sleep since yesterday when we brought him home.
I slept over there last night but came home this morning because I wanted to see Evan.
I thought he’d still be here. It’s not nothing to uproot your life and leave town.
I certainly didn’t expect everything to be completely cleared out.
That’s what stunned me. I wanted to try and understand what was happening between him and me—if it was as bad as it felt Monday night or if there was some nuance I was missing that only he could help me understand.
I’d promised myself I’d do a better job of listening.
But it’s just me, this letter, and all my feelings sitting uselessly in a fucking app.
I need to shower, change, and go into the office, but all I really want to do is go back to Isaac, lie down with him and hold him. Face to face preferably. I want to feel his heartbeat. I want to look into his eyes.
I want him to tell me that we’ll be fine.
I return to the penthouse with a ton of groceries, but my timing is terrible.
Isaac is on the phone, shouting. I can hear him from the kitchen through the closed terrace door.
Never having heard him raise his voice, it rattles my already frayed nerves.
I unpack the groceries with one eye on the terrace where he’s pacing, pointing, and gesturing angrily.
“You try that, and I swear to fucking god, I’ll have your ass thrown in jail for kidnapping.”
I’m assuming he’s not talking to Evan, then.
My brows furrow, but I do my best to mind my own business and tune him out. A groan coming from the back of the penthouse, turns my head.
Fuck.
Hesitantly, I take a few steps toward the guest room, but my steps falter.
Jake doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. I don’t have anything to offer him.
I can’t give him anything for pain because what if he’s already had something?
I could take him some water, but what if he needs to pee?
I turn to the terrace doors instead, approaching with uncertainty.
Luckily, Isaac is hanging up the call as I open the door. He looks wild, eyes full of fury and another emotion I can’t put a name to, but I feel it. It feels accusatory. Painful.
“Deacon,” he whispers, my name hoarse.
“I think Jake might need you.”
“Did he say what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t go in.”
He scowls but then gives his head a quick shake.
“Thanks.” He moves past me into the penthouse.
Before I have the door closed, he’s already turning the corner, disappearing into the bedroom hallway.
I stand there feeling fucking useless until I remember there are groceries that need to be put into the fridge, and I had plans to make chicken and rice soup.
Forcing my legs to move, I return to the kitchen.
Isaac comes back half an hour or so later. He walks right over to me while I’m chopping celery and places a warm hand on the back of my neck.
I turn to him, and before I can blink, he’s pulling me in for a kiss.
It’s sudden, and deep. I drop the knife on the cutting board and grab him by the hips.
His kiss is hungry, but his cock is soft as mine stiffens to grind against his crotch.
I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what he needs.
He undoes my pants, shoving his hand inside and wrapping it around my erection.
I grunt. He tugs at my lower lip before dropping to his knees on the kitchen floor.
Speechless, I stare down at him as he feeds himself my dick, taking it deep and sucking hard.
I grip the countertop. Unable to keep my hips from bucking forward, he chokes, and my cock falls from his lips, covered in long strands of drool.
Without looking up or saying a thing, he uses his hand to stuff it back in his mouth. Using his other hand, he takes hold of mine and places it on the back of his head.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen him like this.
Sparks zap up my spine as he bobs his tight mouth up and down my shaft.
His tongue swirls and wraps around it, reminding me of a constricting snake.
As more and more of my length is surrounded by the wet heat of his mouth, he lets go of my base to roughly massage my balls.
“Jesus,” I groan, my fist clenching in his hair.
He makes a noise that feels like approval, so I tentatively thrust my hips again.
This time, he takes it, suffocating my crown in his tightening throat.
Another long, low noise escapes me. It feels too good.
I try to yank his head back, but right now, he’s stronger than I am, and he forces his lips to my pubic bone, choking loudly on my dick in this throat.
As saliva coats my balls, making them slippery in his hand, I come with a gasp, my back arching as he takes me deep, swallowing convulsively on each gush of cum I release.
It feels unsurvivable. I feel set on fire at the same time as I’m being drained.
Everything is hot and my mouth is bone dry as I burn.
A whimper escapes me, and I clap my hand over my mouth before it turns into something extreme like a sob. I’ve never felt anything like this, and while it’s extraordinary—it’s also terrifying. When will it end?
He pulls off me suddenly, taking huge breaths and wiping his chin as he looks up at me with hooded, dark eyes. I tuck my dick, which feels like it’s been electrocuted, back into my pants. “Are you all right?” I manage in a whisper.
He’s still catching his breath as he reaches for the countertop to haul himself up from the floor. “Better. Yeah.”
“Need anything else?”
He looks me up and down. “If you’re offering…”
“Anything,” I tell him.
He studies my undone fly a moment longer then shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.”
That only makes me want it more.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.
I deserve to hurt. “You won’t.” I shove the bottle of olive oil his way before facing the counter and dropping my pants again.
With his forearms braced on my back to press my chest to the counter, Isaac fucks me so hard, so fast, so long that the apartment, the city, the sky falls away. My sense of self disintegrates, and my thoughts float up and out.
All that remains is pleasure, pain, and nothingness.
He fucks me numb.