Chapter fifteen
Of course, once I got home, I started doubting everything again within twenty-four hours.
Yeah, it had felt good to spill my guts—to get all of that stuff out in the open, and not be laughed out of therapy for it—but in the cold light of my real life, it felt incredibly stupid.
What, I saw Arlie dating a guy and felt wistful and made up a whole story about how I should date guys too and finally find real love?
Give me a break. Yeah, it could be true—and it could be another weird reaction to the whole Darby situation.
It would be messed up if I took one look at Arlie finally finding himself, and being happier than he had been, and thought somehow I had to make it about me, about me finding myself and getting happier—and how of course that would also be about attraction to men.
Basically, I could talk myself out of it all pretty easily if I gave it some thought. Worst of all, the shame I felt, and how disgusted I was with myself. I'd been so earnest, I'd spoken so emotionally, I'd really let it all out—and what if I'd just been making it all up?
Maybe I'd just talked myself into it. Maybe I'd been overthinking.
I could do that, sure. But it wasn't really normal for me to overthink things that hard and that deeply.
I kind of just got on with my life, normally.
Even if Arlie was part of the thought process, let's be real—he couldn't be that big of a part.
I wasn't thinking about making out with him or something.
It kind of seemed like the whole "maybe I'm bi" thing was more left field than that, and more about the other parts of my life, not just Darby, either, but a whole lifetime of trying to avoid being called gay.
And yet finding my relationships with women on some level almost always deeply unsatisfying.
I hated thinking that. I hated looking back at my dating history and shuddering internally as I thought about how I'd wanted it to work, or the reasons things just hadn't felt right, and whether it was actually something deeper—I just wasn't capable of having what I wanted with a woman, even if I was sincerely trying.
It made me feel stupid. It made me feel broken. And it made me feel like I was lying to myself about the whole thing—sometimes one way, sometimes another. I didn't know what was true for me, or if it was something I was ever going to figure out.
I hated feeling so broken.
None of these feelings were pleasant, and none of them made me want to confide in Arlie about the whole "what if" thing, either.
It had been a relief to spill my guts to the therapist, but I felt ashamed and weird about it afterwards.
(What if I was wrong? What if I was too emotional and weird about it?
What if I hadn't used the right words?) Still, at least he was paid to listen, and what I said didn't leave that office.
With Arlie, I'd have to face him the next day, if I told him anything like that.
And the day after that, and the day after that, the whole rest of our long, awkward lives together.
It wasn't that I thought he'd look down on me. More that it was just a lot to tell someone, especially when I was still pretty raw and unsure about all of it. Telling my partner might make Arlie feel weird towards me, or made us awkward together.
There was a part of me that thought he wouldn't mind at all.
Hell, maybe he'd even offer to kiss me and help me figure it out.
It was not an entirely awful thought, but I didn't want to make our partnership complicated and strained, and I didn't want to use him to experiment.
Because realistically, there was no good outcome to that imagined kiss, was there?
Sure, I could like it—and be sort of making him cheat, even if neither of us planned it that way.
Mason didn't deserve that, even if things were still very new.
And what if I felt neutral about it? That would be sort of insulting. What if I felt completely grossed out and had to try to hide my disgust? That would be really hurtful, because Arlie wasn't disgusting, and I didn't want to hurt him by being grossed out.
Anyway, he wasn't going to offer that, and if he did, I wouldn't take him up on it. But I still played the scenario out each way multiple times in my head. Each time, I came to the decision that it was just best not to tell him anything, at least not yet.
He wasn't dumb. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his relationship, not when he'd just gotten started. And he wouldn't do anything to make our partnership awkward. I wasn't going to, either.
#
"You okay, Cole?" asked Arlie as he pulled into his usual parking spot at the townhouse.
We sat for a minute as I tried to pull myself out of my phone. I'd been vegging out again.
"Hm?" I tried to sound vague. It wasn't tough.
"You're on those forums again. And you've been...sad, I guess? Like in your head a lot?"
"Well, you know me." With effort, I put my phone away.
The row of townhouses looked boring, but the truth was anything but.
Most of the units were filled with wolf shifter families—interesting, kind, and loyal people that I knew and liked.
Most didn't make a ton of money, but their interests, relationships, and lives were full and beautiful.
They thrived, living close and looking after one another.
Sharing meals, watching each other's kids, mixing and matching things in life to make it easier, make it more doable, make it more friendly and fun.
I'm sure things weren't perfect. But it felt like a healthier community than most I'd been a part of, with less posturing and more genuine care and connection all around.
"Seriously," said Arlie, his voice low. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I think so? I mean, I'm doing therapy, right?" If I was trying to sound confident and jokey, I failed. My voice just sounded kind of low and pathetic.
"Well, like, if it's making things worse, you can quit, you know? Try again later." He made an abortive gesture, and stopped himself. "I hate to see you like this. Are you just digging at old wounds and making it all worse? Is he even helping you feel better at all?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But it kind of wasn't working when I was just ignoring stuff."
"Is it all about Darby? Am I allowed to ask that?"
He could ask, but I didn't have to answer. "You can't fix it, bud."
"You just...smell so distressed. A lot of the time. Most of the time. I should be able to help."
"It's not your job to fix me. I'm just...trying to figure some stuff out."
My therapist had suggested that I talk about it with him. Maybe I would have to, if he was actually this worried. I didn't want to stress him out. He'd probably understand a bit better if I told him.
But I just wasn't ready. He'd come to terms with who he was; maybe he'd think I was dramatic for having so much trouble figuring it out for myself.
"You wouldn't keep going if he was making you feel like shit about yourself, right?"
"Right," I said, uncomfortably aware once again that Arlie thought I couldn't take care of myself.
That I wouldn't stand up for myself. I gave him a sidelong glance.
Did he think I'd gotten through life by being a complete pushover?
It was not exactly flattering. I knew he worried, but he didn't have to worry that much.
"You're shutting me out and you're sad and it's not okay," said Arlie. "Obviously you don't have to tell me everything. Hell, you don't have to tell me anything. But I am your partner. And I am concerned."
Arlie did not often push that hard. That was incredibly pushy compared to his usual chill way of suggesting and hinting. But you know what? He wasn't wrong. It was fair for him to be worried when I wasn't sharing what I was upset about. He was my partner, and he didn't know what was going on.
"Okay," I said quietly. "If it's bugging me enough that I can't even hide it, I guess I have to tell you."
"You shouldn't be trying to hide stuff from me. What the hell, Cole?"
Great, now I'd hurt his feelings. I sighed. "I don't like sharing everything, especially when it's embarrassing or confusing, okay? Can you just give me a little longer to figure out how to talk about this?"
He turned to face me and gave me a glare. "You literally told me about the bedwetting thing when you were a kid. How can this be more embarrassing than that?" We weren't even pretending to have a chill conversation now. He looked really upset with me, as well as hurt and worried.
"'Cause I finally outgrew that," I snapped, frowning back at him. My eyes felt like they were going to get damp, and damn it, they'd better not.
"Fine. Don't tell me." He unbuckled his seatbelt. "Ever since I've started dating guys, you've been weird. I still have time for you! I'm not someone different now."
I choked back the things I wanted to say—and didn't want to say.
It felt like I was going to cry, and I really didn't want to cry.
Arlie and I didn't fight. But we were fighting now, and it was because of something I wasn't giving in on—something I was ashamed and confused about, and didn't want to share.
He put his hand on the door and then paused. "I'll get over it, Cole. I'm not...I'll get over it. But maybe not today." He got out of the car, and I let him.
I felt like shit about it, but I let him go.
#
Of course, with Arlie upset with me, and my therapist continuing to think I should discuss things with him like an adult, and even ask for his advice, I probably should've found it easy to just give in and talk about it all.
But somehow, him getting mad at me just made me feel even more stubborn and secretive.