Chapter 13
Luke
With Oliver back at work, we had fallen into a steady routine. Three weeks in and we were housemate pros. Since my mornings kicked off earlier, I’d claimed the honorary breakfast-and-coffee shift. In return, because I usually got home later, Oliver had taken over dinner.
I’d wondered at first if it had been carryover from Vincent, some leftover sense of obligation and belief that he had to earn his keep, but he insisted that he liked it, so I let him have it.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate coming home after a long shift and not having to figure out a meal.
“How was your day?” I asked as we dug into dinner. “Didn’t you have that meeting with your team about the low conversion rate on the flagship account?”
“You remembered that?” he asked with surprise that told me Vincent wouldn’t have. No shocker there.
“Well yeah, you sounded excited about your presentation. How did it go?”
He set his fork down, launching into a whole explanation of marketing strategies, data funnels, A/B testing, retargeting metrics, his eyes lighting up as he spoke, hands animated. It made me happy to see him so passionate.
When he finally paused for breath, I chuckled, my hand reaching for the back of my neck. “So, full disclosure? I have no idea what ninety percent of that meant, but it sounded important.”
The happy, excited expression on his face vanished, his shoulders rolling toward his chest as he tucked his hands under the table, his gaze dropping to his plate. “Sorry. I didn’t . . . I probably went on too long. I know it isn’t interesting. I didn’t mean to bore you.”
There it was. Vincent’s ghost, pulling up a chair to the table like he owned the place.
“Hey, no, that’s not it at all. I want to hear about your day. I like when you talk about the stuff that fires you up. I just don’t speak fluent marketing and got a little lost.” I gave him a sheepish smile. “But if you’re willing to help me understand the lingo, I’d love to learn.”
“Okay, um, simplest version, we have two major metrics when we look at site traffic. Click-through rate, which is the number of people landing on a site, and conversion rate, which measures the number of people who follow through with either a purchase or sign-up. Right now, we have a high click-through rate but a low conversion rate.”
“Got it. So if you were a physical store, you’d be full of people walking in, looking around, but leaving without buying anything?”
“Yes, exactly. Part of the work I do is to figure out why they’re leaving, what’s stopping them, and then fix it so more of our click-through rates convert into sales.”
“I think I get it. You’re like detectives for why people bail on the shopping process.”
“Yeah. That’s actually a perfect way of seeing it.”
“And your meeting was to figure out where the drop-off point is? Did your detective work reveal anything?”
“We think the issue is on the pricing page. The layout’s confusing and makes customers second-guess whether the product is worth it. We’re designing two new site product pages that we’ll go live with at the end of the week and track which one is more successful.”
“That’s awesome, Ollie. Sounds like you cracked the case.”
“Yeah, it was a productive meeting.”
We wrapped up dinner with the kind of easy, low-stakes chatter that didn’t ask much of either of us. But once we migrated to the couch, Oliver got quieter. He kept worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.
Pulling out my wallet, I fished out a loose penny, and held it out to him. His brow creased as he looked at the coin.
“For your thoughts,” I said.
His lips quirked upward. “When you first brought me here, you said once I was ready, you’d go over the next steps, you know, for someone in my position.
I think I might be ready to talk about those options.
I’m grateful to be safe, but I want to start reaching for something beyond just surviving.
I want connections with other people, I want to build something that’s mine. If the offer still stands.”
Not wanting to pressure him beyond his comfort zone, I hadn’t brought this very topic up but I’d been hoping he would. It made me proud he’d brought it up now. “Definitely still stands. I actually have a binder of resources pulled together. You want to see?”
“Yes. Please.”
I retrieved my work bag and returned with a three-inch binder and set it on his lap.
“Wow, when I asked for next steps, I didn’t think you’d be presenting me with a novel,” Oliver said, the corner of his mouth twitching through his dry delivery.
Man, did I love when Oliver got all mouthy, glimpses of his true personality shining through.
“Less novel and more choose your own adventure. I’ve organized it by categories and subtopics so you can browse, skip, or ignore whatever doesn’t fit.
We can go through it together, or I can make myself scarce while you look. Dealer’s choice.”
He looked at me for a long beat, then leaned into my side, his head resting against my shoulder in a way that I took to mean “Thank you, I’m still scared,” and “Please stay.”
He leafed through the binder, landing on the section regarding support groups and counseling services.
“This is where I want to start,” he said.
“Excellent. Group sessions can be a big help. You get to see parts of your own story in other people, and it reminds you you’re not alone.”
“Do you think I’ll be allowed? I mean, I’m a man and most of these programs were built because of the violence men have done to women. I . . . I don’t want to take up space that isn’t meant for me.”
“Yes, the groups listed here are specifically inclusive. Hurt is hurt no matter who it happens to. Nobody gets to decide you don’t count because you don’t fit the usual profile.”
“I’m scared everyone will see I’m a man and think I’m the threat, not the survivor.”
“I wish I could promise that won’t happen.
The thing is, people bring their own baggage into those rooms. And yeah, sometimes folks react out of fear or assumption before they know better.
Doesn’t make ’em right. You do belong. And if anyone says otherwise, that’s about their own stuff they’re workin’ through, not you. ”
“I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
“I get that, and it says a lot about how conscientious you are. There are closed-group options where you might feel more comfortable.” I pointed to the tab.
“They’re smaller, include the same people each week, and everyone goes through an intake interview with a licensed facilitator before joining.
The only catch is they usually require a six-to-eight-week commitment. ”
“I want to try the closed group. I think if I knew the people were going to be the same each time and it wouldn’t shift around, I might be able to talk eventually.”
“Solid choice. Tomorrow morning, we can call the center together, and I can sit right next to you through the intake if you want.”
“Okay.”
“I have another idea, if you’re open to it,” I said.
“What?”
“I know you want to build your own circle, and I’m all for it.
In the meantime, I’ve got a low-pressure on-ramp.
My best friend Ezra, the bartender at Opal and Obsidian you sorta met, and his boyfriend Micah, invited us to dinner.
Salt-of-the-earth duo. Could be good to get out and be around humans, even if it’s still, like, me-adjacent for now. ”
Oliver didn’t answer right away. His gaze slid to the window, then to the floor, then to his thumbnail that he began picking at. “Dinner with your friends? Do they um . . . do they know about . . .”
“I didn’t give them specifics. That’s your story to tell, not mine. Ezra knows a little, mostly from that night at the club when I used him as a decoy to keep Vincent distracted while I talked to you, but beyond that, they only know you’re staying with me because you needed out of a bad situation.”
He lifted a hand to his face, touching the fading bruises along his cheekbone, now a sickly yellow-green. “I guess it’s going to be pretty obvious once they see me.”
“Yeah, maybe. But they’re good people, and they sure as hell aren’t the kind of people to treat you like a trauma buffet.
But if it’d make you feel better, we can pick up some concealer.
I think I remember enough of the makeup tutorials from my sister to fake my way through.
I’ll need some help with color matching, though, because apparently undertones are a science.
Even I can join in the fun, then we’ll both come out looking fabulous. ”
Oliver’s lips twitched. “You’d really wear it with me, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely. Some blush, maybe even eyeliner if we’re feeling bold. Full glam solidarity.”
The smile reached his eyes this time. Then it thinned, as he pressed his lips together. “You don’t . . . I mean you don’t mind me intruding?”
That was, no doubt, another one of Vincent’s cruel catchphrases.
“If showing up to dinner qualifies as intruding, I’ve been trespassing on Ezra’s property for years. Shameless repeat offenses of loitering, couch-napping, and pillaging his fridge. Trust me, this isn’t breaking and entering. You’re being invited.”
I leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.
“Besides, when it’s just me and them, I become the eternal third wheel.
Ezra and Micah are so in love they make Hallmark movies seem repressed.
It’s nauseating in the most heartwarming way possible.
They communicate in a series of emoji-eyed glances, intimate touches, and don’t get me started on the way they wash dishes together.
It’s practically foreplay. I need reinforcements, Ollie.
Think of it as a rescue mission for my romantic equilibrium. ”
“You don’t want a relationship like that?”
“I definitely do. Just haven’t found my person yet.
I’m somewhere on the demisexual to gray-ace spectrum, so I’m what you’d say is a feelings first over body first kinda guy.
If I don’t have a strong emotional bond with someone, I’m basically on airplane mode.
Even with feelings, the attraction isn’t guaranteed to flip to sexual later.
People don’t always love that, they want sex to be a sure thing. ”
“That does seem to be the way of things,” Oliver said.
“It’s totally valid. But with me, it’s not a guarantee, which tends to shrink the dating pool. But yeah, emotional intimacy, connection that has each of you bending toward each other from the pull of it, like Ez and Micah have . . . I want that.”
“I do too,” Oliver whispered.
“Well, if neither of us has someone in our life like that yet, we can always live vicariously through Ezra and Micah. Their love is enough to have you singing ballads in the rain and googling engagement rings before dessert.”
“And when is this dinner?”
“Nothing locked in, but what would you say to tomorrow evening? Could be a good way to close out the week. Ezra and I are both off from nightclub duty, and it gives you the whole weekend to kick back and veg out if it turns out to be more peopling than you’re ready for.”
“I’m good with that,” he said.
“Tomorrow night it is. You, me, and the most offensively adorable couple this side of a romance novel.”