Chapter 19
Connor’s flight from California had been a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it journey, a whirlwind sprint to his childhood home.
But his return from Ohio seemed to have gone at a snail’s pace, Connor anxiously counting down the hours until he landed in Santa Ana.
As promised, Nate was right there in baggage claim waiting for him, his normally bright eyes hollow, like he hadn’t slept since Connor left.
At two good days of growth, he was well on his way to a beard, dark hair growing longer and thicker than Connor had ever seen on him.
It would have looked good, if not for how gaunt and haggard Nate looked.
All of this Connor noticed, spotting Nate first. Seeing him before Nate saw him, judging from the way he shifted in place, glancing around, worrying at his bottom lip.
He didn’t know why, but he needed to see this–like if he’d shown up to Nate looking well-rested, groomed, happy, then it’d all have been a lie. A trick.
Nate telling him what he wanted to hear just so he’d come back.
But he looked, well, exactly how Connor felt, like the weight of their separation clung to each limb.
Even when Nate recognized him, he didn’t smile–not at first. If anything, the lines between his brows deepened, his lips parting, closing.
So Connor extended out an olive branch, as much as he did for anyone.
“Hey.”
He tugged his backpack up higher over his shoulder, determined not to feel awkward.
“Hey,” Nate said, stiff, his voice tight. “How–how was your-”
“Fine,” Connor said. “My flight was fine.”
“Oh.” Nate cleared his through. “I mean, uh, good.”
The two men stood awkwardly, just barely a foot apart, neither knowing how to approach the other.
And then Connor made the first move, something he never did. He pulled Nate into a tight hug.
Nate stiffened in his arms, clearly not having expected it. Maybe, also, discomfited with open affection in public.
Connor didn’t care.
Nate felt just as warm, just as solid in his arms as he remembered–and unbelievably, he hugged Connor back, pressing his face into his shoulder.
Neither man spoke, standing there in baggage claim, travelers rushing around them to retrieve their luggage, greet their loved ones, and make their return home.
Home was exactly where Connor wanted to be, and that was where Nate took him.
His apartment looked exactly as Connor has left it only two days ago, his surfboard still propped up against the sliding glass door, wetsuit hanging over a chair on his balcony, loafers right where he’d abandoned them in front of the couch.
Coffee seemed like a reasonable offer despite the late hour, Connor not ready to send Nate out.
They had so much still to talk about. But talking seemed further than what Connor could do–he may have been projecting onto Nate, but it seemed outside of his abilities, too.
If talking came, it wouldn't come tonight. Not from him.
“It’s not espresso,” Connor said, but Nate seemed unbothered.
“Anything’s fine. I mean it,” he replied, clearly so unsure with himself, if this was where he should be.
So Connor made the coffee, and he found two mugs that didn’t match but were still clean. And it didn’t matter that nothing about this looked like it came out of a magazine, black coffee with honey tasted just as good regardless of its vessel.
Nate looked as natural as ever sitting there on his couch, no less out of place than any other night they’d spent here.
And if Connor tried, he could release the grip that anxiety held on his heart for just long enough to remember how nice that felt. If he tried, he could forget the last few days. He wanted that more than anything, to go back to where they had been before.
Just the two of them navigating this new relationship amidst the day to day demands of their department.
Funny, how he’d even come to start enjoying being in the office with Nate.
He wished for nothing more than to return to that.
But they couldn’t. They’d never be able to again.
And even if Connor could keep his mouth shut and ignore the elephant in the room, Nate couldn’t. He’d never be able to do that.
“It was after you left that he started being explicit about it,” Nate was saying, cradling his coffee between his hands. Maybe Connor should have stopped him–he knew what Nate could be like when he got caught in his spirals of rumination. But hearing him out felt kinder. So he did.
“I mean, he kept telling me that you were toxic to this department, that you were this ticking time bomb that was going to explode in my face,” Nate continued, his voice quivering.
“He said that I'd just be the next Curtis Devore, fucked by my assistant. And I told him he was wrong, that I needed you.”
He worried about the handle of his mug, setting it down on Connor’s coffee table. For a moment, Connor regretted sitting in his armchair and not on the couch next to Nate.
“You said that?” Connor asked, tremulous and uncertain.
Was that what had really happened?
No. He knew.
He knew from the way Nate looked at him now, those brown eyes wide, framed by such long lashes.
Beautiful eyes. Earnest eyes. The same earnest eyes that had once shone with such determination while Nate defended his honesty with investors, citing the way he’d talked to clients during his VC internship.
Connor couldn’t say how, but he knew every word Nate spoke was the truth.
“I talked about your work. How our investors loved you.” Nate set his mug down, rubbing at his jaw, his gaze dropping down to the carpet.
“And I fucked up. There were ten steps between where I was and where I wound up with your proposal open, and I picked the wrong choice every time. I really thought I was helping you, Connor.”
“Nate.” Connor’s voice was tight in his chest. God, he knew. He’d known all along.
“I wanted him to know,” Nate continued, a hysterical edge to his voice. “I mean, fuck. You're the brains of this department. Not me. And then he wouldn't let it go. ‘Look at this proposal you wrote,’ he said to me. ‘You don't need him when you can do this.’ It made me so sick.”
Nate pressed his face into his hands, groaning.
“And then you came in and I knew, I hadn't saved you at all. I'd fucking sealed your fate. There was nothing I could do to save you. I was fucking out of ideas, and I’d betrayed you for nothing.”
Connor knew he couldn’t even disagree. But despite himself, he moved from the chair to the couch, sitting at the edge, not sure if he should touch Nate’s shoulder or his knee–or just let him be.
“So when you left, when your email came in about your brother–” Nate cut himself off with a shake of his head, dropping his hands. “It doesn’t matter. When you left, all I could think is you weren't going to be around to defend your position. So I did the next thing I could think of.”
“Like a chess match,” Connor offered, more to himself.
“Yeah,” Nate said, clearly ashamed. “He’d made his move. So I made mine.”
“You made that report.”
“Yeah. Fuck. It was my last option and I just–i couldn't be the reason you lost your career. Not after everything you–
Nate cut himself off, covering his mouth with a fist. And Connor reached out before he could stop himself, his touch gentle at Nate’s shoulder, cupping his cheek, taking him in his arms just to behold him.
Nate’s hair was getting long again. Connor brushed a finger against a loose curl, his expression no doubt betraying him.
But it wasn’t so much a betrayal. Not anymore.
“Pretty bold and ballsy of you,” Connor mused, feeling his lips twitch up in a half smile. “To go nuclear on him.”
“Just seemed like the kind of thing you would've done,” Nate said in a low voice. “I mean, from the minute I got here–you’ve put yourself on the line to help me and I… I haven’t done–”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“No! I came in here wanting to impress some guy that I didn’t even know and–and all this time, you cared about me way more than he ever did. All he ever wanted from me was–”
“I know,” Connor said, dropping his arm around Nate’s shoulder. But Nate reached up to catch his hand, turning to face him as he did.
“I never thought I was going to find someone like you. And once I found you–I’m not throwing you away.”
“I know you won't.”
Maybe Nate kissed him first, maybe Connor did, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was he tasted better than coming home could have ever felt, better than the surf in the afternoon sun, better than the success of a day in the office where he’s come out on top.
And as Connor kissed him, as his hands traced the broad expanse of that broad chest, Nate had never felt more like home.
“I want you to fuck me,” Connor decided right then and there, not realizing he’d said it out loud until Nate drew back, clearly surprised.
“Wh–I mean, yes, holy shit,” He kissed Connor, and then he kissed him again, the hand at his hip trembling. “Do you–are you sure?”
Connor had never been more sure of anything in his life.
He rested a palm against Nate’s chest, looking up at him as he considered broaching past the boundary he’d kept so firmly in place.
This was exactly what he wanted.
He left Nate in the living room so he could take a shower, cleaning himself, his hands on his skin all the while he imagined Nate’s.
Nothing he hadn’t had before, on the surface.
But broaching past every other line left between where they were willing to tread and all else that Connor had experienced before, other times with other men.
Connor also decided to handle the initial preparation himself, easing himself open, biting through the ache of the stretch of his fingers until he was ready.
When he emerged from his shower, he dried himself with a towel he then wrapped loosely around his hips, low enough that he was sure would draw Nate’s eye.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, pushing back wet hair, fingering the towel a moment.
Okay, this was really low. Low enough for the thatch of pubic hair growing just beneath his naval to peek out.