17. Chapter 17 #3
The weight of his body beside him on the bed was comforting and reassuring, even though they weren’t touching.
Frankie reached for the bottle of whiskey in Sam’s hand, their fingers touching briefly.
He took a long drink. Sam’s eyes fixated on the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed, his lips wrapped over the rim, tasting Sam’s saliva in the most innocuous way.
Forcing himself to look away, he leaned forward onto his knees, clasping his hands together and trying to keep his fucking cool.
Except… he couldn’t.
Not today.
He was too shattered. Too fucking lost to try to be stoic and reserved around Frankie right now, especially when all he could think about was how much Frankie had taken care of him all day. The way a best friend would—or even a lover. A partner.
Papi’s words had beaten in his brain like a hammer.
It wasn’t possible.
Another wave of emotion gripped him, and he wanted the whiskey. He wanted to drown in his fucking grief and forget his aching, stupid heart that would never get to have what it truly wanted.
“You remember your graduation?” Frankie said unexpectedly, his tone light and soft. He glanced over, and his chest tightened.
Frankie was smiling at him—the way he always smiled at him—as if Sam were the best thing he’d ever seen in his life. So excited, so warm, so tender.
He nodded, afraid that if he spoke, his heart would make up words he didn’t understand yet. That the dam of denial he had built around him for the last fifteen years would break, and he would lose the only person left in his life that mattered.
“When Papi showed up with that massive fuckin’ sign?” Frankie asked, smiling broadly, shaking his head. “A giant posterboard with your name on it. Fuckin’ glitter and everything. Like you just graduated kindergarten or some shit, not med school.”
Sam, unable to resist Frankie’s smile, felt his lips quirk.
“Yeah, you loved it, though. I saw you light up on that stage. You’ve never looked so bright. You shone like…” Frankie hesitated, reaching for him instead, grasping the back of his neck and nervously licking his lips before glancing away.
“What?” Sam asked, voice raspy from barely speaking all day.
“You’re gonna think I’m a fuckin’ cheeseball.”
“I already do.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frankie smiled bashfully. “You lit up like the Christmas tree in front of Rockefeller—like a fuckin’ sparkler on the Fourth of July.
I ain’t never seen you do that before. And Papi did that.
He did that,” he said with a firm point at the picture on the nightstand.
“He loved you more than anything, and I’m gonna miss the way he made you shine. ”
Emotion slammed into him, and the shock came and went. The dam had finally burst, crumbling to ruin under the tidal wave of love.
He loved Frankie.
He had always loved him, however impossibly.
Oh God.
Sam quickly averted his gaze, burying his face in his hands, mewling like a baby full of grief and fear.
And Frankie was there. Wrapping him in his strong, unyielding arms, drawing him into his chest and cradling him close, his hands on his back. His words were soothing, but not enough.
It would never be enough.
Their friendship would always have limitations.
He had denied his heart because he knew this was impossible.
Yet he couldn’t stop himself from loving him.
And he couldn’t keep living like this. He couldn’t keep torturing himself with a love that would never happen.
That would never give back the way he needed—the way he wanted.
Sam pulled back just enough to reach for him, too—for the first time.
His fingers grasped the jawline of his best friend's face, who didn’t draw away but stayed.
He looked at him, heart lodged in his throat, peering straight into those warm brown eyes and knowing exactly what would happen if he did what he always wanted to do. What he had denied for so, so long.
Frankie saw his hesitation and touched the hand on his jaw, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. “What can I do?”
Kiss me.
Sam sucked in a breath, “I’m sorry.”
He kissed him hard, possessively, and in every way he had needed to for the last fifteen years. The kiss was an eruption of passion and fire, burning him from the inside out as he claimed for a brief few seconds what he wanted.
Frankie pulled back, eyes frantically searching his, wide with confusion.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Sam rushed out and yanked him once more into him, kissing him.
And Frankie didn’t stop him—didn’t resist. He was paralyzed from shock, he thought, and yet, Sam didn’t care.
He had just ruined their friendship with this kiss.
So, he was going to make it last—make it count.
He slanted his mouth over his and tongued his lips, wanting to push his way inside, to taste the mouth that tormented his dreams. He tasted of whiskey and something else, something…
sweet. Sam hadn’t expected that. Sweet and good.
He tasted so fucking good.
He groaned, wrapping his arms around him and taking in his scent, feeling his body against his and—
More. He wanted more. The denial of his feelings had been swept away in the rush of raging, churning water, and he wanted it all. And that was too much.
No.
Stop.
Sam, in that instant, released him. He wouldn’t take anyone without consent, and he certainly wouldn’t do that to the man he loved.
Grief once more overwhelmed him as an angry cry tore through his lungs like shredded glass.
This was it. He had just lost everything in one moment.
One stupid fucking moment. Unable to look at Frankie—at the damage he had just inflicted—he got to his feet, practically running to the door, shame washing over him.
“Sammy!”
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t look back.
Papi was dead.
And now, so was he. Nothing mattered. He wanted to vanish. And yet, he did. He had vanished for one blissful moment inside Frankie’s kiss.
Tears raced down his cheeks, his lips still tingling, and he wondered if he could make a kiss last a lifetime.
Shaking, Sam collapsed on the edge of his bed and cried.
He missed his grandpa.
He missed the life he had.
He missed Frankie.
They had been texting all week. He wanted to hear his voice, see his face… touch him. He had one more week until he was back in Boston. One more long, grueling week without the man he was desperately in love with. And he was terrified of the very real day when Frankie would be finished with him.
He hit the FaceTime button, and the phone rang. On the fifth ring, Frankie answered. The room was dark, and his voice was a grumble. “Sam?”
“Hey,” he said, guilt flooding him, realizing he should’ve waited to call. “Sorry, I can call tomorrow…”
“No,” Frankie sat up, reaching over to turn on his lamp. Light illuminated his face and bare chest. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away from his body, his lips, his handsome familiar face. “You look good.”
Frankie smiled slowly. “You called me at one in the morning to tell me how good I look?”
“No—yes—fuck, I just missed you.”
Frankie rubbed a sleepy hand over his face, smiling boyishly. “Yeah, well, I missed you too, Superman.”
Superman.
His Superman.
“I got asked to be a best man at my friend's wedding,” Sam said in a rush of joy.
Frankie blinked, “Who?”
“John. I think I mentioned him.”
“That’s awesome, baby. LA wedding?”
Sam’s heart couldn’t take casual affection anymore. He was already overwhelmed with emotion, and to have Frankie here, talking to him like this…
Rubbing the spot above his heart, Sam nodded, “The engagement party is in a couple of months. I think the wedding is in the spring of next year.”
“You lookin’ for a date? Cause I’d love to see you in a tux.”
He swallowed, hands shaking. Frankie was talking about months—months of being together. It didn’t feel real. “You think you’ll still want me by next year?”
“Fuck yeah.”
He cleared his throat, fighting back the tears. “You should get some sleep. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.” He stared, a longing that he felt constantly with Frankie stirred in his gut. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“You better.”
They hung up and he fell back into bed, phone on his chest. Eventually, he fell asleep.