Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ryan didn’t even make it to the end of the block before his eyes blurred.
He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and wiped his face with the other, furious he’d allowed himself to show even a flicker of hope in Jasper’s presence.
If he’d known Jasper was bringing someone to the party, he never would have gone.
If he’d known Jasper was going to move on so quickly, he never would have given him so much space.
He cleared his throat and slapped himself to reset his emotions.
There was nothing left with Jasper, obviously.
Instead of getting on the freeway to Beni’s, or hell—even Boston, he turned the opposite direction and headed up the winding roads leading to their house.
With any luck, Jasper would go home with Shawn, and Ryan would be able to pack up a few suitcases with things he couldn’t leave behind, then leave the house for the last time, giving himself room to figure out a new way to exist without ever seeing Jasper again.
By the time the headlights lit up the side of the house, Ryan’s throat hurt from holding back tears.
The cold air outside shocked him back to his new normal, functional but aimless, and he managed to walk across the driveway, past the chicken coop, and up to the deck without falling apart.
He put the key into the lock and turned, lifting the door with the handle like they always did.
It was a bit loose on the hinges and dragged along the floor when he pushed it open.
He’d meant to fix it before he left for his farewell tour and never got around to it.
He did his best to ignore the door’s misalignment, and the groove Jasper had worn in the floor instead of just lifting as he opened it.
It wasn’t Jasper’s fault. Ryan hadn’t done what he said he was going to do, and he knew Jasper didn’t know how to fix it.
He could have sent someone out or fixed it some random weekend, but he didn’t.
A quick trip to the shed for his toolbox, and ten minutes later the door was realigned with fresh screws.
He opened and closed it a few times, just to be sure, then stepped inside, letting the door shut with just a gentle push.
It was stupid how easy a fix it was and how Ryan had let it go undone for months because he didn’t prioritize it.
Because wrestling had become more important than anything.
Because wrestling needed him more than Jasper ever did, and he assumed there would always be time later—for door hinges and for partners.
He looked down at the screwdriver in his hand, irritated with himself that something so small would make such an impact on Jasper’s life. And he wouldn’t even be there to enjoy it—to watch Jasper easily push the door open with his hip while carrying groceries or figurines or baby chickens.
If Jasper was there, he’d probably ask why Ryan cared now. He’d had years to be attentive and present and a true partner, not just a roommate who used their house as a hotel between moments with his true love—touring.
Ryan tossed his toolbox on the counter, suddenly exhausted. He needed to get his stuff packed and get back in the car so he could drive to Beni’s before he got too tired.
He squatted by the bar cart in the living room to grab his special CWA goblets—he still didn’t get why they’d been given as an anniversary gift, but he loved them nonetheless—and pulled them down to pack in a box.
When he reached up again, his knuckles brushed a bottle he’d forgotten about.
A nice bottle of whiskey he’d bought about three years earlier after he decided to retire…
the first time. He’d had two delayed retirements because he just couldn’t commit, and at the time, he thought Jasper had been fine with it. Not that he’d ever asked directly.
Brushing the dust off the bottle made him realize how long three years was.
That bottle represented something to look forward to—a promise, really, to Jasper, that someday this would end and they would have a normal life.
But now that promise was dusty and old, blocking the light and dulling the shine of what they could have had.
Three years was a long time. Three years of asking Jasper to “just hang on,” of prioritizing his own fears and pride, of ignoring Jasper’s requests for even a fraction more than Ryan had given him. No wonder Jasper stopped loving him.
He felt a sting behind his eyes and blamed it on dust.
If they were never going to celebrate Ryan’s retirement, there was no reason to save this bottle.
He twisted off the cap and sniffed. Sweet and woody.
A hint of caramel. Pungent. He poured a bit into a goblet and swallowed it, the burn providing him with the distraction he was looking for.
After pouring himself a second drink, he made his way to the living room to gather up some things from the bookshelf.
Tucked between some books was a printed photo of Jasper with Stevie, Beni, Nina, and Winnie.
They were at a restaurant, wine glasses raised in a toast. Jasper was grinning at the camera.
He flipped the photo over and found a note from Stevie—got an extra of this one printed because I look hot, and that waiter wants to eat you alive.
Congratulations, Mr. Principal! We love you.
That didn’t seem good. It seemed terrible, actually, because this photo was clearly taken when Jasper got the principal job at his new school.
The night Winnie said he’d cried in the bathroom.
How long ago was it taken, he wondered. Jasper had been in that role for…
at least a year, but he didn’t know for sure.
The last few years had just gone so quickly.
He sat down on the couch that backed up to the bookshelves, the photo gripped between fingers on one hand, a freshly refilled goblet in the other.
Looking at the photo now, he couldn’t remember if Jasper had called him when he got the job.
He must have. Or maybe not. Over time, their communication had become so sporadic and strained that Ryan had a hard time remembering the timeline.
He cringed at himself recalling the time Jasper had called to announce their new young chickens had laid their first eggs, and Ryan’s response had been to grumble about his workout being interrupted and said he’d call him back later. He never had.
Ryan’s gaze drifted back to Jasper’s face in the photo, dragging his thumb over it gently.
The sisters were lit up and happy. Winnie looked adorable, trying to appear older than she was.
The waiter in the photo was pouring more champagne in Jasper’s glass, grinning at him secretly as Jasper smiled at the camera.
His smile was there—gorgeous, how it always was in photos, but dull.
That wasn’t the smile Ryan knew. Or, he supposed, the one he used to know.
The playful one Jasper gave late at night when they toppled into bed, or the more joyful one that appeared when something genuinely surprised him, or even the one he wore when he was especially pleased with a joke that made Ryan groan.
He wasn’t sure he’d seen Jasper’s real smile since he’d been home.
The closest he’d come to seeing it was when Jasper had been laughing about the gifts earlier at the Christmas party.
With Shawn. He felt the burn of whiskey creep up the back of his throat and swallowed it down with the rest of his drink.
He set the photo down on the arm of the couch and leaned back to rest his head.
How many times had Jasper shared pieces of his life, and how many times had Ryan tuned him out?
He could name any opponent he’d wrestled over the last stretch of his on again, off again retirement tours.
He could name every injury he’d worked through, every interview he’d given, every match he’d won.
But major parts of Jasper’s life were a blip in his memory.
It was hard to remember when Jasper had started sharing less with him. Jasper had left his elementary school position and moved to the high school, that part Ryan remembered. He taught math. Ryan also knew the principal left and Jasper had wanted to go for it—and he did.
Jasper had built an entire life outside Amherst in the house Ryan bought them.
He’d built a life without Ryan. Slowly and quietly, but painfully too, Ryan imagined.
He hoped for that, as fucked up as it was, because they’d been so in love at one point it hurt to imagine Jasper happy to rid himself of the weight of their relationship.
He could swear, Jasper never mentioned most of it. But Ryan never asked.
He slumped down on the couch, tipsy, with whiskey flowing through his veins and shame close behind.
The photo he’d found was a literal snapshot of Jasper moving on.
He hadn’t told Ryan about the dinner because there was no point.
Ryan wouldn’t have been able to go—and he could admit, he wouldn’t have tried to go, depending on where he was—and Jasper knew that.
Jasper didn’t leave him because he’d stopped loving him the day after Ryan’s retirement. He left him because he’d already been alone for years.
The evening had been such a trash fire, Jasper didn’t know where to start.
Shawn was a nice guy, but not the one for him.
Ryan was a jerk for causing Jasper so much pain, currently centralized in his balls, but…
he was hurting, too. Whether or not Jasper was justified, he was responsible.
The watch he’d requested back rested in his lap as he sat quietly in Shawn’s car.
“Well,” Jasper said as Shawn pulled into the driveway. Ryan’s car was there and a nervous flutter took hold beneath his lungs. “This evening was… a lot.”
“Which part?” Shawn asked. “The part where you dry humped your ex, the part where your sister screamed at you for dry humping your ex, or the part where I thought we were on a date when both of those things happened?”