Page 36 of Resisting You

He cleared his throat. “How’s Selene?”

Cosimo closed his eyes in a long, slow blink. For the first time that afternoon, Renato saw real stress on his face. “Can we not talk about it?”

Renato put up his hands. “So long as we don’t talk about the details of what I did.”

Barking a laugh, Cosimo rolled his eyes. “I was definitely not going to ask my cousin what he’s been doing with his dick. I just…” He trailed off for a second, and his eyes went really sad. “Are you still visiting Grady at the cemetery every week?”

Renato’s eyes cut to the side. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Cosimo said quietly. “I don’t like to think about the shit I’ll end up doing if Emmett goes before me. But I also know that Emmett would want me to find a way to be happy.”

Renato’s eyes narrowed. “I’m so tired of people telling me that. Auden hasn’t stopped talking about how Grady would have wanted me to move on.”

Cosimo bit his lip and looked somewhat abashed, but not abashed enough. “He’s probably not wrong, though. Maybe if the two of you had lived until you were so old you couldn’t stand up with a straight back, he might want you to die alone, but you’re young.”

Renato almost choked on his own tongue. “I’m far from young.”

“Fifty is the new twenty,” Cosimo said with a sniff.

“Tell that to my knees.” Renato understood what he was saying, though. He was middle-aged. He wasn’t standing on death’s door, and most people his age didn’t just give up. Hell, there were people who started entirely new careers at his age.

But he wasn’t like most people, and he had been content to consider the idea that being alone the rest of his life could be just as satisfying as finding a partner. Only now, he couldn’t get Frey out of his head.

And he wasn’t full enough of self-delusion to convince himself he didn’t know what it meant.

He just didn’t know what the fuck to do about it because there was no chance in hell Frey meant what they did as anything other than a hate fuck. They’d both been so angry, and Frey couldn’t even look him in the eye when it was over.

“This guy?—”

“No,” Renato said, soft but firmly. “No. Not yet.”

Cosimo nodded and settled back in his chair. After a long beat, he took a last sip of his espresso, then said, “Want to hear about the adorably clueless boy my daughter’s been seeing? And how she’s probably going to ruin him because I’m pretty sure she’s cheating on him, which means my husband and I created a monster?”

Renato stared, then burst into laughter. “I’d like nothing more.”

Renato was pretty sure one of the reasons he carried on visiting his husband’s voice at the cinema was the fact that it was out of the way in a dying theater that would one day close their doors. He didn’t think they’d tell him either. He’d just show up one Thursday to find the lights off and the windowed doors boarded up.

It would probably crush him, but in all honesty, he’d been feeling numb as of late, and he almost wanted the shake-up. He half wondered if maybe that’s why he’d kissed Frey. His life was so dull, so colorless and formless, he’d panicked.

With a sigh, he offered his card out to the ticket taker and asked her to book him whatever showing had seats available. He didn’t pay attention to what he was supposed to be seeing, instead taking the little paper slip along with his card, and he walked in through the swinging door.

The smell of popcorn hit him. It was funny—he and Grady had never really done the cinema thing. They’d gone once or twice early in their relationship when they were still trying to figure out what dating was supposed to be like for two gay men in the mid-nineties fresh off the AIDS crisis.

And they’d spent the whole time talking in a soft whisper, then making out until Grady suggested they could find other ways to occupy their time.

And God help them did they find ways to occupy their time. And their mouths. And their bodies.

He missed that, of course. That part of the loneliness was always ever-present. He’d never been a cuddler, and half the time, Grady would end up falling asleep on the sofa, but mornings when he could roll over and lay his hand on a warm stomach moving softly with the breath of deep sleep fueled him. It was comfort. It was solid.

It was safe.

Now, there was only ever a cold pillow and unwrinkled sheets, and when he was feeling his worst, he had only himself. His own hugs left something to be desired—something Grady had never been shy about telling him. He loved his husband, but the one thing he didn’t miss was Grady’s poignant honesty that cut right to the quick.

He didn’t mind spending most of his day blissfully unaware of his shortcomings and social failings.

And it was odd because as much as Frey seemed to hate him, he never went for Renato’s soft spots. He never went out of his way to point out tender flaws that made him wince. And when he did, it was always by accident, and he always looked devastated.

Renato felt like his stomach was trying to crawl out of his throat as he let himself into the theater and took his seat. It was empty and silent—just the way he liked it. He settled with his legs spread apart, his head tipped back, eyes closed.

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