Page 96 of A Little More Forgiveness

After arriving at the beach house yesterday morning, I’d spent long hours analyzing the last week and comparing my time with Mitch and Leo to my past failed relationship, finally grasping the blindingly simple reason we hadn’t worked out. Because, deep down, I hadn’t wanted it to. I’d been subconsciously sabotaging my relationship with Karl and David for a very long time. The late nights and weekends at the office. The numerous months away for work. I’d been absent and no longer engaged in our lives. No wonder they’d decided they didn’t want me around. I’d already checked out long ago.

“You okay there, buddy?” Ethan asked, concern marring his handsome face.

I swallowed a couple of times and cleared my throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He studied me intently, silently contemplating my words. Of course, he figured it out in two seconds flat. “About time,” he remarked softly, pulling me in for another hug. “About fucking time.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Leo

“Leo!” My door rattled on its hinges as someone hammered on the outside.

I rolled over and checked my phone for the time, groaning at the early hour. After a couple of hours at the gym yesterday, the tension beneath my skin refused to dissipate, making it feel tight and itchy. Once home, I’d instantly muffled up, this time ensuring there was no chance of me becoming a human popsicle, and headed back out, thinking a walk along the beach might distract me and help get rid of my restlessness.

I’d wandered between both the larger bay, where most of the tourists visited, and the smaller, more private bay, frequented by the local residents, for a few hours. I morosely enjoyed the bitingly cold air numbing my face, with only the crash and boom of the waves along the shore interrupting my introspection. Determined, I tried to keep my gaze fixed on the ebb and flow of the surf, but time and again, my eyes returned to the rows of beach houses lining the top of the bluff, wanting, yet not wanting, to know which beach house was Gabe’s in case I caught a glimpse of him and did something daft, like plead with him to take me back.

As the sky turned from a molten gray toward black, with the night rolling in, I’d made my way back to my apartment and spent the rest of the evening on the couch watching crap TV. But I was unable to get comfortable, as I didn’t have Mitch’s firm and warm chest to lay my head on, or Gabe’s hand running gently up and down my leg.

Sleep barely came at all without two hot bodies to wrap myself around. When I did eventually manage to doze for a bit, I kept waking up cold and confused—until I remembered why I had an empty bed.

The hammering on my door repeated.

“G’way.” I buried my head in the pillow and tried to block them out, hoping they’d eventually give up and leave me in peace.

“Leo! It’s Mitch. Let me in.”

“Mitch?” Christ, I was so tired I hadn’t even recognized his voice.

I reluctantly slid out of bed, padded the short distance to the door, and turned the locks, before I appreciated what a bad idea it was.

Mitch looked like crap, and I had to fight down my natural instinct to invite him in and take care of him. His clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them all night, which was entirely possible judging by the smell of alcohol wafting off his breath.

Holding on to the jamb with one hand and the front door with the other, I effectively barred his entrance. “What do you want, Mitch?” I tried to keep my tone neutral but couldn’t prevent a slice of bitterness wrapping around my question.

Probably knowing he wouldn’t get a warm welcome after the way he dumped me yesterday, he winced, and at least had the good grace to look guilty.

“I…um. Can I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”

“Oh, so now you want to talk?”

“Please, Leo.”

Such a proud man, I hated him feeling he had to beg.

“Only for a minute.”

A part of me wanted to slam the door right in his face, but annoyingly, a bigger part of me wanted to listen to what he had to say for himself. I grudgingly stepped aside, allowing him to enter, the air tinged with the familiar scent of fire smoke and pine as he passed me by to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, his large frame seeming to entirely fill the space of my crappy, shoebox-sized apartment, if you could even call it that—a single, medium-sized room with a sofa against one wall, an armchair to the right, with a TV unit opposite, and a narrow coffee table separating them. Beyond that, sat a full-size bed. A small kitchen with a two-burner stove was situated to the right of the main door, and a tiny bathroom with barely enough room to turn around in was on the left.

Basic was too good a word for the dated, slightly musty-smelling room, but after being fired in Boston, this was all I could afford. And since I quit being my stepfather’s emotional punching bag yesterday, which had been incredibly satisfying, by the way, and after he’d finished bad-mouthing me to all and sundry, I’d likely never work in Melrose Bay again. Meaning, I’d not be able to afford this shitty hole for much longer either.

I stood a few feet away from Mitch, crossed my arms for some semblance of protection and to create a barrier between us, then waited. He remained quiet, merely standing there, seemingly at a loss for what to do next.

“You wanted to talk, so talk.”

His eyes widened slightly at my harsh attitude, but I ignored him. He’d left me crushed yesterday, and after my showdown with Malcolm, I was all out of fucks.

“I…um…wanted to talk about us, to—”

---