Page 44 of For the Rest of Forever

But it almost hurt—the fact that Allen sometimes still pushed Greg away. Especially when things got really bad. Like now.

And everything—everything—that had beaten Allen down in the last couple of weeks... it all seemed to have this compounding effect. Allen’s tiredness after their trip to Friday Harbor for the farmers’ market. Then what happened at the library with Christopher and Owen. Then all of that aftermath, all of Allen’s feelings growing and escalating, ultimately causing him to faint at work.

Greg took a deep breath and leaned his back against the closed door of the trailer.

No wonder.

He hadn’treallybeen wondering. It all followed some terrible, logical progression, even if that progression had spiraled out of his and Allen’s control. But when he let himself really think about it and remember all of those little pieces of the puzzle fitting together everywhere, itdidmake sense.

Allen’s guilt and shame and depression and lack of self-worth.

God, his poor husband. All he wanted to do, all heeverwanted to do, was to show Allen all of the love he deserved. And he deserved it all.

Somehow, Greg needed to figure out how to convince Allen of that.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, Greg’s hand shot down to his pocket, and he pulled out his cell phone, hit a few buttons, and lifted it up to his ear.

“Annabeth, hi. It’s Greg... No, Allen’s fine, he’s just, well... He doesn’t know I’m calling to ask, but would it be an issue with you if he were to take a few extra sick days, maybe through the weekend?”

Chapter Eighteen

Allen

Allen took off hisreading glasses and closed his book since he wasn’t really reading anyway—just staring at jumbled letters on the page while his mind raced in some continuous round of self-deprecating thoughts that hadn’t really stopped since his conversation with Greg that morning. He glanced out the windshield ahead of him, trying to focus on anything else. But his chest felt tight and his hands felt clammy and tingly, buzzing with unease.

He forced himself to take a few minutes to count things in his visual field. Six western hemlocks, one Japanese maple, three western redcedars. Two seagulls. One small yacht—heading north up the Puget Sound. Fourteen—no, fifteen pyramid fence post caps along the wood fence outside Greg’s clients’ home.

It was distracting enough, but too temporary. Just like everything he tried.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and set his hands on his thighs. The material of his jeans felt coarse against his fingertips,and he focused on that for a minute while using another deep breathing exercise. It, too, was temporary, but at least the tightness in his chest faded somewhat. When he opened his eyes again, his thoughts felt a little less intrusive.

He glanced at his watch and frowned as he realized it was taking Greg much too long to close up the back of the trailer. He leaned forward a bit and looked out his window into the passenger’s side mirror. But he couldn’t see anything. Maybe he should get out and check. After all, they should be back on the road by now.

Not that Allen was in a hurry—in fact, maybe he’d prefer to not be home for a while yet, to still be out and about and away from the house so he wasn’t just sitting there fixating on their unfinished conversation this morning or how downright lousy he was still feeling in his head.

And even here, even now, sitting in the SUV with all the distracting things around him, that task seemed impossible. His thoughts still tried to swerve, still tried to take that dark turn he’d been so desperately avoiding. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unable to stop it. The whole morning replayed—beginning with him waking up to an overwhelming anxiety and uncertainty, every negative emotion and thought practically screaming at him that he needed to find a way to convince Greg to go on that work trip for Paul, and ending with his abysmal attempt and complete failure to change Greg’s mind.

What a mess that had been. Not that he’d expected to be successful, really. He was terrible at arguing his point, even when it was important, like this. But now, he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Certainly at some point, Greg would realize how much he was missing out on, and he would realize it was all Allen’s fault, because it was. Then Greg would surely be angry and upset, and he had all the right to be. All the reason to be.

Because it was Allen’s fault.

All of it.

All of it was—

Allen’s thoughts stopped abruptly as the driver’s side door opened, the sound jarring in the otherwise quiet vehicle. He opened his eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight, which seemed somehow to pull him back to the present and away from the rough downhill slide he’d been on. Then he turned his head as Greg peeked in.

Greg had his phone in one hand, and the other was grasping the door, holding it open just enough. Greg’s brilliant smile and sparkling eyes tugged at some deep emotion in Allen, and his heart seemed to stutter.

“Darling, a question for you... Do you trust me?” Greg asked.

Allen blinked, the question so out of left field that he had to think on it for half a second. “Of course.” He nodded. “Completely.”

“Good. Okay. One more minute, then we’ll be on our way,” Greg answered with another grin. He closed the door, lifted the phone up to his ear, and started talking as he moved back toward the trailer again. Allen couldn’t really make out anything more than a muffled “yep, that’ll be perfect” before Greg disappeared out of his view.

Do you trust me?

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