Page 81 of Brazen Deceits

“Would you mind swinging by my parents’? I want to grab my stuff and go back home.”

He turns to me, not pulling out into traffic. “When did our house become your home?”

It’s now or never. No masks, no faking, or joking, or coming at things sideways. “It’s where I feel safe. With you guys. It’s home.”

He hands me his phone, and I type in my parents’ address. “It’s my home too,” he whispers.

“Am I part of your home, Walker? Because you’re part of mine.”

He’s silent, following the navigation, his hands strangling the steering wheel.

I hold my breath, block after block, knowing whatever comes next, it’s final. I didn’t use the words that I’m pretty sure I’m feeling, but I set my beaten heart in front of him and he damn well better decide if he wants to heal it or grind it into goo. Because those are the only two options left.

At a red light, he shifts to face me. “I don’t know how, Clara. I can’t be second best, second choice, not in this. I can’t sit here, waiting for you to pick someone else, someone better.”

My poor bruised heart clenches tight. “Is that how you feel?”

He grimaces, glancing at the light. “Sometimes, yeah.”

The light changes, and he signals us off the road, pulling into a parking lot.

Throwing the car into park, he grips the steering wheel. “I don’t know if it’s you, or me, or just this weird mess we got into, but I can’t be less than. I can’t look around and feel like I’m just the backup, the one that isn’t good enough for every day, but only for sometimes. I just, I can’t, Clara.”

Swallowing back tears, I try to meet him where he is. “Do I make you feel less than? That was never my intention. I like you, Walker. If I’m honest, I more than like you.”

His face hovers in shadows as he turns to me, invisible with the streetlight behind him. “I don’t know. I just, I’ve never done this kind of thing before, the sharing. And it’s hot as fuck, but I just, I’m not as fun as Jansen, as smart as RJ, or as driven as Trips. I’m just, well, me. And you deserve the best, Clara. What if that isn’t me?”

My hands are on his face before I can think, my lips pressing against his, putting all the fear, the ache, and the honest-to-God love I feel into the kiss, trying to make him understand. He shifts, softening, but not diving in, not accepting, not believing.

I pull back, locking eyes with him. “Walker, you’re one of the best men I’ve ever met. You’re a damn virtuoso with a #2 pencil, you can recognize art from masters hundreds of years gone by the shade of green they use, you can take off and put on masks so fast it’s blinding—and I want to see you in all of them. You know how to enjoy a moment, to savor time, taste, color, to savor the whole goddamn world. You’re my anchor. Without you, I’d be adrift. But with you, Walker? I can see a path forward, a place for me to stand in this fucked-up world and becomesomething. I need you, Walker. And I miss you every moment we’re apart.”

He looks away, and all I want to do is shake him, but I wait, holding on, desperate in stillness.

His voice, when it comes, is broken. “I miss you, too.”

“Then why are we apart? Am I too clingy? Too much?” I tug on my sleeves, scared of the answer.

He swallows, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “God no, never, Clara. You’re not the problem. Not at all.” His fingers brush my bottom lip, leaving tingles in their wake, before he pulls back to himself, staring out the windshield. “I just, I need to back off and give the other guys a chance. You should get to pick the best of us, not just settle for the first guy you fell into bed with.”

“And what if I don’t pick?” The question lingers, something I’ve been thinking about, wondering if it’s even possible.

Walker shakes his head. “You have to, Clara. It’s the way things work.”

“Why? All of us, together? We rewrote history once already, keeping Trips out of jail. If we can do that, why should a social construct like monogamy apply to us?”

“Clara—“

“You said it’s hot, the sharing. I think so too. What if, I don’t know, I had more than one boyfriend? Because I want to be your girlfriend, Walker.”

He looks at me, hope lining his gaze. “I want that, too.”

“Then let’s do it. Walker, do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He chuffs. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Clara.”

“Why the fuck not? I like you. You like me. We both find sharing hot. Done. Settled. Who cares what all those people out there think? They’re the ones who measure useless expectations and propriety. And what is all that, anyway? It’s bullshit trying to keep us in line, trying to keep us from growing, from shattering out of their rules into gloriously imperfect, fully formedpeople, Walker. What was it you said about art? That it’s the imperfections that make it beautiful? I want beauty, not rules. And you’re a pro at beauty. Please. I need you to make this mess at least a little prettier. I’m going to make it a fucking disaster without you.”

He stares down where my knees are halfway over the center console, my hands having slipped down, cradling his neck. I press my forehead to his. “Fuck them, Walker. Be with me. I choose you. No matter what, know that I choose you. And no one else can ever take you away from me. You’re mine, Walker Lee.”

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