Page 69 of Devilry

“I wanted to know,” I say, my voice low, my breath shaky. “If I was going to risk my whole world and everything I knew by coming out, I wanted to know for sure that I was gay.

“So, I took the risk. I asked him if he had a girlfriend in Oregon, knowing that Alex would never lie to me. He’d made his stance on honesty so clear.” I tilt my head while looking at Cole. “God, I'm stupid.” He stares at me in confusion. “Alex used to go on and on about being truthful. He would say you've got nothing if you can't be one hundred percent with your friends. I just realized he was warming me up to tell him the whole time.

“So when he said ‘Elijah, I’m into boys,’ I could've cried from relief.”

With Alex I wasn't an outcast, I wasn't different, and I wasn't hiding. His push for honesty saved my life in ways I didn't realize until after our time together ended. The push and shove he gave me, no matter what the end result was, has been my driving force for as long as I can remember. I didn't want to be someone Alex was disappointed in.

“Then nothing could hold us back. Friendship turned into flirting and then one day I finally got to touch him.” Realizing I'm beginning to ramble, I pull away from Cole and bury my head in my hands. “This is awkward, isn't it? I’m sorry if this is awkward. I’m getting carried away. I haven’t told anyone any of this.Ever. I didn’t realize how good it would feel to let it all out.”

He plucks my hands off my face and softly presses his palms on both my cheeks.

“I love hearing you talk. Getting to know more about you makes me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. I know you don't open up to many people, and I'm beginning to understand the reasons why.” He leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Thank you.”

Gripping his wrists, I hold him in place, just staring with amazement that this, right now, is my life. My terms. My story. My version.

“So, that’s how you guys ended up behind the church?” he asks, surprising me.

“You really want me to keep talking?”

He slides his hands out of my grip and moves them into his lap. “More than anything.”

“Why the distance?” I query, feeling the loss of him immediately.

“Don't look at me like I just kicked your puppy. I'm doing the right thing here.”

I look at him expectantly. “I want to give you and your story the respect it deserves. If this is your first time telling it, I don't want my dick to get in the way.”

Acknowledging that talking about this has me feeling lighter than I could've ever anticipated, I don't argue. “Fine,” I huff, scooting back to my side of the couch. “It was supposed to be an extended service with some guest speaker. The day we got caught,” I remind him, in case he's forgotten where we left off. “We thought we had all the time in the world. But what I didn’t account for was that my dad would notice I wasn’t there. And when the other person took the lectern, of course, he came out to see where I was.”

As if he's reliving the experience with me, Cole’s face morphs into genuine panic.

“What happened after?”

"My father screamed at me till he couldn't physically scream anymore.”

“I'm fucking sorry you ever had to deal with that.”

I let his empathy soothe me. “You know, that was never the part that hurt the most,” I confess. “It was after.

“He stopped looking at me, talking to me; stopped doing things I didn’t even realize he’d done in the past, like pat me on the back if he was proud of me or hug me like a father does.” Frozen out and left all alone, for the first time I voice out loud just how much that killed me. “He took all the things a child needs to flourish, and he purposefully waited, watching until I wilted.”

It’s at this point, where the distance he was so determined to keep becomes too much for Cole. He drags me into his lap, wrapping me up, cocooning me in his arms.

“You didn’t wilt,” he whispers into my ear.

My eyes sting and my throat closes up as I try to hold back the threat of tears. After years of practicing and perfecting how to shut down my emotions, they're on overdrive, filling me up to the brim.

“Elijah.” He pulls back, his glossy eyes staring at me with so much conviction. “You were not born to wilt.”

The words are like a balm, soothing my freshly opened wounds. Physically unable to respond, I reach for the collar of his shirt and pull us closer together. I take his mouth in a greedy exchange of gratitude and desire.

“No more talking,” I whisper against his lips.

“No more talking,” he agrees. “I know what you really need.”

Pretty sure his mouth on me is the only thing I need right now, I look at him quizzically. He offers me a knowing smile. “Trust me.”

Placing his open hands on my chest, he pushes me back onto the couch. Just as I think he’s about to lay himself on top of me, he surprises me by squeezing his big frame into the small gap between my body and the back of the couch.

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