Page 19 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“We haven’t really been in a sharing place,” I whisper, ashamed. Making excuses for myself. Letting her down. Again.

She twists her wrist, and I figure she’s sick of holding my hand, so I let go. She doesn’t. She turns her hand over and weaves our fingers together. “It’s been going on for a little under two months. It started a few nights after I moved into the guest room. At first, you greeted him at the door. Then he created his idiotic secret entrance. I guess he was worried about waking me up. It would be endearing if he wasn’t romancing my husband.”

I sniffle, proud of my boy for being so considerate, but still scandalized by the fact that I’ve been having nightly slumber parties with another man. Slumber parties my wife is aware of, but I’m not. Knowing I’ve shared months at Darren’s side, whispering words I’ll never get back, there’s a strange, curious spark flickering in my chest that I can’t describe.

“None of this makes any sense. I don’t understand why he would go to these lengths.”

She turns to face me with a raised eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. It’s obvious why he’s doing it.” If it’s so obvious, I wish she’d just spit it out, because none of it is obvious to me. Sighing, she finally says, “He’s in love with you. He always has been. For God’s sake, how can you not see it?”

I gape at her. In my heart, I’m pretty sure I know it’s true, but that doesn’t make it feel okay. If anything, it makes me question every interaction we’ve ever shared. Has he always been holding out hope that I’d fall in love with him too? Because if he has, that means our entire conversion journey has been a lie. I doubt he was even thinking of my drawings when he masturbated as part of his therapy. But if he wasn’t thinking of the drawings, that would mean he was thinking of . . .

Mary, mother of God. Is he thinking of me?

I’ve caught him staring at my backside a few times, and the thought of my Dare thinking of it as he curls his fingers around his shaft and slowly strokes himself makes my heart slam in my chest. I can picture his pleasured expression so clearly, because I’ve seen it so many times. Each time he masturbates in my office—his lower region shielded by a tablecloth—I watch his face, studying the way his body reacts to pleasure. The way he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth when he’s about to come. How he always locks eyes with me when his orgasm hits, as if he’s seeking me out in a crowd. The quiet, whimpered sound he makes as his hand pumps feverishly beneath the tablecloth.

Mal smirks as she stares at my lap. I look down to see my penis standing at full attention.

“Unless you’re wanting a repeat of the other five times we’ve attempted intercourse, I suggest you put that thing away.” I seriously contemplate the idea for all of four seconds before deciding that I don’t have any desire to fall into a mental tailspin at midnight by attempting to sleep with my wife. “So, at the risk of sounding absolutely scandalous, if your little one-man band isn’t stirring for me . . .?”

“Shut up,” I groan, covering my face. “Kill me.”

“Say it,” she goads, poking me in the side. “Say his name.”

“Darren.”

Mal taps the side of my face like she’s just proved her point. “Exactly. Now, the only question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Why are you so invested in this? It’s weird, Mal. I mean, it’s weird as hell for me, but you seem to be enjoying the ride for whatever reason.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m kind of excited at the prospect of dating again. You can’t fault me for that, though.”

I gape at her. I know we’re not exactly selling a love story for the ages with our marriage, but the way she’s so eager to toss our marriage away leaves me a little dizzy.

“No. Of course not,” I agree, taking a step back. “You’re right.”

She nods. “I usually am. I think I’ll join a dating site while you explore. We don’t have to announce anything yet. I’ll be discreet. We can move at whatever speed you’re comfortable with.”

“This is utterly bizarre,” I say, scrubbing my face with my hand. “For God’s sake, I’m your husband, and you’re basically throwing me to the wolves.”

She shakes her head. “I’m throwing you to Darren. Less of a wolf, more of a flailing flamingo.”

“He’s a good boy,” I growl out of reflex.

A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Well, whatever he is, I hope he makes you happy, because you deserve to be happy. We both do.”

When I make it back to my room, I have to do a double take, because there, sitting in the center of the bed with his hands clasped tightly in his lap, is my Dare. He looks scared.

“Dare?”

He swallows before speaking. “I decided I wasn’t ready to go home. Where were you? I thought you were asleep.” He stands and takes a few staggering steps toward me but stops when there are only inches separating us. “Are you awake?”

He asked me earlier, but I still don’t understand his question. “My eyes are open, aren’t they?” It’s said in a joking tone, but Darren doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for a joke.

“No, Miles. Are you . . .” He pauses, choosing his words carefully by the look of it. “Have you taken your sleeping pill?”

I blink a few times, trying to remember. I’m pretty sure I did. Or, at least, I took part of it. I open my mouth to speak, but then the world goes black around me.

chapter eight

---