Page 7 of The History Between Us

“It’s fine. We usually keep it professional.” That’s all he says for a moment, but then he adds, “He’s dating someone.”

I glance over at him, his back to me, but I can hear the distaste in his voice. “Is he?”

“Yeah. They’ve been together for a while now. His name’s Reggie.”

“Have you met him?”

“A few times.” Reaching underneath the sink, he grabs a pod and tosses it in before starting the dishwasher. Conrad dries his hand with the white tea towel on the counter before turning to face me. “Have you seen Max yet?”

I shake my head. “Not yet, but I’m going over to his and Trish’s house for dinner on Friday.”

“Nice. That’ll be fun, and Trish sure knows how to cook a mean dinner.”

I laugh. “That she does.”

“Did you hear about Colt getting hurt and cutting his season short?”

Inwardly wincing, I nod, remembering how it felt seeing him at the office this morning. “Yeah, I did. Sucks.”

I can only imagine the concern Colt has that he’ll end up retiring early like his dad, which must be a terrible feeling, given that his career only started a few years ago. Thankfully, his injuries appear much less severe than Max’s, but you neverknow with these types of things.

Conrad and I head back outside where we catch up for a little while longer before we decide to call it a night, making plans to get together again soon. The sun is long gone by the time I’m pulling up in front of the house I now call home, and I’d imagine my dad’s already asleep. Like most elderly men, Roger Andino is up with the sun and in bed by eight, no matter what. I don’t think he even knows what it means to sleep in; I’ve never seen him do it a day in his life.

Unlocking the front door, I tiptoe through the house, as quiet as I can be. The house is old, and the floorboards creak despite my best efforts to be light on my feet. My dad’s bedroom is near the staircase on the main level. His door is cracked just barely, but I can hear him snoring from inside. I head into the kitchen and grab a glass of water before padding up the stairs.

In the bathroom, I strip down to my boxers, toss my dirty clothes in the hamper, and then brush my teeth before heading to my room. It’s still rather early, but I’m exhausted. I’ve been so busy trying to get settled back at the practice that I completely missed Colt’s name on my books until this morning. It left me no time to come up with a game plan, and I’d spent the better part of the day trying to mentally prepare myself to see him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for how uncomfortable it would be, being alone with him for the first time since that night.

Distorted, fuzzy memories flash through my mind of sweat-slick skin, grappling hands, hot breath dancing across my overheated flesh, our bodies aligned. The pleasure pouring out of us. Then I recall the vehement shame I felt the next morning when I awoke and the recollection of what went on the night before hit me like a ton of bricks.

I can’t be Colt’s doctor. It’s unethical. The entire Bishopfamily were my father’s patients for decades, but I can’t. I make a mental note to speak to my partner tomorrow about taking Colt on as a patient. I don’t know what excuse I’ll give, but it’s for the best. Nobody can ever know what went on between Colt and I in that apartment above the bar two years ago. Like every other time this memory comes back to me, I do my best to shove it far, far away while also trying to ignore the flood of arousal that hits my system at the same time because Colt Bishop, the man who was once the boy I saw grow up, should never, under any circumstances, be on my mindlike that.

4

Colt Bishop

This whole not being able to do any-fucking-thing is getting old, fast. Struggling to get undressed and take a shower is downright annoying. Being chauffeured around like a child is a pain in the ass. I miss being able to run to the store or go for a late-night drive to clear my head.

And what’s worse… No sex. Sure, I have no doubt that I can physically do it just fine, albeit with a little discomfort depending on the position, but I’m currently living in my childhood bedroom, unable to drive myself anywhere until my shoulder heals enough for me to go back to my own place. What, am I going to ask my hookup of the night topick me upat my parents’ house? I think the fuck not. I’ve always had a higher-than-average sex drive, and that’s normally not an issue. There’s no shortage of men or women for me to have a little fun with, especially when I’m on the road.

So, all of this is really cramping my style, and I’m left to taking matters into my own hands, literally, but even jacking off is proving to be quite the challenge too. I’m right-handed,and that’s the side that was injured. Go fucking figure.

I’m currently half-lying, half-sitting on the bed when a knock sounds at the door. Pressing pause on the movie I’m watching, I call out, “Come in.”

My mom appears in the doorway, an apron around her waist, per usual, and a smile on her face. “Hi, honey.” Sitting on the edge of my bed, she rests her hand on my leg. “How’re you feeling today?”

“Like I’m going stir crazy,” I say with a dry laugh. For the most part, I try not to let my frustrations show around my mom. She’s always been a fixer. If she knows someone is sad or hurt or angry, she’ll do anything in her power to try to make everyone feel better.

This isn’t a situation she canfix, nor should she have to. I’m a grown-ass man who has to get over the hand I’ve been dealt. I’m pissed off that I got injured, and I’m bitter as hell that my season was cut short, but that’s not her fault or her responsibility, and both she and my dad are already doing more than enough for me. I don’t need to add more stress or worry to her plate.

Glancing over her shoulder toward the TV, she asks, “What are you watching?”

“No clue. It was some movie suggestion Hulu gave me,” I murmur. “I’m only really half-watching, but from what I’ve gathered, it’s about a drug lord.”

“Well, I wanted to come up here to let you know we’re having company for dinner tonight. Maybe get changed and come downstairs?”

“Who’s coming over?”

“Will.” A bolt of excitement shoots through my bloodstream at the sound of my dad’s best friend’s name. “He’s living backin Copper Lake again.”

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