Page 33 of One Hot Summer
I gave him an incredulous look. “That’s all you have to say? I pour my heart out and you give me ‘well, shit’?”
Collin shrugged. “No, I have more thoughts, but I’m not sure you want to hear them.”
“When has that ever stopped you?”
“Good point. Okay, fine, here it is. It sounds to me like this was way more than just hot sex. It sounds like you might really care about this Adam guy and that maybe for the first time since your divorce, you can actually see a future with this person, am I right?”
“Possibly,” I answered stubbornly even though he’d basically hit the nail right on the head.
“Look, I get it. You feel guilty about going behind Dalton’s back. But from what you’ve told me; this wasn’t some sordid affair. You developed real feelings for Adam. And he’s an adult who can make his own choices.”
I shook my head, unable to accept Collin’s rationalization. “That doesn’t change the fact that I betrayed my son’s trust.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re being too hard on yourself. Have you tried talking to Dalton since it happened?”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly. “He won’t return my calls or texts.”
Collin leaned forward, his expression serious. “Griffin, you need to fix this. Not just for Dalton’s sake, but for your own. You’re miserable without Adam, aren’t you?”
I didn’t want to answer, but Collin knew me too well. My silence was answer enough. “You’re right,” I admitted with a heavy sigh. “I am miserable without him. But what can I do? Dalton won’t even talk to me.”
“Then you need to make him listen. Go to his place. Camp outside his door if you have to. But don’t give up on this, Griffin. You deserve to be happy.”
I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “And what about Adam? I told him we needed to cool things off. He probably hates me now.”
“Only one way to find out,” he said with a shrug. “Talk to him too. Apologize for pushing him away. Tell him how you really feel.”
The thought of facing Adam after everything made my stomach churn with anxiety. But Collin was right. I couldn’t keep living like this. “Thanks. I appreciate you listening.”
“You better appreciate the fact that I’m willing to put up with your grumpy ass,” he teased. He stood and made his way to the door. “But seriously, talk to both of them. If this guy is as special as he sounds, then he’s probably worth fighting for.”
When the door swung shut behind him, I let out a breath and slumped in my chair. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way Adam’s head tilted when he was thinking. I could hear his laugh, unguarded and sharp, or the way he’d clear his throat right before saying something he was sure I’d make fun of. I saw the curve of his neck, his soft, kissable lips, the marks I’d left on his silky skin each time we made love.
We hadn’t spoken since the airport. I tried, for the thousandth time, to convince myself that it was for the best. I told myself that what we’d shared was intense because it was new, because it was forbidden, and that now, in the cold light of reality, we’d both moved on. I almost laughed at my own bullshit. Even now, weeks later, I could still taste him. I still remembered the heat of his body under mine, the desperate way he whispered my name, the look in his eyes when I pushed inside him.
Every time I tried to focus on work, my mind wandered to the Tennessee woods, to the cabin, to the easy way in which we’d moved and worked and laughed together. Like we’d known each other our whole lives.
The worst part was, I was the one who’d ended it. I was the one who said it was over, that we needed to let things “cool off” until we could sort out the mess with Dalton. All to protectAdam, I told myself. All to keep him from losing the closest thing he had to family. The line sounded noble, even in my head. But the truth was, it was just another way to keep from admitting what I already knew. I was in love with him. And it was wrecking me.
Love.
The word sat on my tongue, bitter and strange, like a medicine I didn’t want to swallow. It wasn’t like I’d never said “I love you” to someone before, but with Sherry, it had always been an expectation, a duty more than an actual feeling. But with Adam, the word felt terrifying and thrilling. Like jumping out of a plane and realizing you might actually enjoy the fall.
When Dalton stormed out of the cabin, his face twisted in a look I’d never seen before, it was like someone flipped a switch. I could hear his voice now, echoing: “Of all people, Dad. Of all the fucking people in the world.”
I replayed the look on Adam’s face, the split second when he realized what it meant to lose Dalton, to lose his only real family. That was when I knew I couldn’t ask him to choose. Not when I knew what it felt like to lose someone you couldn’t replace. So, I sent Adam home. I told myself it was the right thing to do. I could take the hit. I could deal with the loneliness. What I couldn’t live with was the idea that I might be the reason Adam lost the only brother he’d ever had.
Now, every night, I lay in my apartment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the empty space he left behind. Sometimes, when I finally drifted off, I dreamed about him. Not the sex, though there was plenty of that too. No, it was mostly the other stuff that haunted me: Adam stretched out on the deck at sunrise, mug of coffee cradled in both hands, face still soft with sleep. The way he’d sing along, off-key, while washing dishes. The way he’d melt against me in bed, all sharp angles and warm skin, and whisper secrets like we were kids hiding from the world. I wanted to bethe person he told those secrets to. I wanted to be the person he could count on, even when it was hard. Especially then. I wanted to try again.
My hand reached for my phone, almost of its own accord. I unlocked it, scrolled to his name, hovered my thumb over the message field. What would I even say? Sorry I sent you away because I was scared? Sorry I’m a coward, that I don’t know how to be what you need? Sorry I’m not ready to admit that the only thing I want in this world is you, even if it means blowing up every single piece of my carefully constructed life?
A knock at the door startled me. I jerked upright, nearly dropping my phone. “Yeah?” I called, voice sharper than I intended.
The door opened a crack. “It’s me,” came the muffled reply.
My eyes widened and I sprang up out of my chair. “Come in, Dalton.”
The door swung open, and my son stepped inside, looking every bit as haunted as I felt. He closed the door behind him, then just stood there. For a minute, neither of us moved. We hadn’t spoken since he left the cabin. I didn’t blame him. I was disappointed in myself too.
