Page 18 of Binding Their Hearts

He’d taken profound offense because their values differed so greatly. What he held sacred, she treated with irreverent contempt. His very identity now rested not on his reputation as an artist or the respect given his knowledge and talents in the community but on his role as master—partner, lover, confidant—to Jay and Alice.

He’d given voice to his desire for commitment—marriage—three weeks ago in front of Will and come no closer to the actualization of it since. For years he’d pushed aside the stirrings of that thought, tucking it away as idle fantasy subordinate to Jay’s very real need to remain hidden. But this last year had been revelatory and life-changing for all of them, and now the need beat at him. Steady, insistent, and unmistakable.

He craved that recognition, even from someone as noxious as Irene Driscoll. To exist in the blithe way monogamous heterosexual couples moved in the world, their hands clasped and their rings glinting, a beacon of commitment instantly visible and recognizable. Was he so shallow, to need the affirmation of others to boost his own ego?

His pulse galloped, dragging his breath along with it. Shaking out his muscles, he returned to the core: simple breaths, the warmth of the seat against his back, the weight of his hands as they lay upturned on his thighs. Find the constant. Be present. Grounded.

Calmer, he confronted the thought again.

Not shallows but depth. The invisible nature of their relationship left him vulnerable to slights that slashed like paper cuts. Left him unbalanced and uncertain, though he was not in the least uncertain of Jay and Alice’s love.

Jay had told Alice he needed proof to believe in their commitment. Marriage would do that, if his boy was ready for such a public statement. And Alice, who had—rightfully—rejected the first such proposal she’d received—was she truly ready?

He’d told her, late at night, cozy in their bed, that he considered them married, and she hadn’t run. She hadn’t flinched when his mother called her his wife. He needed to proceed carefully and deliver a proposal worthy of his loves, one they could both enthusiastically embrace.

The irritating Ms. Driscoll had been flailing, searching for an entry point. If she’d meant anything by begging for the whip, it had likely been a feint toward Cal’s abuse of Jay, another attempt to get a rise out of him. She wouldn’t know that he hadn’t picked up a single-tail in four years, not since Emma’s plea to drive the pain from her as she struggled with the emptiness of so much loss.

Today’s encounter had threatened his identity, his sense of self, implying that he might abandon his virtue, his ethics—the entire framework bounding his life, his responsibility for the people in his care.

“Her words are meaningless nonsense.” He spoke to the windshield and the curated green beyond. “My honor is not impugned by the desperate utterances of a rejected pursuer. I know who I am: Henry Bennett Webb. Husband to Alice and Jay. Friend to Will and Emma. Son of my mother.”

Five times he repeated his truths before starting the car and heading for home. If Jay had not developed affirmations with his therapist yet, perhaps he would encourage them with homework prompts. The longevity of their acquaintance—three sessions being two more than Jay had managed with any previous therapy attempts—spoke well of the foundation for Jay’s continued growth and healing. And the bit of space Jay had asked for in his studio yesterday morning after Alice’s departure for work only revealed more of his thoughtful boy’s sweet, earnest nature.

Rush-hour traffic and an accident ahead confounded every attempt to divert onto lesser-used side streets. Jay would be home already, Alice on her way, and dinner late. The start of their Friday night play would be affected. Too much time wasted today on trivial matters. A growled complaint hung in his throat.

After inching along for ages, he finally pulled the car into its space and climbed the stairs toward sanctuary. A revision of the night’s plans might be in order—could he repurpose what he had on hand to deliver dinner more quickly? With Jay’s appetite, they rarely had leftovers in the house for what Alice called a “clean out the fridge” dinner.

“Henry, hey, great to see you, man.” Their neighbor jogged up the stairs alongside him, mail clasped in one hand, and slapped Henry’s shoulder. “Gotta love Fridays, am I right? End of the workweek, shed these straitjackets”—he tugged at the tie that dangled loosely around his neck, its knot pushed down—“and just get out and be real. You and your roomies got any plans?”

The universe was surely laughing at him. A bet among the gods, perhaps? How many annoyances they could heap upon a single day before he went mad. He kept climbing. If he split the dinner into courses, they might hold the main dish until an appropriate break in the action this evening. “The calendar fills faster all the time, it seems. One can scarcely keep up with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, the calendar.” Greg squinted, possibly sensing his question had been lightly cast aside. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, man. Like, whew”—he mimed wiping his brow—“total weight off my brain. Just gotta nail down my approach.”

The words all held meaning, yet collectively they provided no answers. “To thank me?”

“For sure.” Greg hustled out of the stairwell and onto their floor ahead of him. “That make-out session you and what’s-his-name had in the laundry room?”

A figment of Greg’s imagination, certainly. Nothing of the sort—embers stirred. His beloved boy had reached out last week in a tender moment, seeking support and comfort. A private moment. The heat within warred between vindication of his claim and the directive to protect Jay at all costs.

“Major relief.” Greg procured his keys from a pocket and opened his apartment. “I couldn’t figure out which one of you had that Alice girl all sewn up, but I get it now.” Stepping in, he spun around and grinned. “Rooming with two gay guys—smart. Good to know she’s fair game.” He rapped on his doorframe. “So thanks, man. Have a great weekend.”

The door shut in Henry’s face.

The mood work he’d done at the garden evaporated in the roaring desire to wrest control back from a fickle universe. Greg would be a problem for another day. By now, Alice and Jay would be waiting.

A fiendish urge for absolute power surged through him. Restraints. Orgasms forbidden, his pets straining and failing to obey his edicts, earning torments that only returned them to the edge as he imposed his will. Under his command, they would acknowledge his central place in their lives.

Alice and Jay would be unprepared for such a maelstrom. He required an appropriate outlet. One less lined with perils.

Dinner. Yes. The kitchen remained his domain alone. He would channel this roiling discontent into dinner preparations and regain control of himself before he touched his pets this night. He must.

Chapter nine

Alice

Alice shut the apartment door behind her and sagged against the wood as she toed off her shoes. An hour. That’s how much time she’d wasted watching HR videos and learning how to approve overtime and vacation days for her newly subordinate team. Between that, the avalanche of emails, and the two meetings she’d been required to sit in on for no discernable reason, she’d done practically zero actual design work today. “Being the boss blows.”

She punctuated her annoyance with puffed-out chipmunk cheeks and an extended exhale. Her shoes joined Jay’s, neatly lined up by the wall beneath his bike. She hung her light jacket in the armoire. The crop sweater and untucked dress shirt underneath stayed on—for now. Maybe she’d ask Henry if she could dine naked like Jay. It was Friday, after all. “You’re quiet as mice tonight. Is there kissing going on?”

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