Page 41 of State of Mind

“Yes, you did, even if you didn’t say it. The truth is, you’re over-thinking it. You have a rare opportunity—thanks to the life you’re trying to escape—to make this work. Yes, you have another life in California, but it doesn’t have to stay there, does it?”

Luca wanted to contradict him—wanted to find something in his life he had created that was permanent. Something that needed him home. But the reality was the opposite, and it hurt to admit it, even in his own head. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Maybe something in your life was just waiting for someone like Wilder to come along,” Raphael offered, then dropped his head back down and closed his eyes again. “Maybe your path was always meant to lead you here.”

Luca allowed those words to sink in. He’d never really been the sort of person who believed in fate or predestined paths. He wasn’t sure there was anything in the universe that gave a shit enough to dictate the future of one single, pointless human being. But it was nice to think of himself as important—even if it was only for a moment.

And the fact remained, Raphael was right. California had no hold on Luca, so assuming Wilder would want him to stick around, there was nothing holding him back.

* * *

Luca was grateful for the pills but frustrated that he was sleeping in late and taking twice as long to shake the fog from the narcotics. The morning after the incident, he’d showered and looked down in horror to see a faint purpling rising to the surface of his flaccid cock. He examined his balls in the mirror after and found a corresponding bruise on the side, but there was no swelling, and apart from the pain when he was erect, he wasn’t pissing blood.

He didn’t have any of the signs Aksel had warned him about, so he wasn’t panicking over his health, but he was still mortified at being seen this way. It was bad enough now that Wilder had seen him almost cry when he’d sported a half-chub behind the zipper of his jeans, and although Wilder had still seemed interested after their kiss, he hadn’t so much as texted him after that.

And two days had come and gone.

Luca wasn’t normally a man prone to panic—he had long-since accepted that he was a person worthy of ghosting. But he was hoping things with Wilder would be different.

Halfway through brushing his teeth, Luca’s phone buzzed, and he nearly dropped it in the toilet as he fumbled for the screen to turn it on.

Wilder: Can you come by the shop before I open?

Luca: What time do you open?

Wilder: Eleven.

Luca: Be there.

His heart thrashed wildly against the inside of his chest, and he took several calming breaths, then moved to the kitchen for water since coffee would only make his nerves worse. It didn’t sound like a break-up text—not that they had established any kind of relationship that would require a break-up. A sort-of date and a minute-long kiss counted for nothing, at least in his experience. He wanted more, but he knew that was going to take time.

He was beyond begging though. His first instinct was to make himself as pretty and expensive looking as possible, to find some way to peacock himself in front of Wilder so the other man would find reasons to keep him around. But he was trying to break his old habits. He wanted Wilder to see the other things about him, to dig deep and find bits and pieces of him worth keeping around that didn’t have anything to do with money or sex appeal.

He wanted someone—he wanted Wilder—to look at him as he was, in his sloppy sweats and an old t-shirt, and see him as a man worth trying for. For so many years, he’d heard too many people say it was impossible to love someone if you didn’t love yourself.

And that thought terrified him, because most days he didn’t even like himself. He stared back at a reflection he barely recognized and wished he’d drawn a different lot before his soul came to earth. But he was capable of love. He knew that. He loved his siblings, and he loved his parents. He loved Gabby, even if she would never return the sentiment.

He was even coming to love Raphael as one of his first friends that wanted him around just because. And it didn’t feel less than just because his own self-worth had hit rock bottom. But maybe they were on to something. And maybe that’s what Wilder was trying to tell him.

He felt nervous as he escaped from the Manor without Raphael noticing him, and he decided to walk the half mile to Whipped. The warm air and the soft summer breeze helped his shoulders relax and clear his head a little as he headed down the sidewalk.

In the courtyard across from the fire station, he could see the Fire Chief standing at attention and another tall, dark-haired man in front leading the rest of the crew through exercises. Had it been any other day, he might have stopped to watch. He appreciated a fit human body in all forms, and he had absolutely spent his money on firemen calendars in the past.

But right now, his mind was focused on one thing—whether or not Wilder was going to end the best thing that had ever happened to him before it even began.

His heart was in his throat, but he reached for the handle to the bakery door and tugged. His foot slipped off the step with the force of his pull and with the way the door had no give, and he started to panic before he remembered that it was before the shop opened. He pressed his head to the glass and peered in, considering knocking before he realized Wilder wouldn’t hear him.

Luca: I’m here. Front door.

Wilder: Come around to the back, it’s open

Luca shoved his phone into his pocket and made his way around the corner, into the alley, where he saw a heavy green door propped open with a milk crate. He heaved it wider, then slipped inside, and was instantly overwhelmed with the rich smell of cake and frosting. He had never had much of a sweet tooth, but he’d skipped breakfast, and he remembered the way Wilder’s cupcake had melted in his mouth.

He followed the scent down a short corridor, which opened up to a main kitchen area, and he found Wilder at the baking table staring right at him with a soft grin. It was the smile on his face that made everything relax, that made his knees want to give out. And it felt like an overreaction, so he pushed it aside and crossed the room, propping his hip against the table.

‘Good morning,’ he signed.

Wilder’s smile widened. ‘Morning. Sleep okay?’

---