Dinner on Wednesday night was going to be easy. I was a simple man, truth be told. I didn’t need fancy dinners in expensive restaurants. I knew in all likelihood Valentine and I would never be able to go out in public on a date, and yeah it kinda sucked, but it was what it was.
Him coming to my place though?
Kind of a big deal.
I wasn’t sure why it was a big deal or why exactly he wanted to meet at mine. But it felt like a big step.
I could guess that he was curious, and wanted to see how I lived, that he wanted to know more about me. But he was also taking a huge leap out of his comfort zone.
He was letting his guard down. He’d come out to his sister the other day and that was a massive thing.
Massive.
And now he wanted to come to my place.
Yeah, Valentine Tye was beginning to thaw out. The ice-cold walls he had built around himself were starting to melt.
I didn’t know where it would stop or what it meant for us, but I was happy to take it one step at a time.
Starting with dinner.
Right on seven, there was a knock on my door, and I opened to find him standing there, looking sexy as fuck, wearing dark jeans and a charcoal sweater, holding a bottle of wine.
Like a date.
Holy shit.
I grinned and stood aside. “Come in.”
He took an awkward step inside and didn’t take another. He was clearly nervous, and instead of taking the piss, I had to remember that this was very unlike him. It was new to him and it was, very probably, his first date.
If that’s what this was.
“This way,” I said, leading him through the small living room to the kitchen. “I hope you like Moroccan chicken pasta.”
He looked at the ingredients I had on the kitchen counter. “To eat, yes. To make? Uh . . .”
“You’ll be fine.”
He handed me the bottle of wine and shrugged. “I, uh . . . it felt rude to turn up without bringing something.”
“You should have brought Enzo. He likes it here.”
Valentine looked around and shoved his hands in his back pockets. “It’s a nice place.”
I laughed. Not because my place wasn’t nice, but just at how awkward he was. “It’s okay,” I said, looking around. “I’ve lived here for about five years. It’s small. One bedroom, but the kitchen and the bathroom are good. The landlord’s nice. Nothing’s a problem, and he doesn’t charge me a fortune. Pretty sure it’s because I fixed the window jamb for him.” I gestured to the living room window next to the balcony door. “And I replaced the washers in the laundry fittings. Took me five minutes. That was the month I moved in. He calls me the nice boy.”
Valentine smirked. “So he doesn’t know you at all.”
“Shut up. I am the nice boy.”
“You’re making me cook dinner, so yeah, I’ll go with a no on that.”
“Speaking of which,” I said, handing him the largest knife. “First thing we have to do is slice the eggplant and sprinkle it with salt.”
“Like an exorcism?”
I snorted. “Yep. Just like an exorcism.” I gripped the eggplant and, with my arms around him, held his hand with the knife, showing him how to slice it so he didn’t massacre it like he’d done the tomato the other day.
“This is unnecessary,” he whispered.
I kissed the back of his neck. “I disagree. Foreplay starts now.”
He huffed out a laugh that sounded a lot like a hum. He certainly didn’t mind when we cut the onion and capsicum the same way, or when I drew my nose across his nape, or when I pressed my dick against his arse.
Until it came time to slice the raw chicken thighs.
He dropped it and shuddered. “Oh my god, why does it feel like that?”
“Have you never touched raw chicken before?”
His eyes were wide. “Why would I do that?”
I laughed because we really had lived different lives. But he decided that filling the pot with water for the pasta was more his forte while I sliced the chicken. I did make him add the seasonings though, and I had him rinse off the eggplant and dice it, and then we fried it all up in a big pan, added some cream, and dished it all up together.
I watched him take his first bite. His eyes lit up and he spoke with his mouth full. “This is actually really good.”
I laughed. “Classy.”
He shovelled more in. “Shut up.”
I was just happy to see him happy. Which I would never admit to him. God forbid.
“I’ve been to Morocco,” he said, kinda out of the blue.
“You have?”
He nodded and sipped his wine. “I travelled after university. Did one of those crazy tours—see thirty countries in three months.” He shrugged. “It was fun.”
“Who’d you travel with?”
“Lleyton.”
I nodded, resisting the urge to growl.
Valentine laughed. “Jealous?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He smiled as he sipped his wine. “He’s a good friend. He’s also very straight and has been supportive of my big dirty secret.”
And then I felt bad.
Up until three days ago, before he told his sister, Lleyton had been the only person who knew Valentine was gay.
“I’m glad you have him.”
He studied me for a long moment. “I’m trying to decide if that’s sincere.”
“It is. I am. I’m glad you had one person in your corner.”
He smiled as he stabbed another piece of pasta and ate it. “I still can’t believe I told my sister,” he said quietly. “And I can’t believe she was okay with it.”
I studied him for a second, his fine features, dark hair, and dark eyes, and he looked happy . . . ier. Not happy. Valentine Tye rarely looked happy. He was always so serious. Burdened, even. But right now, he looked happier.
“It must be a huge relief,” I said. “Like a weight’s been lifted.”
He nodded slowly, his lips twisting in a half-smile. “Yeah. Was it that way for you?”
“Eventually. In the beginning, it sucked, but those who mattered stuck around. Those who didn’t, didn’t matter.”
His eyes cut to mine and he nodded. “I like that. You’re a lot braver than me. I can’t even come out now, let alone when I was just a kid.”
“Not coming out isn’t about a lack of bravery. For some, not coming out is about survival. And don’t judge your own story against anyone else’s. It’s gotta be the right time for you. Not anyone else.”
He swallowed hard and seemed to consider my words. “How were . . . how did your parents take it?”
I let out a sigh. “They were okay. Shocked more than anything. I think they thought all gay guys were fem or did ballet or something.” I rolled my eyes. “And I played rugby and wanted to work in construction. But at the end of the day, they just wanted me to be happy. I’m pretty close with my folks.”
He nodded slowly.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“We didn’t use to be close. When I was a kid, my dad was never home. He worked at his store, open till close seven days a week. He never once came to a game or a tournament, never made it to any school event. It was always just me and Mum. And that was fine. He worked hard.” I sighed. “And then Tye Corp came in and killed the store. My dad was devastated.”
Valentine winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It certainly wasn’t your fault. Even though I blamed you for a decade,” I said with a bit of a laugh. “In the end it did us a favour.”
His eyes met mine. “How?”
“Dad thought he’d failed us. He wasn’t the great provider he’d set out to be. But he realised he still had what really matters. Me and Mum supported him and loved him, and we got him through it. He got a new job and they loved him—he’s still with them after all these years—and we did okay.” I shrugged. “Though we had to sell the big house and I changed schools.”
“It still must have been hard for you. And your parents.”
“Sure. But we came out of it okay. It made Mum and Dad stronger as a couple. The house they have now is smaller, sure. But it’s a good home. It’s my family home. And honestly, the public school system is better than that private shithole you went to. I met Taka my first day. Been best mates ever since.”
He smiled a little sadly. “Taka’s a good guy.”
“He is.”
He chewed on his bottom lip and frowned. “My parents . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time they were in the same city, let alone the same house. I haven’t seen my mother in . . .” He made his thinking face. “Two years, I think. Last we heard she was in London pickling her liver in a gin factory. It was Paris before that. Or Singapore. I can’t remember.”
Oh damn.
“And my father . . .”
“Your father’s an arse.”
“Oh, he’s more than that,” Valentine mumbled. “He’s conniving. I don’t trust him. I think I love him in the way that a son might love his father, but I don’t like him. He made me what I am today and that’s not exactly a compliment.” He sighed. “I grew up in a very wealthy house. I wouldn’t say I grew up privileged because there was no privilege. It came at a great cost. I’ve been in self-sufficient, self-preservation mode since I was a child. I’ve been on my own since kindergarten, more or less. I had one nanny who took me to karate lessons. Until my father found out and fired her.” He held up two fingers. “For five years she took me, twice a week, and he had no idea until I got my black belt and I stupidly told him, thinking he’d be proud of me.” He rolled his eyes. “Imagine not knowing where your kid was two days a week for five years. He had no idea. I was ten.”
Jesus Christ.
“But I know how to function. I know how to survive, how to push emotions aside, to never show weakness because that’s what my father taught me.” His smile was bitter. “For him, people are just a means to an end. Including me. I could never come out to him. Not now, not ever. He’d be . . .” His eyes met mine. “He’d cut me off, fire me, disown me. I’d lose everything.”
“But you’d gain you.”
Valentine smiled ruefully. “I have me. I’m very used to it just being me.”
“Then don’t ever tell him,” I said. “Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve to know the real you. He doesn’t deserve any part of you. Especially if he’s just gonna use it against you. Fuck that.”
His eyes met mine and he smiled more genuinely. “That’s exactly how I feel. And it’s not about the money when I said I’d lose everything. I know it sounds like it is, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Do you wanna know what I really want to do?”
“What’s that?”
“I just want . . .” He shook his head and laughed. “I don’t even know what I want to do. I’m being primed to take over as CEO one day.”
Jesus. Now he’d said it, it was kind of obvious, but it wasn’t something I’d considered before. “Do you want that?”
He shrugged, which to me was a no. It certainly wasn’t a yes. “I don’t know,” he replied. “But even if I did, boy, I’d do things very fucking differently. I like my job. I’m good at it. But . . . but I don’t know. I was never allowed to consider anything else. It was just expected of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged again. “It’s okay. I do actually like my job. I have the construction division now, as you are very well aware. My father giving it to me is a litmus test for taking over the whole corporation when he retires, I’m sure of it.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, even less how I should say it. “Would you ever consider doing something else? Something on your own?”
He inhaled deeply and sighed. “I don’t know. Probably not. I’m not entirely unhappy with my life. I just . . . wish some things were different.”
“Your father.”
“Yes. I wish he cared. I wish he wasn’t so consumed with success and money. But wishing for impossible things is an exercise in futility. I don’t need the disappointment or anguish. My life is what it is, and I am who I am.” He met my gaze and smiled. “And what else could I do? I’m not cut out for anything else. I’m not good at anything else, and I’d rather not give my father the satisfaction of seeing me fail.”
God, that was so unfair. “You’d be good at anything you set your mind to.”
He snorted. “You should be careful, Marshall. You’re starting to sound as if you like me.”
I snorted. “Well, I fucking don’t, so get over yourself.”
He smiled and it seemed our serious conversation was over.
“So . . .” I hedged. “You have a black belt in karate?”
“A long time ago. I haven’t practiced in fifteen years.”
“And it only took you five years? So you’re good at everything you do, right?”
He rolled his eyes and ignored the compliment. “I’ve started back at the Dojo on Monday nights. Just since I’ve been back here in Sydney. It’s just for fun. I like the discipline. It’s good for my mind.”
I smiled at him. “Karate, huh?”
“It’s not serious.”
“But you could fight me,” I added. “When I push you around and hold you down. You could actually stop me if you wanted to.”
He laughed. “Why on earth would I want to stop you? You and I both know I beg you for it.”
I grinned at him, then I gave it to him.
He didn’t even have to beg.
We won our game on Saturday and Valentine’s team did too. We’d heard he’d had a great game, apparently, and he was named player of the match. That usually meant a few drinks back at the bar, so I wasn’t surprised when my phone buzzed with a message.
Be late. Sorry. Drinking.
That was at half-past eight, so I figured getting at his place around half nine would be plenty of time. There was no answer when I rang his doorbell, and he didn’t reply when I texted him.
How late?
I sat on the brick wall in the shadows, wondering if I should just go home. He could hardly blame me for bailing when he was the one who was late and not communicating.
I sent him another text at 9:40.
Strike one, Valentine. I’m going home.
Because fuck him. It was freezing cold and I was sitting in the dark outside waiting for him like a thief in the night. I could have stayed at the pub with my team and had some drinks with the boys instead of being on call to give Valentine what he wanted.
I was mad at myself for giving in to him.
I jumped off the wall just as my phone rang. It was him, of course.
“Heyyyy,” he said, clearly very drunk.
“Where are you?”
There was a ruffling sound and a muted thud, and I could hear someone’s muffled voice. “Jesus Christ, Valentine. Where are your keys?”
It sounded like he fell over?
“Where are you? I’ll come get you,” I said, starting to walk back to my ute.
There was another voice and it sounded like laughter . . . but I realised then I wasn’t hearing it through the phone. I turned around, back to the entrance of Valentine’s building, and there he was.
Well, there he was unable to stand up, being half carried, half dragged by Lleyton.
Fuck.
I stood there with my phone to my ear, and Valentine laughed as he swayed towards the ground. He didn’t see me, but Lleyton sure as hell did.
Valentine tried speaking into the phone. “You still there?” His voice echoed from my phone and Lleyton clued in immediately.
“What the fuck?”
Valentine looked up, saw me, and laughed, swaying in Lleyton’s hold. “Well, fuck,” Valentine said. “’S awkward.”
He went to gesture to me but lost his balance and I went to help him. I took his other arm and put it over my shoulder. “Christ almighty, Valentine.”
“Need his keys,” Lleyton said.
I patted down Valentine’s pockets and found them. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
We managed to get him into the foyer and I pressed the elevator door button, and guessing we were past the point of wondering how I knew where Valentine lived, I hit the button to his floor.
“What the hell was he drinking?” I asked.
“Tequila,” Lleyton answered. “He just had a few too many, then he couldn’t stand up.”
“It’s because he doesn’t eat,” I replied as the doors opened. We got him down the hall and I opened his front door.
I knew which door was his. I knew where the light switch was. I knew the way to his bedroom.
There was no denying shit now.
We dumped him on the bed and he groaned and closed his eyes. I took his shoes off and pulled the covers over him. Lleyton stood there, his jaw bulging and his gaze steel. “You wanna start explaining?”
Enzo chose that exact moment to run in, come directly over, and yell at me. He meowed and meowed and I picked him up. “Enzo, my guy. We’ve talked about this.” Ignoring Lleyton, I took Enzo out of Valentine’s room and headed towards the kitchen. I knew what he wanted, and the little shit wouldn’t shut up until I gave it to him.
I put him on the counter, went to the pantry and got Enzo’s biscuits, and filled his bowl for him, putting the biscuits back.
Yeah, I knew my way around Valentine’s kitchen too.
Christ.
“You’re awfully familiar with his place. And his cat,” Lleyton said. He had his arms crossed now. “Wanna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
I sighed. “Me and Valentine . . . we . . . we have an agreement, of sorts.”
His eyes narrowed. “You? You’re the guy he’s been seeing?”
Wait . . . “You knew he was seeing someone?”
“I could guess. But never in a million fucking years would I have guessed it was you.”
I snorted. “Same.”
He shook his head slowly, clearly disbelieving. “You?”
I nodded.
“You hate each other.”
I laughed. “I know. It’s what makes it work.”
He blinked a few times. “What the fuck?”
I sighed with a shrug. My immediate response was to be defensive, but he was Valentine’s best mate, so I needed to rein in my temper. “Are you pissed that it’s me? Or that you didn’t know?”
He clamped his jaw shut and stared. “Both.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but it’s not about you, Lleyton. It’s about him. You know why he can’t tell anyone, and you know why you can’t tell anyone about me being here.”
“He could have told me.”
“Why would he? It’s not like we’re dating or seeing each other for real,” I replied. It didn’t sit well with me to say that out loud, but it was unfortunately the truth. “We meet each other to fuck. Nothing else.”
Valentine mumbled from his room, followed by a rather large thud. I raced to his room to find him trying to figure out how the door worked. It swung inward and he swayed, almost falling, but I caught him.
“Hey,” he said, smiling up at me.
Christ, he was drunk. Cute but drunk.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Go back to bed.”
“’M hungry.” He tried to aim for the kitchen and then he saw Lleyton. He straightened up but overcorrected and I caught him again. “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” Lleyton said, gesturing to how I was still holding him. “What the fuck, Valentine?”
Valentine tried to be serious but he looked at me and laughed. “D’jyou tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him shit.” I took Valentine to the dining table and sat him down. “Stay there. I’ll get you something to eat.”
I went to the kitchen and checked his fridge, found nothing but condiments, the bacon and eggs I’d bought the other day, and a tub of butter.
But in the freezer beside the frozen edamame, there was a package of Turkish bread, so I took that out and nuked it. I had to wonder if he’d bought some to try and replicate what we’d made on his birthday.
When the bread was thawed out, I threw it in the toaster and fried him some bacon and eggs. I put a glass of water in front of him. “Drink that.”
Lleyton was sitting across from Valentine, and Valentine sighed. “He’s mean,” he mumbled, but at least he sipped some water. “Argues a lot ’n’ makes me eat.”
I ignored the way Lleyton looked my way. I plated up the scrambled eggs and bacon, buttered the Turkish bread, and put it in front of Valentine. “Eat.”
Valentine snorted. “See?”
He managed to hold the fork and get a few mouthfuls in, but god, it was not a pretty sight.
“Who the hell let him get this drunk?”
Lleyton shot me a glare. “I’ve seen you in worse shape than this.” I could see the moment he remembered. “When he took you home. That night in Bondi.”
Yes, that long ago.
I stood there, my arms crossed. God, this was a huge mess. It all seemed so complicated. It was never supposed to get complicated.
Valentine spoke with his mouth half full. “Had enough,” he said, pushing his plate away. At least he’d eaten something. He stood up, swaying as he found his feet, and I was quick to catch him.
He laughed and took a fistful of my sweater as he tried to pull me in for a kiss. “Hey, you.”
I instinctively looked at Lleyton, which made Valentine look at him. He let go of my sweater. “Shit.”
Yeah, shit.
“Fuck’m drunk,” he said. “Tequila’s no good.”
“You need to go to bed,” I said.
“Mm.”
I led him to his room and put him back to bed. I found a bucket in his laundry and put it beside him and threw a towel on the mattress near his pillow. I filled a glass from the kitchen tap, all while Lleyton sat there and watched me, and when I put it on Valentine’s bedside and closed the door, Lleyton was still sitting there. He had his arms crossed and a neutral expression.
“I’ll take the couch,” I said. “In case he vomits in his sleep.” Lleyton still stared at me, so I gestured to the sofa. “Unless you want to?”
He still said nothing.
“What?” I asked. “If you got something to say, fucking say it.”
“You said this”—he waved his hand in my general direction—“was just fucking. Nothing else, huh? Not dating or anything.”
“No.”
“Sure looks like it to me.”
I didn’t care what it looked like to him. “Well, it’s not.”
“Looks to me like you actually care about him.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You know your way around his kitchen like you live here. God, you knew where the cat food was. The cat knows who you are!”
“Because I babysat him for five days,” I said, then realised my mistake.
Lleyton stared at me. “He trusted you with Enzo?”
Fuck.
“Enzo likes me.”
“Because you’re here all the time.” He shot me a look that dared me to argue. “Because you make Valentine cook, you make sure he eats. You watch movies together. You bought him flowers, for fuck’s sake.” He gestured to the dying flowers still on the table. “Sounds like dating to me.”
“It was his birthday. And nobody’s ever given one single fuck about him on his birthday before, so I . . . I tried to make a big deal out of it.”
“Because you care about him.”
I shook my head. “That’s not . . . you don’t know shit.”
He ran his hand through his hair and chuckled, looking at the glass wall. Then with a sigh, he turned to face me. “Marshall—”
“Why do you care who he sees?”
“Because he’s never dated anyone before. He’s never had any kind of relationship before. Ever.”
“That you know of.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I know he hooks up. I know he’d line up one-nighters, because he’d tell me. And I don’t care who he fucks. Honestly, he could be fucking the pope for all I care. As long as he’s happy, good for him. That’s his business and none of mine.”
“Glad we agree on that.”
He scoffed. “Christ, Marshall. You still don’t get it. He’d tell me about the men’s club and the random fucks, but he never once mentioned you. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. Because . . . well, because there’s nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit. He’d tell me about the randoms because they meant nothing. But he didn’t tell me about you because there is something to tell. Whatever the fuck this is between you actually means something to him.”
I shook my head, not daring to believe it.
“He’s never opened himself up to anyone,” Lleyton said, his voice quieter. “He’s never let anyone into his world, into his life. In all the years I’ve known him. Except you.”
I looked at him then, not sure what he wanted me to say.
“And you can’t tell me you don’t care about him.” He gestured to Valentine’s bedroom door. “Because it’s pretty fucking clear that you do.”
I shook my head, ran my hand through my hair, and let out a deep breath. “It can’t ever be anything else. He can’t . . . we can’t . . .”
“Pretty sure yous already are.”
I shook my head again because this was ludicrous. “Look, I’m sorry he didn’t tell you. We agreed not to tell anyone. His father would . . .”
“I know.”
“Just don’t be pissed at him. If you wanna blame someone, blame me. Not him. He needs you in his life. He needs . . .” Fuck. “He needs people in his life who actually care about him.”
Lleyton studied me for a long moment before nodding slowly, like I’d just proved his point, and that was the end of the conversation. “Open his door so you can hear him if he pukes,” he said, and he left.
I stood there in the mostly dark apartment, in the silence, wondering how the ever-loving fuck it had all come down to this.
