I dumped cream and sugar in my coffee and headed straight for the door, stirring as I moved. Despite what I’d always believed, apparently you can get jetlag flying from L.A. to San Francisco. My brain was screwed up, but still able to cause excruciating pain around my temples. Although, it had felt like that even before I went to L.A.

My weekend of regrouping and coming up with a plan for the rest of my life had turned into a weekend of sitting in a hotel room and crying over commercials. Not even sappy commercials. Paper towels shouldn’t make people cry, they just shouldn’t.

Now that I was back in S.F. and had my coffee, I needed to start packing. My apartment would be easy, my shop much less so. At least I didn’t have to worry about all the pieces the Bennett Foundation bought. I’d wrap them tomorrow, so they’d be ready to go for the delivery guys on Tuesday. With so many pieces going, I wanted to be there to make sure they were handled properly. But no way would I get within two-hundred feet of the foundation, not with the chance I’d see Carson again.

It would take me a week to get through all the refinishing projects I’d already been paid for, and that was if I worked eighteen-hour days. Long days would actually work really well, though. If my focus was on anything other than what I was doing, I’d end up chiseling a finger off or leaving fingerprints in urethane and having to completely start over.

I saw Carson before he saw me, but only by a few seconds—enough time to start jogging for the other exit.

“Lane,” he called loudly. “Wait up! A minute, thirty seconds, whatever I can get. Please!”

I stopped. A minute of my life wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Plus, like an idiot, I wanted to talk to him. As hurtful as I knew it would be, I couldn’t help wanting to see him again.

He looked tired, as if he’d been working too much. Or not sleeping enough. I didn’t want to read into the shallowness of his breath or how wide open his eyes were or how his fingers tapped his thighs rapidly. It didn’t mean anything. With Carson, there was no reading between the lines. Because Carson didn’t have lines.

He had walls.

“Thanks for...” He stayed a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. “How are you?”

Really? How did he think I was? “Been better.” This was a terrible idea.

“Can we talk somewhere for a couple minutes? No strings.”

“You get me to agree to a minute and now you want a couple?” I joked. “Seems a little greedy, doesn’t it?” But I’d give it to him. It was too hard not to.

You never walk away from someone just once. Sure, the big dramatic one is important, but it’s all the little ones before and after that really matter. Walking out a door and slamming it behind you is easy. Getting someone out of your mind and your soul… That’s the hard part.

Every time you avoid going somewhere, so you won’t see him and every time you run away if you do. Every time you switch the song that’s playing because it reminds you of him. Every time you walk into a room and know exactly why everyone is staring. Every choice you make to keep yourself from thinking about him. Those are the things that wear you down.

“What do you want, Carson?”

“Not here. We can talk at my place.”

“No.” I couldn’t even get a single word out without my voice faltering. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He wiped his hand over his mouth, rubbing the stubble on his cheek. “I want you to take your coffee table back. And get all the stuff out of your drawer.”

God, I was pathetic. Did I really think he was going to suddenly say all the things I wanted him to, or even thank me and tell me how much our time together had changed him? Unfortunately, yes, that’s what I’d been hoping. But nope, he just wanted to get my crap out of his life.

“I’ll send someone—”

“I want it out now. Not tomorrow or three hours from now. This second, I want it gone.”

“Fine,” I snapped. I’d dump the table in the trash, because I didn’t want it either. And the stuff in my—his—drawer? I didn’t even remember what was in there. It had become so normal so fast, and it hadn’t meant anything for him to give it to me. Not like now. Now I guess it meant a lot to him. Fine, he didn’t want reminders of me around his place? Well, I didn’t want him to be reminded of me. So I’d take my crap and throw it away somewhere, and he’d never have to see it again.

He walked a step behind me as I stomped to his place, taking the stairs because I wouldn’t be able to handle standing in an elevator with him for thirty seconds. As soon as we were one flight up, I realized my mistake. This was where everything had started—and continued. I couldn’t do this. Just before I turned around to tell him he should throw all my stuff out his fucking window if he wanted, I felt his hand on my waist.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice reflected the mess I was emotionally—weak, confused, scared as shit that this was going to make me hurt more or make the pain last longer. “You can’t touch me.”

His hand disappeared, but I still couldn’t turn around. If I did he’d be right there, and I’d have to look into his eyes, and I just couldn’t do that again. So I kept moving forward, away from him but towards his apartment, trapped on both sides by something I wanted but couldn’t have.

I waited for him to unlock the door, standing back with my arms crossed. When I followed him in, I noticed he’d moved the coffee table and covered it with a sheet. It stung. He didn’t even want to look at a part of me, and I was so easy to put out of his life. But mostly it was because all I could think about was him bringing some woman back here and not wanting anything around that reminded him of the last girl he fucked. The last one he—

“My mother came by,” he said, stopping and blocking my way. Why couldn’t he just let me do what I came here for and then let me leave? “She said some good stuff.”

“That’s nice,” I mumbled when it seemed like he expected me to respond.

“I was thinking of going down to Southern Cal for a few days. Probably rent a car and go to San Diego after spending some time with her. We’re trying to start over.”

“That’s great.” It was what I wanted, why I’d gone to see Renee. Sadly, I didn’t feel very successful right now.

“Your parents still live in San Diego, right? So you probably know all the best places to go.” He finally let me step around him, but I didn’t get far. “What would you say if I asked you to go with me?”

Was he serious? “I’d say no.” Did he think that I could just forget how I felt and we’d go back to sleeping together? Take a trip to San Diego so we could fuck on the beach maybe? I practically ran to his dresser and pulled out my cosmetic’s bag, a pair of underwear, a piece of paper that—

Oh my god, it was the list, the list of things I’d wanted to try, with him. I crumpled it in my hand and dropped it back in the drawer, on top of the black bag of toys. What was I supposed to do with those?

Fuck it. He could deal with them, because I sure as hell couldn’t.

“Lane? I know you’re still mad at me, and you have every right to be.” Even across the room he was still too close, his voice was too soft and sad, and I didn’t want to be here anymore because I was just getting more confused.

“I need to go.” Stuff started falling out of my hands. I bent down to pick it all up, hiding my face. “Just…um…put the table in the trash or maybe call Goodwill or something. I think they’ll—”

“I’m keeping the table. It was just an excuse to get you up here.”

“Why would you do that?” I looked at him and stood, ignoring everything but him. “Fuck you, Carson! I’m not… I can’t go backwards.” I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the way I felt or miss him or want him. It was becoming hard to breathe without crying. “I have to go.”

“You can’t. I know you’re mad at me, but give me a chance to talk to you.”

Wanna see a grown man jump out of the way so fast he hurts himself? Five simple words will do it. As long as they’re the right ones.

“I’m in love with you,” I shouted at him, hating every word because I knew they were poison to him. “I’m in love with you. I didn’t want it to happen, but it did. And not saying it out loud doesn’t make it any less true.” But it sure made it harder to look him in the eyes. “I can’t be your friend any more, Carson. It’s too hard, because I’m too screwed up.

“I’m not mad at you,” I continued. “I’ve never been mad at you, because you didn’t do anything wrong and you’ve never been anything but honest. I’m disappointed in myself because I couldn’t stop it from happening. I couldn’t turn it off or even slow it down once it started, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d leave. It was unfair and selfish. I knew it was the whole time, but I did it anyway because I wanted to be with you for as long as I could. So…I’m sorry.” I wiped my face with my sleeve. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to go. Because this hurts.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Actually, I think it does.” If there was a way around it, I’d sure like to know what it was. But I deserved this. I’d practically begged for it to happen.

“Tell me what you want, Lane.”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Yeah, you do. You’re just afraid to say it because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. My feelings. I can handle it, so just fucking say it.”

“I want you.”

“You already have me.” He stepped towards me. “I’m right here.”

I shook my head. “I want more than you just being there. I want all of you. I don’t want you to hold yourself back.”

“Okay.”

“No, you don’t understand. What I want is for you to accept the way I feel about you and be okay with it. Then—” I laughed, even though it didn’t sound like a laugh because it wasn’t funny—it was stupid. “Then I want you to tell me you feel the same, and I want it to be the truth. But it doesn’t matter what I want because I can’t have it. It’s not anybody’s fault and admitting it doesn’t change anything. So, in terms of things I want that are possible, I guess…I guess I want you to be okay.”

“That’s a lot of things.”

“You asked. I answered.”

“How would you answer if I told you I want to open doors for you and pull out your chair and bring you breakfast in bed and spend hours getting pruney in the tub watching that shit you call television, just as long as my arms are around you?”

“I’d probably say, ‘As incredible as that sounds’”—my next breath was broken—“‘it’s not enough.’” A relationship would never work with as much inequality as we had. I’d always want more, and I’d always be disappointed.

“Then I’d say, ‘Shut up, Lane, because I’m not done. Because I want to wake up next to you every morning and make love to you every night. I want to protect you and make you understand that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.’ I’ve known you were ever since you told me to fuck off in the coffee shop, but I was afraid to say it. Because if I said it out loud, you might realize I was right and that you could do so much better than me, you deserved so much better than me and what I could offer.”

“Cars—”

“Then I’d tell you to shut up again, because there’s some stuff I need to say, and if I stop talking now I’ll chicken out. Stuff like how, at first, it was easy not to tell you how I felt because I’d never felt it before and didn’t know what it was or what to call it. Then it was hard not to tell you because you deserved the truth even if it made you run for the hills. So that means I did do something wrong and I haven’t always been honest. And for that I’m sorry. What would you say then?”

“I…I don’t know what I would say.”

“Then I guess I would have to come up with something to cover the awkward silence. And even though I’d really want to fill it by kissing you, I’d probably feel like that was a bit presumptuous after all the horrible things I’ve done to you. So I might try something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe telling you that—” He took a step towards me. “Can I touch you, Lane? Just…just…your arm or your shoulder or…your cheek?”

I wanted to say yes so badly, but I knew one touch would turn into something neither of us could control. We’d end up in bed with nothing solved or different, and it would keep happening. And a month from now, I would wake up knowing that sleeping with someone you love is a terrible thing to do when that love isn’t returned.

“It’s okay,” he said, nodding, understanding what my silence meant. “It’s okay, Lane. You don’t owe me anything.” When I moved to go around him, he deliberately stepped in front of me, his hands tucked in his back pockets. “But I’m going to take it anyway because I’m still a selfish prick, and I can’t let you walk out that door.”

I stood there like an idiot, tears running down my face, not knowing what to do because it had taken all my strength just to start walking. And now all that strength and the little bit of momentum I’d had was gone, so I was stuck standing there in front of him, waiting for…for something that would never happen. “Can you please just let me leave?”

“No, not like this. Not yet.” Staring straight at me, he mumbled something. He said it again, a little louder this time, his head bowed forward. “Because I haven’t worked up enough courage to tell you I’m in love with you yet.”

“What?”

He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m in love with you, Lane. And it feels— Well, I can’t honestly say it feels good right now because I’m really nervous about how you’re gonna react. But it feels right, and I don’t want it to stop.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” So quiet, so still.

I didn’t want to move before he did but nothing could stop my heart from pounding even faster and a warmth filling every part of me. Just like nothing could stop the stupid amount of tears that were sliding down my cheeks or the sudden peace I felt knowing I wasn’t going to hurt anymore, because we would be okay.

I could tell he was afraid to look at me and couldn’t stop his body from trembling. “Come here.” My heart skipped when he obeyed me, something he’d never been particularly good at. He stopped about two feet in front of me. “Closer.” Again he obeyed. “Look at me.” He swallowed, raising his head, his eyes shy and unsure. “Now say it again.”

“Aw, come on.”

“Say it again, Carson.”

He let out his breath really slowly, maybe to give himself time. “I love you. Every part of you, not just the parts I’ve already told you I love. I need you to be in my life, Lane. Permanently.”

It took me a minute to speak because I’d never, ever expected this moment. So I had to think about what it meant and what would happen. After I did, I smiled. Because I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t need to be, not anymore.

“Then you’d better be really, really good to me.”

“I can do that.” He kissed me gently, only our lips touching.

If we were both waiting for the other to make a move, we were going to be here all day. I cradled his face in both of my hands and deepened the kiss, felt him respond, relax, and then want more. As good as kissing him had always been, it felt even better than I remembered, as if he’d stopped holding back the last tiny bit of himself.

“You really love me?” I asked, lifting my chin so he could reach my neck more easily.

“Yeah, I really do.”

“Show me how much.”

He picked me up and walked across the bedroom, pulling my sandals off along the way. “I can’t believe I almost screwed this up, Lane.” But instead of lying me down on the bed, he kept walking. “I can’t believe it.”

I jolted when I felt him set me down on my feet inside the bathtub and turn the faucet on. “What are you doing?” Without answering, he got in and started pulling off my clothes. It became a race to move faster than the water level raised. When we were in our underwear, he sat down and yanked me onto his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist.

After another kiss, he said, “Your lips will be on mine for the foreseeable future, so if you have anything to say, say it now.”

“Does this mean I get to use your bathtub whenever I want to?”

He laughed. “Our bathtub. And only if you leave me a little room.”

“Doable. I want another drawer.”

“I’ll give you four, but no more than that. ’Cause that’s all I have.”

“I could probably be convinced to share.” I swallowed. “I don’t want to separate sex and love.”

“Good. Because you’ll never need to.” He ran his fingertips along my jaw, stopping to cup my chin so I couldn’t turn away. “When I tell you that you’re beautiful and I love you and you’re my world, it’s because it’s true.”

“Thank you.” My lips brushed his. “When I tell you to go get me a drink, it’s because you need to get me a drink.”

“Okay, that’s it—no more talking for you.”

We stopped laughing, only because it kept us from kissing. And feeling. And loving.