Jake

I don’t know what got into Bishop, besides copious amounts of beer and I’m guessing some sort of narcotic, judging by the state of his pupils, but this isn’t him. This isn’t us. This isn’t how we’re supposed to get together. After being friends for almost twenty years, I think we deserve better than some drunken confession. I think I deserve better. No, I know I do. Bishop should give himself more credit for finally admitting his feelings, rather than using the excuse of all the drugs and alcohol coursing through his system.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t spend all last night tossing and turning, debating whether or not to just say “fuck it” and go out there and screw my best friend’s brains out. God, I’ve wanted to hear those words come out of his mouth for so long. To finally hear them was literally a dream come true. If only I could be sure he meant them. Then I remember what it took for him to say them and I’m pissed as hell.

I make my way into the kitchen, spotting Bishop haphazardly lying on the couch, his mouth wide open. Even passed out in a drunken stupor he’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to have the wake-up from hell, though.

Bending down to get some pots and pans out of the cupboard, I make sure to create as much noise as humanly possible. Steel crashes into steel, lids fall out of the cabinet and onto the floor, doors smash into each other as I slam them shut.

“Ugh,” a rough voice moans from the couch.

I stand up and wrench more cupboard doors open, slamming them shut a second later. It’s a labour-intensive way of gathering what I need to make breakfast but I can’t help but take just the tiniest amount of pleasure from it.

“You right there?” he croaks.

“I’m good, how about you?” I reply cheerfully.

“I’d be a lot better if you weren’t so fucking loud.”

“Too fucking bad.” I continue with my noisy breakfast making.

“Ugh, what got up your arse this morning?”

I stop my clanging and glare at him. “What’s up with me? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“How much do you remember of last night, Bish?” I ask, resting against the kitchen bench.

He stops, and I can see the events from last night come back to him. “If you’re upset that I came on to you…,” he starts.

“I’m not pissed about that,” I tell him. No matter what happens next, I could never be pissed that he finally told me how he feels. “I’m upset about what it took for you to say all of that.”

He sits up quickly then grabs at his no doubt pounding head. “Ow. Wait, you’re not pissed that I came on to you?”

I give him a wry smile. “I’ve known you had feelings for me for ages, Bish. You do a lousy job of hiding things.”

“I thought I did a pretty good job actually,” he says.

I snort. “If somebody doesn’t know you, maybe. But we’ve been friends for almost twenty years. I know you.”

“Okay, if you’re not pissed I came on to you, what exactly are you pissed about?”

I sigh and move to join him on the couch. “I’m pissed that it took you getting kicked off your team, a visit to your piece-of-shit father, a shitload of booze, and drugs to tell me how you feel. Never mind the fact you only did it because you now have nothing left to lose.” Jonah is the only person who can work Bishop up enough to get as shitfaced as he was last night. Ugh, just reciting all of that gets me worked up again. I shake my head. No. This isn’t how we get together.

“Okay, so that sounds bad—”

“It’s more than bad, Bish.”

“But shouldn’t we be happy that my feelings for you are finally out in the open?”

“What about my feelings?”

“Do you not feel the same?” He pouts, his eyes wide, shining with hope and a little bit of vulnerability. I know it’s not something he’s used to feeling and I weaken, just for a second.

“No, I do, but—”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is it took you half a brewery and what was it? Coke?”

He nods.

“And probably a shitload of cocaine to finally get you to admit it!” I yell. “And that’s after your father probably chewed your arse out and made you feel like shit.”

“What do you want me to do, Jake?” he yells, pulling at his hair.

“I want you to tell me all the things you said last night when you’re sober. When you’re not hurting because your cunt of a father is up to his usual tricks and making you feel like shit. But most of all, I want you to tell me because the thought of not being with me is too painful to bear. That’s what I want you to do.” I get up and storm to my room, making sure to slam the door on him yet again.

I flop onto my bed and scream into my pillow. Fuck, why is this so hard to understand? I know Jonah is an arse. I’ve known it since the day of his wife’s funeral, and everything he’s done since has only reinforced that. I get that growing up in that environment can’t have been easy, but I also know Bishop. I know who he is, deep down. He’s loving and kind and gentle, and he has a soft heart. He feels everything so deeply, but I also know he’s still that twelve-year-old boy who lost his mother and is looking for his father’s love and approval. I know the thought of disappointing his father kills him, but how long is he going to bend over backwards to please a man who can’t be pleased? I just want us to be us. Or actually be an us. I want to hold his hand when we go out for dinner and kiss him whenever I feel like it. I want to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep next to him every night. Most of all, I want Bishop to be free. I want him to finally have everything his heart desires, even if he decides that maybe that isn’t me.