Between the Shadow and the Soul - 20. The Nuclear Option

November 20, 2016

When I heard Nate pull into the driveway and the garage door start rising, utter panic overtook my hectic mood.

"Fuck!" He's home early.

Pushing boxes and suitcases into corners or back into the large closet, I made the room as presentable as it could be with most of my stuff packed and ready to move. Which of course meant it wasn't presentable at all. Anybody with two brain cells to rub together could look at it and arrive at the same question: Where are you going?

I pulled the bedroom door shut and headed downstairs. Just as I hit the landing and turned into the living room, Nate walked into the kitchen, pushed the door shut, then headed directly for me.

"Me and Rita want to take you out tonight for drinks and a few games of pool. We haven't done that in a while, you and me."

"Rita and I, you illiterate troglodyte."

He hit me. Nate hit me. Not for the first time, either. I wondered if any government agency had responsibility for investigating reports of best friend abuse.

"As I was saying, you're going to Ships Lounge with us tonight. We'll have a few drinks, play some pool, have a good time."

"All the way to Lower Greenville? On a Sunday night?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"What brought this on?" Not that I minded, but it seemed sudden.

"Rita and I thought it would be nice. You've been super busy with work and we haven't been able to get together in a week or so." Then with an emotional overtone in his voice and near desperation on his face he continued, "I want to spend time with my best friend. I don't know if you feel the same—"

"Of course I do!" And how painful it was to admit when I knew what the night held.

"—but there's been so much distance lately. I feel like you're slowly slipping away from me, G-Man. It's killing me, it really is. So I thought it'd be nice to go out, shoot some pool, have a few drinks, spend some time together."

"With Rita..." I muttered, not pleased with the addition, not if Nate meant what he said.

"I thought it would be nice if you and Rita got to know each other better. I don't know if she's the one, Greg, but anybody who's trying for the part needs my best friend's approval. If they don't win you over, they don't win me."

All I could do was stare. When my mouth opened, I had no idea what it intended to say, so I shut it in silence.

Nate's bewildered expression slowly contorted into a frown. Shaking his head he quietly said, "Fuck, dude. I'm sorry. I just thought..."

It didn't matter how this turn of events made me feel, so I shrugged.

"...and I assumed," he continued. "I fucked up. Here I tell you you're so important to me and turn around and make you the odd man out. What the hell is wrong with me?"

Perhaps it was a mistake, a slip as it were, but the blade in my chest merely strengthened my resolve, reinforced the belief that I was doing the right thing. Thus I elected to indulge in nonlinear thinking and asked, "What about meeting the contractors in the morning at the new gym?"

Startled, he started to speak then stopped, then started and stopped, then finally shifted mental gears and replied, "I have to be there early. I can't skip because they'll all be there to kick off the renovation and rebuild. But that doesn't mean I can't go out tonight and spend some time with my man."

"And woman," I added, though it came out more sneering than I'd intended.

Looking sheepish he said, "I can cancel with her if you want. It can just be us."

"It's fine. Really." It came out dismissive, even hurt, and I didn't know why. I was walking away from him, leaving him behind so he could move on. Why did this breach of best friend etiquette bother me so? From my perspective, it sure looked like he was moving on.

With a shrug I told him, "It's all good." My tone couldn't have convinced me that water was wet, so I knew it didn't convince Nate of anything.

Looking dejected and admonished, even disappointed in himself, he mumbled, "Cool."

"Do I have time for a shower?"

He sniffed twice in my direction before saying, "For all our sakes, yes."

"Asshole! You work in a gym all day and you imply I stink?" This time I hit him.

"Ouch! You struck me!"

"Wimp," I called as I followed him up the stairs..

* * * * *

Fresh from the shower and facing my own reflection, I set the towel near the sink before I ran my fingers through my damp hair whilst staring into the eyes of the man in the mirror.

I asked him, "If I don't let him go, will I spend the rest of my life clinging to the edifice of the past?"

With a nod toward my own reflection I continued voicing my thoughts: "That man there, the man fresh from the shower, could he be happy—I mean really happy— if he can ever figure out how to let go of this? I don't mean forget—" I barked a dismissive laugh. "—because he'll never be able to forget this. But can he set it aside and eventually let it go enough to seriously entertain other options?"

Resting my palms on the countertop and leaning forward I asked, "Can you ever let this go? Can you move on? Is that even a realistic goal?"

Pushing myself upright, I grabbed deodorant from the medicine cabinet and began applying it.

"That man staring back at me," I said to the mirror, "the man who looks like he could be on top of the world if things were different, do you think he's doing the right thing? If he did nothing, do you think he could happy? Well, happy in love rather than happy with the man he loves?"

After putting the deodorant back in the cabinet, I again ran my hands through my damp hair, my eyes locked on my mirror image.

"Is happily ever after always just out of reach? Am I throwing away the closest I can get to it? Or am I finding the path to it with this move?"

My voice stern yet shaky I told him, "You have to let this go. It was never meant to be."

Turning away from the man in the mirror I said, "I wonder if this sacrifice will be too much to bear."

* * * * *

Just as I reached the kitchen, intending to grab a bit of Dutch courage, I heard a car door slam shut, the sound amplified as it ricocheted through the garage. I peeked through the peephole in the kitchen door and saw Rita walking up the driveway.

Rita Guzman, twenty-five years old from Puerto Rico, was a hot little Hispanic number, maybe five six with a slim yet curvy physique, her black hair wavy and hanging between her shoulders, her cheekbones high and her nose perfect and her eyes black pools of sensuous depth. Dressed in low black heels, slim-fit faded jeans, a silky blouse of gray-tone tartan, and a leather biker's jacket, her small purse slung over one shoulder, she was a study in exotic beauty.

Not my type, but if you're into that kind of thing...

Before she could knock I opened the door. "Hi, Rita. Come on in."

"Thanks, Greg," she responded with that silky voice of hers, just a trace of a Spanish accent adding an air of mystery.

She can probably talk a man into an orgasm with that voice. Well, a straight man anyway.

She walked through the living room to the bar where she set her purse down before turning to look at me. Never taking her eyes off me, she removed her jacket and laid it beside her small bag.

"You're looking quite lovely this evening."

The barest hint of a blush colored her cheeks as she smiled. "Thank you. And you're looking stylish as usual." Then she asked, "Is Nate not home yet?"

"He's still in the shower." Rolling my eyes, I shrugged and added, "Sometimes it's like he forgets we actually have to pay for all the water we use."

She gave a little titter, a bubbly sound that was light and refreshing.

"Thanks for inviting me along tonight," I said, resentment playing softly in my tone.

She gave a quick little puzzled expression before explaining, "I think all of this was Nate's idea. He called me earlier and asked if I'd like to go. I told him of course I would." She gave a mischievous smile before explaining, "Pool was a favorite pastime back home. With all my brothers, it was the only sport where I could beat them."

"So you're a pool shark?"

Waving away the assumption she said, "Good grief no. But I do enjoy the game and I've been known to win here and there."

"Especially against your brothers?"

She giggled as she nodded.

"Well, neither Nate nor I are known for our elite skills around a pool table. We love the game, don't get me wrong, but we've always just played for fun. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, but we always have fun while we're at it."

Nodding, a soft smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, she told me, "That's the way to play. I only do better because I was the youngest, so the only way I had spending money was to win it from my brothers."

Our laughter mingled.

I walked around the bar into the kitchen and proceeded to fetch a beer from the fridge. I still had time to guzzle one or six before Nate was ready.

"Would you like one?" I offered.

"No, but thank you for offering," she said demurely, adding, "I'll have my share around the pool table."

Upending the bottle, I swallowed half the contents before pausing.

"You and Nate have been friends for a long time."

"Decades," I supplied automatically.

"Then you know he's straight, right?"

"What?" I snapped, my brow furrowed and mouth grimaced.

Looking apologetic, as if sharing a bad prognosis with a patient's family, she sighed before telling me, "Nate. He's not like you, Greg. He's straight."

With a full-blown scowl on my face I gruffly asked, "What the hell are you on about?"

Her hands lifted in surrender, Rita gave a meek expression before replying, "It's obvious. To me, anyway. I just thought you'd already know it's an exercise in futility."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You haven't told him and he hasn't seen it for himself. Seems like a pretty big secret to keep from your best friend."

Frowning, trying not to scowl and failing miserably, I said, "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Don't you? You're so good at hiding it; it's almost impossible to see. Maybe you've even hidden it from yourself."

You have no idea how true that is... or was, rather.

With nothing more ominous than a stern considering look I said, "You lost me."

If she's fishing, I won't bite; but if she's meddling, biting might be the least I do.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble, Greg. I'm really not." She looked sincere and sounded sincere, but she was stepping on my last nerve anyway.

"Then, if you would please, get to the point, one of which I assume you have."

Holding her hands up in surrender again, Rita told me, "You two are so close. He loves you dearly. It's always Greg this and Greg that and Greg says and Greg does. And you two are psychic or something with the way you're in each other's heads."

"That's from more than twenty years of friendship so close that few can achieve it."

"Precisely. And yet you've hidden this from him."

"What is the 'this' to which you refer?"

"Are you in love with him?"

I guzzled the rest of my beer, dropped the empty bottle in the recycle bin, fetched another, opened it, and guzzled half of that one. Then I looked at her and said, "Not to be rude or anything, Rita, but my relationship with Nate isn't a topic for conjecture or discussion by the great unwashed."

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to meddle—"

"It sure looks that way from where I'm standing."

"Really I'm not." She still looked and sounded sincere. "I was just thinking maybe you were holding out hope, maybe you didn't already know."

"Know what?"

"He's not like you."

"Not like me," I spat, "like it's a disease or a defect."

"That's not what I meant," she growled dismissively.

I always knew I didn't like this woman. Now I'm figuring out why.

How has Nate not seen this side of her? She's an uncultured swine!

What we see depends on what we look for.

Standing to my full height and looking down at her with as much venom as I could muster, I asked, "Do you think you've known him long enough to tell me something I don't know? You think you're such an expert now that mere weeks of exposure make your knowledge superior to what I've accumulated over decades? Do you even consider your words before you say them?"

Her mouth worked a few times, though she produced no sound.

"Thanks for your input, Rita." Then I guzzled the rest of the second beer before dropping the bottle in the recycle bin. Once that bit of housekeeping was done, I headed toward the stairs.

"Don't you want to know how I know?" she inquired as I passed her.

Halting abruptly and swinging toward her, I barked, "What is it you think you know? In the six weeks that you've been around, what great discovery have you made that makes you feel justified in sticking your nose and mouth into a relationship that's been around almost as long as you've been alive? What insight have six weeks granted that suddenly allows you to sit in judgment?"

Stunned but not chagrined, she squared her shoulders before telling me, "I'm interested in Nate. It behooves me to pay attention, be observant, learn as much about him as I can."

"So you can weigh his pros and cons in your quest for a mate."

Fuck, I sound like a snide brat.

Under the circumstances, you can't say anything to Nate about this conversation. It'll just be the rantings of someone crazy from unrequited love.

"A vulgar yet accurate description." Her voice was cold and sharp. "Which, of course, means I've seen the looks, the touches, the wanting smiles, the wistful frowns, everything—"

"This conversation is over, Rita. Period." Then I turned and walked toward the stairway, willing myself not to march, not to stomp, not to flee, and certainly not to kick her ass into next week. Instead I walked normally, as though I had all the time in the world, as though I belonged and she was the outsider. Which I knew would only be true for a few more hours.

"Aren't you ready yet?" I hollered up the stairs when I reached the landing.

As he hit the top step Nate whined, "Are we there yet?"

"Don't make me pull this car over before we even get on the road!"

"He touched me!"

"I gotta pee!"

"I told you to go before we left."

"Sorry, pa!"

"God, do you two ever quit?" Rita asked with a giggle as Nate stepped into the living room.

"Not until they pry my sense of humor from my cold, dead hands!" Nate and I said in unison.

She chuckled, though she had a moody gaze settled on me.

* * * * *

Nate and Rita circled the pool table in a choreographed dance of laughs and plays and conversation. She was full of small touches and meaningful looks and light kisses; but Nate was aloof, veering away when she approached, gently pushing her aside when she invaded his space, smiling disinterestedly when she dropped a peck on his cheek or caressed his arm or back. And almost each time it happened, his eyes would dart to mine halfway across the pool hall.

Maybe he heard our conversation. Bionic hearing and all...

Maybe. But it only makes a difference for him, not you.

She only stood five and a half, about six inches short than Nate, but what a potent combination they made even without a lot of touchy-feely or eyelash batting. His gym build ripped to high heaven wrapped in chocolate-colored skin and her voluptuous Latin beauty kept toned with yoga and aerobics gave me mental movies of pornographic proportions.

And every time one starts playing I feel a small part of me die. How's that for killer entertainment...

Nate looked unabashedly divine, so beautiful and masculine and godlike. His jeans hugged in all the right places without advertising him as a manwhore. His shirt pulled tight across his chest before tapering rapidly to his waist without being so gaudy as to exclaim he was full of himself, which he most certainly wasn't.

As I waited in the booth for a chance to flag down my best friend, a waitress noticed me and headed in my direction. As she arrived I waved her off, adding, "I'm good, thanks." She smiled and nodded before wending her way amongst the tables and booths toward her next destination.

Just then Nate glanced up from studying the ball placement. When he realized I was looking at him, he gave me that beautiful, memorable, affectionate smile that was always meant just for me. I'd never seen him offer it to anyone else.

While I had his attention I gestured for him to come join me. He motioned that he only had a few minutes left to the pool game. I nodded in return.

It was at that moment that Rita stepped behind him and bumped his ass with her hip. I was too far away to notice if she'd been playful or had fleshly intentions on her mind. As far as I knew they hadn't had sex yet.

He'll die from withdrawal if that doesn't change soon.

Ugh. Please don't. That's the last visual I need in my head right now.

Nate smirked and rolled his eyes, all for my benefit, which meant I wasn't sure if he was being playful or had fleshly intentions.

Clearly this is bothering you more than you know.

Oh, I know all right. I know perfectly well. The fact that she's around at all is part of the reason I have to do what I'm about to do.

After a few more plays, Nate and Rita moving about the table with efficiency and sport, my best friend made his final shot, after which he looked a little disappointed. Then he whispered something to Rita, racked his cue, and wandered in my direction.

Masculine perfection. Unadulterated testosterone at its finest. Sex on two legs. A body built for sin. Soulful eyes. Phenomenal body. Handsome face. I could go on but I'm just making myself hard and miserable.

Nate approached confidently, a smile playing at his lips, and my stress skyrocketed.

If I don't get this done and over with soon, I'll be in the bathroom tossing my cookies.

Assuming you make it to the bathroom before erupting.

True that.

When I reached for my warm beer, still mostly full, my hand trembled, causing the bottle to clatter against the tabletop.

I glanced at Nate to distract myself from my body's wicked betrayal. His eyes sucked me in, made me lose myself in his gaze. He looked equal parts happy and concerned. Yet as I stared at him, his expression soured, a frown creeping in to replace the easy smile, heartfelt worry contorting his beautiful face.

I looked away, at the table, at my beer, anywhere.

He's in my head again. He's reading me like a book. He knows something bad's coming.

Yeah, well, it is and that's that.

Since I wasn't watching him anymore, I startled as he dropped into the booth opposite me. I nearly spilled my beer.

That would've been alcohol abuse. Good thing it didn't happen.

"What is it, G-Man? Are you okay?"

His genuine, loving concern washed over me and flooded through me. It felt like boiling water, scalding my soul. My heart hammered so painfully that the veins on the back of my hand pulsed.

"Greg. What's wrong, dude? You look terrible."

If I don't get control of my body, this'll be over before it begins.

I gave a little shake of my head and told him, "I'm okay. No, not okay. Really not okay. It's just... I mean... Fuck!" Get a grip or get lost, Greg! After huffing out a breath I explained, "I just need to talk to you, Nate. But it can't be here."

"Where do we need to go? Just tell me and we'll go."

"Home. We need to go home. Now. I'm sorry if it's too early. This thing with you and Rita tonight took me by surprise, but we really need to go home so we can talk."

Unshed tears glistened in my eyes, so I blinked them away. Or tried. My body kept twitching and shaking, so I tensed my muscles to stop it. Or attempted to. My voice had grown hoarse, so I cleared it to sound normal. Or that was the plan anyway. And through it all Nate was picking up on everything I was feeling.

"What's up, guys? Looks like a funeral over here," Rita chimed in playfully as she dropped onto the bench beside Nate, nestling against him and glowering at me as though I'd ruined her evening. Which I had in a way, though this evening was never about her.

Shaken loose from the silent yet fevered communion between us, Nate's stunned gaze broke free of my stare and turned toward the petite, beautiful Latina sitting beside him. When she returned his look, confusion replaced the flippancy that'd been there just a second before.

Placing his hand on her shoulder and gently pushing her out of the booth, he looked back to me even as he said, "Please, Rita. We have to go. Now." The last he practically hissed, though I wondered if he knew it.

* * * * *

Dread squirmed and crawled and wriggled all over me, causing me to shift against the loveseat's armrest. I feared what I was about to do.

Nate sat against the end of the sofa nearest my location, his face pallid and his eyes serious. He'd spent no niceties on ejecting Rita from the car and from the neighborhood once we'd arrived home, waving away her protestations and complaints, grumbling at her requests for him to call, to schedule a date, to acknowledge her.

When the hottie with a body rushed to him, kissed him sloppily and greedily, then whispered loud enough for our neighbors to hear that she loved him, he pushed her away and walked into the house behind me, saying not a word. More and more I suspected he'd overheard my talk with her before we left. I can't imagine it had endeared her to him if he did.

"It's really important and I need you to listen." He tried to say something but I intercepted it by adding, "Please let me get this out, Nate, okay?"

He looked perplexed, but more than that he looked terrified. He was definitely picking up his usual signals from me and didn't like what he was receiving.

I'm sweating like a nervous farm animal.

It was cold and clammy, a viscous fluid breaking out over the entire surface of my body. I could feel it beading on my forehead, running down my back and chest and ribs, trickling through my hair.

That's not sweat. It's called abject fear. Just wait until it's joined by its friend, unmitigated heartache. You ready for that? It's what you intend to create with this plan of yours. Are you ready? Huh?

Taking a deep steadying breath, locking my eyes on Nate's, fortifying my resolve with whatever reserves I had available, I explained, "I was a fool for not realizing how I held you back." I gestured for him to let me continue without interruption, though I suspected he'd interrupt eventually. "You were suffering from guilt and remorse and you wouldn't leave me because of it."

"That's not true!"

"It kind of is, though, isn't it? Didn't you choose to stay with me all this time at least in part because you felt like what Richard did was something you might've prevented? Guilt does funny things to people, Nate. Can you honestly say it didn't play a role here?"

He looked mortified. And offended.

"No," he gasped. "I'm with you because I love you, G-Man. There's never been another reason, not even a little one or part of one."

"Be that as it may, spending your life with me has kept you from the things you want, from the things that'll make you happy."

"I'm happy with you!"

"You said, and I quote: 'Despite the fact that you think I'm a playboy who only wants to dip his wick and move on, I'd actually like to meet a nice girl, get to know her, settle down and get married, have kids, the white picket fence, a dog and a cat and a mortgage, a lawn to mow, maybe a pool to swim in, his-and-her cars, and eventually teenagers who hate me and without whom I couldn't survive and with whom I'll go nuts and about whom I'll worry myself gray. But before I can get there, I gotta make up for what I did, and that means I gotta make sure you get your shit together and find your own goddamn happiness!'"

"Fucking tape recorder..." he mumbled.

"Did I misunderstand your words, Nate? Did I mishear what you said?"

He shook his head, his eyes misty and hurt. "I only wanted to push—"

"'I'm fucking thirty years old and still living with my best friend because I love him too damn much to leave him on his own.' You said that, too. Did I not get the gist?"

Nate's mouth opened and closed a few times. He was shocked, anguished, obviously cognizant of where I was going with this conversation.

"The point is, Little Big Man, I've done nothing but hold you back, cause you pain, keep you from the happiness and fulfillment you deserve."

Tears welled in my eyes and my chest felt like it would explode. I'd never felt such anguish before. My world was crumbling down around me and I was driving the wrecking ball, and that made it so much worse.

"Whatever this is," he said, his voice hitching as he gestured between us, "it can't be that bad. We can fix it. We're stronger than whatever the problem is. Please..." His voice was tortured and sad. A lone tear streaked down his cheek and I wanted to wipe it away, hold him, take away the pain.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Nate," I stuttered. He could see I was struggling to maintain control. That made it practically unbearable for him. "I should have done this a long time ago. I just didn't realize the harm I was doing to you—"

"Life with you doesn't hurt me!"

"You've stuck by me this whole time, been my constant companion, but in the process you've sacrificed too much. The things you want I can't give you but you stay anyway. What you're looking for can't be found with me but you stay anyway. The future you dream of has nothing to do with me but you stay anyway. And all because I made mistakes and you placed the blame on yourself. Just hear me out... Please..."

I was on the verge of losing it whilst trying to keep him in check so I could finish what I'd set out to do. The sense of impending doom he was feeling cranked up his anxiety until he was full of pain, a generous amount of which he was catching from me, the rest of which I was causing with intent. I could see it in his eyes, in his face, that desire, nay, the need to jump up and wrap me in his arms and help make it all better.

Ignoring the occasional tear that escaped my failing control and the growing collection of moisture in Nate's eyes, I told him, "I know what you've given up for me. You've made it clear—"

"But I didn't mean—"

"Yes you did, Nate. In the heat of the moment you meant what you said. And it took those disclosures to make me realize I've been selfish. But that stops now."

"Don't, G-Man..." His voice wavered, hitched, grew throaty with emotion. He was trembling.

"Even as I got better, even as I overcame what's held me down for so long, I felt worse. Not because of Richard and what happened back then, but because of what I've allowed to happen since then, what I've taken from you, what I accepted as though you owed me something."

"You never..."

The sadness I felt couldn't be hidden. And that meant Nate was experiencing it as though it were his own. He was attuned to me at that moment and I feared he might already know what was coming.

Fighting back the urge to take my best friend in my arms and hold him and kiss him and comfort him and tell him it'd all been a misunderstanding, fighting back the anguish of seeing him hurt like this, I pushed forward.

"You have to let me go, Nate, and I have to let you go." Choking back a sob I added, "We can't be friends anymore—"

He looked at me, eyes pleading, lips trembling, face a ghastly caricature of the man I loved so dearly.

Stop! Can't you see you're hurting him?

I've been hurting him for most of his life, only I didn't realize it.

He can't take this. Neither can you. Stop it! Stop it before it goes too far! Stop it before you hurt him anymore than you already have!

This is the last hurt I'll ever give him. This is the hurt that sets him free.

Perceptions dimmed and distorted by emotions too powerful and tears too heavy, I couldn't accurately define the look on his face, though I was reading all his other signals just fine. Like me, he felt like his heart was breaking asunder. Rather than let him stew on what I'd already said, I started to surge ahead with what had to be done.

"What are you talking about?" he bellowed before my mouth opened. "What the hell do you mean I have to let you go and you have to let me go? What the fuck do you mean we can't be friends anymore? Bullshit, Greg! That's utter bullshit. I can't begin to imagine life without you, G-Man." Throwing his hands up he added, "This is complete bullshit."

Good. Anger. It'll help him right now.

I tried to speak, tried to finish what I'd intended to say, but my heart was hurting so much and my soul was burning and my mind was caving beneath the cry to halt this abomination before it went too far.

Choking back tears and sobs, his voice lowering to a growl of emotion, he pleaded, "Tell me you don't mean this, Greg. Please tell me this isn't happening." After a desperate inhale he cried, "Please, Greg, say something."

My insides were twisted in knots. I had to tell him. I had to admit what I'd hidden from him since the day we met, what I'd built the blind spot to hide from myself. I had to admit what was in my heart.

Steeling myself for the final wound I had to inflict, I took a deep breath. Then: "You don't understand, Nate. It's more complicated than you realize. You've told me what you need but I haven't told you what I need." Before he could interrupt I explained, "I need to find my own happiness—"

"But we have—"

"—and I can't do it when I'm around you. I can't have the life I want because I'm too wound up in you. I can't find a man I'll spend the rest of my life with because I can't see around my relationship with you. My world revolves around you. My heart is tied up in you. I've given my soul to you.

"I'm not blaming you for anything, Nate, so stop thinking that. I'm telling you I need to find someone for me and I can't do it because you take up all my emotional bandwidth without even trying."

Fuck! Cutting off my own leg would hurt less than this. What the hell was I thinking?

Get through it. You're too far in to back out now. Just get it over with already.

I could barely meet his gaze anymore, so pained was he; and I could scarcely watch his tears, each welling before spilling down his cheeks, a testament to silent affliction.

My own tears overflowed in a constant stream of anguish, so I blinked and wiped and blinked and wiped, yet they stained my cheeks anyway. "I have to give up the greatest thing that's ever happened to me if you're ever going to be truly happy. And I have to be away from you if I'm ever going to move on."

"Don't cry! Please don't cry! We can figure this out. We can conquer anything—"

"Not this, Nate. Not this..."

"What am I missing? Tell me what it is so I can fix it."

"You can't fix it. Only I can. And I can only fix it by being away from you."

"What can be so terrible?"

"I'm in love with you, damn it!" I growled through my own hurt. "I've been in love with you since we were kids. You're the only man I've ever loved like this, the man who fills my dreams and my fantasies and my heart and my head. And the more I'm around you the more potent it becomes, the more overpowering. It's so deep a well now I doubt I can ever drain it, but I sure as fuck know I can't get started as long as we're friends.

"I think I fell in love with you the moment we met, though I was too young to understand it. But it's been there all along, this want and need, this fire that burns brighter with each passing day."

I was close to sobbing but I didn't care. I'd found my stride and intended to finish the course. Nate, for his part, stared in stunned silence.

"You've always filled my vision, Nate, always filled my heart. I can't be happy with anyone else because you're the only one I want. I feel like if you don't start loving me back the way I love you, I'll fly apart and cease to exist. I've wanted you for more than twenty years. But I can't have you, can I? You were never mine to begin with, so all I've done is make myself miserable and lonely by staying with the man I can't get over as long as I'm with him. I can never find the man of my dreams because I already found him and he doesn't want me."

I slammed back against the loveseat in an attempt to stop the weeping from taking control. Nate was a blurry shape across from me, hidden behind my endless tears. I knew he was reeling but I was losing touch with him, so lost in my own despair and so pained by this sacrifice that I barely knew my own name.

"I don't want you to be unhappy anymore, Nate. But that's all I give you, isn't it? You've told me what you want in life and why you have to give up those dreams for me. And all the while I love you more than any human should be capable, more than any human can contain. Yet there it is, this profound love to spend the rest of my life with you, to love you and be loved by you. Only neither of us can live like that, not anymore. It kills me that I'm in love with someone who can never return it, can never feel the same for me. So I hide it, even from myself for a long while, but it's there and it's alive and it hurts like fucking hell all the time and I can't do this anymore."

Pushing myself off the loveseat and leaning one hand on the armrest to keep me from collapsing right there, I quietly told the man I was leaving behind, "I'm going now. I'm sorry about all this. I'm sorry I dumped this shit on you. I'm sorry I ruined your date to do it. I don't blame you if you're pissed. I don't blame you for anything you're feeling right now. But you needed to know. You needed to know none of it was ever your fault. You needed to know there was never a problem with you.

"I'm sorry for whatever suffering I've caused you. But it's over now, Nate. I'm letting you go and I'm hoping it means you can finally move on with your life, fulfill your dreams, build the family and home you most desire."

Exposed and vulnerable and wishing I'd never approached this threshold, what I'd dreaded all along I finally said: "I hope you're going to be okay. I hope in time you can forgive me. I hope in time you can forget me. I know you're pissed at me right now and I understand that. Fuck, I'm pissed at me, too.

"Maybe... Maybe at some point down the road our paths will cross again and we can enjoy some measure of friendship. I hope that's the case because I don't know how I'll live without you. But I have to try, Nate, I just have to."

Standing upright I added in a weak and tremulous voice, "Please let me go, Little Big Man. Please let me go and let me try to find my way, let me try to get over you so I can maybe find some measure of what I've wanted all along with some other man." After an aborted sob I said, "Take care of yourself, Nate, and remember I'll always love you."

Through my bottomless reservoir of tears I tried to focus on his face, to see what he was feeling, to see a reason for his silent gaze. What I saw struck me as an incongruous amalgam of strangely incompatible emotions, something kith and kin to shocked surprise coupled with unbridled heartache. Of course, my heart was breaking and my soul was dying and my mind was reeling, so I doubted my own assumptions about what he might be feeling. After all, I'd dropped a bomb in his lap, so I had to expect him to be flabbergasted, too overwhelmed to expose single, identifiable emotions. If my internal turmoil meant anything, Nate's insides were in chaos.

No matter what he was feeling, though, I couldn't understand his failure to say something, his inability to communicate. Did he suddenly find me pitiable? Pathetic? Disgusting? Was he so appalled by my disclosure, my declaration, that he couldn't talk to me? More than anything else that'd been said or felt, it was his silence that hurt the most.

So I turned and walked away.

* * * * *

By the time I entered the garage, I was a stumbling, sobbing, incoherent emotional wreck, falling into my car, starting it, and driving away in a storm cloud of emotions.

He was devastated. It was so obvious. I took something important away from him and threw an unwanted surprise in its place. What else could he feel?

"I just slammed the door in the face of the man I love with my entire being... I'll never replace him..."

I'll never get over his tears, his anguish. I did that. I caused that pain. I hurt him and it's killing me inside to know I hurt him.

Driving away from the home we once shared, away from Nate, away from the only life I'd ever known and ever wanted, away from all that was sacred and cherished, nausea roiled inside me, the burn rising in my throat. Hoarse sobs wracked my body.

I had to pull over. I couldn't see, I couldn't think, I was going to lose my lunch, and I was a menace to myself and others.

Once on the side of the road, I barely had time to get out of the car and into the weeds before I crashed to my knees and retched. Convulsions gripped me and I spewed beer and bile and what little solid matter remained from the day.

"What have I done?" I wailed.

Then I convulsed and retched again. And again. And again.

* * * * *

Sitting in my car on the side of the road, I realized Richard had been right. My love for Nate destroyed us, took away what mattered most. It had to happen, sure, but still... Richard was right. But his dark prognostication meant little when compared to the present he gave me.

For once he did something good, something light, something that helped me. All these years I've been on borrowed time and didn't realize it. That's one thing Richard gave me—over two decades of wonderful friendship and love with Nate. Even though it couldn't last, it was The Fiend's only meaningful gift.

"So this is how a new life starts, huh?" I mumbled. "And all I can see in my mind's eye is Nate sitting there with tears running down his cheeks."

I did that. I caused that pain.

"At least it's the last pain I'll cause him."

With that I finally started the car and pulled back onto the road.

* * * * *

Somehow I found myself wandering through a beautiful courtyard, around a building, and to a specific door. How I'd arrived there I couldn't say. Why I'd arrived there I didn't know.

When Keigan opened his door I was barely standing. Weak and overwhelmed, the moment I saw his face I began weeping again, not loud wailing but instead quiet sobbing, the lamentation of the damned.

"Please..." I begged, though I had no clue what I wanted or needed. Thankfully Keigan knew.

After leading me to his bedroom, he helped me strip down to my underwear before settling me in bed. He then climbed in behind me, wrapped me in his arms, nuzzled his face against my neck, and said nothing.

I cried myself to sleep.