Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
"I don't think I'm gay," he says.
Heartbreak rips at me, the sharp claws of it tearing pieces of me until I feel like there's nothing left.
I swallow, refusing to let anger swell inside of me. The man has every right to be who he is, even if that doesn't include me in his journey. Getting mad about it is an egotistical way to think.
"It's okay that you're not," I manage, my voice weaker than the words spoken.
His eyes lift to mine, his head shaking slightly.
"You don't understand," he mutters.
"I do understand, Frankie. More than I want to."
"You don't."
I give him a flat-lipped smile, the only thing I can manage as the burn of tears threatens behind my eyes.
He pulls in a deep breath, the exhale of it puffing his cheeks before he speaks again.
"I don't think I'm gay," he repeats. "But what I do know is that you're my fucking soulmate."
My heart clenches, the beat of it pauses as my brain attempts to catch up with my ears because there's no fucking way I just heard what I thought I heard.
"Is that right?" I manage.
"Yeah," he says, his eyes searching mine as if he expected a different response from me.
"Is this where you tell me that we can be together, but only after you buy a private island where we can hide and never be seen?" I joke.
He frowns at me, disappointment on his face.
"What?" I ask. "Did they not have enough money to buy a private island?"
I expect his frown to deepen, but the continued joking seems to be lifting him out of whatever fog of emotion he was in when I walked into the room.
"I'm donating all of it to the Trevor Project," he says. "I want to help kids so they don't have to grow up feeling like they couldn't be who they truly are."
"Not gay teens who have a same-sex soulmate?" I tease as I cross the room and take a seat beside him.
He chuckles. "Exactly."
When he turns his head to look at me, I see him searching for answers to a million questions he can't seem to put a voice to.
"I've loved you since I was sixteen years old," I whisper, keeping my eyes on his, needing to know if there's any level of rejection in his eyes as I speak the words.
"I can't imagine what our lives would look like if I hadn't been so angry back then."
"We can't spend our future regretting our pasts," I say. "It will only lead to bitterness and anger. You've given them enough of yourself already. Don’t live there."
He dips his head as if he agrees, but I know it's going to be a long road to actually freeing himself of the damage they've caused to his psyche.
"I have a question, and I need the truth from you."
"That sounds serious," he says, twisting a little so he can face me better.
"If we got back from this last mission and your mom was still alive, if we weren't sitting in this house alone, would you still be saying this to me?"
He pulls in a breath as if he's actually spending a moment to consider the truth of his answer.
"Honestly?" he asks.
"I only ever want the truth from you, even if it's something you don't think I want to hear."
"I don't think that today, three days after we got back, that we'd be having this conversation. Do I think that I would've gotten here eventually? Yes. I know I would've."
"But your mom dying gives you permission quicker?" I ask, unsure how to respond to the information he's just given me.
He shakes his head. "Not permission. I don't need that from her. It's realizing just how fast things can change, how fucking fragile life is, that made me ready. I don't want to waste any more time than I already have."
That's so much better than where my head was taking me.
I lean in, letting my lips hover just over his.
"You're still hurt," he whispers, his eyes drifting down to the healing cut on my lip.
"Do you really think that's going to stop me right now?"
He shakes his head, a smile on his handsome face as he lowers his mouth to mine.
This kiss is different, and I don't know if it's finally letting go of hope and settling into assurance that makes it better, but there's no rush. I don't have this urge to take what he has to offer as quickly as possible because I know the rejection will come sooner than I want.
There's no fear of him changing his mind, no worry that he'll ever walk away from me again.
I told him to forget the past, that the history of what has happened to him and between us that caused us pain is no longer relevant, and I have to do the same.