Chapter Seventeen

“SHIT!” CONNOR’S HAND jerked, making him slosh coffee over the edge of his mug’s rim, when he heard the knock at his front door. He’d just sat down in his office and was only three sentences in on his work in progress, Death’s Sweet Surprise, about a murder in a chocolate shop. He’d retreated into what he called the zone, that place where he went under, hypnotizing himself so that his imaginary world became real. That state was only arrived at after much procrastinating—dishes washed, bed made, Spider Solitaire, checking Amazon and Goodreads for the latest reviews of his work, having a second cup of coffee, and staring out the window at the steel-gray surface of Lake Union—so the interruption was annoying to say the least. Plus he had welcome silence as Trey had gone out for a run, headed toward Gas Work Park. He’d be gone for at least an hour.

The knock sounded again. Louder, more insistent. Connor quickly finished his thought. Sighing, he got up and moved to the front door, expecting a delivery or one of his neighbors.

When he looked through the peephole, though, he got a shock. It was not UPS or Glenda from upstairs wanting to borrow his stick blender again, but Steve Marsden, his ex.

Connor hadn’t seen the man in months, unless you counted the many Facebook and Instagram pictures Steve put up regularly of the bliss he and his fiancé, Rory, were experiencing. In the social media world, there was no end to seeing Steve and his unfettered joy. Connor could recite chapter and verse every long weekend the couple had taken, every meal they’d consumed, what ferry they’d boarded and where it had taken them, what play they were seeing of a Saturday night, what club they were hanging out in, older than most of the regulars by a good couple of decades.

Stop. That last part is mean. You’re no spring chicken yourself.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why the man with whom he’d shared home and hearth for close to two decades was showing up at his front door, unannounced. What was particularly aggravating was that one thing Steve knew for sure—Connor worked in the early morning and loathed interruptions. Even soft music was distracting enough to make the attempt to write futile.

So what’s he doing here? Now?

Steve peered at the peephole, leaning in toward it. Connor jumped back, feeling seen, despite knowing that wasn’t possible.

He placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, not certain at all he wanted to open the door. He’d done so well lately with forgetting the man out there, with his thick head of dark hair, a little salty these days, and bushy mustache. But Connor couldn’t deny, in the flurry of emotions he’d had in the few seconds’ realization that Steve had come back, that there wasn’t a little thrill that he was here—again.

He debated. The right thing to do was simply to ignore the knock and pretend he wasn’t home. His life had been wrecked by Steve’s sudden departure, and Connor had shed more tears than he cared to recall.

But he couldn’t.

He hated to admit it, even if it was only to himself, but he was happy to see Steve. His heart pounded a little harder and it wasn’t simply from nerves, although that played a part. But there was also joy, and relief, delight, excitement. All those things a married man shouldn’t feel at the sight of another guy.

But Connor wasn’t about to let Steve know any of the positive vibes Steve’s arrival on his doorstep engendered.

He swung the door open, making sure his frown was firmly in place. His eyebrows arched upward, and he cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”

Steve’s dark eyes, as they always could, drew him in, held him. He gave a humble smile, full of sorrow. “I don’t suppose I could come in for a few? I need to talk to you.”

“What? After all this time?”

“Yes, after all this time. Please, Connor, it’s important. I know you were working, but I didn’t know who to turn to. Actually, that’s not true. There’s only one person I need to turn to, and that’s you.”

Nice. If you think I’m still here for you in times of trouble, think again, mister. I am not your bridge over troubled waters. Connor stood back and opened the door wider. “I only have a few minutes. Work.” He wondered when Trey would return and what he’d think when he opened the door and found Steve here.

Steve walked in as though this were still his home. He kicked off his shoes at the door and placed them next to one another on the little mat they’d bought for wet days. Connor noticed he’d lost weight. He was almost too skinny. Maybe it was the black garb—the T-shirt and jeans, the combat boots. But the fault couldn’t lie entirely with garb. Steve’s face was gaunt, drawn. His body, once beefy, now appeared angular, that of a boy’s.

Steve paused as he stood after removing his shoes. “I reveled in this same view for so many years, but it never loses its power. It’s gorgeous.”

Connor followed Steve’s gaze outside. The day was rare for April, sunny and clear, with a few fluffy clouds floating lazily above the Cascades. A trio of sailboats, slanted by the wind, crossed the surface. The scene could have been a postcard.

Steve turned to Connor. “I’ve missed this.”

“Why?” Connor snapped, not moving farther into the condo. He crossed his arms, unsure he wanted Steve to stay. He definitely hoped he’d be out of here before Trey returned from his run. “You and what’s-his-name have that nice Craftsman up in Maple Leaf.”

“Yeah, but it only has views of the neighbors around us.”

“Oh well, one can’t have everything.” Connor sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about the view. What’s up?”

Tentative, Steve asked, “Can we sit?”

Connor rolled his eyes, and then realized he wasn’t being very nice, even if Steve had wounded him deeply. “I’m sorry. I just am a little taken aback that you’re here. I never expected to see you again. Miranda did, though.” He frowned. “You told her you’d stay in touch. She thinks of you as her dad. You realize that?”

“I know, I know. I’ve been a fool.”

“Well come on in. I suppose the writing for today will keep. You want a cup of coffee? There’s still some in the French press from earlier. You just have to heat it up in the microwave.”

Steve shook his head. “Thanks, anyway.” He moved into the living room and perched on one of the wingback chairs on either side of the fireplace. Connor took a place on the couch. He’d been tempted to blurt out that he was married and was expecting his gorgeous husband home very soon, but felt like that would have been petty and vindictive. It was obvious Steve was in a state of despair and agitation. There was no need to make it worse.

To draw his gaze away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, Connor leaned forward. “What do you want, Steve? I thought you were finished with me, us.”

Steve did something then that shocked Connor. With no warning, he bowed his head and wept.

Connor, stunned, simply sat and watched as Steve’s shoulders heaved, as his breath caught, and as he sniffled. Connor offered no comforting words. No words at all, actually. He sat back and allowed Steve to get it out of his system. It took a couple of minutes, but at last, Steve pulled himself together with a few trembling sighs and a hand pressed against his eyes.

When he looked again at Connor, his eyes were rimmed in red, moist. “I’m sorry.”

Despite all the hurt he’d inflicted on Connor, Connor couldn’t help but be moved. He contemplated patting the place next to him on the couch but resisted the urge. However, he did say, “What’s the matter, Steve? Everything okay?” He reached out a hand and then dropped it.

“Social media puts up this picture of us—Rory and me—that shows this blissful couple, almost sickening in our happiness.” He tried for a grin and failed.

Connor didn’t want to admit that he’d been stalking, er, following Steve on Facebook and Instagram. Such an admission was simply too pathetic. “Ah, we all do that? Is the picture you’re referring to wrong? Aren’t you guys the ones posting them?” Absurdly, or maybe not so much, Connor found himself hoping the image Steve and Rory presented was a sham. Then he chastised himself for having too much invested, for not letting go as much as he’d assumed he had. He’d once heard the opposite of love wasn’t hate; it was indifference.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, they kind of are wrong or at least misleading. I mean, at first, they weren’t. At the start, when you’re head over heels in god knows what, they were true, to a point.” Steve stared down at the floor, then looked back up. “I don’t know how to talk to you about this without hurting you.” He released a trembling breath. “But you need to know. All of it.”

Connor glanced at the front door, expecting Trey to come bursting through in a sweat-stained black T-shirt and gray sweats. “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”

“It started off great, you know, with Rory. You and I had been together for such a long time. It was wonderful, our relationship, comforting and comfortable. We finished each other’s sentences. Cliché, but true. You were, are, my best friend. You’d seen me on the toilet; you’d been by my bed when I was sweating and burning up with fever. You were there when Mama passed. You saw me at my highest and lowest points.”

“That’s what you do for somebody you love,” Connor said, his voice barely above a whisper. He wondered if Steve even heard. He wondered if the notion would apply to Trey.

“I know. I know. But I was at a point where I was missing excitement and romance. Yearning for it. Shoot me, but it’s true. It had nothing to do with my feelings for you. I was just, and please don’t take offense, bored. You know, I so wanted to feel that same spark we felt when we first met.”

“That doesn’t last for anyone. You know that. We’re not kids.”

“You’re right, but that didn’t stop me from craving it. When I looked in the mirror, an old guy looked back at me. I began thinking about how fast things fade, how little time we really have. I’m sorry to say I didn’t appreciate you, what we had. I should have! God knows. But I just saw endless days of the same old, same old.”

Offended, Connor opened his mouth to protest.

Steve held up a hand to cut him off. “Don’t even say it. I know what you’re thinking. ‘I still have that power!’” He laughed, but there was little mirth in it. “I wanted to say it took me going through this whole time with Rory to realize just how valuable same old, same old is. It can be precious. And rare.”

Connor smiled and, again, resisted the urge to touch Steve. He knew. He knew. He’d had the same thoughts when they were together—why, we’ve become a boring old couple. In bed—for sleep—by ten on Saturday nights. No surprises. No flashes of excitement. Our relationship, once caviar and champagne, became bread and water. Connor reminded himself, though, that one can survive much longer on bread and water than on delicacies. In the end, he realized what he and Steve had together. It might have not been fireworks and passion, but it was two things he believed were more substantial and long-lasting than passing thrills—home and family. Steve represented both of those things, and Connor had thought he always would.

And now he was the one who wanted to cry. But he didn’t. Wouldn’t. He glanced again at the front door.

“Did something happen?” Connor finally asked.

Steve stared for a long time out the window, at the shimmer on the lake, a buzzing seaplane ascending, houseboats rocking on the water. He started to stand and then sat down. His voice got very quiet, almost inaudible. “I shouldn’t burden you with this. It’s not fair. I left you.”

“We are well aware, but you came all this way.”

“Rory left me. He’s moving to Miami, of all places.” He shook his head. “I guess the bloom was off the rose for him. Too. Maybe the petals fall off quicker when we get old, older. The engagement’s off. He feels bad, but I know he’s already found another man, even though he’d deny it. I’ve seen the texts.” Steve shrugged. “Serves me right, huh?” He captured Connor’s gaze. His eyes filled with tears.

And this time, Connor rose and went to him, kneeling at his feet and taking Steve’s hands in his own.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He hated to say the words, even though earlier he’d relished the same words and couldn’t wait to throw them at Steve, like daggers. But Steve needed to know. “But I’m not sure what you’re looking for. Understanding? I get it. I really do. If you’re hoping for some sort of reconciliation, though, I have to tell you, I got married.”

“What?” Steve’s mouth dropped open, his face stricken.

Connor was about to explain when the door opened.

Of course. Trey.

It probably didn’t help matters that Connor guiltily leaped to his feet, grinning in a way he knew was the very definition of sheepish. He moved back and away from Steve and plopped down on the couch. He actually giggled, and he could have kicked himself. What must Trey think?

He could just picture the scene through Trey’s eyes, like something out of a romantic film.

“What’s going on?”

And Steve rose. He wouldn’t even look toward Trey, let alone at him. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Connor watched helplessly as Steve brushed by Trey, his head down and staring at the floor, and went out. Connor felt a rising tide of shame for the regret he felt at watching the love of his life walk out the door.

Again.