13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Martin

T he night stretches on endlessly, sleep evading me as my thoughts are consumed by Jesse and his ex. As the sun begins to rise, I'm a jumble of nerves and dread. The 'what-ifs' have spun wildly out of control, and I can't escape the feeling that I'm on the verge of losing it all.

Again.

Somehow, I manage to rein in my emotions and force myself to make breakfast. I'm perched at the breakfast bar clutching my coffee when I catch myself trying to decide where to hide the mug for him today—before remembering with a start that he's not here. Our little game isn't going to happen tonight.

But I remind myself that I'm an adult who's been alone for most of his life. Even if my fears do come true and Jesse ends up taking his shitty, lying ex-husband back, I'll be fine. I'll survive because that's what I do. I survived being abandoned by my family when I was only a teenager, I survived losing the love of my life, and I survived as a single person for almost twenty-five years. I'll survive this too.

I push through the day, though it drags relentlessly. I feel as though I'm treading water, just barely keeping my head above the surface, as I wait to hear from Jesse.

I resist the urge to do something reckless, clenching my jaw as the clock ticks on. But come 5:00 p.m., the floodgates open, and I pour myself three generous fingers of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass like my turbulent thoughts. I flip on the TV to something ridiculous and mindless before collapsing onto the couch in a heap. I know the show isn't going to work to distract me, but I leave it on anyway, blaring annoyingly in the background as I lie there and stew.

Not long after the warmth from the alcohol spreads through me, I surrender to the exhaustion that's been clawing at me all day. I let my eyes drift shut, the world around me fading as the weight of a sleepless night and a day of relentless obsessing finally pulls me under.

I wake up with a start a couple of hours later, my heart pounding in my chest. I grab my phone off the coffee table, desperately hoping for anything from Jesse—some indication that he's coming back to me, that he feels what I feel.

But there's nothing.

Goddammit .

I can't do this. It's too much .

Before I know it, I'm yanking open drawers and closets, throwing clothes haphazardly into my suitcase. My hands shake as I stuff shirts and socks into the bag, not bothering to fold anything.

"Feckin' eejit," I growl at myself. "What were you thinking, getting involved like this?"

I zip up the suitcase with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the quiet room. It's better this way. Leave before I get left. Protect what's left of my poor, shriveled little heart.

But when I reach for my phone to book a flight back to Seattle, Jesse's face appears on my lock screen—a candid shot from our trip to Disneyland. He's laughing, eyes crinkled at the corners and he's looking at me like I'm the most precious thing in the world.

My finger hovers over the screen, unable to do it. I'm not strong enough to cut this off without at least seeing him first. Goddammit all to hell.

I collapse onto the side of the bed, holding my head in my hands.

Suddenly, an idea strikes me. Celeste. I look at the clock. Yes, it's late in Montreal, but she's always been a night owl.

With trembling hands, I dial her number. It rings once, twice, and I almost hang up, but then—

"Martin, tu parles d'une belle surprise! How nice to hear from you again so soon!"

"Hi, Celeste," I say, but my voice is strained, and she can tell right away that something's wrong.

"Martin, what is it? Are you ill?" she asks, fear lacing her voice.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I'm fine," I say, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Merci au ciel," she says softly. "Tu m'as fait une p'tite peur."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I apologize. "I just… I need to talk to someone."

"Don't apologize, mon cher. I'm unfortunately at the age where my mind jumps to the worst possibility. Now, tell me what's bothering you."

"I… I don't know," I admit, my voice cracking. "I think I've gone and done something stupid."

"What is it? What's happened?"

"Jesse, the man I'm working with here… things have changed between us. I… I—"

When I have trouble finishing my thought, she does it for me. "Oh, Martin. You've fallen in love with him, oui?"

"I… I think so. Yes. I have." The realization hits me in the chest. All of my fretting and worrying is far too late. I've already done what I promised myself I would never do. I've fallen in love with Jesse Greenwood.

"But why are you so upset, mon cher? Isn't this a good thing?" Her voice is gentle, and I close my eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

"I'm so fucking scared I might lose him, Celeste. It's driving me mad. I—he had dinner with his ex-husband tonight. It's late, and I haven't heard from him yet, and all I can think of is that maybe they're going to get back together. I'm just stuck here in his house, waiting for him—waiting for the axe to drop, and I can't take it. I've already packed a bag. I need to leave because I can't—"

"Martin, stop," she says firmly. "You're spiraling, darling. You need to slow down a moment. Take some breaths together with me. "

I hear her take in a deep breath and I do as she asks, mimicking her as she guides me through a few more inhales and exhales until my heart isn't pounding quite so wildly.

After I've managed to calm down some, I'm able to tell her what I'm feeling without sounding like I need to be carted off to an institution.

When I've finished my sad little story, she's quiet for a moment.

"Tell me something, cheri. Has Jesse given you any reason to believe he still has feelings for this man who betrayed him?"

I pause. "No, he hasn't," I admit. "But he's such a kind person, he's so forgiving. He always wants to believe the best of people, Celeste, even the worst people."

I can hear the smile in her voice. "Martin. Do you think there's a chance you are not giving this man enough credit? What is that old saying, ‘Do not mistake my kindness for weakness'? Just because he might forgive his ex-husband does not mean he wants to reconcile."

I suck in a deep breath through my nose and blow it out through my mouth, trying to stave off the panic again. I know she's right, but it doesn't stop my fear. "I just can't stop my mind from worrying that he's going to come back and tell me it's over between us. And the most ridiculous thing is, we haven't even defined what we are to each other! But, god, Celeste, I… I really love him. I haven't even told him, but I can't deny it."

To my shock, Celeste lets out a small laugh. It's a bit watery-sounding, and then she sniffles.

My stomach tightens. "Are you… Celeste, are you crying?"

She laughs again and the tinkling, joyful sound is much more like her. "Only a little, my dear, Martin. It's just that I'm so happy for you. I have been waiting so long to hear you say those words. To know that you're finally, finally ready to open your heart again."

What? Hasn't she been hearing me? "But… I just… I don't think I can survive losing someone I love again. I'm not strong enough. I… I can't do it…"

"Oh, Martin," she sighs. "You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I understand your fears—that's natural. But I think you've protected yourself too well. For all these years you've avoided getting hurt, yes, but you've also avoided any real happiness." She pauses. "And, mon trésor , Richard would be devastated if he knew."

Her words hit me like a gut punch. I know she's right. Richard would be horrified if he knew about all the years I've spent alone, carefully avoiding any kind of meaningful attachment.

"You have so much love inside you, Martin. And you've buried it for much too long. Please, darling, please don't hide it again. You're a man who is built to love and be loved. That sounds silly, and—what's the word in English—corny? But even so, I believe it is true. You are a loving person. You need to share that love."

I'm stunned at her words. Celeste and I have always been close, but we've never had this kind of no-holds-barred conversation.

"Give your Jesse a chance," she continues. "You must stop fear from stealing any more of your life. You can still be afraid, but you need to be brave. It's been too many years already of letting it control your life."

I sit with that for a moment. "I don't know. I just… I don't know. Maybe I can try."

" I know," she says, her voice firm with confidence I don't share. "I know you can. Now, promise me you'll wait and talk to him. Don't run."

I take another deep breath. Fucking hell. I don't know what I expected to hear from her, but it certainly wasn't this. I nod, more for myself, since she can't see me. "Okay. I'll try. I promise."

"Good," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "And Martin?"

"Yes?"

"Call me again soon. I want to hear all about this Jesse of yours."

"I will. Thank you, Celeste. I… thank you for everything."

"I love you, my sweet Martin. After all these years, it's time to let yourself live again. Richard would be so proud of you."

My eyes fill with tears as I end the call, and I sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, trying to sort through my feelings, while my packed suitcase sits on the bed beside me.

The overwhelming panic has receded slightly, but I'm still worried. Celeste believes I'm strong enough to deal with whatever comes, but I'm not so sure. All of my instincts are pushing me to flee, to protect the little piece of my heart that's still intact.

I want to believe Jesse could feel the same way about me that I do about him. I want to believe I'm brave enough to take the risk, to lay it all on the line and trust that will work out. I want to believe that I could let myself enjoy a life with him without being constantly afraid that it could all be taken from me in one second.

But I'm not sure I'm as brave as Celeste thinks I am.

I just don't know if I can do this again.

Finally, I decide on a compromise of sorts. I'll keep my suitcase packed and ready. That way, if Jesse does break things off when he gets home, I won't have to torture myself trying to grab things to leave, I'll be able to walk out with at least a little dignity intact.

Maybe it's not the most brilliant plan, but it at least helps me feel less like I'm sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.