Chapter 6

Chapter Six

PARKER

T he rich scent of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air as I opened the door to the tiny coffee shop. I held it open for Travis, his easy grin acknowledging the gesture as we stepped inside. We were on a break from the non-stop pace of physical therapy sessions, and we'd both agreed that caffeine was needed if we were going to make it through the rest of the afternoon.

"Hey, I wanted to say again that I really enjoyed meeting your friends the other night," I said, weaving through the small tables toward the counter. "They're a great group of guys."

"Thanks." He stood next to me, his hands tucked casually in his pants pockets. "Like I said before, they're family to me. I'm pretty damn lucky to have them."

"Well, it's obvious that they feel the same way about you," I observed, noting how his eyes softened at the mention of his friends. It was a warmth that seemed to infuse his entire being, a contrast to his usual playful confidence.

He shrugged, but there was a shadow in his bright blue eyes that hinted at deeper scars. "We've been through hell and back together. Luckily, the good has far outweighed the bad, but still, that shit has a way of bonding people."

The line moved up and I ordered us both coffees, something strong and bitter. As the barista worked the espresso machine, the whirr and hiss providing a backdrop to our talk, I found myself marveling at the man standing next to me. Travis, with his perpetual tan and ripped abs, hid layers beneath that athletic exterior.

"Family isn't always blood, huh?" I mused aloud, accepting our drinks with a nod of thanks.

"Definitely not," he agreed, a smile returning as he accepted his cup. "It's the people who stick by you when the shit hits the fan—the ones who see you at your worst and still think you're pretty okay."

"You've got yourself a solid bunch," I said, genuinely impressed.

"Solid as they come," he affirmed, clinking his cup gently against mine in a quiet toast before we made our way back to the clinic.

As we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that Travis Brooks was an enigma—a tapestry woven with threads of playfulness and depth, loyalty and independence. And for reasons I couldn't quite nail down, I found myself wanting to unravel more of his story, thread by tantalizing thread.

We sipped our coffee in comfortable silence, the afternoon sun casting shadows on the sidewalk. My thoughts churned, trying to bridge the gap between Travis's history and my own. "You know, I had it pretty good growing up. Two loving parents, siblings to play with, a big backyard to run around in, all the typical Midwestern family stuff."

"Sounds nice," Travis replied, his blue eyes reflecting genuine interest.

"It was, but it was also Ohio. Not exactly a hotbed of progressive values." I paused, the memories of feeling different bubbling up. "Being gay wasn't… well, let's just say it wasn't celebrated."

Travis nodded, his expression softening. "But you had your family."

"Yeah. They were great—supportive, loving. But outside of our home? It was tough." I exhaled, a little shakier than I intended. "David was the only other gay kid at school that I knew of. We clung to each other like lifelines."

"High school sweethearts, huh?" He took a slow sip, then set his coffee down on a nearby bench.

"Something like that." The blush crept up my neck, and I busied myself with adjusting the lid on my cup.

"Let me guess," Travis said, leaning back, his athletic form casual but somehow still commanding. "He's the only guy you've ever been with?"

The question hit me like a sudden gust of wind, unexpected and disarming. I met his gaze, feeling exposed, yet strangely safe. "Yes," I confessed, feeling the heat in my cheeks now undeniable.

Travis whistled lowly, and I decided to turn the tables on him. "So, what about you? From what I gathered last night, you've got a rather colorful reputation. Given your—expertise," I ventured, "what's the craziest thing you've ever done, sexually?"

"You really want to know?" I nodded immediately. For a moment, he looked at me as if weighing the wisdom of sharing such an intimate detail. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he leaned in closer. "There was this one time with a married couple. She wanted to watch her husband with another man."

His words sent a jolt through me, my imagination painting vivid pictures of Travis, all muscles and sweat, lost in passion. My body reacted instinctively, desire pooling low in my belly, an embarrassing hardness making itself known.

"That was a fun night for sure, but the thing is," Travis continued, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, "those random hookups have started to feel empty. Pointless, even."

"Really?" I asked, surprised by the confession.

"I blame my friends. They're all in love and happy and they think everyone else should be too," he grumbled.

"The nerve of them!" I retorted playfully. "But seriously, you're a great guy. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Parker," he said, a soft smile lighting on his lips.

The dim lighting in the quaint French restaurant cast a romantic glow over our table, but as David and I settled into our seats, our conversation naturally veered toward the familiar territory of work—the patients we'd seen, the challenges we'd faced.

"Did I tell you about the little boy who came in with abdominal pain?" he asked.

"The one that swallowed a tiny rubber ball? He's lucky it didn't get stuck on the way down," I said, taking a sip of my wine. "How'd he do with the surgery?"

"Good, good. He's recovering quite well," David replied.

I nodded, but a part of me longed for a topic outside the walls of the clinic or hospital. We used to be able to talk about anything, but lately, all we ever talked about was work. "Enough," I announced, reaching for his hand across the table. "No more talk about work. Tonight is supposed to be about romance, about us."

"You're right. I'm sorry. What would you like to talk about?" David gave me a soft smile as he locked our fingers together.

I took another sip of wine, racking my brain to come up with another topic. "Paint!" I practically shouted.

"Paint?" he asked, startled by my outburst.

"Uh, yeah. Our apartment is so dingy. I was thinking that a coat of paint might brighten it up some. What do you think? Maybe a light blue or a soft yellow?"

David smiled at me indulgently. "You pick. I'm sure whatever you decide will look great. Although, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to help, what with this schedule the hospital's got me on."

My smile wavered at the reminder of his busy schedule and how many nights I'd spent alone. His job in Cincinnati had been busy too, but I'd been hoping the move would mean a fresh start for the two of us, one where we made sure to carve out time for one another. Instead, we seemed to be drifting even further apart.

After dinner, we walked hand in hand to the nearby theater, the night air balmy against my skin. Settling into the plush seats, I leaned closer to David as the lights dimmed, hoping to sneak in a moment of intimacy, a taste of what he could look forward to once we got home. My lips found his cheek, trailing a path to the corner of his mouth, but he turned his face away with a weary sigh.

"Sorry, I'm just tired," he murmured, and the rejection stung more than I expected.

I sat back, a hollow sensation settling in my chest. When was the last time we'd truly connected? The thought lingered uncomfortably as the movie played on, a backdrop to my spiraling doubts.

The sudden glare from David's phone screen broke the darkness. He checked the message, his expression shifting to one of apology. "I'm sorry to cut our date short, but I have to go in to work," he whispered. He was out of his seat and sliding past the row of people before I'd even had time to process his words.

Outside, under the harsh glare of streetlights, our whispers escalated to heated words—words that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. "I can't believe you're leaving me in the middle of a date!"

"What would you have me do? It's my job. They need me to come in, I go in."

"I'm well aware it's your job but there's more to life than work. I moved here to be with you, but I barely see you anymore, David," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

David's jaw tightened, his eyes mirroring my own frustration. "You know my job isn't a nine-to-five gig, Parker."

I knew the demands of being a doctor, of course, but understanding didn't quell the growing chasm between us. A sense of loss enveloped me, a chill that settled deep in my bones. We used to be inseparable. Unable to keep our hands off each other, we'd sneak any moment together we could. Now, arguments were our most frequent exchanges, each one chipping away at the foundation we'd built together.

A taxi pulled up alongside the curb. "Go," I urged, my voice breaking. "Your patients need you." He hesitated, a flash of something like regret crossing his features before he turned and climbed into the back seat.

Alone on the dark sidewalk, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. The taillights of the cab with David in it had disappeared around the corner. The urge to reach for my phone, to find solace in a familiar voice, was almost unbearable.

I could just imagine Travis's warm, teasing tone, his laughter like a balm to the sting of the argument David and I had just had. But no, I couldn't—shouldn't—make that call. It wasn't fair to either of them, to use Travis as an emotional crutch every time David and I hit a rough patch. Besides, the thought that Travis might be with someone else, skin glistening with sweat as he lost himself to pleasure, twisted my stomach into knots.

Fuck, why did that image make me feel like I'd been sucker-punched? "Get it together, Parker," I muttered to myself.

Travis was probably tangled up in some stranger's sheets, chasing after whatever fleeting connection he could find. And here I was, tormented by the idea while being committed to another man—a man I loved. I do love David—don't I?

The question echoed hollowly in my mind as I trudged down the street, the rhythmic tap of my shoes against the pavement keeping time with my racing heart. Love shouldn't feel like this; it shouldn't be riddled with doubt and punctuated by solitude.

A couple brushed past me, their laughter a stark contrast to the silence that clung to my skin. They were wrapped up in each other, sharing the kind of look that spoke of inside jokes and shared secrets—the look I used to exchange with David before the distance crept in between us. Where had that version of us gone?

I finally reached the apartment we shared, its familiar doorway offering no comfort tonight. The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and I stepped into the silent darkness. No light greeted me, no warmth of a welcome home kiss. Just the echo of my own footsteps as I moved through the empty space.

The bed felt too big as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of my thoughts pressing down. I missed David, but was it him I missed or the memory of what we used to be? As sleep eluded me, the realization dawned that happiness was more than just being content with what you have. It was about feeling alive, cherished, and connected. I yearned for those sparks of joy that seemed so elusive now, save for moments stolen with a friend who was slowly becoming something more. More confused than ever, I closed my eyes on a sigh, the silence of the room amplifying the disquiet in my soul.