Chapter 17

Pinned against the wall in Matti's entryway, his stiff cock teased my hole. Never had I bottomed so much, yet I was inviting him into me again. His fingers wove together with mine as he steadied me with his weight. I had no choice but to open myself to him. I was butter in his hands, pliable and soft, melting against the heat of his hard, commanding body.

A stick of incense burned in the living room, filling the open space with a blow of smoke and the faint scent of cedarwood, relaxing me into a memory of sitting around a campfire, the heat melting me into a coma, impairing my vision with its vacillating vapor. I hadn't done such a thing since I'd been a child, and I couldn't remember where. Had it not been for Matti's strength keeping me in place, I could have easily crumbled to the floor in the comfort of the moment.

We hadn't even made it to the bedroom. Hugo and Maestro slept on the couch, occupying separate ends. They retired early after indulging in bites from Matti's table, handed down with hands attached to distracted minds. The dinner he whipped up for us had been delicious: a small salad to start before an entree of spaghetti prepared with sun-dried tomatoes, slivered almonds, and chopped parsley. Matti was a good cook. I was a burner of frozen pizza, food prep an area in which I lacked drive or expertise, relying on takeout for most of my adult life. Matti thought it was cute. I thought his ability to make something from nothing was brilliant, an inexplicable creativity.

Music played softly on the TV in the background, further setting the mood for our quiet evening in. The lights had been dimmed, and a pine-scented candle burned on the dining table. Used pots and pans rested on the stovetop; our dishes still perched themselves on the table, sullied with the remnants of our dinner, dried ingredients clinging to the edges. There hadn't been time to clear the mess. I'd offered, but Matti had refused, opting to take care of our more deviant needs instead.

He attempted to take me slowly at first, to prolong the romantic vibe of the evening, but his advances sparked something within me, something deep, something animalistic. My knees grew weak, my stomach tight with excitement—a sign of uncertainty in most settings. But my body knew what it wanted; it was him and only him.

The space around us seemed quiet, felt still. An air of calm allowed us to focus on our breathing and the irrepressible sounds of sex: clothing being fumbled with as it fell to the ground and skin against skin and rough, stunted moans drawn from fleeting kisses to parts unknown. It was perfectly unruly hedonism between two people who needed to be touched by one another.

His lips grazed the back of my neck, quickly parting to nip gently at my flesh. My cock throbbed against the wall as he gave my ear the softest kiss, touching the tip of his tongue to it before shifting down and doing the same to my shoulder. The heat built within me, rushed to my head, again provoking my body to go weak against his.

Matti knew what he was doing to me. Maybe he'd done the same thing to hundreds of others, but in this moment, that didn't matter. The emotional connection between us was too strong in these throes of passion. I chose instead to believe that it was only me he'd affected in such a manner, only my knees and only my stomach.

A month and a half had passed since we'd met. Both of our birthdays and the July Fourth holiday were now just memories. I had thrown caution to the wind with him, dove into a relationship headfirst, fallen in love. I had done so at the encouragement of Alex, but I would have done so without it, unable to control myself in Matti's presence. And yet, the three words that dangled on the precipice before us remained unspoken. They were substantial; inevitable, yet elusive. They would define us, box us into a corner in which I possessed no happy memories. They could be freeing, maybe, an emancipation from a polluted past. But they would characterize and designate what we shared to a status that could be riddled with implication, with constraint.

History reminded me that my heart had been made brittle, my spirit had been broken. I'd been scarred. I had tried to jump the gun and failed, unable to clear the hurdles. I'd put them in place as stopgaps, mementos to warn me that I wasn't ready, I wasn't fit, I wasn't worthy of anything so pure just yet. Why couldn't we simply revert to the past, I wondered? When we were viewed as monsters, kept hidden in closets. Straight people could have their norms, and we could have our sex, anonymous, with friends, with groups. We could remain celibate, or we could fuck whoever we wanted in park bushes and rest stop bathrooms. No strings. No expectations.

But things change. Meaningless sex was fine for a while, but I had pushed for more. I wanted something more. Matti hadn't given me any reason not to trust him, but people have a way of compartmentalizing their lives, burying what they don't want discovered. His pull on me was strong. I wanted to say the words, to put them out there, but my nerves had gotten the better of me. They might make everything too real, too viable. He hadn't yet said them either. It gave me pause. Perhaps he'd desired a relationship at first, then discovered that what he really wanted was physical. I'd seen it before. I'd done it before.

What if he didn't want to hear the words spoken? Perhaps he felt what I felt but didn't care for the label, for the nomenclature. What if I mouthed them and they transformed into a weapon midair, a razor-sharp blade cleanly lopping off any chance we might have at a future? I simply couldn't risk giving this up, this thing we'd started that was consuming and exhilarating and potent. I couldn't give him up, the hold he had on me, the hold I needed him to have on me.

Another whiff of cedarwood wafted into my nostrils, bringing me back to the moment. Matti's lips traveled from my neck to the small of my back to the cleft of my ass, kissing me, basking in me, prying me apart so he could taste me. The responsibility for holding myself up had been transferred back to me while my mind wandered. His tongue danced around me, jutting in and out as he buried his face in the privacy of my flesh. The feeling was nothing less than incredible. His movements were like a vise. With every swipe of his tongue, my body was forced to offer more of itself to him. My back arched and my hips bucked, providing him access to whatever he wanted. A muffled grunt forced its way from my lips, my breath bouncing off the wall, disintegrating into thin air.

The weakness returned to my knees, my legs trembling as Matti lifted himself, spitting on his hand, rubbing the lubrication over the length of his cock. That sound had become an aphrodisiac. Sensing my fragility, he hooked his arms underneath mine and again pushed his body against me, forcing me against the wall. The movement was hedonistic, and we surrendered to a wave of carnal aggression, a higher force of tactile pleasure.

"You ready?" he instinctively asked, considering my well-being. I didn't need him to.

"Yeah," I moaned as the tip of his cock pressed against me.

We'd performed the necessary prerequisites, gotten the test results and the prescription prophylactics. We had confided in one another that there were no other partners, would be no other flings. I trusted Matti in his admission.

None of it mattered. Not then. I was a cluster of need, an aching bundle of desperate submission.

The first few inches of his cock slid into me, and I immediately felt full, serene, gratified. I loved the feeling I got from Matti pushing himself into me. It was fulfilling, like the clicking sound you hear when a seat belt is fastened, like the fizzling sound produced when a can of soda is cracked open. It was a connection, physical and emotional, consuming all of the senses.

He stopped, allowing me to adjust to his intrusion. I didn't need long. Slowly, purposefully, he eased the rest of himself into me until I felt our skin touch, our bodies press together, hair tangling and sweat mingling, the erotic sensation of connection. My eyes could have rolled into the back of my head as he held himself there, feeling my body wrapped around his and his arms wrapped around me, one on my shoulder and one on my waist. He knew how to steady me, to make me feel safe and dominated at the same time.

Kissing the nape of my neck, he went to work, sliding himself almost completely out of me before pushing back in, massaging me, caressing me. He did this repeatedly, finding a rhythm as I begged him for more. Words couldn't express the need I felt as he fucked me, coveted me, cried out for me.

"Brandon," he whispered as he rocked himself into me.

His chest pressed against my back and my back pressed against him. I craved more. I wanted Matti closer to me, deeper inside me. I needed him to become part of me.

He continued plunging into me, his breath shallowing by the moment. My breath matched his as I grabbed the base of my cock and tugged gently. Had I moved with more force, I would have come. I didn't want to do that. Not yet. I had a need greater than getting off, a purpose more poignant. I squeezed myself around him, gave in to his embrace, his passion. Matti's pleasure became my pleasure as luminous beads of sweat rolled down my forehead and trickled down my cheeks, thrown from my chin by the aggressive thrusts of the man inside me. Matti's skin felt warm, slick with perspiration provided solely by the heat of the moment.

Guttural moans and grunts so animalistic they could have been recorded in the jungle sprung from our beings, louder and more intense with each thrust, each willing reception. We were on the verge of a release that couldn't be prolonged, couldn't be stopped. We had to give in to it, to submit to its power. Obscenities jetted through the air around us like fighter pilots as we settled in for the impending crash. Phrases I couldn't have dreamed up in a more sobering state of mind were flung from my lips as Matti pinned me against the wall, his length pushing into me. His words echoed mine, the filth rolling off his tongue like raindrops from a plate glass window. It was intense and hot, if just a little awkward. Neither of us cared as we barreled our way down the path to a shared release.

He pushed himself into me once more with vigor, a necessity behind the force. It was all I could take. I felt so full, so used, so contented that I came with the slightest movement of my fist against my cock, the friction produced by two feathers coming together in the wind. A mess appeared in front of me, trickling down the wall just as quickly as it had materialized. Matti sensed my release, the pressure of my body against his an invitation to join me in rapture, a beckoning to fall into me. He clenched at my chest. His breathing was labored, and our knees began to buckle. It was everything I needed at that moment: his touch, his need, his essence.

Matti finally removed his arms from my body, stepping back only to spin me around, to pull me into his chest, to kiss me deeply as we stood naked and spent in that long, narrow hallway. We fell into comfortable laughter as our lips separated, a parting gift of gratification, of comfort with one another.

"I love you, Brandon," he said into my hair, the words muffled by textured product, lazily wrapped in short, black strands.

I gently pushed him away so I could look into his eyes, stare at him, try to decipher the code in which he spoke. Everything else, the music, the chatter in the hallway outside his door, it was all drowned out by those confusing letters hanging in the air, syllables that I tried to string together. It was like my ears were ringing, every other sound muted, dimmed as if they were somewhere in the distance. Those words. Those fucking words. There they were. He had said them.

"I can't help it," Matti continued. "You mean so much to me. Your presence makes me happy. I want to be around you all the time. I just… never want to be away from you. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. I just… I…"

"I love you too," I blurted, interrupting his rambling confession, mirroring his admission with my own. I had pulled the words from somewhere, maybe nowhere, but they came to me naturally, as organically as fruit grows on trees. I didn't have to search for them. They simply showed up like ants at a picnic. "I… love you. You're all I can think of. And I feel goofy about it. But I'm in love with you, Matti."

He smiled at me sheepishly, knowingly. I did the same, an awkward, ecstatic giggle breaking the tension, imagined or real. We kissed, pushing ourselves together as seriousness lifted from our shoulders and a playful levity descended around us. We laughed into each other's kisses, taking awkward steps as we embraced, pushing and pulling one another, falling onto his bed, messing the perfectly pressed comforter with remnants of come and sweat.

None of it mattered. We were Brandon and Matti. We were us. And we knew at that moment that everything was going to change, for better or worse. We were willing to accept it, for in that moment, a hazy, deliriously happy, sex-induced light shined through the darkness of the night sky in Midtown.

"Go away with me," I pleaded with Matti in my stupor, romantically induced and floated on the waves of new love. "Anywhere. Let's just go and be us, you and me."

"I would follow you to the moon, Brandon," he joked without joking.

The following weekend, Matti accompanied me on a trip to the mountains. I neglected the more involved parts of my job that week, writing off my inattentiveness as a training tactic. Vonnie wanted to become more adept at running the shop so she could do so with comfort when I wasn't around, probably a ruse to get me out of her way.

My recent trip into Matti's arms had left me sappy, a trail of sweetness behind me so thick it would require a shovel to remove, sickening to anyone not in the same boat. I was too incoherent to take notice of my behavior, too disjointed to care.

I would have followed him to Venus.

I planned every detail of the trip: a romantic cabin, dinner reservations, a private couple's massage to be performed outside at sunset. We would be tucked in a canopy of trees, gazing out over the greenery of the rolling, leafy mountains. We needed some time to ourselves, removed from the jarring noises of the city. Something—usually work—always seemed to be pulling our attention away from one another. I wanted us to be trapped for a few days, free to explore but unable to escape.

I stopped by the shop on Friday morning to make sure Vonnie was okay, to ensure she had no outstanding questions. I knew she wouldn't. Shay had agreed to cover the front. I felt confident, empowered to be able to step away for a few days.

The train took me downtown to rent a car, an SUV, something with four-wheel drive that could easily push us up the side of a mountain. By noon, Matti and I were on the road, weekend bags tossed in the back, the dogs cool and comfortable in the back seat. We zipped past the perimeter but got jammed up in traffic at the off-ramp, battling a thousand other weekenders anxious to reach the lake or the mountains, just like us. We stopped and started, moving inches every minute, enjoying each other's company, reminiscing over the playlist of music Matti had put together for the trip, each track sparking memories, blurry as they may have been.

Miles and miles' worth of strip malls and big-box stores passed us as the traffic finally eased, each parking lot larger than the last. Signs for gas stations and fast-food restaurant chains at each exit painted the area in a different light. Midtown was its own monster, had its demons to battle, but was mostly void of suburban landscape, of the mom-and-pop casualties that so bleakly decorated parts further out.

The signs turned into billboards for log home real estate agents and shooting ranges as the mountain peaks came into view in the distance an hour outside of the city. Blanketed with leafy green oaks and needly pines, they somehow looked a darker shade of blue against the daytime sky. That difference would only grow starker at dusk.

A folksy quality gave names to the towns we passed. We reached places with names like Jasper, Talking Rock, Cherry Log. There was a woodsy charm to the locution. Street signs for roads like Granny Branch Path and Rock Creek Lane became more common, eschewing convenience for enchantment.

Those winding roads carved unpaved paths beside babbling creeks and through hairpin turns as they curved up around the sides of steep hills. They'd then drop back down to cut lush valleys into the mountainside, covered with trees, dotted with rustic log cabins, some lived in by locals and others rented out to tourists like us. Older cottages nestled themselves into the trees, erratically hanging from the sides of mountains, wooden spokes holding them high above the steep grade. Newer cabins stood stately in between the prongs of forks in the road, large picture windows serving as magnifying glasses for the million-dollar views just beyond them. Different styles of log homes mingled with one another, some close to their neighbors and some sitting lonely amongst the natural beauty of the hills.

Sprays of kudzu clung to every crawlable surface, hung from the trees like nature's blanket. The leafiness covered everything, billowing off limbs to resemble magical mushrooms in some sort of fairyland, climbing over rock walls like stagnant green moss. I couldn't believe the vibrant green and brown hues that painted the natural canvas around me. I'd been to Highland Ridge before, with Nate, but it all felt so new and overwhelming this time. It would be perfect for the weekend, quiet and serene.

Twenty-five minutes of twisting and turning and white-knuckling on those country roads passed before we reached our destination for the weekend. The two-hour drive had been worth it, the feeling of being usurped by nature, taken in by the trees and the mountains, the charm of it all teasing us with a taste of what was to come. We stepped out onto the back deck to take in the view after getting the dogs settled in and unpacking the groceries we'd picked up on the way. It didn't look real, miles and miles of rolling, green hills that looked bluer and bluer the further away they sat. Clouds dotted the sky below us, creeping their way through the valleys. We had traveled to the top of the world, it seemed. One stop from the moon.

The view seemed almost counterfeit in its stillness, its quiet, ebullient vibrancy, like a photo from a postcard. The crisp mountain air I pulled in—neither hot nor cold yet somehow both at the same time—reminded me it was not. A light breeze whipped by as we leaned on the railing, me on my forearms and Matti on the palms of his hands, the leaves on the trees rustling softly as a woodpecker aggressively nailed at a tree trunk in the distance. Wooden wind chimes crashed calmly against one another, producing a pleasant sound I couldn't describe, almost like a giggling, drunken pan flute falling down the stairs. A different kind of bird sang a song, staccato in its melody, something a DJ would have loved to layer over a house beat.

The only other visible structure sat beside us, another small cabin maybe a hundred feet away, down the mountain, almost hidden under the tree canopy. It seemed empty. Perhaps it would be abandoned for the weekend. Perhaps its tenants were out hiking or fishing or doing something else that seemed native to the area. The seclusion in which we found ourselves was glorious. My brain needed the silence.

That evening, we indulged in our massages. We made dinner and drank wine and lazed in the hot tub, watching the colors change on the horizon as the sun set behind us and shadows chased one another.

We drank coffee on the porch swing the following morning. Maestro and Hugo made themselves at home on the deck, passing out on their dog beds as summer breezes sailed by and birds chirped at no one and nothing. We took them hiking on trails, past waterfalls and scenic overlooks. We forgot our umbrellas and got soaked when a quick rain shower decided to blow through. We made the best of it.

The humidity peaked following the rain, drawing sweat as we traversed the trail, the terrain growing steep in areas. We laughed and sloshed our way back to the car in wet sneakers, no towels with which to dry ourselves off, sticky, drenched in the midday heat. We found a rock just off the path of the abandoned trail, a boulder partially buried under the earth, smooth and flat, a creek running alongside it. The sun reappeared, piercing through the leaves in just the right places, so we shed everything but our underwear and laid it all out on the rock to dry. We spent an hour basking in the sun, lounging on the rock with our feet in the creek, lying down with Matti's head on my shoulder, with my arm around his, napping on and off, the dogs at our side.

As I watched Matti peel his clothes off when we returned to the cabin, still damp and uncomfortable, I grew hard. I couldn't help myself. He looked at me with the same look in his eye that I had in mine as I tore my T-shirt over my head. I needed him, and he needed me just as much. We fucked against the railing on the back deck, the mountain air cooling our salty skin. There was something liberating about being outside, naked and vulnerable, even more so about connecting in the wild, facing out to the world, in plain view but invisible. It was natural yet taboo, erotic in its rawness. Everything about the moment, everything about him made me want to wrap up in his embrace: his natural warmth, the earthiness of his scent, the security of his strong hands.

Before our dinner reservation, we strolled down Main Street in Highland Ridge, popping into shops, perusing locally crafted goods: jewelry and furniture and art. We stopped into a small gallery that reminded me of Cathy's shop in Dahlonega. Glass ornaments and vases and random pieces of brightly colored décor overflowed the shelves and display cases. It wasn't haphazardly thrown together like some of the antique shops we'd stumbled into, but rather curated, carefully overstuffed to draw the eye from one item to the next.

I got lost in the colors, drowned by the journey, retreated into my thoughts: memories of Cathy and Nate and me in Atlanta, getting drunk and stumbling home, speaking too loudly, singing, waking the neighbors. The reminiscence chewed me up, spit me out, left me soggy and crumpled on the cracked doorstep of Nate's and my relationship. Jarring flashes of Nate coming home late from work without notice stormed in and out, alcohol on his breath and skin smelling vaguely of a cologne I didn't recognize. I'd curiously ask him where he'd been, and he'd feed me a line about going out with coworkers for happy-hour drinks.

There were those times we'd be out to dinner, and I'd sit at our table alone, watching him chat up the cute bartender for far too long. I'd motion to him that it was time to order, only to receive an annoyed look in return, an index finger signaling me to give him a minute.

"What was that about?" I'd ask when he sat down.

"He had a legal question," Nate would answer, confident I would be too frustrated, too withdrawn, too bored to engage in follow-up.

And, of course, the straw that broke the camel's back: the hotel incident. I'd been getting the nagging feeling that…

"Brandon," Matti called from the counter, interrupting my daydream, shaking me from the dark vortex of sullen memory that had been tossing me about. I glanced across the shop and saw him conversing with the cashier, a dark-haired man who shared my stature, my years. He was attractive and attentive. He sort of nodded in my direction, acknowledging me, a subdued look of disappointment on his face. It wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone else, anyone not looking for it, but I saw it clear as day. How long had they been speaking, I wondered. How long had I been rehashing and deconstructing my past?

Matti smiled at him and took something from his hand. My face reddened, and I felt my heart beating in my ears, a throbbing that drowned out every other sound around me. "Come look at this."

My blood pressure settled as I traversed the eight steps it took to reach the counter and let Matti show me the palm-sized blue-and-green glass orb that looked very similar to some of the orbs Cathy used to sell, the ones Nate hated.

"They have a lot of these," Matti continued, a smile on his face, an excitement over the discovery he'd made, a discovery he was sure would make me happy.

"It's great," I said, directing my attention to the cashier. Jealousy and perturbation bounced from my words, seeping from a tone I didn't like but couldn't seem to control. "We have a lot of these at home back in Atlanta. I guess you could say we collect them."

The orbs were mine, our homes separate, but I needed that cashier to know the plan was for all of it to be ours one day, Matti's and mine.

I'd seen the look the cashier gave to Matti, the way that look changed when he realized Matti wasn't alone. I was too familiar with that look. It sparked a perverse need in me to express my dominance, a tempered rage that would bring expectation to their exchange. Matti may have been clueless, but I wasn't. I knew the game. I had been played, the ashes of my past still smoldering beneath the surface. The cashier's silent dismissal, his posturing, the way he looked me up and down without blinking an eye, reading me, assessing my threat, my reaction, I saw it all. It unleashed my inclinations to snap judgment, to resentment.

As soon as I said "we," I felt Matti's gaze upon me, perplexed but subdued. He played it cool. We were in love. The words had been spoken. Comfort had set in around us. We'd started to feel like home, like settled routine, adaptable but steady. Like shoes kicked off by the front door. Like showering together. Like leaving the toilet seat up. We'd become predictable in the good way: nights spent together and starting the coffeepot and watching TV in our underwear, a shared pint of ice cream to cut the catatonic glow after sex. For the first time in a long time, I felt satisfied, even fulfilled, no longer looking for something I didn't understand. We made sense, Matti and I.

But I wouldn't be taken for a ride by another selfish guy who liked to have someone at home—someone on his arm, someone to show off—while he went out for "happy-hour drinks" with "coworkers." I'd spent too much time, too many years of my life, as that someone at home. I wouldn't do it again. I wouldn't be that person.

I continued staring the cashier down discreetly, silently relaying to him that nothing was on the table, that there would be no table. The table had been turned over in a blind rage, poker chips and beer bottles scattered about the floor around it. He got my message and backed off.

Matti had turned his attention to the other glass orbs on display, unaware of the standoff between the cashier and me, selecting a red one with cloudy-white swirls and one with wavy black and purple stripes. He asked, "I don't think you have any of these, do you?"

"No, I don't. But I like them." I smiled, blood still boiling beneath my skin.

"Good. I'm going to buy them. To add to our collection," he said with a sly grin before kissing me, a gentle peck on the lips in the middle of the store.

Maybe he'd picked up on what I was trying to put down. Maybe he was simply excited that I had referred to something as ours. In his mind, everything was fine. Nothing had changed. I hadn't told him anything of my past, not about Nate, not about Kenny, not about the rejections I had endured, the coldness of my youth. Matti knew nothing of my life, nothing of my experiences outside of the here and now: the shop, my friends, Maestro, the happy memories of dancing, of partying the nights away. I had only scratched the surface of his past too. So why sully what we have by introducing tales of heartache, of betrayal, of disconnection and drift? Stories of such weight—such depth—might nick the shiny surface, encourage notions of misery and dejection.

But something changed for me in that moment, that moment that probably meant nothing to Matti. It wasn't logical or reasonable, but that interaction with the cashier stopped me in my tracks, forced me to dig up and appraise the demons of my past. My mood changed, tripped on the curb, stumbled on a rock, and fell tumbling to the ground, supine, deflated, and motionless. Matti didn't notice, or pretended not to, but for the rest of the night, I played dodgeball with a palpable tinge of resentment that churned inside my gut.

When the host seated us for dinner and accidentally grazed Matti's arm, provoking an innocent laugh from them both, when the bartender looked toward us and smiled innocently, when another patron of the restaurant gazed in Matti's general direction for too long, I noticed. These things meant nothing, not to Matti, not to the perpetrators. They'd have meant nothing to me without the prompting of that cashier, the tension behind that interaction. But I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't push it aside. My wheels spun like the tires of a mud-stuck car, relentless and useless.

This jealousy, the emotional baggage, the agony of wondering and assuming and hoping, this is exactly why I didn't want to fall in love again, why I shut down years ago, closed myself off to relationships, focusing instead on fleeting physical releases with people I didn't know, didn't care to know. I wanted to trust Matti, to give myself to him without fear of repercussion, but how could I? My mind wouldn't let me focus on the good. What good is good with even a hint of bad, the lingering possibility of betrayal? How would I ever be able to trust that he was having drinks with coworkers and not locked in his phone at a hotel bar, scanning for someone else to fuck? Someone better-looking. Someone more interesting. How could I trust that his eyes weren't hovering over my shoulder, focusing on the door behind me?

The surge of emotions swelling in my brain was too much to handle, too much for me to process that night. But I had to let it go. I had to bury it for the sake of our weekend, for the sake of this new relationship that I wanted but didn't want, that I didn't want to want but wanted more than anything. I had suddenly turned neurotic, mixing and mashing contrasting ideas in my brain to make a fanciful stew, a chowder of absurdity, fantastical and imaginative in its potency, its reality embellished with likely impossibilities. On the outside, however, I had gone cold, a wet blanket over our dinner, tented with a soggy stick ready to snap under the weight at any moment.

Our last night in the mountains was spent in the cabin, me attempting to hide my jealousy, my fear, my pain, Matti seemingly oblivious to it all. We didn't speak much. I couldn't find the words. We sat in the hot tub in near silence for over an hour, him staring off into the darkness, me having one too many glasses of wine as I tried to calm my nerves. My anger wasn't directed at him. I simply couldn't find anywhere else to point it. He had done nothing wrong. Deep down, I knew this. He held me and told me that he loved me before falling asleep. I returned his words. I meant them. But I lay there with my eyes open, wondering if I'd be able to handle this again. The unknown.

Our drive back to the city was awkwardly silent. I tried to chalk it up to exhaustion, the way a relaxing vacation can sometimes betray its intended purpose and instead have the opposite effect. The dogs slept, and Matti gazed out the passenger-side window and fidgeted with the music, skipping through songs on his phone. I focused on the road. That's how it appeared anyway. In reality, I couldn't keep my mind from wandering. A nagging, ominous sense of betrayal washed over me. I felt betrayed by some imaginary occurrence that I assumed would take place in the future, a betrayal like Nate's, a betrayal like…

"What's wrong, Brandon?" Matti finally asked, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been quiet since dinner last night. Did I do something to upset you?"

"What? No," I lied. Sort of. He hadn't done anything. He had simply been a party to a million little things that did upset me. If that was how it was always going to be, that should be enough to end things, I thought. Would I feel threatened every time Matti spoke to someone? Would I feel sick like I did now? I didn't want to live my life playing defense. Not again. And Matti shouldn't have to deal with someone so damaged, someone who would always be looking over his shoulder, someone who constantly needed answers to questions that didn't exist.

I had been content less than twenty-four hours ago. All the world around me felt settled, everything in its place. Why couldn't I feel like that again?

"Then what is it? Because something is wrong, and I would like to clear the air if I did something to upset you."

I paused to think, an unnecessarily long silence resting between us. I couldn't seem to compose a response that accurately described my feelings and placed no blame on Matti. I was afraid I would sound crazy. I probably was. So, I lied. "You haven't done anything. I guess I'm just nervous."

"Nervous about what?"

"About us. I've really enjoyed our time together, spending time with you and Hugo. I don't want to mess this up. I love you."

He grabbed my hand that rested on the center console, a slight smile creeping its way across his face. "How would you mess this up? I'm very happy with you, Brandon. I love spending time with you. And Maestro too. You say you love me. And I love you. That's all we need, yes?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, glancing at him from the corner of my eye, a feigned grin pulling at my lips. "I guess so."

"You're sometimes too much in your head, Brandon," he laughed. "You can talk to me instead of those voices up there. I will always be truthful with you."

His words, delivered calmly and effortlessly, made me feel better, feel composed, even comfortable. I reminded myself that Matti was in the car with me, our dogs napping in the back seat, music from a playlist he made for our trip—for us—rising from the speakers. He wasn't anywhere else. He didn't seem to want to be anywhere else.

The voices in my head—the ones I had ignored with Nate—quieted themselves. They were festering memories that I would learn to stamp out. I had to. Those imaginary monsters that used uncertainty and doubt as weapons, their voices were strong. They waged a battle I wasn't sure I was equipped to fight. But I had to give this a shot, had to give it a fighting chance. I had to quell those voices, or this thing between us would be over before it had a chance to start.

"Yeah," I agreed. "You're right."