It’s Michael who finally breaks the silence. “I guess the biggest question I have is, condoms aside, are you sure you’re okay with this, Ian? I mean, let me just put it out there.” He gestures toward me. “I’m sleeping with your husband.”
“I know.” Ian swirls his wine again, watching that instead of looking at either of us. “Look, I’m not going to pretend I don’t have reservations about this. I do. I admit it.” He glances at me before he finally meets Michael’s eyes. “But if that son of a bitch did something to you that’s still hurting you after all this time, and there’s something Josh can do to alleviate that? Then hell yeah, I’m okay with it.”
Michael holds his gaze. “Even if it means…?”
Ian hesitates for a split second but nods. “Yeah. And I mean, I’ll get over my reservations. The bottom line is that Josh and I both care about you. If there’s anything I can do to make this whole thing easier, I’m happy to do it. Josh is just…more suited to this particular approach than I am.”
My heart flutters, and I’m not sure why. His blessing? The incredibly subtle—and quite possibly imaginary—implication that if I weren’t here, he’d be willing to do what I’m doing for Michael? Just the fact that he is so damned unselfish, even when it comes to me, our marriage and our sex life?
I squeeze his hand. He smiles at me and squeezes back, giving my heart another jolt.
Michael clears his throat. “You guys…” He releases a heavy breath. “You really have no idea how much this means to me.”
“You’re our friend,” Ian says. “It was hard as hell watching you go through all that. If there’s something we can do, or one of us can do, then…”
“I know.” Michael swallows. “And you guys have both already done more for me than you can imagine. If it hadn’t been for the two of you, I might still be with Steve now.”
“We never would’ve let that happen,” Ian growls. “Another few months with him, and no one would’ve ever found that fucker’s body.”
The fierce protectiveness in his voice makes me shiver. Michael too.
“I know,” Michael says quietly. “That’s why I’m grateful as hell to have you guys. And what we’re doing now, it’s—” His voice cracks, and he quickly swallows some wine. “It seriously means a lot.” Smiling a bit, he raises his glass. “I can even drink again because of you two.”
“You couldn’t…” I pause. “Because of Steve?”
Michael shrugs. “Oh, what isn’t because of Steve? Obviously I got over this one.”
“Was it…” Ian hesitates. “When he hurt you, uh, sexually, was it when he drank?”
The wine on my tongue gets slightly sour. Steve and alcohol had a volatile relationship too—I was pretty sure that was the only kind of relationship he was capable of having.
Michael shakes his head. “When it came to that, the booze was a blessing in disguise, actually. Sometimes I’d encourage him to drink too much because then he couldn’t perform.” His cheeks color. “The alcohol could make him violent, but…” For a moment, his eyes are distant. Then he brings his glass up again and mutters into it, “That was better than the alternative.”
Ian and I exchange wide-eyed glances. We’d seen Michael with concussions, cracked ribs, stitches, the occasional black eye, even a broken wrist. That was better than the alternative? How bad did it get?
He must see the question in my eyes, because he adds, “Trust me on this one.”
“I do,” I say. “It’s just hard to imagine.”
“Yeah, it is,” Ian breathes.
“Well, a lot of it’s behind me.” Michael pushes his shoulders back and rests his head against the edge of the tub. “Five years of therapy will do that to you.” He smiles, and it’s more genuine than I’d have expected during a conversation about his ex. “We’re still working some bugs out, but I’m a lot better now.”
“You definitely are.” Ian smiles too. “It shows.”
“Now if I can just forget him in the bedroom, I’ll be in good shape.”
“Well.” Ian turns to me. Then back to Michael. “I’d say you’re in good hands.”
Michael meets my gaze. “Yeah. I’d say so too.”
And I hope like hell that they’re right.
We all drink a bit more than usual tonight. Not enough to get sloppy drunk—none of us care for that—but we’re probably all pushing the legal limit to drive. There will be some mild hangovers all around tomorrow, but a few gallons of coffee and some more of water will get us through our respective workdays.
Ian’s got the highest tolerance out of the three of us, and he stops drinking first, so at the end of the evening, he drives Michael home. By the time they leave, he’s sobered up, so I’m not concerned.