So does my pulse.
I scramble to collect my thoughts and explain myself, but there’s no easy way to say it. Knowing he’s got feelings like this too, that doesn’t help the situation, because I don’t know how to tell him I love him in the same breath I need to tell him I’m terrified for my marriage. There are two men in this world who I’d step in front of a bullet for, and I’m scared out of my mind that there’s no way we’re all getting through this without one of them—all of us—getting hurt.
Before I can find the words, Michael puts up his hands. “Look, I think we can both agree this got really complicated, but I need to cut to the chase. Whatever’s going on, I need to put on the brakes. On all of this.”
A weird mix of disappointment and relief and hurt twist in my stomach. Like I’ve been issued a pardon and a kick in the balls at the same time. “Oh.”
He puts his elbows on the table again and steeples his fingers in front of his lips. “I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes and releases a long breath. “The thing is, over the course of five years, Steve convinced me I was trash. And since we started this whole thing, you and Ian haven’t just made me feel like I can have an actual sex life again.” He opens his eyes. “You’ve made me feel like I’m worth loving again.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Why do you think I’ve been in love with you for twenty years? But I can’t say that. It’ll only complicate this conversation, and I’m not so sure I can get the words out anyway. It’s hard enough to convince my mouth to form, “Michael, you are worth loving.”
“Maybe I am. But it’s been a long, long time since I’ve been able to feel anything for anyone. And I’m not sure I trust those feelings.”
I tilt my head. “Trust them? What do you mean?”
He chews his lip for a moment, staring at the table between us. Without lifting his gaze, he says, “Dr. Hamilton told me early on that she’s had problems with patients who’ve fallen in love with her. One of her colleagues has had the same thing happen. They’re not really in love with her, they’re…”
My heart sinks as I realize where he’s going with this. “They’re in love with the person who helped them.”
Michael nods. “She said it’s kind of like the Florence Nightingale effect, but in reverse. The patient falling for the caregiver.”
“Transference?”
“Yeah. That.”
And the sinking feeling gets even worse. Is that what’s happened to me? And Ian, for that matter? Is that all this is?
No. That’s not possible. Not when I’ve had feelings for Michael since we were kids.
Except they’ve never been as intense as they are now. As they’ve been since that first night I joined Michael in his bed.
I’m still collecting my thoughts, but Michael continues. “Listen, I can’t thank you and Ian enough for everything you’ve done for me.” He holds my gaze, though he struggles. “I’m in a much, much better place now because of you guys.”
“I’m glad we could help,” I say numbly.
“Me too. But I think I need to spend some time on my own. So I can, you know, sort out what I feel and…” He sighs. “I don’t even know. But I don’t want to fuck up your marriage, and I don’t want to fuck up our friendship.” His eyes flick up again, meeting mine through his lashes. “So this isn’t forever. I just need to figure a few things out.”
Now it’s definitely feeling more like a kick in the balls than a pardon, and I fight the urge to reach for his arm. How weird—he’s so much more comfortable with physical contact than before, and everything that made him more comfortable with it adds up to why I can’t make myself touch him now. We got too close. We let this get too deep. And I will not be the one who makes him second guess his decision—not after I’ve seen just how hard it is for him to walk away from someone he shouldn’t have been with in the first place.
“When you’re ready,” I say, willing my voice to remain even, “you know where to find us. The door’s always open.”
He nods but doesn’t look at me. “I know. And that means a lot. But I need…”
“Some time?”
“Yeah.”
What can I say to that? “Anything you need.”
Michael searches my eyes for a moment. Then he looks down at his plate, and his nose wrinkles a bit as if he’s wondering why the hell he ordered anything in the first place. “Listen …”
My stomach twists as he reaches for his wallet.
“I’m gonna go.” He fishes out a twenty and sets it beside his untouched meal. “I’ll be in touch, though. I promise.”
When?
I just nod. “Okay. Take care of yourself, all right?”
“I will.” He slides out of the booth and glances at me, but doesn’t let the eye contact linger. “Give Ian my best?”
“Absolutely.”