ass off to prove myself worthy to you for three years. And I’m done trying, okay? I think we should take a break. Finish your art show, figure out your shit. If you want that life, then I’m happy for you. But I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Please,” I said, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for him but Channing was already walking away.
“Shut the door on your way out.” The broken quality of his voice jabbed into my brain like a needle and I knew I’d never get it out of my head.
I was the oldest man in the room, but holy shit, the looks Christian and Dane were giving me made me feel so small. And they weren’t wrong to be angry with me, but it left me with a rawness that stung and made me want to weep.
Once I was in my truck, I drove without a destination. When my vision became too blurred to drive safely, I pulled to the side and rested my head against the steering wheel. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried so freely and so hard, but I also couldn’t think of a time I’d ever been so heartbroken. Channing’s body language, his shattered tone—I’d done all of that. I’d tried so hard not to be Ian that I’d become something worse.
Fuck. Fuck! I hit the steering wheel, punching at it and the console until my knuckles split and bled.
Channing had worked hard. He was a man now, and one I was proud to know. One I wanted in my life. He’d busted his ass and what had I done? I’d hidden in my office for years, stagnant. He’d done all of the work, and I’d what? Expected I could just reap the benefits? What had I done to show I wanted him? How had I proven myself worthy of him?
Channing had opened my heart and mind to endless possibilities that were still laid out in front of me—but painting had opened me up to the joy of creation again. And I didn’t want to lose either. I had to show Channing that I needed him to be in all aspects of my life, because he was my muse, my joy, and my love. And that I was willing to make sacrifices for him, while still growing to be a better man, the same as I’d expected of him.
But I was going to need a lot of help.
22
Channing
The laundry I was folding was still warm from the dryer, only instead of hanging it in my closet or putting it in drawers, it was going straight into the open suitcases on my bed. I’d already packed all my other nonessentials in the past week: books, music, DVDs, decor. In a few days I’d be driving back to school, to a new apartment I’d share with my friends, and to a new course load courtesy of my advisor.
Part of me was eager to be back in school. Now that I had a plan for my new major, I knew I’d be fine. I knew how to study, how to do the work, and now I had a set path that excited me. And it would be good to be on my own again. As much as I adored Dane and Christian, they’d become overbearing since Reagan and I had broken up—or taken a break, whatever we wanted to call it. And I got it, truly. I’d do the same if the situation were reversed. But it was too heartbreaking to even think about.
Whenever Reagan came to mind, I felt like I was being buried alive under the hurt of it all. I’d be leaving him behind with no closure. Two weeks had passed, and I wasn’t any closer to feeling okay. I’d even skipped out on a second week of work, turning in my notice to Dane effective immediately. Bryan was going to get a promotion, at least.
I knew Dane thought I should come in and say goodbye to the crew. And I would. Just…
There was a knock on my bedroom door and Dane stepped in. He looked at the room I’d been staying in. Without all of my things, it was just a guest room. His eyes softened with sadness.
“Summer is too long and too short,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just enough time for me to get used to having you home. Do I sound like a baby when I say I don’t want you to