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“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Something happened,” Chris said.
Joq tensed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Chris blew out a breath.
“I’m sorry about dinner, tomorrow, we can,” he broke off like his voice had failed him.
Chris leaned over and grabbed his hand. “What the fuck happened?”
“Fuck,” Joq said and shook his head, “I don’t know, I thought I was over this. I am, I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Over what?”
“George,” Joq said his name and it sounded like a boulder dropping into a pool for the effect it had on Chris—crashing, rippling through everything—Joq wasn’t over him?
“Do you still love him?” Chris asked disbelieving.
“No,” Joq said firmly. “I saw him. He has a son. Did you know that? They have a fucking son and they’re just,” he yanked his hand back and waved it around.
“They’re just?”
“Out there, married, having kids. Twelve fucking years, I was nothing, no one, and I just, I saw it and I don’t know, it made me angry.”
Chris tried to parse this all out rationally over his jealousy. If Joq wanted marriage and kids in front of everyone, Chris would give him that in a heartbeat. But he didn’t think that was the problem. An even bigger problem was the fact that seeing that had made Joq so catatonic with grief, he’d disappeared for the night. When was he planning to tell Chris he was okay?
It’d been a year, they were happy. At least, Chris thought they were. But if Joq was still this fucked up over his ex, would he ever really be his?
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked.
“I forgot, I’m sorry.”
“Your phone would’ve been blowing up all night, you didn’t think to answer and let me know you were okay?”
“I’m not sure I am okay,” Joq replied.
“Then we’re not okay,” Chris said.
“It’s got nothing to do with us,” Joq said.
“You disappear for the night and it’s got nothing to do with your boyfriend?”
“It’s not about you.”
Chris recoiled. Joq delivered the line calmly, but Chris felt like he’d been hit. And it dawned on him—he’d never have him, not completely, a part of Joq would always be trapped back there in whatever deranged bullshit those two had going on. Joq never spoke about it, but Chris didn’t miss the way he avoided all sports coverage like it was the plague. He was seeing that in a new light—avoidance wasn’t the same as moving on, it was being so hurt you couldn’t even look at it.
“You’re never going to get that you can do better,” Chris said softly.
“Better than you?” Joq asked, finally animated. “I doubt it.”
“Him,” Chris replied. “You could do better than him.”
He stood. His heart aching in his chest.
“Keep the house,” he said quietly. “I won’t bother you anymore.”
