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“I just need a word,” he started and darted his eyes back.
Chris was on his feet, eyebrows raised.
Fuck it. Joq pushed the door open.
He felt the eyes of every person in there swing his way.
“Joaquin? Is everything alright?” Chris asked and that he immediately reached for concern—not anger, not secrecy—compounded Joq’s guilt.
“Fine, good, sorry to interrupt, but I needed to say something and then you can get back to it if that’s alright?” Joq said.
“What could you possibly have to say?” Brendan asked. Joq glanced at him sitting to Chris’ right.
“Brendan,” Chris said, but his focus never left Joq. Joq met his eyes and took in how exhausted he looked. “Give us a minute,” he directed at the room but before he could move, Joq just had to say it.
“I’m a fool,” he said.
“Would you like to do this another time?” a woman asked.
Joq ignored her and it appeared Chris did too; he was frozen, standing there, eyes on Joq, waiting for him to go on.
“I’m so fucking sorry it took me two days to come after you,” Joq said. “I should never have let you walk away. I’m sorry for all of it, missing dinner, holding back. And, well,” he shrugged helplessly, “the house is lonely without you. Come home.”
Chris’ chest moved with his breath but he wasn’t saying anything.
“That’s all I came to say, sorry to interrupt,” Joq tried to smile at the people around the table but it came out forced. “I’m sorry,” he said again quietly just for Chris.
“Which part are you sorry for?” Brendan interjected. “Ghosting him? Failing to turn up to the bloody proposal dinner he planned? Or refusing to get a prenup?”
Joq glanced at him. “What proposal?” he trailed off. He returned his look to Chris. “Oh, no.”
“You’re getting married?” that same woman piped up again. “Without a prenup? Not if you’re running this company you’re not.”
But Chris’ eyes never left Joq’s face; he wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t giving him anything, and he looked so beat down it was painful to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” Joq said again.
Chris swallowed. “If everyone could give us a minute,” he said to the room.
Joq was peripherally aware of people getting up and leaving, of Brendan grumbling, of the rumblings of what it would mean for the share price if Joq refused to get a prenup. He almost laughed—how could he refuse something he didn’t know about?—but Chris’ blank look stopped him.
The door swung shut on the last person and Joq breathed out the words again, “I’m so sorry.”
Chris nodded, his eyes lifeless. He didn’t speak; he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say.
Finally, he exhaled roughly and said, “I love you so much, you know that?”
Joq nodded awkwardly; he felt like his heart was going to burst.
“But I can’t,” Chris’ voice cracked and he looked down. “I’m sorry, I can’t go through this again.”
Joq felt his heart shatter, and he nodded because he didn’t quite know what else to do, which is when he realised he’d never imagined Chris rejecting him, because he never really had—even that brief rejection in Thailand had turned into a layer of kink in their sex life that’d brought them closer together.
“I understand,” he managed, his voice unrecognisable. “I’ll just,” he took a step back.
Chris jerked his chin in acknowledgement but wouldn’t meet Joq’s eyes.
Joq had to get out of there. He turned, stumbled for the door and ignored all the eyes on him as he crossed for the elevators. As he stepped in and looked back, he saw Chris, his hands tucked in his pockets, head down, still as a statue as his board reconvened around him.
