“I get it,” I say. “I—it’s just something I’ve always done. I—Pop was always a drinker, and my brothers, and so….”
“I know a lot of people who could help you with it. There are meetings. A lot of support.”
I shake my head. “Nah. I mean, no offense to the twelve steps or whatever. I know it helped you a lot. But I don’t want to talk to people about that shit. I haven’t had anything to drink since that night. The night you left. I can do it. I promise.”
Rafe traces my mouth with his finger, but he doesn’t look as hopeful as I’d like.
“That’s good. That’s really good. But… you can’t promise something like that, okay? I mean, promise that you’ll try, but it’s a big deal. A process, not a onetime decision. And it’s exactly because you’ve always done it that it’s going to be hard. Because it’s not only about stopping. It’s about finding other ways to cope with stressors and problems when they arise. Do you see?”
I want to fight him with everything I have. Want to assure him that I can promise this, since it’s the thing he says he needs. But I know he’s right.
“But if I can’t promise, then… are you saying you don’t want to…?” I gesture between us, and Rafe catches my hand and kisses it.
“No, I’m not saying I don’t want this. I’m saying that’s one thing I need, and if you can promise me that you’re going to work on it, then thank you.”
I nod. I can do that. I can fight for that. “Okay, so what else?”
Rafe slumps back into the couch like he didn’t expect me to agree or something.
“I missed you,” he mutters. “I hated not being with you.”
“Yeah. I—look, I know I fucked up. I’m going to prove to you that you can trust me. That I can be your, um, your you.” He looks confused. “You know. Like when you said you were jealous of Luz because she had you.” Rafe’s expression softens and leans a little closer. “I know I’ve been a mess since you met me, okay? I do know that. But you can talk to me about the shitty stuff too. You don’t have to wait until it gets this bad.”
“I tried,” he says.
“Yeah, maybe. And I probably fucked it up. But there have been other times. When you’ve been upset about things or feeling shitty about stuff and you didn’t tell me. Like you thought I couldn’t handle it. But I can.”
“Yeah?”
I nod once. I think it’s even the truth.
“Er, and I have to tell you something. You might be mad.” Rafe tenses immediately but schools his expression. “I, um, I gave Anders my phone number that day that he came into the shop, and he gave it to the other kids and we’ve been texting. Especially me and Anders. Not in a creepy way, I don’t mean. Just, I’ve been thinking a lot about all the shit he’s going through. All of them are going through, really, and then we were texting, and anyway, I know it isn’t protocol or whatever. But there are records or something, I’m sure, so it’s not like anyone can accuse me of being inappropriate.”
I’ve said all this in basically one long sentence so Rafe can’t say anything, and now he groans and collapses onto me.
“Jesus Christ, Colin, I thought you were going to say… I don’t know. Don’t fucking scare me like that.”
His body against mine for the first time in so long feels exactly right. I breathe him in and he smells—well, he smells bad, honestly, but underneath the not-showered, hiding-in-my-apartment mustiness, he smells like Rafe. I put my fingers in his dirty hair.
“I told Brian and Sam that I’m gay,” I tell him quietly.
It feels like I’m peeling off my cards one by one and throwing them down on the table for Rafe. It’s shock and awe and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving here without getting Rafe on board. Something about seeing him this low, this down about everything, makes me finally feel like I have something to offer him.
“You what?”
He jerks away from me, and I start laughing at the look of total shock on his face. It may be slightly on the hysterical side because once I start, I can’t stop. He’s staring at me like I’m nuts, mouth hanging open ridiculously, which makes me laugh harder. He sputters.
“But… you… but, why?”
“Because of Anders’ stupid dad,” I get out through my laughter, “and because of Daniel, and because—because I fucking love you,” I cackle. “I think. Maybe. Probably.”
“What!”
He sounds so exasperated and looks so affronted that I laugh until I have to sit up so I don’t choke. “Well, I don’t know! I’ve never… you know.” I gesture between us.