Chapter 1

1

“Please don’t be mad.”

Linus Murray winced at the softly spoken plea uttered in an attempt to repair the damage already done. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest in hopes he could hold himself together long enough, but already he could feel the bitter burn of tears. Before long they’d be leaving salty streams down his cheeks, the pain he felt in his chest looking to escape any way it could. His fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching at himself.

Piece by piece it seemed like his world was crumbling and the only one Linus had to blame was himself.

How many times had they been down this road, hitting all the same potholes until the tires were rendered flat? Why did Linus keep foolishly thinking things had changed, that somewhere along the way they’d get it right and continue traveling smoothly? Why did he always feel like flipping on the blinker and making that dreaded turn, even though by now the dead end sign flashed neon as a warning to turn around?

“Linus, please say something.”

Say something, hadn’t enough already been said, at least that which mattered?

Linus held himself harder, feeling the cracks spread across his heart. He should have been used to the words by now, should have been able to recite them in his sleep. Why couldn’t he find a way to rewrite the script? Who had the eraser? He closed his eyes in an attempt to hold back the impending flood. Nothere, notrightnow, he thought.

Linus took a deep breath and let it out, shuddering. He needed to move, to get out before he suffocated on the sadness, before the doubts began to wiggle out of the depths of his mind with the intent to further destroy him.

There came the sound of a chair whispering over the fibers of a rug as it was pushed back. Please don’t come over here. Please don’t touch me.Still, Linus braced for it, curious to see if the touch of the man he loved brought even a hint of comfort or just more pain. He suspected it would be enough to leave him shattered.

“Linus…”

He opened his eyes, meeting Samson Abbot’s gaze. Those dark chocolate eyes, he used to tumble into them so effortlessly, but right now all Linus wanted was to focus on something else. So he glared at the toaster behind and just to the right of Samson. He completely ignored the red vase of brightly colored flowers, the ones that came yesterday with a card tucked neatly in amongst delicate petals.

Samson reached for him. “Linus, please, talk to me.”

Before Samson could make contact, Linus ducked away, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the kitchen, perhaps even out of the house. It was hard to say where the resolve bubbled up from, maybe it had crept in when he asked the same question for the umpteenth time, waiting silently in the shadows until this very moment. Wherever it came from, Linus moved, heading for the front door.

“Linus,” Samson trailed after him. “Where are you going?”

Why do you care, he wanted to fire back. As he slipped on his sneakers Linus could have sworn the walls started to close in around him. “Out,” he finally choked out a word.

“Out? It’s only like thirty degrees.”

Linus snatched up his mittens, shoving them into the pocket of his hoodie. He decided to remain quiet.

“Can it wait? We need to talk about this,” Samson continued in his same pleading tone.

Little by little the sadness was morphing, letting itself fall away so that anger could sweep in. Linus tried to bite his tongue, afraid he might say something in the heat of the moment and come to regret it later. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. The more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that their love for each other, their individual desires in this relationship were in different places.

He would have given Samson the moon if it was his to give.

The same couldn’t be said for Samson.

So what remained to be talked about?

“I think enough has been said,” Linus spoke, his voice surprisingly calm, his hand on the doorknob. “There isn’t anything left.”

Samson’s brow creased. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He could have clarified his comment, simply pointed out that the conversation had run its course and now he wanted some space to breathe, to think. But why did he have to be the only one hurting in all of this? Why did he have to stand by and watch the future he wanted disappear like a puff of smoke in a strong wind? No, Linus decided, let Samson stew, let him fret over the meaning of those words.