All That They Desire

by Zoe York

  Evan looked genuinely shocked. “What?”

  “I know. Lola Rodriguez had the perfect little cottage for me. Well within my price range if I sell my house here, and that’s already up for sale, so…yeah. It makes a lot of sense. Liam and Evie are my closest friends now, which is a sad statement on my social life here. Most of the work I do can be done remotely, and I’m driving distance if I need to come here for meetings. I can stack them all in a single day once a month.”

  “You’re moving to my neck of the woods.” Evan grinned. “Well, I’m not going to complain about the sharpest marketing mind I’ve ever met being around the corner. And Brent didn’t protest?”

  She shook her head. “He offered to help me move. This week was closure for us both, Evan. I know he was curt with you when he came to see you, but that was just him being awkward.”

  “Not the word I’d use,” he said dryly.

  “That’s between the two of you.” She paused, unsure of how much to talk about with Evan. “I know things got heated—in a good way, and a bad way. I told you that. And I really mean that it’s between you, your business. None of mine. I’m moving on.”

  “Literally.”

  “Literally,” she repeated. “And he’s helping me to do that.”

  “In that case, sign me up to help you, too.”

  11

  Living alone in a house stripped clean by another person a year earlier made it very easy to get her house sale-ready. By the end of that week, a for sale sign was on her lawn and Brent’s pick-up truck was in her driveway, being loaded with boxes to put in storage for a month.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” she said as she watched him sling the last of the cardboard cubes into the bed.

  “But you know I wanted to.” He shrugged. “Thanks for letting me. Hop in and buy me a coffee on our way to drop them off.”

  She grabbed her purse and locked the front door before jumping into the passenger seat. Another wave of deja vu hit her. Another set of memories that needed to be put properly in a new place—the past.

  They hit the Tim’s drive through. She leaned across Brent to tap her debit card for payment, and as she held her arm outstretched, she had another weird moment. Not quite deja vu. Something else.

  She compared his scent—still familiar, after all this time, of clean clothes and his shower gel—to Evan’s cologne from the gala night. And she realized Evan hadn’t been wearing it when they had drinks at the start of the week.

  “Huh,” she said out loud.

  “What?” Brent asked her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing,” he said. “You had your big realization voice on. Huh. You only say that when—” He cut himself off as the service window opened again. He took their coffees from the worker and put them in the centre console.

  “I only say that when what?”

  He put the truck in drive. “You used to say that when you had a breakthrough on a work thing.”

  She laughed. “It wasn’t a work thing.”

  “Personal thing?”

  “None of your business.”

  He grinned. “I’ll trade you. Secret for secret.”

  She made a face. “No.” Then she thought of better of it. “Wait, is your secret a good one?”

  “It’s about going to the gay club downtown.” His cheeks turned pink. “Does that count?”

  She groaned. “Okay, but you might not like my secret.”

  “I’ll take that risk,” he said quietly. He was looking straight ahead at traffic, but she felt something shift between them. Like they were entering a trust zone, and he was being brave.

  Or they were both being stupid and opening themselves up to unnecessary hurt. It could very much be that.

  Trust. The thing about trust is that it required a gamble. There was no trust without risk.

  She threw her hat in the ring. She didn’t have anything to lose. “The night of the gala, Evan wore a cologne that I liked. He hadn’t worn it before when we met. And when I leaned over to pay, I caught…” She trailed off. “Your smell—there’s no non-weird way to say this! The very normal and good way you smell reminded me that Evan had smelled kind of the same—normal and good—when I saw him earlier this week. He wasn’t wearing that cologne. It was a one-off cologne, and my huh was about that, and what it might mean, and now I have shared way too much.”

  Brent nodded slowly. “So…”

  “No, it’s your turn.”

  “Uh huh. After we talk about the fact that you think I smell normal and good.”

  “We’re never talking about that.” She grinned. It felt good to tease like this with him. This had never been their dynamic before. He’d always been too square, too uptight. In hindsight, they’d had a miserable marriage.

  Maybe they could have a happy divorce, though. That would be amazing.

  “Okay, my turn.” He shrugged. “I went to the club. Nervous as anything, but it was…good. It was pretty empty when I got there, because I apparently have no idea what time to arrive to a club. I drank a beer, the bartender pity-flirted with me, which I appreciated, and then it got busier.”

  “Did you dance?” There were other questions she wanted to ask. Did he kiss anyone, did he go home with anyone? But they weren’t for her to ask if he didn’t offer, and the way her chest was tight, she wasn’t sure she wanted that much detail.

  He shook his head. “I’m not the dancing type. I sat at the bar, smiled at a few guys, drank three beers, then went home.”

  “That’s not the whole story.”

  “It is.”

  She ignored the pulse of relief at the honest look of embarrassment on his face. That was her problem to sort out and move past. He needed to try again. “Brent.”

  “I know.”

  “You need to go back. I can’t offer to go with you, I’m not going to be your wing woman, but God damn, that’s sad.”

  “I said I know! But I can’t tell anyone else about it.” He sighed. “And you saw Evan again?”

  “But he wasn’t wearing the date cologne. Basically, we both struck out.”

  As she said that, they arrived at the self-serve storage garage. He parked in front of her unit and she unlocked it.

  It didn’t take them long to move the boxes inside, then she locked it up again. “Here’s hoping we’re back in a month to clear this out.”

  “The house’ll sell quickly.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  He grinned confidently. “Get in. And drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

  “Bossy,” she muttered.

  “You like it,” he retorted.

  More deja vu. It was freaking endless. And bittersweet. He used to say that all the time to her.

  She was quiet on the drive back. When Brent parked in front of the house, she guarded herself from him to get out and invite himself in, but he didn’t. “I’ve got a thing in half an hour, so I better go.”

  “A thing?”

  “Uh…” He made a face. “Talking to someone. First appointment.”

  “Yeah? Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” He squeezed his hands on the steering wheel. “Listen, if Evan is sending you mixed messages, or cooling on you for his own reasons, that’s his loss.”

  “I know. And it’s for the best. He’s complicated, too. And no offence, but I need my life to be simple for now.”

  “None taken.” He hesitated like he was going to say something else.

  She smiled. “Thanks for the help today.”

  “Any time. For example, moving day in a month. That’s happening.”

  She laughed. “Okay. I’ll see you then. Thanks.”

  She reached for the door handle.

  “Jess?”

  She turned and looked at him. “Yeah?”

  He leaned over and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for letting me help you.”

  Brent’s leg was bobbing up and down, and he couldn’t stop it.

  The the
rapist obviously noticed, but didn’t say anything.

  Brent looked around the small, quiet room again, taking stock of the space. Everything was neat. Nice. Kind.

  Jess would love it. He should have asked her if she’d done therapy after he left.

  The therapist gave him a warm smile. “Is it hard to put into words?”

  Fuck, yes. “I’m not much of a talker.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”

  “It usually is.”

  Brent nodded. “I left my wife a year ago. I still love her.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I’m—” He’d checked this person out. She had been a relationship counsellor for two decades and self-identified as queer on her website, and it was still fucking hard to say it out loud to her. “I’m bisexual. And I’m in the closet, I guess.”

  “This is a good place to talk abut that, then.”

  “I left her because I thought I was gay.”

  She made a note on her pad, a brief one, then gave a supportive smile. “Understanding our identities can be an evolving process.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  “You said you still love your wife. Where is your relationship at right now?”

  “She’s moving away. It’s easier that way, she says. She’s probably right.”

  “How much have you discussed with her?”

  “Yeah. I was outed to her, which is shitty. Well, she guessed it when someone told her I’d checked a guy out.”

  “Did you want to be out to her?”

  “Yes?” He scrubbed his knuckles against his jaw. “I guess. But I couldn’t say it out loud when I thought it excluded her from my life. And then I just left. So maybe I never would have said anything.”

  “Being outed can be traumatic.”

  “It was upsetting. I confronted the guy who did it. He didn’t say the words, he just—Fuck. I don’t know. Oh shit, can I swear in here?”

  Her lips twitched. “Yes.”

  “Thank fuck.” Brent rolled his neck as he tried to think about what he wanted to say. “It’s not ideal, but what’s done is done. Jess is as supportive as she could be. She told me to go to a gay club. And then I did, it was a bust, and she told me I had to go again.”

  “So you guys are talking?” More notes.

  “We’ve started again, now that she knows. Yeah.”

  “And what does ‘it was a bust’ mean?” The pen stopped and the therapist looked up at him.

  “I chickened out. I sat at the bar and smiled at some people.”

  “Was it a negative experience?”

  “No.” He exhaled roughly. “It was fine.”

  “What held you back from talking to people?”

  “I didn’t want to.” He laughed, and she joined in.

  “Okay, so you didn’t want to do something, and you didn’t do it. That doesn’t sound like a failure to me. It sounds like you did exactly what you wanted to do. Nobody says you need to go home with someone. Gay men, bisexual men, can be loners just like anyone else. A night at a gay clubs doesn’t need to end in sex to be a success.”

  His mouth must have fallen open in stupid surprise, because her expression changed. Softened even further, and she put down her pen. “Brent, you went and sat in a club surrounded by people who looked at you and knew you were queer, and you enjoyed a few beers. You smiled at people. Was it stressful?”

  “No.” He smiled, just a little. “It was fine.”

  “Wow.” She nodded. “Feeling fine about something that significant your first time out is a big deal.”

  She didn’t add, for an idiot who just admitted nearly twenty years into adulthood he wasn’t straight, but Brent could add that for her. “Baby steps,” he muttered.

  “More people could do baby steps in their lives. It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

  But Jess was moving. He didn’t have time for baby steps. Not anymore. “And if I want to take the shortcut to knowing myself properly, so I can get my wife back?”

  “The problem with shortcuts is that they get us in trouble. If you want to work on your marriage, you need to go through all the steps to get there. And that’s if your wife is willing to do that, because she may not be. You said she’s moving away, right?”

  Two hours down the road. He puffed his cheeks up, then exhaled noisily. “Should I just give up?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. If she’s willing to listen, tell her how you feel. But you’ll need to start being honest about what you want. All of it. And first of all, with yourself.”

  12

  He should have known he didn’t have much time.

  The day after he took her stuff to storage, Jess called him. He was at work, and saw the missed call when they got back from responding to a collision on the rain-slicked roads.

  There was a text message as well.

  His heart sank. He grabbed his phone and headed out back. Standing under the overhang, he glared up at the grey sky while he worked up the courage to check it.

  Jess: First open house was bonkers busy, even in the rain. House has multiple offers coming in tonight. Holy shit. Do you want to be involved in picking the one we go with?

  Their separation agreement gave her full control of the house. A year ago, he hadn’t been able to function beyond getting himself to work and back. And it was her house. Her dream.

  Not anymore.

  Now she was moving on.

  He was tempted to fire back a quick message of support, waiving his involvement. But then he heard his therapist’s voice in his head. You’ll need to start being honest about what you want. All of it.

  Taking a deep breath, he replied.

  Brent: I’m at work for a short shift. What time is the real estate agent presenting the offers?

  Jess: Whatever time you want.

  He didn’t deserve that kindness.

  Brent: I can be there at eight?

  Jess: Okay. See you then.

  He wasn’t big on booze, but Jess loved wine, so he stopped at the liquor store on his way and picked up a bottle of champagne. There was a Lexus in the driveway, so he parked on the street.

  For a second, just a flash, he worried that the high-end car was Evan West’s, before his brain caught up and pointed out it was surely the real estate agent. He grabbed the bottle of wine, took a deep breath, and got out.

  The rain had let up, but it was still drizzling, and he dashed toward the house. Jess met him at the door. “Come on in. Roberta just arrived.”

  Roberta was a professional machine who knew her stuff. She didn’t react to the bottle of champagne in Brent’s hand, or the nervous expression he was sure was on his face. She laid out the offers. The highest one also came with the longest closing period, which would mean going back to the sellers of the cottage that Jess wanted to buy in Wardham and negotiate an extension.

  She immediately shook her head at that. “I know it’s a bit more money, but I’d like to get this settled as soon as possible.”

  Brent tapped the offer with the shortest closing period and no conditions, and ignored the pain in his chest. “This one is best, if you can get the closing date moved up on the cottage.”

  For a wild second, he thought about suggesting she stay with him in Mr. Subramanian’s basement if the closing dates didn’t match up. Then he called himself some colourful names and shut down that fantasy good and hard.

  “I’ll call Lola,” she said.

  He didn’t know who Lola was, but Roberta clearly did as she nodded.

  It had been kind of Jess to include him in this, but he’d never felt like more of an outsider on her life. He’d done that to himself.

  It would be easy to sink into depressed self-pity. He could feel it, a dark hole of nothing but navel-gazing and regret. It was harder to stay in the present and deal with the discomfort of watching his wife have a one-sided call he didn’t fully understand, although it became clear as she kept talking.

  “Hey L
ola, it’s Jess. Sorry for calling so late— Oh, is he? Ha, yeah, that’s a good way to spend the evening on your own. I’m definitely in for a marathon movie night with you once I’m in town. Listen, I’m calling because I’ve got an offer on my house, but the closing date is sooner than we’d put on the offer— Yes, exactly. Do you think you could call them? Is two weeks do able? Sure, I’ll send you an email with the exact date so you’ve got it—yep. Great. Thanks.”

  She hung up and starting typing, her thumbs flying. Once she hit send, she looked at Brent, and the expression on her face—nervous excitement—wiped away all of his selfishness.

  “This is really happening,” he said softly, with a smile. “Look at you go.”

  She wiggled her shoulders. “I know!”

  “Lola’s your real estate agent in Wardham?”

  “Yep.”

  “And a movie watcher?”

  She laughed. “Yeah. Her husband is a cop, and he’s working tonight, so she’s on her own with a bowl of popcorn.”

  She didn’t have to spell out that it was a life Jess knew all too well. In another timeline, that friendship could have been born out of their partners both being first responders. Except he’d ducked out on their life together, and their timelines now ran parallel but separate—unless he could figure out a way to get them back together.

  It took Lola fifteen minutes to get back to them, and when she did, Jess squealed and jumped up and down.

  “Congratulations,” Roberta said, shaking both of their hands. “You’ve sold your house.”

  Then they were alone, maybe for the last time in this place they’d once bought together to hold their hopes and dreams.

  And his lies.

  He shoved that away. “How do you feel?”

  “Good.” Jess gave him a warm smile, and her eyes were soft enough for him to imagine this was bittersweet for her as well. “Thanks for hanging out through all of that.”

  “It was better than anything else I could have been doing tonight.”

  “Quiet night in?”