Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

in the darkness, I saw him nod. “I understand,” he said with quiet resignation.
    “Really?” I asked, not wanting him to be upset.
    “No,” he said. “Not really. But it’s what I expected you to say.”
    He moved off of me, but to my surprise, he didn’t move back to the other side of the bed like he so often did. He cuddled up next to me with his head on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around him.
    “Cole,” I said, wanting to tell him how much I loved him. But he seemed to anticipate me, as he always did, and his soft fingers fell on my lips, quieting me.
    “Shhh, Jonny. Don’t say it.” He moved his hand away, wrapped his arm around me and snuggled closer. “Goodnight.”
    He didn’t mention Paris again. And if over the next two weeks I saw clouds in his eyes more often than not, I did my best to ignore it.

Date: June 19
    From: Cole
    To: Jared
    I understand addiction now. I never did before, you know. How could a man (or a woman) do something so self-destructive, knowing that they’re hurting not only themselves, but the people they love? It seemed that it would be so incredibly easy for them to just not take that next drink. Just stop. It’s so simple, really. But as so often happens with me, my arrogance kept me from seeing the truth of the matter.
    I see it now though.
    Every day, I tell myself it will be the last. Every night, as I’m falling asleep in his bed, I tell myself that tomorrow I’ll book a flight to Paris, or Hawaii, or maybe New York. It doesn’t matter where I go, as long as it’s not here. I need to get away from Phoenix—away from him—before this goes even one step further.
    And then he touches me again, and my convictions disappear like smoke in the wind.
    This cannot end well. That’s the crux of the matter, Sweets. I’ve been down this road before—you know I have—and there’s only heartache at the end. There’s no happy ending waiting for me like there was for you and Matt. If I stay here with him, I will become restless and angry.
    It’s happening already, and I cannot stop it. I’m becoming bitter and terribly resentful. Before long, I will be intolerable, and eventually, he’ll leave me. But if I do what I have to do, what my very nature compels me to do, and move on, the end is no better. One way or another, he’ll be gone. Is it not wiser to end it now, Sweets, before it gets to that point? Is it not better to accept that this happiness I have is destined to self-destruct?
    Tomorrow I will leave. Tomorrow I will stop delaying the inevitable.
    Tomorrow I will quit lying to myself, and to him.
    Tomorrow.
    What about today, you ask? Today it’s already too late. He’ll be home soon, and I have dinner on the stove, and wine chilling in the fridge.
    And he will smile at me when he comes through the door, and I will pretend like this fragile, dangerous thing we have created between us can last forever.
    Just one last time, Sweets. Just one last fix. That’s all I need.
    And that is why I now understand addiction.

    HE WOKE me in the dead of night, his soft hand gripping my arm. It was something he had never done before, and it took me a minute to even figure out what had happened.
    “Cole?” It was pitch dark in the room. I could barely make out the shape of him, lying in front of me. His face was nothing but shadow.
    “Is something wrong?” He didn’t answer, but moved quickly into my arms. He was never hesitant about sex, and I knew if he had woken me for that purpose alone, he would be pursuing it already. This was something else, and it troubled me. Everything about it was wrong. He was too still, too quiet, too stiff against me. “What is it?” I whispered.
    He wrapped his arms around me. He was trembling, and his lips were soft against mine. “Just one more time, love,” he whispered.
    It was slow and gentle, and I found myself wanting to touch every part of him. He was quiet the whole time, his breath shaky, his soft, slender hands urging me on, his legs tight around my hips. And when I kissed him at the end, I tasted tears.
    I stopped then, wondering if I was mistaken. I brushed my fingers over his cheeks and found them wet, and his breath caught in his throat.
    “Tell me what’s wrong.” But he didn’t. He just shook his head. He buried his face in my chest, and he quit fighting. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he gave in to it, crying quietly, shaking from the force of it, and I had no idea what to do. I held him