Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

to lie and order the steak?
    Could he confess to having OCD, or was it about to cost him his second boyfriend—the one he absolutely didn’t want to lose?
    The confusion and panic roiled inside Adam, until he realized he could order anything because he was going to throw up his dinner no matter what it was.
    “Adam?”
    The voice—Denver’s—cut through the panic enough to still him, but not for long. The waitress had come. She’d taken Denver’s order and was waiting for Adam. She looked at him uncertainly, as if she couldn’t quite make out what his problem was.
    “Adam, are you okay?” Face full of concern, Denver reached across the table and took Adam’s hand.
    He won’t want you. He won’t want you once he knows. He’ll never hold your hand like this again, never look at you with concern—only like the waitress, like you’re a disease. Because you are. You’re sick and no one can ever love you. Never.
    “I’m sorry,” Adam whispered, pulled his hand from Denver’s, and ran for the bathroom. He didn’t need to eat to get sick. He was going to lose whatever was in his stomach right now.
    Except the bathroom was full of big, gruff men who looked like Adam belonged on the bottom of their boots—one look inside the door, and Adam turned tail, searching for a new target.
    He ended up settling on the garbage can just outside the front door, dry heaving into it a few times before staggering away into the parking lot. He enjoyed a few moments of confusion, not knowing where he should go or what he should do before the panic attack claimed him. Then it was all narrowing windpipes and gulping for air as his brain, having melted down, passed the joy on to the rest of his body.
    “Hold on.” Strong arms came around Adam, guiding him to the ground, cradling him close. “Easy. Easy there, baby.” Adam gulped hard, panic warring with shame at Denver having to see him like this, but Denver held him fast, never wavering. “Shhh. Take it easy. I got you. Settle down.”
    Adam gathered enough air to whisper, “I’m sorry.”
    Those strong arms held him closer. “Hush. You got nothing to be sorry for.” Denver stroked Adam’s hair and pulled him close—they were in the middle of the parking lot, cars maneuvering around them, patrons giving them odd looks, but Denver ignored them all, focused only on Adam. “You okay? You need to see a doctor?”
    For a minute, he thought about lying, and if he’d thought there was any chance Denver would drop him off at the ER and leave, he’d have done it. But all that would happen was he’d get slapped with a $300 co-pay on his student health insurance for being told—in front of Denver—what he already knew. He shook his head, waiting for Denver’s frustration, his irritation, waiting for Denver to demand to know what the hell was wrong with him.
    Denver took this in the same stride, though, as everything else. “Okay. If you’re sure, then I’m gonna take you to the truck. That okay?”
    So much shame . Nodding, Adam sank into Denver’s chest. Briefly, though, because then Denver lifted him to his feet and—with aching tenderness—led Adam away.
    He tucked Adam into his seat belt like a child, asking him over and over again if he was okay, verifying several times that he didn’t need to see a doctor. Eventually he went around to his side and got in. Adam tensed, bracing for the questions, but Denver said nothing, only started the truck and drove.
    He didn’t take them far—they were at some park Adam didn’t know the name of but had driven by, a patch of green dominated by a small pond in the center and a slightly dilapidated picnic area to the south. When Adam looked at Denver in confusion, this time it was Denver who blushed.
    “You said you needed to tell me something, and you seemed nervous. I don’t know why, but that sort of thing always seems easier by water to me.”
    Adam considered this through his panicked haze, a haze admittedly thrown off course. Were confessions easier by water? He had no idea. He stared at the pond over the hood of the truck, trying to decide. Ducks floated by, quacking at one another. Waves lapped gently at the grassy shore. The setting sun glinted off the gentle, rippling surface of the pond. As he watched, he stopped panicking, and by degrees, his attack subsided, leaving him simply weary.
    He nodded, sinking into his seat in quiet defeat. “Yes. I think you’re right.”
    Denver killed the engine, but he