Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

his coffee. He winced. Even hot coffee made his head hurt, but he kept at it since drowning himself in caffeine made the violent noise in his head slightly more tolerable. After emptying the remains of his mostly liquid dinner into the toilet bowl the night before, Sam had paced his bedroom. Then he'd forced himself to lay down, afraid he was going to bang on Devin's door and scream until his heart stopped breaking. Then he returned to the bathroom where he woke up six hours later, dried tears on his cheeks and a headache that felt like he'd been tossed around in the dryer for a couple of hours. A quick text to Lee and then he was moping at the other man's dining room table, trying to figure out how he'd gone from sexy to pathetic with zero stops in between. Lee was no help in solving that particular mystery.
    "No, he said we're not right for each other," Sam said after a long moment. "I had been trying to hump him like a rabbit on steroids and all he wanted was to talk to me sober so he could let me down easy." Sam tried to smile at the irony of Devin being the one who wanted to talk things out, but the strain on his muscles made his headache worse. He sipped the coffee again. "I brought this on myself. I should've taken the hint after he ran away the other day. I'm not what he wants."
    "Then he's an idiot," Lee said. "You're great and if he can't see how lucky he'd be to have you, he doesn't deserve you."
    "You know what's really sad? I still want him to come around." Sam reached for the plate of danishes Lee had put out. Thinking better of it, he rested his hand on the table. "I keep thinking if he just gives me a shot, I can make him fall in love with me." Sam shook his head. "Maybe it's true. Maybe all therapists are really a little crazy themselves. Was I really so delusional I imagined that he was responding to me?"
    "Mike doesn't seem to think so," Lee said.
    "What does Mike know? I have a fucking masters in clinical psychology and I don't know what went wrong," Sam said. "The only thing I can think of, the only thing that makes sense is that he was just... testing the waters at first. You know, that chess thing was probably funny to him. I caught him off guard. Then he avoided me for most of the week. Then yesterday, he ran out of the kitchen before the game. He ran out of Churchill's. I don't need him to run away from me again to get the point."
    "I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted this."
    "I'm sorry, too," Sam said. "I made a fool of myself and I can't take any of it back. I should move out. They brought me in to help them with the bills, but Dev's an assistant manager now and Mike has enough saved that it probably wouldn't hurt them to handle everything themselves until they can find another roommate."
    "You don't have to move out."
    "No, I should quit the team, too," Sam said. "What else can I do? I put him in this position and if the only way he'll feel comfortable in his own home is if I'm not there, there are no other choices."
    "There's always a choice," Lee said. "Think about it for a day, a week. You haven't even talked to him yet. Moving out is an overreaction."
    "I don't need to think about it. I need to march over there and start packing. I can have most of my stuff gone before he wakes up."
    "And go where? You're just going to check into a hotel unannounced on a Sunday?"
    Sam grinned, headache be damned. "I'll move in with you. The only difference is I'll cook half your meals here instead of next door."
    "And I'll get to hear you whine about Devin all the time instead of once every few days or so."
    "That's not fair."
    "The whining or that you're running away instead of dealing with him?"
    "I'm not—"
    "You're doing the same thing he's been doing," Lee said. "Only you should know better. Really, you both should be more mature than this, but until you find out what's going on with Devin, I don't think you should make any rash decisions."
    "This isn't rash, this is self-preservation."
    "Uh huh. Finish your coffee and go home," Lee said. "You need to have a talk."
    ****
    "So, what'd you do?"
    "What makes you think I did something?" Devin looked up from the sports section of the Savannah Morning News . Their win was on the front page. The article was topped by a picture of Sam holding up the ball at the end of the game, surrounded by his cheering teammates. Devin had been staring at the picture for several minutes, trying to merge the smiling face in print with the image of Sam's disappointed