Page 98 of Sharing Shadow Secrets
Then Brandon says it.
“The last thing I want is for us to tear you.”
Tear.
The word cuts through the haze like a knife.
Suddenly, the pressure isn’t just intense—it’s overwhelming. Panic surges in my chest. My breath shortens. My body goes rigid.
“Stop,” I say.
Kyle immediately pulls out, and Brandon kisses my temple, squeezing me tight in his arms.
“You did amazing,” Kyle praises, moving to lay next to us. His hand lands on my back, reassuringly rubbing it.
“I love you,” Brandon coos, giving me a squeeze.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes—not from pain, but from the emotional flood of it all. My chest rises and falls rapidly, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
But they’re here. Both of them. Holding space. Holding me.
I feel safe yet tears are falling down my face.
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Hearing Taylor sniffle, my chest tightens. I really hope we didn’t go too far.
“I’m gonna grab us water and some snacks,” I say gently, kissing the top of her head and giving Brandon’s arm a squeeze. They need a moment alone. And honestly, so do I.
I slide out of bed, peel off the condom, and toss it in the bathroom trash before grabbing my jeans from the floor and slipping out of the room.
The hallway is dim and quiet—but my thoughts are not. What if we missed something? What if we misread her?
My bare feet pad softly against the hardwood, and for the first time tonight, the adrenaline starts to fade.
I really hope the tears are from all of the newness, how overwhelming that can be instead of something worse.
My brain’s cycling through everything, replaying every step. We could’ve talked more beforehand. Walked her through it better. Checked in more often instead of trusting she’d speak up. Shedid… but maybe she wanted to stop earlier.
At the kitchen sink, I grab three glasses and fill them with cold water. The sound of the tap feels louder than usual.
She trusted us.
I hope we didn’t breach that trust. I don’t ever want to be the guy who confuses being fun with being careless.
Behind me, a giggle slurs through the dark. I turn, startled. The girl in the Avril Lavigne costume is leaning against the doorway, still fully dressed, makeup smudged.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks, drunkenly amused.
How to answer this …
“Crashing,” I say simply, extending one of the glasses toward her. “Want some water?”
She shrugs, then steps toward me and takes it. Her eyes flick down my shirtless torso, then back up, her expression shifting into something smug. “I always knew she had a crush on you,” she says, taking a sip, then wobbles off.
I’m not sure what that was meant to be—but drunks always find themselves more philosophical than they actually are. At least I did.
My mind goes back to Taylor. And now I can’t stop thinking about whether she regrets tonight.
