Page 17 of Good Friends
“Oh. Okay.”
Gavin’s eyes popped open. Howdarethat lying fucker have the goddamnedballsto sound disappointed and even…hurt! “I’ve already got a job lined up,” he sort of fibbed. “Everything’s taken care of. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh. Um…congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He still didn’t know why Porter sounded fucking shell-shocked. “Just wanted to call you and tell you that. Guess that’s good timing for you, then.”
“I-I guess so. Where are you wor—”
“Listen, I won’t keep you from your da—”
They both stopped talking, an uncomfortable pause swelling between them.
Then, “What happened?” Porter asked.
“What?”
There was another pause, a breath. “What happened?” Porter quietly asked. “What happened tous? You’re my best friend. What happened?”
It was all Gavin could do to hold back his bitter laugh. “I don’t think I need to tell you that.”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I knew, Gav. You pulled away and I don’t know why. Can you at leasttellme? If it’s something I did,tellme. Because I honestly don’t know what happened.”
I can’t do this.If he was face-to-face with Porter, sure, he’d have it out with him. Guy didn’t have a poker face, and he’d be able to call his fucking bluff right there.
But right now, on the phone, he couldn’t stay civil listening to Porter lie to him, which was totally fucked up to begin with. He thought Porter was better than that, had never known him to be like this before.
Maybe Jayce has taught him a few tricks.
Gavinknewthe fucker was at the Toucan this weekend. Heknewthe fucker was with Jayce this weekend. Or, at least seeing Jayce there this weekend. For Porter to lie to him and tell him he was home, when Gavin damn well knew he wasn’t, was just…
Fucked up.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Porter. I wanted to talk to you one more time and say good-bye. I’m going to be just fine, don’t worry.” He was barely able to keep from choking up as tears welled in his eyes. “Thanks for the fun, and no hard feelings. I wish you well.”
“Gav—”
Gavin clickedend, turned off his phone, rolled over on the couch, and started sobbing.
* * * *
Porter stared at his phone. It felt like he’d been nut-punched. He’d thought—had beencertainthat whatever was going on, he’d be able to talk to Gavin once he’d reached out and then he could clear the air between them.
Fixthem.
He tried to call Gavin back and it went to voice mail immediately. He didn’t leave a message.
And again.
The third time, Porter left a message. “I don’t know what’s going on, Gav, but can wepleasetalk about this?Please? I think we’ve known each other long enough that you owe me that. I can’t force you to talk, though, buddy. I’m going to leave it at my door’s always open, and I hope you reach out to me and talk to me when you’re ready.”
Porter took a deep breath. “I love you, and I always will. If you never reach out to me, please know that I wish you well, and I’m always going to love you.” He hung up and stared at his phone.
Well, I guess that helps with my decision-making.
He stared at the pictures on his dresser. First the one of him and Dane, taken years ago in Puerto Rico, one of the rare times Dane had allowed himself to be vulnerable in public. They’d been sitting together on a bench at the beach, and a friend took it for them. Dane sat with Porter’s arm slung across the back of the bench, and he’d tucked his head, pressed it against Porter’s chin. You couldn’t see his eyes because of the sunglasses he wore.
Porter reached out and touched it, his heart aching. Then he focused on the one right next to it, him and Gav, one taken of them a couple of years ago by a friend of theirs. They’d been sitting in the courtyard at the Toucan, both of them shirtless and wearing bathing suits, grinning as they stared at each other.
