Page 89 of My Best Friend Is Broken
“How long?” I ask.
“Few hours, hopefully. But I’ll check in regularly.” He pulls me aside, his hand finding mine out of Molly’s line of sight. “You okay with this?”
“I’m fine. Go do what you need to do. We’ll be here when you get back.”
He squeezes my hand, and I can see the reluctance in his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave us, doesn’t want to step away when danger might be circling closer. But duty calls, and in his world, you don’t ignore that call.
“Keep your phone on you,” he says quietly. “Panic button is by the door, cameras are monitored, and I’m fifteen minutes away at most.”
“We’ll be fine,” I assure him, with more confidence than I feel.
He presses a quick kiss to my forehead, brief enough to be almost chaste, but intimate enough that I feel Molly’s interest sharpen from across the room. Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone with someone who is essentially a stranger, trying to figure out how to be a good host while also keeping us both safe from unspecified Russian threats.
No pressure.
“Right then,” Molly says brightly, apparently unbothered by the situation. “Show me to my room? I need to unpack and settle in.”
I lead him down the hallway, past the bathroom with its newly reinforced door, past Nicky’s room, our room now, and to the spare bedroom at the end. The door swings open to reveal the space that was mine not so long ago, when I first came home from prison and couldn’t imagine sharing Nicky’s bed.
Looking at it now, the perfectly made bed, the empty dresser, the generic décor that screams ‘guest room’, I’m struck by how far I’ve come. How this room that once represented safety and distance now just looks lonely.
“This is lovely!” Molly exclaims, wheeling his suitcase inside and immediately starting to unpack with the efficiency of someone who’s moved frequently. “Much nicer than the safe house Dario wanted to stick me in. That place was like a bunker. No natural light, no personality. This at least feels like a home.”
“It was my room,” I find myself saying. “When I first moved in.”
Molly pauses in his unpacking, a handful of colorful shirts in his arms. “But not anymore?”
Heat creeps up my neck. Blurting it out hasn’t changed anything, because it’s obvious. My clothes aren’t in this room’s closet, my toiletries aren’t in the attached bathroom. Any visitor with eyes could deduce that I sleep elsewhere now. Sleep with Nicky, in Nicky’s bed, in a relationship that we’ve been keeping private and undefined and carefully separate from the rest of the world.
And now here’s Molly, someone from Nicky’s life, someone who will see that separation collapse simply by being here.
The panic flutters in my chest. What will he think? Will he judge us? Will he report back to Dario that Nicky is involved with someone unstable, someone damaged, someone who isn’t worthy of his time?
But then I catch myself, take a breath, and really think about it.
I’m proud. I’m proud to be with Nicky, proud that we’ve built something real and meaningful. Proud that I’ve healed enough to share his space, his bed, his life in a way that doesn’t feel like drowning.
And besides, Molly is gay too. He’s in a relationship with Dario, one of the most powerful and dangerous men in London. Of course he’s going to understand. Of course it’s going to be fine.
“No,” I say, steadier now. “Not anymore. I’m with Nicky now. We share his room.”
Molly’s face breaks into the most genuine, delighted smile. “Oh, I’m so glad! The way he talks about you, it was obvious you were meant to be together.”
The easy acceptance, the genuine happiness in his voice, makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “You could tell?”
“Darling, everyone could tell except possibly you two.” He goes back to unpacking, hanging shirts in the closet with practiced efficiency. “Dario said Nicky’s been in love with you for years. Since you were teenagers, apparently. I think it’s beautiful that you found your way back to each other.”
I lean against the doorframe, watching him transform the generic space into something uniquely his. Colorful clothes, a framed photo of him and Dario, a stuffed teddy bear that looks well-loved despite Molly being a grown man.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For being okay with it. For not making it weird.”
“Why would I make it weird? Love is love, especially in our world where it’s so hard to find.” He shoots me a conspiratorial grin. “Besides, we’re in the same boat, aren’t we? In love with scary mafia men who think they need to protect us from everything.”
The description is so accurate that I can’t help but laugh. “That’s exactly what they’re like.”
“Tell me about it. Dario nearly had a breakdown when he realized I’d need to leave our place. You’d think I was going to war rather than just staying with friends for a few days.”
“Nicky was the same. Triple-checked all the security measures, made me memorize emergency protocols, gave me about fifteen different lectures about being careful.”
