“Ah, man, that sucks. Sure, I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
The city thinned the closer we got, buildings giving way to quieter streets, then open stretches of land broken up by rows of trees. The driver didn’t say much, just followed the directions without question, the hum of the engine filling the silence between us.
“Wait here,” I said when he pulled up to the gates and parked behind an expensive-looking BMW. “I won’t be long.”
“No more than fifteen minutes, please.”
“Got it.”
The gravel crunched under my shoes as I walked onto the grounds. It was quieter than I expected, though it wasn’t empty. A few people were scattered around, visiting their loved ones. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and rotting flowers.
I knew exactly where he was. I’d memorized it the day we buried him, even though I hadn’t been back since. A place this depressing had no business looking this neatly organized and beautiful.
My steps slowed as I approached, then stopped. Someone was already there.
A young man dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt over a jeans vest stood in front of Brad’s grave, his back to me, shoulders slightly hunched. Fresh flowers rested at the base of the headstone, carefully arranged like someone had put thought into it. Relief hit me. Brad hadn’t been alone. I might not have had the strength to visit him, but someone else had.
The man shifted, sensing me, and turned. Recognition flickered between us almost instantly.
I knew him.
Not well, but enough.
Brad and I had played with him a few times a couple of years ago. Quiet, a little shy, but sweet in a way that had stood out among our playmates. We’d met at the swingers club Brad and I were members of. He’d admitted we were the first couple he’d played with, and we’d been gentle with him. He always required a lot of aftercare and had ended up spending the night at our place once just so we could look out for him. We didn’t typically allow sleepovers with our playmates, and we definitely did not share our bed the whole night. He’d been an exception.
His eyes widened slightly when he saw me. “I—” he started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here. I shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s okay,” I said quickly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s Nathanael. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, but just call me Nat.” He glanced at the headstone, then back at me, uncertainty written all over his face. “I just… He was kind to me. Both of you were. I heard about what happened and remembered.”
My chest tightened. “I’m glad you did. He would’ve liked that.”
The tension in his shoulders eased a little at that, though he still looked like he wasn’t sure where to put himself.
I moved to stand beside him, my gaze settling on Brad’s name etched into the stone. Seeing it like this—still, permanent—knocked the breath from my lungs for a second, but I stayed.
“Are you okay?” I asked after a moment, glancing at him. “I haven’t seen you at the club in a while.”
A small, sad smile touched his lips. “Yeah. I…I found someone. He wanted something exclusive, so I stopped going.”
“That’s good,” I said automatically, then shook my head slightly. “I mean, only if that’s what you wanted. No one should make you feel like you have to fit into something you’re not.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. And almost immediately, my gut twisted. Because hadn’t I tried to do exactly that with Brad? He wasn’t a monogamous man, and I knew that and agreed with it when we started dating. I just never thought I’d get tired of the revolving doors of men in and out of our lives.
The boy’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I did want it,” he said quietly. “I loved him and would have done anything for him.”
I blinked. “Loved?”
He nodded once, looking back at the grave. “It didn’t work out.”
There was something final in the way he said it.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He shrugged lightly, but it didn’t hide the sadness there. “It’s okay. Life happens.”