It was four A.M.
Cameron had stopped texting me half an hour ago. So, he’d taken my advice. He was home, in bed, with Brian. Young, sculpted, and baby-faced Brian.
I blinked, my eyes bleary from watching TV, and sipped the last of my beer. I’d gone through six of those tonight. I was passing out, here on the couch.
Good going.
My mind kept showing me images I didn’t want to see: Cameron kissing Brian’s mouth, pulling his shirt over his head, biting the smooth skin of his shoulder. Man, I really needed to go to bed and sleep off all this stupid misery. After all, I was the one who’d driven him right into Brian’s arms tonight.
I was good at sacrifice. Allan, the disappearing act. The man who will cease to exist the minute happiness shows the tip of its nose. The man who will shut up and
