“Oh, uh…” He laughs slightly, looking uncomfortable as he shifts between his feet. “I live here now,” is all he offers.
“Since fucking when?”
I can feel my blood pressure rising the longer I stand here, trying to comprehend all of this.
“A few weeks ago.”
In my periphery, I see Augustine watching us, probably trying to assess the situation, given I’m sure I have a sour look on my face. I don’t bother meeting his gaze. Instead, I harden mine on Josiah. “Sure is a long way from Nevada, Josiah.”
I can’t help but drag my gaze over him. The Nevada heat and the years away from our stuffy, religious town has done him well. His skin is perfectly bronzed from the sun, ink covers the length of one of his arms, the other tatted to the elbow, and his muscles… he’s much bigger than I remember. Nothing like Augustine-style muscles, but still impressive.
Mouthwatering, even.
Fuck, no. Do not go there, Segan.
Clearing his throat, obviously catching me checking him out, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans. “I took over a shop down here,” is all he says in response to my question.
“You sold your shop in Nevada?”
I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like I fucking care.
Josiah shakes his head. “Nah, I kept the shop. My assistant manager, Dylan, is running it for me.”
He owns two businesses. Oh, how the black sheep has grown.
“You look great,” he offers, taking his turn at giving me a once-over. I’m certain I look like garbage right now, but okay. “You’re, uh, doing the music thing now, right?”
Huffing out a laugh, I reply, “Yeah, you could say I’mdoing the music thing now.”
Not for the first time, I wonder if Josiah’s listened to my music. It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind on many lonely nights.
Has he heard the lyrics I’ve sung from the lowest parts of myself?
Has he seen himself through my eyes?
Felt my pain?
My chest aches the longer I look at him, his stormy gray eyes searching mine. I shift my gaze, meeting Augustine’s for a brief moment, but it’s long enough for him to understand. He crosses the space in large strides, coming to a stop beside Josiah. He towers over him, and Josiah isn’t a short guy.
Josiah doesn’t even bother looking over at Augustine. His stern eyes focused solely on me, making my pulse race even faster in my ears.
“I have to go,” I finally offer, a total cop out.
“Can I get your number?” Josiah asks, pulling out his phone. “We can grab dinner one night, maybe. Catch up.”
Taking a step back, I utter, “Nah, I have no interest in catching up with you. Bye, Josiah.”
I don’t wait for a response, and I certainly don’t allow myself to linger on the disappointment that washes over his features as I turn on my heel, leaving him standing there.
Adam drives me straight home, and despite it not even being noon yet, I grab the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen as soon as I get there, taking that, along with my guitar, my notebook, and a pack of smokes onto the balcony off my bedroom, where I sit for the next several hours, drinking and writing and smoking.
I vividly remember the first time I realized I wasn’t as straight as I thought. It was, coincidentally, the first time I realized I also had feelings for Josiah. That night, over a decade ago, when he showed up at Lana’s and drank with us. I was sixteen, and he was nineteen.
During that time, before the hard drugs got to Lana, she was such a light in my orbit of darkness. She could make me laugh, make the world feel not so restricting, and it was at times like those when it was easy to understand why I fell in love with her. Before substance and lies and deceit became a permanent fixture in our relationship. It never occurred to me that there would be anybody else for me but her.
The realization was jarring.
Then he comes bursting through her front door, and I see him, like I had hundreds of other times… but that time was different.
