Chapter 12

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Chapter 12: Choice

Waking up surrounded by the familiar feel and smell of H. brought tears to my eyes. They were tears of happiness, because I'd long ago reconciled myself to never experiencing this again and having him in my bed seemed almost like a miracle. But they were tears of sadness too, because I knew this could easily be the very last time we would be together like this. I shoved that thought to the back of my mind as quickly as I could and blinked the tears back, afraid that spilling them onto his chest would awaken him and cut short this shard of time when I had him all to myself.

I listened to his deep, even breathing and felt the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. Once upon a time, briefly, I was lucky enough to have this with him every morning, though in truth we had never been together long enough for it to become routine. Since the very beginning the forces in our lives pulling us apart were neatly matched with the forces pulling us together. It was a never ending game of tug of war. The flag was constantly moving to either side of center, but there was never a decisive victory. The wedding was as close as we had come to allowing the separation forces to win, but apparently they were not strong enough. And now, once again, I had to make a decision. A decision I'd already made twice, both times with a heavy heart. Did I have enough strength to make the same call the third time? Deep down inside I feared the answer was no.

I shifted my head slightly so I could look up at his face, and smiled when I saw his fringe was pushed to one side, making the scar on his forehead plainly visible. He hated that scar. It wasn't just a reminder of the car accident he'd been in as a baby that derailed the entire course of his life, but also a source of teasing and torment from other kids when he was younger.

"I love it, H.," I told him the first time I really got a close look at it. I would never forget the moment. It was the autumn of our last year in school and the five of us: Dré, Vince, Greg, H. and I, spent the weekend at Dré's parents' country estate while his parents were abroad on holiday. Dré had lifted and made duplicates of the key over the summer and then forged permission slips from all our parents for the weekend travel. He even saved up enough cash for a chauffeured car to pick us up at school Friday evening, making the whole thing look completely legitimate. With the big house all to ourselves, we partied late into the night before H. and I retired to our room. This was the first time we had been able to make love with no fear of being discovered, and the first time we spent the entire night together. H fucked me that night with even more than his usual vigor, perhaps spurred on by my much louder than normal vocal encouragement. Afterwards he collapsed on top of me and his fringe, matted together with sweat, shifted to fully reveal the scar, which I traced lovingly with my finger.

"Get off," he said, annoyed, slapping my hand away angrily.

"Why? I don't understand. It makes you even more beautiful than you already are. It gives you character," I protested. He snorted and rolled away, curling up on his side facing away from me. I was horrified at having apparently ruined the best night of our lives. I rolled over and curled up behind him, taking gentle hold of his upper arm.

"H., don't be like that. I didn't mean anything bad. You know I love you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me," I pleaded.

"Leave me alone. You know I hate it. What did you have to bring it up for?" he choked back.

"I don't know. I'm sorry," I repeated. "It's just, you never talk about it. You always try to hide it. I just want to know you, all of you, and this is a part of you you've never shared."

"It's a scar, Rick. It's just a stupid scar. What does it matter?"

I sighed, knowing I couldn't explain it better than I already had. If he didn't understand, I simply had to let it go. I kissed the back of his neck and tucked my chin under, resting my forehead against his back. "Never mind, H. Please just forget I said anything."

I grew tense and increasingly uncomfortable with his continued silence and the unrelenting tension radiating off his body. Sensing I was not going to be granted forgiveness, I shifted away and turned to my other side, taking his approach and curling up as well. I was hurt, both by his reluctance to share something that obviously had a huge impact in his life, and by his rejection of my apology. This wasn't the first time we'd fought, or the first time he'd been short and cold with me, but in retrospect, it was the first time I questioned whether I was as important to him as he'd become to me.

We lay in the same bed in silence, our backs turned to each other, for a very long time. So long that I figured he'd fallen asleep. I couldn't sleep, and I feared it was a bad idea to just lie there, letting my thoughts turn darker and more depressing with every passing minute, so I sat up and made to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" I heard him ask. I turned to see that he had twisted his neck to look at me. I shrugged.

"I don't know. I can't sleep, so I thought I'd see if anyone else was still awake."

It was a lame response. We both knew that even if Dré and Vince were still awake, they would be otherwise occupied in bed, and that the person I was looking for was my best friend, Greg. I didn't express it, because after H. found out Greg and I shared so many of our firsts, he became suspicious and made it clear he didn't like Greg and me to spend time alone together. I tried to follow his wishes when things were good between us, but when we argued I selfishly tended to seek out Greg and his comforting hugs, even when I knew that was unfair to both of them.

"Please stay," he implored with obvious sincerity. I hesitated, and then lay back down. H. flipped over to face me and I allowed him to pull me closer, though I couldn't fully relax and enjoy it. "It's not easy for me to talk about," he finally said.

"I know," I acknowledged with a nod, determined to leave it there. A few minutes later, however, he began to speak, and that was the night when I learned the entire horrific story. H.'s parents were not the only people in the car the night of the accident. The car was driven by his godfather, who had been designated as H.'s legal guardian in the event of his parents' death. Unfortunately, his godfather had been drinking and toxicology reports also revealed the presence of narcotics in his system and the systems of both of H.'s parents. His godfather lived, but he was convicted and sent to prison, while H. was given to his only living relatives, his mother's sister and her husband, who had never gotten along with his parents. His so-called family tormented H. from the beginning, hiding his fortune and status from him for as long as possible. Even after he discovered he was Lord Potter, not the penniless parasite his family made him believe he was, his uncle still made it impossible for H. to take full advantage of his resources. It was only when H.'s godfather was released from prison that he used his own money to pay for H.'s tuition at our school, which had been his parents' alma mater. I said a silent thanks to his godfather at that point, because without his interference H. and I never would have met.

"All the other stuff was bad enough when I was growing up, but then to have this scar..." H. paused. "My aunt and uncle used to cut my hair really short so that it would always be exposed and visible. Other kids used to call me Frankenstein's monster, or Scarface..."

"Oh, H.," I wrapped my arms around him tightly and leaned up to kiss him, then pushed myself higher up on the bed and kissed his scar. "Kids are stupid and cruel. I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you should know there is nothing to what they said."

"Isn't there?" his voice was bitter. "They weren't wrong. I am Scarface."

"Al Pacino was Scarface. And you know what, he's damn hot. And you're even hotter. Plus you're mine. So if you are Scarface, my Scarface, then you're my Al. I think I'm going to call you that. It'll be a special name, just between us. My beautiful-perfect-sexy Al." I punctuated the pause between each word with another kiss.

"So should I call you Betty, then?" he finally cracked a smile and I would have kissed him immediately if I wasn't so puzzled by his question. "You know, like in that song. ‘I can call you Betty, and Betty when you call me, you can call me Al,'" he sang. I shook my head, still confused, as the song was completely unfamiliar. "Never mind. It's just a stupid song my aunt used to listen to," he laughed and leaned in to kiss me.

"You already have a name for me that only you're allowed to use," I pointed out.

"That's right," he remembered. "You're my beautiful-perfect-sexy Ced." He slipped his hands down to my arse and squeezed my cheeks with each word. I felt his hardness press against mine. "I love you, Ced."

"I love you, Al."

"I want you, Ced."

I simply sighed my agreement and let him take charge. He didn't disappoint me that night or any time we'd been together since. Once we figured out what we both enjoyed, our sex life was never a problem. If only things between us could be as good out of bed as they were in it.

I lowered my head back to H's chest and considered the offer he'd made the night before. Being with him in bed, having woken up in his arms, made it difficult to be objective. Intellectually I knew it was beneath my dignity to be the secret hidden from my lover's spouse. Emotionally, however, I felt whole when I was with him, and I knew this was the only way I could ever have him in my life again. I sighed and kissed his chest, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around him tightly and never let go.

I'd tried to look for another man who would make me forget H. Kinkaid came the closest, but he wasn't unattached either and, worse than H., he'd lied about it and humiliated me. At least H. wasn't sleeping with other men. Plus, he'd agreed that I could see other men. Knowing how jealous he had been in the past, that concession alone showed me just how badly he needed to be with me. And it wasn't as though I was taking him away from Ginny. He never had and never would want her the way he wanted me, and there was nothing I or anyone else could do about it. As it was, she was getting more of him than she would ever deserve. His heart belonged to me - hadn't he basically said that very thing the previous night? If I owned his heart, then I sure as fuck deserved to be with him, even if it was only once or twice a week.

I felt the change in his breathing and looked up just in time to see his eyes open. He was confused momentarily and tensed, but as soon as he saw me he relaxed, his lips curling into a smile.

"Ced! Is this real?" he whispered and looked around, as if trying to figure out if he was awake or dreaming.

I slid up to bring my face even with his and kissed him. "Yeah, Al, this is real. Good morning."

He sighed and ran the fingers of one hand down my back while bringing the other up to touch my face. "I've dreamed about waking up next to you so many times, I'm afraid to believe it."

"I've done the same thing," I admitted, "but this time there's no need to be afraid. We went to the concert last night and then came back here and you spent the night."

"Oh!" realization dawned in his eyes. "That's right." He stared at me and I could see he wanted to ask me something but was biting his tongue.

"What is it?"

"I remembered our talk from last night. You said you wanted to sleep on it. Well, we slept."

His lack of directness notwithstanding, of course I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I've been thinking about it all morning. Once a week at the Grimmauld house?" I confirmed.

"It's the best I can do week to week. But I swear, I will think of excuses to see you as much as I can, to spend the whole night with you, like tonight. I don't know how frequently I can get away with that, but I will take every available opportunity!" His explanation was also a plea.

"And you understand that may not be enough for me? That I might-" he looked so pained I stopped abruptly. He nodded curtly and I had no doubt he knew exactly what he was agreeing to.

"I need you, Ced, please."

I kissed him and the kiss sealed my answer. I loved him and he loved me. I didn't know how long I would be able to share him like this, but I would do it for as long as I could. Destroying a piece of my soul was worth being with him, even for only a few hours each week.

"I'll have to talk with my boss, re-arrange my work hours," I told him. "There may be weeks when I just won't be able to take the time off..." He pulled me to him and cut off the rest of my words by devouring my lips.

That's how it began. It wasn't easy, knowing how little time we had, but in the beginning we made every second count. I told people at work that I'd joined a mentor program for low-income and immigrant kids and, surprisingly, had little trouble rearranging my schedule to enable me to get away early on Thursday afternoons. H. had a key cut to the house for me and I would usually get there first. I'd bring with me drinks and small snacks that we would eat in bed, after we made love. We never seemed to be able to wait long enough to drink and eat first.

The sex was always good. Passionate and frantic at first, because we both needed that at the end of a long week of waiting. Sometimes, when H. could stay a little longer, we'd make love a second time, after we rested, and that was always slower and more tender. Those were the times when I would start by sitting on his cock without moving, just enjoying the way he filled me. Eventually I'd start moving slowly, gradually increasing the pace until he couldn't stay still and impaled me from beneath, his every thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. Those were also the times when he'd lie on top of me, his mouth fastened to mine in a loving but unbreakable kiss, his elbows hooking my knees to keep me in a position where he knew his barely perceptible hip movements resulted in his knob brushing back and forth over my prostate, slowly working me up to a frenzy until I blasted my jizz between us without either of us having to handle my cock.

In between, or on those days when we didn't have time for round two, we'd talk. We told each other about our weeks, shared problems and successes we had at work, or discussed current events. We'd hold each other during those conversations, one of us leaning against the other. We'd run our fingers over the other's skin or exchange gentle caresses or soft, sweet kisses. For a few hours each week we reached Nirvana, only to be cruelly pulled apart when the grains of our togetherness ran out, the sand clock not to be turned over until the following week.

I told the guys about my arrangement with H. almost immediately, not because it was any of their business, but because if it was going to cause a rift, I wanted to know sooner rather than later. Their reactions were what I expected. Greg tried to talk me out of it, Dré tried to insult me out of it, Viktor looked like merely being in my presence was enough to disgust him to death, and Vince silently oozed a mixture of pity, support and acceptance that eventually permeated all of us. In the beginning I could only stand to get together with them once every couple of weeks, and from the looks of it, that frequency nearly exceeded Viktor's tolerance. It took a year and a half, but eventually things between us all normalized and I started hanging out with them as regularly as we used to before H. came back into my life. As it turned out, the timing could not have been better.

Although I had made seeing other men a condition of my agreement to the arrangement with H., I never really took advantage of the concession. Once I started seeing H. again, I lost interest in seeing anyone else. I took care of myself when it became necessary, though most weeks I tried to hold off, because it made being with him that much more intense. Knowing that I could be with someone else if I wanted was enough to remove most of my resentment of the fact that he fucked Ginny regularly, especially since I saw how carefully he always sidestepped the topic.

In fact, in the beginning we didn't talk about our personal lives at all. It was almost as if we wanted to wrap up what we had in a tightly woven cocoon, impervious to the outside world. Eventually, though, it started to feel like we were keeping things from each other, and that was worse than any pain of hearing about it might have. One day, without any specific discussions or consensus, we simply opened those gates and every aspect of our lives came flooding in. I was relieved to finally talk about the tensions between me and Viktor, and though I didn't do it to deliberately cause H. pain, I was pleased to see the twinge of guilt and to hear his apology for causing me hardship, something he obviously hadn't considered before. Surprisingly, I was also happy to hear H. talk about his son. I loved the way his face lit up when he mentioned the baby: holding him, feeding him, making him smile. I knew he'd worried that I would see James as competition, that him talking about James would build resentment, and when we first started seeing each other again I wondered the same thing, but the effect was actually much different. Hearing how much his son meant to him actually made sharing H. with Ginny easier, because a child was the one bit of happiness she could provide that I could not, and in the end his happiness was most important to me, even more important than my own.

Things changed a little when Ginny discovered she was pregnant again. H. should have been thrilled. After all, the announcement meant he would soon have another child to love and fawn over. I might have been more resentful, except that I knew her pregnancy meant that she and H. wouldn't be having sex, which meant that for a few months, he was all mine. I was looking forward to watching him experience the intense orgasms that came from abstaining the entire week. The problem, though, was that pregnant Ginny got on his last nerve, and while his orgasms may have been more intense, he became more intense as well. Or rather, he was just tense. He'd come to the Grimmauld house rushed and stressed out, and as often as not he had to leave early because Ginny gave him hell if he was ever gone too long. This cut down our time alone and I began to absorb the resentment as well.

I started going out with the guys more often, and was back to drinking more than I should. Eventually, I noticed that they were back to normal, and even Viktor had been talking to me without sneering. It felt good. It was the grounding I needed, because things with H. felt like they were slipping out of control. I wasn't sure what would happen once the second baby, another boy as it turned out, was born. There was a possibility that everything would go back to the way it was before, but there was also a possibility that Ginny would no longer tolerate H.'s "late night at the office." The one thing I knew with almost 100% certainty was that if he was forced to choose between his official family and me, I'd end up the loser once again.

It was probably those kinds of musings that made me more vulnerable when the call came. A few months before I would have never even considered it, but the situation with H. had changed sufficiently for me to feel vulnerable and uncertain and yes, needy. So when I saw Kinkaid's number on the caller ID readout, I didn't ignore it, but answered it instead. And when he asked if we could get together for a drink, I agreed without protest or understanding why I felt any need to see him again.

We arranged to meet at his favorite Scottish restaurant in Belgravia, where we'd dined many times before. He was already there by the time I arrived, at a table for two in the back bar. He stood as I approached so we could give each other an awkward half-hug in greeting. I sat down opposite him, sending him a muted smile. I instantly regretted not having prepared more for this meeting. Once we were both there, I drew a complete blank and simply stared. He looked good, even better than he had before. There was a bit more salt in the dark hair around his temples, and some of the creases in his face were more pronounced, but it only made him look more distinguished. And goddamn if he wasn't wearing a kilt. I swallowed, hating that my thoughts immediately jumped to what I knew hung free beneath the MacGregor red and green tartan. I closed my eyes and took a breath to calm myself.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet me," he said, sounding sincere. "You look well."

"I am, thanks, as do you. And you're welcome, though I'm not really sure why we're here?" I phrased the last statement as a question.

The waitress who came over to take our drinks and starter order was an unwelcome distraction. She soon left, however, and I looked at Kinkaid expectantly. I watched him pull in a deep breath.

"The last time we spoke, I told you I'd contact you when the situation with Colin was resolved. Well, it's resolved, for good. I haven't seen him in over ten months, and as of yesterday, Colin is no longer on staff at MacGregor Consulting."

I stared at him blankly. "I don't know what to say," I finally stated the obvious. "Congratulations, I guess."

Before he could respond the waitress was back with our order. She placed the drinks and starters before us, seemingly unaware of the tension. She brightly asked if there was anything else she could get us, and disappeared obligingly when Kinkaid shook his head and thanked her. As she walked away we remained silent, the ambient conversations of the other diners wrapping around us like an audio fog.

"Nothing's changed for me in all this time," he said eventually. "I still feel exactly the same way I felt when I saw you at your parents' house. I still love you and want to be with you."

I picked up my drink and swirled the liquid around in the glass, staring at it intently as though it would somehow reveal answers I couldn't think of. I was filled with endless confusion. The last time I saw him, he'd been unwilling to do what he needed to keep me in his life. He had told me he needed time and promised to return, and there he was, sitting across from me, having kept his promise. But even if things were the same for him, they weren't for me. It was no longer a simple decision.

"I'm not free to be with you," I told him. I glanced at him quickly and watched some of the light fade from his eyes before I looked away.

"I see," he acknowledged, his voice flat with disappointment.

"I told you I wouldn't wait for you," I retorted, hating how defensive I sounded and felt. I had not been in the wrong. It was his deception that caused our relationship to fail.

"I know," he acknowledged. "I knew this was a longshot, but you must understand why I had to try." He reached to grasp my hand as he spoke, seeking the agreement I refused to grant. "This man you're with, he loves you? He makes you happy?"

I couldn't look at him, because the last time H. and I had been together had not been one of our best, and I feared my eyes would betray me.

"Cedric?" he prompted. "It's not a difficult question."

"He does love me," I replied, realizing too late that the response was overly heated. "And yes, he does make me happy."

It was true frequently enough. Just not all the time. Certainly not when we weren't together, and sometimes not even when we were. But there were still times when he made me so happy, made me feel so loved. No one in the world was happy all the time, I reminded myself. H. and I were no different than any other couple. Except that you are different, so different! A voice in the back of my head tried to shout before I shifted my thoughts to silence it.

"Does he?" Kinkaid was dubious, and he seemed to brighten a little. "You don't sound convinced," he pointed out.

"It's complicated," I said with more bitterness than I intended.

"It usually is for us," he agreed with a nod. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I shook my head and took a swallow of my drink, then a bite of the Scottish wild smoked salmon starter, followed by another swallow, stalling for time. Kinkaid drank as well.

"Do you want to talk about Colin?" I asked when our silence became unbearable. "What happened?"

For a moment he looked pained and I was certain he would not tell me anything, but then he steeled himself and began, "Pretty much exactly what I told you would happen. We continued the charade for a while, publicly, but I haven't been alone with him outside of work since the last time I saw you. Even at work, I tried to make sure there was always another person in the room. Colin, of course, realized what I was doing and tried to carry on his extortion scheme, but my investigator dug deeper and uncovered all sorts of irregularities. Colin wasn't just cheating on me; he was also cooking the books, embezzling from my company. He actually covered his tracks very well, but not well enough. In the end, I had enough evidence to send him to prison, and he knew it, so he left quietly. He won't be bothering me or MacGregor Consulting in the future."

"That's..." I began, and then stopped myself when I couldn't find the right thing to say. I was glad that Kinkaid was able to remove Colin from his life, seemingly with minimal mess or public exposure, but it was unfortunate someone he cared about betrayed him the way Colin did.

"I know," he said, and somehow I was certain he knew exactly what I'd been thinking. "I'm just glad it's all over, and out of the news. Now I just want to start living my own life. I still love my work and my company, but it's time I focused on my personal happiness. I was hoping to do that with you."

I looked away from his searching gaze, feeling extremely conflicted. For months I'd been satisfied enough with my arrangement with H. not to be tempted by anyone else, but things with H. had been changing, not for the better, and Kinkaid wasn't just anyone.

"I told you, Kaid, I'm not free," I said uneasily, hearing my own lack of conviction.

"If that's true, why don't you want to talk about him? If you're truly happy with another man, I swear I'll walk away. But if you're not, then why hold onto him? I've made you happy before. I can do it again. And this time there'll be no hiding, and no one in the way."

I huffed out air and ran my hand through my hair.

"I'm back with H.," I told him in a clipped voice.

"Oh," his eyes widened in understanding and surprise, and then narrowed. "He left his wife?" he asked suspiciously. I jerked my head from side to side and closed my eyes. I didn't know why it was more painful to admit this to him than it had been facing the contempt of my friends.

"So she knows and is fine with sharing?"

I shook my head again.

"Oh, Cedric," there was pity in his voice. "Then how?"

"We see each other when we can," I offered. It was too embarrassing to admit just how infrequently that was.

"And in between he gets to live his normal life and you get nothing and no one else to keep you happy," he summarized.

"It's not like that. I could see other men if I wanted to. He agreed to that from the start."

"He did?" Kinkaid was suspicious.

"Obviously that wasn't his preference, but that was my condition and he agreed."

"He agreed that you could see other men?" Kinkaid confirmed. I nodded. "Then see me!"

My head snapped up in surprise.

"What?"

"See me, Cedric. Have dinner with me, come to the theater with me, or a football match."

"I'm not ready to give him up," I protested.

"I'm not asking you to," he said quietly.

"You'd share me with him?" I was incredulous.

"It wouldn't be my first choice, but yes, I would do that to be with you. Isn't that exactly what you're doing to be with him? Sharing him with his wife? And isn't it what he's willing to do with you? Why should I be any different?"

I shook my head in confusion. I never expected him to suggest this sort of arrangement and I was dumbstruck.

"I won't interfere, Cedric. Trust me. You can continue to see him however often you need. I only ask that when you're not with him, you consider being with me. And I'm not talking about sex. I just want to spend time with you, like we used to, remember?"

"No sex?" I asked in a small voice.

"Not unless it's what you want," he affirmed. I took a deep breath.

"I...I don't know, Kaid. I'm not sure I could..." I wanted to tell him no, that I could never do what he was suggesting, but the words would not form. The voice inside kept asking me why not? This was a perfect situation. I could still have H, but I didn't have to be lonely the rest of the time. And I wouldn't be lying. Kinkaid knew exactly what was happening. If he was fine with it, why shouldn't I be?

He took my hand and intertwined our fingers. "You don't have to answer tonight. Just promise me you'll consider it. Let's get together tomorrow. We can have dinner, talk some more. No pressure."

I shook my head. "I'm seeing H. tomorrow."

In truth, H. would probably be gone in plenty of time for me to have dinner with Kinkaid afterwards, but even if I agreed to see them both I could never do it in one day. Usually, after H. left I stayed at the house for a few hours longer, until the remnants of his body heat and scent completely dissipated. It was my way of hanging on, and I didn't care if it made me pathetic. It was all I had. Except now, for the first time, I realized I could have more.

"What about the day after tomorrow?" Kinkaid pressed.

"Maybe," I said uncertainly. "I don't know. I need to think about all this. I'll call you," I made my best offer.

"All right," Kinkaid capitulated. "Let's just put all that aside tonight. Tell me what you've been doing since I last saw you? How is work?"

We ordered dinner and talked throughout, catching up on each other's lives. It was as easy to talk to him as ever, especially since he didn't bring up our relationship again. As the evening wore on I became more and more comfortable, falling into a familiar pattern. I was enjoying myself, enjoying the way he held and stroked my hand as we spoke, enjoying the way he made me the center of his world even in a restaurant full of other people. Afterwards we walked out together and our close goodbye embrace wasn't at all awkward. Neither was our kiss, which was almost friendly: just an innocent, brief brush of lips over lips. It was innocent, but it was also a reminder of kisses that very much had not been.

I couldn't sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning, thinking about Kinkaid and his offer. There was no question I was tempted, but I was also worried. Kinkaid wasn't just some trick to hook up with for a night or two. The way we felt about each other before was real, and those feelings weren't entirely gone. I was definitely attracted to him, and it went beyond sex, though of course I was thinking about the sex too. I imagined the possibilities, but I also knew that my fantasies were too good to be true. My life was never that easy, that perfect. Something was bound to go wrong.

And go wrong it did. Once again Dré called before I could even open up my paper.

"Is it really that hard to keep your dick in your pants, Diggory?" he sneered. "And can't you find some fresh meat, instead of re-heating leftovers?"

I bit back my rude retort when I saw a little girl standing next to her mom on the tube platform, gazing at me with wide eyes.

"What now?" I asked warily.

"Jesus Christ, man, don't you ever read the papers?" he gave me the page number in the Times and I flipped to it immediately. I groaned when I saw a picture of me and Kinkaid, talking over dinner with our hands intertwined, and another capturing our kiss. I thought back but for the life of me could not remember anyone around us with a camera. The pictures were grainy, and it was difficult to see my face, but for those who knew me well enough my hair and the shirt I was wearing gave me away. Next to the pictures ran a gossipy blurb. "Kinkaid MacGregor shared an intimate dinner last night at Boisdale of Belgravia with a handsome younger man. The two held hands throughout dinner and exchanged a good night kiss. Although openly gay, MacGregor is notoriously secretive about his private life. So much so that his long-time relationship with Colin Creevey, MacGregor's colleague at MacGregor Consultants, wasn't discovered for a year. Until last night everyone assumed that MacGregor and Creevey were still together, but anonymous inside sources confirmed that MacGregor has been single for months and that Creevey has moved on from MacGregor Consultants. Who is the new mystery man in MacGregor's life? You'll know as soon as we find out!"

"Damn," I swore softly, turning away from the little girl just in case she could read lips.

"At least he's apparently single this time. And I suppose you are too. But what about H.? Is it finally over?"

"This isn't what it looks like, Dré. We had dinner, that's all."

"Pictures don't lie, Rick."

"Nothing happened!" I insisted.

"Except your lips locking."

"No more than yours and mine do when we say hello after not seeing each other for a while. You know better than to believe this nonsense, Dré."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't. The question is, does H.?"

"I suppose I'll find out this afternoon," I said morosely, for the first time dreading a meeting with H.

"Just remember, he's been cheating on his wife the entire time you've been seeing him, fucking both of you without compunction, so don't let him try any moral superiority shit with you," Dré's tone softened. "Maybe this is just what you need, Rick. I can't say I'm fond of the man, but at least Kinkaid is single now. And he's out. Let's face it, he has a hell of a lot more to offer you than H. ever did or will."

"I have to go now, Dré, train's coming," I made an excuse, not wanting to hear anymore. I certainly did not want to admit that what Dré said actually rang true. I boarded the tube and rode to work feeling queasy. Greg called as soon as his morning show was done, and Kinkaid called too, apologizing for the article even though I knew it wasn't his fault. I kept my conversations with both short, not just because I was leaving the office early and had a ton of work. I didn't hear from H., but then I hadn't expected to. The lack of communication only left me with the whole day to worry about what would happen when I finally made it to the house. And as it turned out, I had been right to worry.

For the first time in a long while, H. was already there when I arrived, but instead of waiting in the bedroom, he was pacing the living room like an angry caged lion. He stopped when I walked in and glared at me with such fury I took an involuntary step back. Undaunted, he extended his hand to point at the Times, opened to the pictures of me and Kinkaid, and spat at me venomously, "What the fuck is this?"

I cringed. "It's not what it looks like."

"Really? So you didn't hold hands while having dinner with this man? You didn't kiss him? It's all trick photography?"

His sarcasm started to piss me off.

"I had dinner with a friend. He held my hand and we kissed good night, but it wasn't the romance the paper is trying to imply. We were just talking. I hadn't seen him in a long time."

"A long time? How the hell do you know Kinkaid MacGregor anyway?" H. demanded. I was going to explain, but his haughty tone stopped me short.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I challenged. He narrowed his eyes, but this time I wasn't backing down.

"You don't exactly mix in the same circles," H. said, though not nearly as strongly as before. I probably should have stayed level headed and let his comment go, but he had pushed too far and it was my turn to pounce.

"We don't mix in the same circles? What circles are those, H.? The circles that you and Lady Potter mix in? I'm just some Lloyd’s desk clerk who's not worthy to serve petit fours at the functions you and your lovely wife attend? Kinkaid MacGregor shouldn't even turn to look if he tripped over me, much less have dinner with me? Is that it?"

"No, Ced, I didn't mean-" he tried to backpedal, but it was too late. The rock slide of words was tumbling out of my mouth too fast for me to stop it.

"My parents may be in the public service, but that doesn't make them or me any less worthy than you and the lot of the people you associate with, Lord Bloody Potter. They've dined with more heads of state than you could name, much less meet. And as for Kinkaid MacGregor, let me assure you he has no problem mixing with someone like me. We've mixed very well, thank you, and he wanted...correction, he wants to be with me. And you know what, H.? I bet if I wanted, he'd not only take me to all those parties where I would mix with your circle, but he'd be happy and proud to have me at his side."

I paused, huffing with anger. H. stood shell shocked, staring at me.

"What the hell do you mean he wants to be with you?" he shouted. "What about us?"

His words were like a bucket of cold water, instantly cooling me off. I hadn't meant to tell him all that, not this way.

"I told him about us," I said, at a normal volume. "I told him you were fine with me seeing other men, and he said he was fine with me seeing you."

"And that's it? You've made all the arrangements, have you? How cozy!"

"I didn't give him an answer. I told him I'd think about it."

"Unacceptable!" H. yelled, banging his fist on a side table for emphasis. "Absolutely unacceptable."

"What?" I'd heard what he said, but it made no sense.

"There is no way you're going to see me and him at the same time. It's unsupportable. I won't have it!"

"You won't have it?" I asked dumbly, wondering if something was wrong with my hearing.

"I cannot, I will not share the man I love with another man."

"But you agreed," I protested feebly. "When we started seeing each other you agreed. That was one of my conditions."

"I agreed in the abstract, because I wanted to be with you. I never thought you'd actually do it. Well, maybe a trick here and there, for the physical release. That would have been bad enough. But this?" he shook his head. "There's no way I'm going to play a bit on the side while you're with another man."

"H., did you forget? You're married. I've been the bit on the side all these months."

"I'm in a marriage of convenience, to a woman, one I don't even like anymore. This is completely different." He stopped and turned away. "I can't believe you're even considering it," he said so softly I almost didn't catch it.

"Don't," I ordered resentfully, remembering Dré's caution about not allowing H. to claim the moral high ground.

"Don't what?" he asked, turning angrily.

"Don't try to make me the villain of this carefully staged melodrama. I'm considering it, yes. Why shouldn't I? I only see you a few hours each week. The rest of the time I'm alone."

"It's the same for me," he tried to argue, but I cut him off.

"No, H., it's not. You may not love or even like your wife, but she's there when you get home after work every day, and so is James. You don't go home to an empty flat, knowing that your options are either to spend the evening by yourself or to go out with mates who skewer you and your behavior every chance they get. And when they're not judging you, they pity you," I shook my head. "They mean well, but they'll never understand."

"You think Ginny doesn't skewer me? Let me tell you, Dré's got nothing on her. And it's not like anyone understands me."

I sighed. I knew what he was saying was true. I didn't feel up to pointing out that it was his choice. How could anyone understand him when he hid so much of who he really was away?

"So what are you saying, H.?" Instead of arguing, I decided to cut to the chase. "You once told me that having a part of me was enough. You wanted to keep seeing me even when you thought I was living with Jasper. This is no different."

As soon as I spoke, I cursed myself, because by the power of my own suggestion my mind jumped to Kinkaid's place. I could see myself moving in with him, living with him, waking up every morning in his king size bed and taking a shower together in his oversized bathroom, the way we did from time to time back when we were seeing each other. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but I liked the picture, especially if I could have that and still continue to see H.

"It is different," H. said vehemently, shaking me out of my reverie. "This isn't some anonymous Yank you're shacking up with. You go out to one dinner with him and you're all over the Times."

"It's not like that all the time," I protested. "Kinkaid can be very discreet. When we were seeing each other before we made sure to stay out of the public eye."

I frowned. Kinkaid's surprise when I told him I was seeing H. seemed genuine enough, but the Times reporter at the restaurant, unobtrusively taking pictures at dinner and outside seemed too convenient. For the first time I wondered if this was more than an unlucky coincidence. Kinkaid had private investigators and it would have been easy for them to determine that I was seeing H. Did Kinkaid know about it even before we saw each other, and was this article his way of rattling H., perhaps hoping to make him break off contact with me?

"You're not out of the public eye now," H. pointed out. "And as soon as the press finds out who you are, they'll be following you everywhere. There is no way we could continue to meet here. I couldn't take a chance seeing you anywhere. What if one of these arseholes took a picture of us together and published it? Think about the scandal. I'd lose everything. Is that what you want?"

"No, H., of course not!"

"Then tell MacGregor to go to hell and let's have no more of this."

"It wouldn't have to be like that, H."

"I cannot take that chance. Not even for you, Rick. You have to choose, him or me."

I was so stunned, I couldn't speak.

"For that matter," H. continued, "so this isn't an issue in the future, you might as well decide now if you want to be with me or with other men. It cannot be both. There is too much at stake for me."

"Are you really asking me to make this choice?"

I couldn't believe after everything I gave up for him he was willing to just walk away if I decided that the few hours I spent with him each week weren't enough for me anymore. I was startled when he strode purposefully up to me and pulled me into a deep kiss.

"I love you, Ced," he said heatedly. "I don't want this to end. But I can't share you with another man. I was foolish when I thought I could. It would kill me to think about what you were doing with him while you weren't with me, just like it killed me to see those pictures this morning."

"I see pictures of you and Ginny in the paper all the time," I pointed out but he shook his head vehemently.

"You know that's a charade. This isn't. You know she can't give me what you can. But how can I be sure of that if you're with another man? How can I get through every day fearing that you will tell me that you're leaving me, because I'm no longer important enough? I’m risking everything to be with you, and to do that I need to know I can count on you, on this. If I can't, if being with others is more important to you than being with me, then it's better to walk away now. I wish things were different, but they're not. You have to choose," he reiterated. He walked to the front door where he picked up his briefcase, turned back to look at me one last time, and left the house.