When We Were Still Ours – Chapter 15

In the last installment…

When We Were Still Ours – Chapter 14

In the last installment…

The House of ThorneR. Adrian Thorne ⏾⋆.˚

CHAPTER 15: THIRTY DAYS – TRIPP

TWENTY-NINE DAYS. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Aaron. Twenty-nine days since I last heard his voice, his laugh, the cute little noise he makes when I kiss his forehead and he pretends to be annoyed by it. Twenty-nine days since I woke up beside him.

I’ve never missed anyone this way before.

Not just emotionally. Physically.

The apartment still catches me off guard in little ways. His coffee mug is gone from the drying rack, but I still look for it every morning. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and reach across the bed before my brain catches up to reality. His side of the mattress stays cold.

A week after everything came out, he sent me a text message.

Four words.

I’m sorry, it’s over.

Four little words that feel permanently carved into my memory.

Two days after that, while I was away, he came back and moved all of his stuff out. When I got home that afternoon, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and carried part of me away in cardboard boxes.

But life is about growth. At least that’s what every podcast host and self-help guy with a microphone keeps saying. Growth mindset. Radical accountability. Embrace discomfort. It all sounds suspiciously similar to that Superman pose people swear builds confidence if you stand like an action figure long enough.

I’ve sent him maybe a dozen texts since then. Almost none of them got a response.

Until one finally did.

Four days ago, he agreed to meet for coffee.

As much as I want to get my hopes up, I can’t imagine anything I say will change his mind. And honestly, that’s not even why I asked to meet. If history is any indication, this whole thing is probably going to end in a cage match anyway.

Still, I need to do this.

I need to say it out loud.

I have personal training at 10 a.m., a haircut at 11:30, and lunch with Aaron at 12:30.

Regimented, I know.

But keeping a rigid schedule has been good for me. Necessary, honestly. If I leave too much empty space in the day, my brain starts wandering into places I don’t want it to go. So I keep moving. Wake up. Gym. Food. Meetings. Haircut. Anything that keeps me from sitting alone with myself for too long.

No, this isn’t how I imagined spending summer break.

But here we are.

After training and my haircut, I swing back by the apartment to spruce myself up a little more. I change shirts twice. Fix my hair even though I literally just paid someone else to do it.

For some reason, I feel like I need to look my best.

Like this is a first date.

Which is insane because it’s probably closer to an execution.

The coffee shop smells like espresso and warm sugar when I walk in. Milk steams somewhere behind the counter. A couple near the window laughs quietly over shared headphones while someone types furiously on a laptop in the corner.

Normal people.

Normal Saturday.

Meanwhile my heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.

I get there early. Too early. I sit near the window and check my phone six times in ten minutes even though there are no new notifications.

Then Aaron walks in.

And suddenly the whole room narrows.

My instinct is to stand up and hug him, but I know that would be grossly inappropriate. I stand anyway, awkwardly half-rising before immediately sitting back down.

Smooth.

He walks over and sits across from me, expression unreadable.

“Hi,” I say, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands, my voice, my entire body. “How are you?”

There’s a beat of hesitation.

“I’m good,” he says. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

The waiter comes over before either of us can say anything else. We both go weirdly silent, like we’re in the middle of some clandestine operation instead of ordering coffee.

He takes our drinks order and walks away.

Aaron folds his hands together on the table.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

I know what he actually means.

Do you have AIDS?

Are you dying?

Did you ruin both our lives permanently?

“Um, yeah,” I say. “I am.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“So I can assume you tested negative. You never responded to my text.”

“Yeah.”

“And I know,” he says quickly. “I wanted to respond, but it was too hard.”

“I still—”

He cuts me off immediately.

“Tripp, if you say you still care about me, I’m getting up from this table and you’re never going to see me again.”

The words hit like ice water.

His voice is harsh. Cold. Nothing like the Aaron I know.

My brain does somersaults trying to reconcile the person sitting across from me with the person I used to fall asleep beside.

Part of me understands his anger.

The other part wants to cry.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says.

“Why’d you finally agree to meet with me?” I ask.

Because honestly, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Because Casey said I should,” he says. “He thought you might need closure.”

“Casey said,” I repeat.

“Don’t give me that,” Aaron says, finally looking directly at me. “Sitting across from you isn’t exactly how I planned to spend my Saturday.”

Fuck.

The cruelty of it catches me off guard.

Aaron is kind. Sweet. Thoughtful.

This version of him feels sharpened down into something defensive and angry.

And somehow that hurts worse than if he’d just been distant.

Because this means he cared enough to become furious.

“Aaron, I—”

Again, he cuts me off.

“Why am I here?”

He sounds exhausted.

Like being near me physically drains him.

I swallow hard.

“I’m here because I owe you an amends,” I say quietly, trying desperately not to cry.

“An amends?” he asks. “What is this, some kind of walk of the righteous?”

His tone rises slightly.

The waiter returns with our drinks, setting them carefully on the table like he can feel the tension radiating off both of us.

Aaron shifts in his chair, turning his body partially away from me. Legs crossed. Fingers wrapped around the coffee cup even though he hasn’t taken a sip.

I don’t even know if he’s listening anymore.

And I know I deserve some of this.

I know I fucked up.

Royally.

Maybe irreparably.

But this attitude of his is starting to get under my skin.

“I did something horrible,” I say. “I put your health at risk and you deserved better.”

“I deserved a boyfriend who didn’t sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry he walked past.”

That one lands.

Hard.

“Don’t be rude,” I mutter under my breath.

“What was that?” he asks sharply. “Can you speak up?”

So I do.

“I said don’t be rude.”

I don’t yell, but I say it loudly enough that a few people nearby glance over.

Aaron’s expression changes.

For the first time since he sat down, he actually looks familiar.

“I know I fucked up,” I say, voice shaking now. “I fucked up big time.”

I can feel tears building behind my eyes, and I hate it.

“The amount of damage I caused is incomparable, and I got exactly what I deserved. You already punched me in the face once. Was that not enough? Do you need to hit me again?”

His face flushes red.

“I came here to formally apologize,” I continue, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I came here to make amends, not to be your personal punching bag.”

I can hear myself spiraling now, but I can’t stop.

“You punched me in the face. You moved out. You broke up with me over a text message, no less.”

I stand abruptly from the table.

“And now you want to kick me while I’m already down?”

Something wet hits my mouth.

For half a second I think maybe my nose is bleeding.

Then I wipe my face and realize I’m crying.

Great.

“You don’t have to accept my amends,” I say. “You really don’t. But you don’t get to treat me like shit either. I’m still a person.”

The whole coffee shop feels silent now.

I reach into my pocket, pull out a twenty, and throw it onto the table.

“That should cover both coffees. Tell the waiter to keep the change. I don’t care.”

I turn and walk out before he can say anything else.

The summer heat hits me immediately.

I make it almost a full block before I hear footsteps behind me.

“Tripp—wait.”

I stop.

Turn.

Aaron’s standing there breathing hard like he ran after me without thinking.

“We’re in front of Ink and Quill.

“Look,” I say, glancing toward the storefront. “It’s where you met your new boyfriend.”

His expression hardens instantly.

“Now who’s being rude?”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have said that,” I say, the guilt settling in almost immediately.

“Casey’s a really nice guy.”

Aaron’s posture softens slightly at the mention of him.

“He is,” he says quietly.

The words settle badly in my chest.

“Do you love him?” I ask.

“Tripp, that really isn’t any of your business.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” I say, taking a small step backward.

But we both know what that means.

He does love him.

And something deep down tells me he probably loved him long before he found out about everything. I saw the signs. The distance. The way Aaron lit up whenever Casey’s name came up. I saw it all and chose not to say anything.

Partly because I thought maybe it would absolve me of all the horrible shit I was doing behind his back.

“I wasn’t trying to be a jerk…that time,” he says.

There’s an awkward sincerity to it that almost makes me smile.

“You should go home,” I say quietly. “I said what I came to say.”

“Tripp—”

“Aaron, I love you. I will always love you, and loving someone means knowing when to let them go.”

My throat tightens around the words.

“You deserve to be happy, and I want that for you more than anything else in the world.”

“That’s not how happiness works,” he says.

“No?”

He shakes his head slightly.

“No. Happiness isn’t something that just happens to you—you find it, you build it, you believe in it.”

“Is this some kind of alternate multiverse theory about our relationship?” I ask, trying to force some levity into the moment.

Aaron doesn’t laugh.

“Tripp, I kissed Casey before I found out about your…” He searches for the right word. “Extracurricular activities.”

I would’ve said indiscretions.

But these are his feelings, not mine.

“So you were going to leave me regardless?” I ask.

“No—”

He says it way too fast.

The answer practically trips over itself trying to escape.

“I don’t know,” he admits a second later, quieter now. “There was a lot going on.”

“I see,” I say.

And weirdly enough, I think I do.

Aaron’s expression turns pensive, his gaze drifting somewhere over my shoulder. Around us, the breeze shifts through the trees lining the sidewalk while birds call back and forth somewhere down the block. The world suddenly feels painfully sharp.

A lot of things become clearer all at once.

“Do you remember the first time I brought you down here?” I ask.

His expression softens immediately.

“Of course I remember,” he says.

“You were like a kid in a candy shop,” I say, a small laugh finally breaking through the heaviness.

That gets the faintest smile out of him.

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is the best part of town.”

“And then you found this place,” I say, gesturing toward the bookstore behind him. “I couldn’t keep you away from it.”

His eyes linger on me for a moment before shifting toward the bookstore windows. Then his attention settles back on me.

“You never loved coming here,” he says. “You always said it was too crowded. Too loud.”

“I didn’t need to love coming here,” I say quietly. “I just loved being here with you.”

Something changes in his expression again.

Not anger.

Not softness either.

Something more elusive.

More distant.

I take the hint.

“Anyway,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets, “I should probably get going. Take care of yourself, Aaron Wakefield.”

When I walk away this time, I don’t look back.

Aaron has moved on with his life.

Now I have to figure out how to move on with mine.

When I get back home, I barely manage to get the door shut before everything caves in.

I slide down against it slowly, tears already spilling freely down my face before I even hit the floor.

I can’t help it.

When I woke up this morning, part of me genuinely believed he still loved me. I thought making this amends would bring some kind of absolution. Some kind of relief.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, I just feel hollow.

I draw my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them tightly.

Aaron was the first man I ever loved, and up until a month ago, I honestly thought he’d be the only man I would ever love.

And it turns out, losing someone doesn’t happen all at once.

It happens in layers.

As much as I try to stop crying, I can’t.

“Aaron…” I sob helplessly. “Aaron.”

The apartment feels enormous without him in it.

Too quiet.

Too still.

Eventually I force myself to my feet and drag myself toward the bedroom. I kick off my shoes somewhere near the dresser, peel off my pants, tug my shirt over my head, and collapse into bed.

And I cry.

And I keep crying until exhaustion finally drags me under.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

And then a second one.

Groggily, I sit up.

For a second I have no idea where I am.

The room is dark now, washed in muted blue light from outside the windows.

Another knock.

I drag myself out of bed and stumble toward the living room, still wiping sleep and tears from my face when I pull open the door.

It’s Aaron.