As Johnny closes the door, he feels as if he’s severed connections with that part of his life. The happy part, when he was himself, when he was….
Was….
He shakes his head; he won’t say it. He wasn’t, all right? He wasn’t.
Fuck Brett.
Fresh tears spill down his cheeks—just when he’d thought he was all cried out. Damn it.He wipes at his face brusquely and locks the door. He won’t cry over this, he tells himself, but his heart isn’t listening. It feels bruised and his chest hurts. He just wants to lie down….lie down and let this whole sordid affair sort itself out while he sleeps.
Alone, a voice inside him says. His bed is too large for just one man. His body will ache for Brett’s touch.
And wake alone.
Why did he let that asshole get so far inside him? Johnny fists his hands in his hair and tugs as if he could pull all thoughts of Brett out of his mind. Why did he let himself fall so damn hard?