Unhidden

Chapter Three-Andre

Fourteen days.

Fourteen f*****g days.

That was how long I had gone without seeing Jamal.

Fourteen days without his face.

Fourteen days without holding him.

Fourteen days without kissing him.

Fourteen days without having him beside me.

And I was starting to lose my damn mind.

We talked.

Of course we talked.

Jamal called me.

I called him.

We texted.

Sometimes we stayed on the phone for hours.

But talking wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t even close.

I didn’t want a voice coming through my phone.

I wanted him.

I wanted my boyfriend.

I wanted to see him walk through my front door, drop his keys somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, complain about being tired, and then curl up beside me like he belonged there.

Because he did.

At least with me, he did.

But every time I asked when he was coming over, I got the same thing.

Baby, I’m busy.

Dre, I can’t make it.

I have a meeting.

I have a project.

I’m exhausted.

I understood that Jamal had a demanding job.

I did.

I wasn’t asking him to abandon his responsibilities.

But damn.

Fourteen days?

Was that too much to ask?

Apparently.

I was sitting at the fire station when my best friend walked into the room.

Marcus.

My best friend, my coworker, and one of the few people who could look at me for two seconds and know when something was wrong.

He was a paramedic, but we worked out of the same station.

He dropped into the chair across from me.

“What’s up, Andre?”

I didn’t look at him.

“I’m okay.”

He laughed.

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look frustrated.”

“I’m not.”

“You look pissed.”

I finally looked up.

“Marcus.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He leaned back.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m just tired.”

He stared at me.

I knew that look.

He wasn’t buying it.

But thankfully, he didn’t push.

A newspaper was lying on the table between us.

I picked it up absentmindedly.

Then I saw the front page.

And immediately wished I hadn’t.

There they were.

The Carter family.

Jamal.

His brother.

His mother.

His father.

All standing together at some business event, smiling for the cameras.

The headline was about the Carter Group securing another multimillion-dollar deal.

I stared at Jamal’s picture.

He looked perfect.

Perfect suit.

Perfect hair.

Perfect smile.

Perfect Carter son.

I knew that smile.

I knew the real one.

The one he gave me when he was tired.

The one he gave me when I kissed his forehead.

The one he gave me when he was lying in my bed and forgot, for a few hours, that the rest of the world existed.

But the man in that photograph?

He looked completely composed.

Happy.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like he hadn’t been avoiding me for fourteen days.

My jaw tightened.

I folded the newspaper and put it down.

Marcus looked at me.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

I leaned back in my chair.

I hated that picture.

I hated how much it bothered me.

And mostly, I hated that I couldn’t even be angry at Jamal publicly.

Because nobody knew.

Nobody knew he was my boyfriend.

Nobody knew that the man smiling beside his family was the same man who whispered that he loved me when we were alone.

Nobody knew.

And sometimes I wondered how much longer I could live like that.

The rest of the shift passed without much happening.

Two fires.

One rescue.

Nothing catastrophic.

Nothing that should have left me completely exhausted.

But twenty-four hours at a fire station will still drain every ounce of energy from your body.

By the time I finally got home, I could barely keep my eyes open.

I dropped my keys on the counter.

My boots came off near the door.

I grabbed my phone.

Jamal.

I called him.

No answer.

I waited.

Called again.

Nothing.

I stared at the screen.

Then a message appeared.

Jamal: Baby, I’m busy. I’ll call you later.

I stared at it.

Something inside me snapped.

Not completely.

Just enough.

I tossed my phone onto the couch.

“Fine.”

I went upstairs.

Showered.

Changed.

Found something to eat.

I was halfway through dinner when my phone started ringing.

I looked at the screen.

Jamal.

I stared at his name.

I wasn’t answering.

I wasn’t.

I had every intention of letting it ring.

Then the call stopped.

Silence.

A minute later, it rang again.

I closed my eyes.

“Goddammit.”

I picked it up.

“Hey.”

There was silence for half a second.

Then—

“Hey, Dre.”

That voice.

That f*****g voice.

Soft.

Warm.

Familiar.

Like he hadn’t disappeared from my life for two weeks.

Like he hadn’t left me staring at my phone every night.

I swallowed.

“What’s up, baby?”

“I’m okay.”

“What’s good?”

“Nothing much.”

I leaned back.

“So when are you coming to see me?”

Silence.

There it was.

I already knew.

Jamal was thinking of an excuse.

“Baby—”

“When?”

“I’ve just been really busy.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Busy.

Again.

“Jamal.”

“I have this new project at work and—”

“Baby, I’m pissed off.”

Silence.

“I haven’t seen you for two weeks.”

“I know.”

“Do you know how much I miss you?”

“I miss you too.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you?”

He sighed.

“Dre…”

“No. I’m serious.”

My voice cracked.

“I miss kissing you.”

I swallowed.

“I miss touching you. I miss holding you. I miss waking up beside you.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“Do you know how frustrating this is?”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

He was quiet.

“I’ve been trying to understand, Jamal. I really have. For three years, I’ve understood. I’ve understood the family thing. I’ve understood the secrecy. I’ve understood your father’s expectations.”

I paused.

“But sometimes I need you too.”

“I know.”

“I need my boyfriend.”

His breathing changed.

I knew I’d gotten to him.

“I’m sorry.”

I closed my eyes.

Damn him.

He always knew how to soften me.

“I’ve just been busy with a new project,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

“Then when are you coming?”

“I’ll try to see you this weekend.”

I looked at the calendar.

“Baby, it’s Wednesday.”

“I know.”

“The weekend is far.”

He laughed softly.

“You are impossible.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Can you just come for an hour?”

“Dre…”

“One hour.”

“You know I can’t.”

I looked away.

“Fine.”

“Dre—”

“Fine, fine.”

I sighed.

“Just send me something.”

“What?”

“A picture.”

He laughed.

“What do you want to do with it?”

“Nothing.”

“Dre.”

“Baby, just send me a picture of you.”

I rubbed my face.

“God, I miss you.”

There was a pause.

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

I opened the message.

And froze.

Jamal.

My Jamal.

He was shirtless, standing in front of a mirror, looking completely unfair.

I stared at the picture.

Then laughed under my breath.

“You’re killing me.”

Another message appeared.

Jamal: Better?

I typed back immediately.

Me: No.

Three dots appeared.

Jamal: Why?

I smiled.

Me: Because now I miss you even more.

His response came quickly.

Jamal: I’m sorry.

I stared at those words.

Then typed:

Me: I love you.

His answer appeared almost instantly.

Jamal: I love you too, Dre.

I placed my phone against my chest.

Fourteen days.

Fourteen damn days.

And somehow, one picture from him had managed to make everything worse.

Because now I could see his face.

I could imagine his smile.

I could remember his arms around me.

And I wanted him here.

Not through a phone.

Not through a photograph.

Here.

With me.

I dropped my head back against the couch.

“Loving somebody is hard.”

Nobody had ever explained that part.

People talked about love like it was the easiest thing in the world.

They talked about butterflies.

About happiness.

About finding your person.

Nobody talked about waiting.

Nobody talked about secrets.

Nobody talked about loving someone so deeply that you sometimes had to fight the urge to demand more than they were capable of giving.

I looked at Jamal’s picture again.

I smiled despite myself.

Fourteen days.

Maybe I could survive a few more.

But I knew one thing.

When I finally saw Jamal again, I wasn’t letting him leave so easily.

I needed my boyfriend.

And after fourteen days without him…

I needed him more than ever.