Carter had felt, lying in Tony’s strong and warm embrace, complete, safe, at home. He remembered closing his eyes against the sensation, which was like a drug, hot, coursing through his system. The feelings made him want to run, want to grip Tony tighter, want to dance, want to cry, laugh, and finally, to never leave this tacky motel room, as long as this man lay beside him.
He hadn’t told Tony he loved him that day, but he had the next time they got together. And Tony said, “I love you, too, Carter. But nothing can ever come of it. I’m a married man and my family would disown me. Stephanie would probably get creative on me with her chef’s knife. I’d lose everything.”
After that response to his “I love you,” Carter had dressed hurriedly, tears in his eyes, and left Tony lying on the bed,
