Just a Bit Unhealthy (Straight Guys 3)

“I’m not depressed,” Gabriel said, without much feeling.

Claire snorted. “Sure. You just barely sleep, barely eat, and play football like you don’t give a fuck anymore. But no, you aren’t depressed.”

“I’m not depressed,” Gabriel said again, as if repeating this would make it true. “I’m just…I just have to wait it out. It will pass. It will. Jared said so.”

Claire cringed at the desperation mixed with belief in his voice. Jared said so. That thing was very far from passing.

What was it? Some kind of messed-up dependency? Love? Could platonic love be that strong? She didn’t know. She was afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer she’d get.

“You miss him,” she murmured, clenching her hands together.

Gabriel laughed. It was a horrible sound. “Miss? I don’t miss him. I…” He trailed off.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible and full of resentment, “I just feel empty. Incomplete.”

Claire bit her lip. God.

“It’ll pass,” he whispered hoarsely, grabbing her hands and squeezing. “It will. I promise.”

His grip hurt, but she didn’t complain. “Okay,” she said with far more conviction than she felt. For their child’s sake, she had to believe in that.

Chapter 6: Lies We Tell Others

“He looks like a little monkey,” Gabriel said, eyeing the baby. It looked red and ugly, nothing at all like the cute babies he’d seen on the TV.

Claire smiled, even though she still looked exhausted. “All newborns look like little monkeys.” She lifted the baby to him. “Come on, take him.”

He hesitated, looking at the baby uneasily. It seemed so fragile. “I’ll drop him. Or hurt him.”

“Don’t be silly, you won’t. Come on.”

Tentatively, Gabriel took the baby from her. Fuck, it was tiny. It weighed nothing. No, not it: he. His son.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hey, baby.”

The boy opened his eyes blearily and Gabriel stopped breathing. His eyes were deep blue. “He has blue eyes.”

“Most newborns have blue eyes. The color will likely change. Neither of us has blue eyes.”

Gabriel stroked the dark hair on the baby’s head. He hoped the color wouldn’t change.

“Claire needs rest,” Claire’s doctor cut in. “Give your son to me, Mr. DuVal.”

Gabriel did as he was told.

Claire smiled at him tiredly and stretched her hand out. He took it and squeezed.

The look she gave him was probing. “Are you happy?”

Gabriel smiled. “Of course I am.” He cast a look at the doctor. “Get some sleep. You must be exhausted.” He leaned down to kiss her briefly, smiled again and left the room.

As soon as he was outside, his smile faded.

God, it was exhausting. He wasn’t a natural liar like Tristan—that little prick could look someone in the eye and deliver complete, utter bullshit with a straight face. He had no idea how Tristan could do it. For Gabriel it was mentally draining to put on a happy face and be cheerful and shit all the time. If it wasn’t for Claire, he wouldn’t have bothered, but she worried too much and he hadn’t wanted to upset a pregnant woman. She didn’t need to know how messed up in the head he was. How utterly pathetic he was. It had been months, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to still feel like curling up into a ball, closing his eyes and hoping it was all just a bad dream and Jared wasn’t out of his life forever.

Forever.

His throat closed up and Gabriel started walking faster. He wanted fresh air. He hated hospitals. Hated that every tall, dark-haired man in a white coat made his breath hitch. It was fucking stupid. Jared rarely wore white coats; he favored scrubs. But maybe Jared wore them now. It wasn’t like he would know.

Setting his jaw, Gabriel pushed the front door open and stepped outside.

It was raining, a cold miserable November rain, but the rain didn’t seem to faze the reporters who had been lying in wait for him.

Grimacing, Gabriel strode toward his car. He batted microphones out of his face as he walked, trying his best to ignore questions being shouted from every direction.

“Gabriel, what is the name of your son?”

“Gabriel, what do you think of your brother’s brilliant debut for the English National Team?”

“Gabriel, what do you think of Chelsea’s chances to win the league after the draw against Manchester United?”

“Gabriel, are you going to marry your girlfriend?”

“Gabriel, does it still bother you that your brother got your position on the left wing?”

“Gabriel, do you—”

He got into his car, shut the door in the reporter’s face and locked it with shaking fingers. Undeterred, the reporters kept banging on the window and yelling something. GabrielGabrielGabrielGabriel.

Feeling breathless, Gabe tugged at his collar, but his shirt was collarless. He wasn’t choking; it was all in his head.

He slumped back in the seat, watching the rain beat against the windshield and trying to pretend the gaping emptiness in his chest didn’t exist.