The rain streaked down the kitchen window like a burst dam of bad decisions, smearing the city into the kind of blur that made lying to yourself almost believable.
Jake stood at the counter, a cigarette balanced between his fingers even though he had quit months ago. He wasn’t even smoking it, really. Just letting it smolder, watching the paper curl and blacken as it ate itself alive.
Clay had left hours ago, mumbling something about the gym. He didn’t ask where Jake would be or what he’d be doing, a detail that might’ve raised red flags to the honest, but for Jake it just lingered like a stain he couldn’t scrub out.
He should’ve felt grateful for the space.
But all he felt was the echo it left behind.
Haven hadn’t texted in days, which was its own kind of headache. It was all part of his performance, withholding attention before returning with some grand gesture that tasted sour afterward.
Jake hated how much that worked.
He took a long drag of the cigarette, inhaling a lungful of smoke that scraped down his throat like a punishment he’d earned. The ash trembled, collapsing under its own weight.
Falling into Haven had been easy.
Crawling out required the kind of spine Jake had pawned somewhere between the first lie and the last orgasm.
He tapped the cigarette against the ashtray, scattering embers like evidence he didn’t want anyone finding. He thought about putting it out, about pouring a drink instead or calling it a night, but even those simple options felt exhausting.
The lock on the front door clicked as Clay came inside, damp from the drizzle.
“Smoking again?” he asked, dropping his gym bag by the door before heading to the fridge.
Jake stubbed out the cigarette. “Thinking, mostly.”
“Dangerous habit."
Jake looked up. “You were gone longer than I expected."
“Yeah,” Clay replied easily, pulling out a bottle of water. “Had a good workout.”
Jake hummed. “Must’ve been.”
“Everything good?” Clay asked, leaning against the counter.
“Yeah. Just a long day.”
Clay took a slow sip. “That boss of yours still riding your ass?”
Jake’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.”
"Don’t let him burn you out. I’d hate to see you put in all that work just to throw it away.”
“Burnout’s inevitable in this line of work,” Jake said, fishing for another cigarette he didn’t light. “It’s how you know you’ve still got a soul.”
Clay gave a small smile before he stepped closer, his fingers brushing Jake’s forearm. “I’m gonna shower. Want to order in tonight? We could use a quiet evening together.”
“Sure.”
Jake looked down at the cigarette between his fingers. “I might swing by the office first real quick, make sure there aren’t any loose ends on that project.”
Clay’s gaze lingered. “Don’t stay too late. You work better when you come home to me.”
Jake nodded once. “Yeah. I know.”
Clay’s hand slipped away.
Jake watched him disappear down the hall, the bathroom door closing with a soft thud. The shower started not long after.
He pulled out his phone.
Still nothing from Haven.
He typed a message.
We need to talk.
Deleted it.
Miss you.
Deleted that too.
You around?
He hit send before he could second-guess it.
The reply came almost instantly.
Thought you'd never ask. Come over.
Jake stared at the screen, the sound of running water a metronome counting down his excuses.
He grabbed his keys.
Haven opened the door shirtless, bathed in penthouse light like a magazine spread selling poison with a smile.
“Well,” he said, leaning in the doorway, “if it isn’t my favorite sin on two legs.”
Jake pushed past him. “We need to stop this.”
Haven laughed, low and rich. “You always say that. It’s practically our foreplay.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re always serious.” Haven moved to the bar and poured himself a drink. “It’s adorable, really. This guilt cycle of yours. Then you show up at my door three days later, ready to sin again.”
“It’s over, Haven.”
“Oh, spare me the dramatics. You and I both know you can’t quit me. You like what we are too much.”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what? Have the best sex of your life? Be appreciated for the first time in your sad little marriage?” Haven set his glass down. “You told me you like the guilt. Don’t start pretending you’re some kind of saint.”
“I’m not pretending to be a saint. I’m trying to be a husband.”
For the first time, a flicker of something other than arrogance crossed Haven’s face. “You don’t get to decide when we’re done.”
“There’s nothing left to decide,” Jake said, turning to leave. “It’s over.”
He made it two steps before Haven was across the room, grabbing his arm in a bruising grip.
“You think I’m just some fling you can discard?” Haven hissed, his face inches from Jake’s. “You think you can just walk away?”
“Let go, Haven. Now."
Haven shoved him against the wall. “You don’t belong to him,” he growled. “You belong to me.”
“Fuck you.”
Haven smiled. “You already have. Multiple times.”
Jake yanked his arm from Haven’s grasp. “You were supposed to be a mistake, not a life sentence.”
“That’s funny. You never looked like you were making a mistake when you were on your knees,” Haven said. “You’re not leaving because of morals, Jake. You’re leaving because I make you feel too much.”
Jake stepped away from the wall. “You don’t make me feel anything. You make me forget who I used to be.”
“That’s love. The part where it hurts and you still crawl back.”
“You don’t know what love is,” Jake said as he opened the door. “You’ve never loved anything but your own reflection.”
“Jake.”
Jake paused.
“Don’t do this.”
Jake didn’t reply.
The door shut behind him with the finality of a period at the end of a lie.
Outside, the rain had grown heavy, turning the streetlights into smeared halos. He lit another cigarette, the flame shivering against the wind.
He didn’t go home right away.
Instead, he drove aimlessly through the city until the guilt dulled into something numb and familiar. By the time he reached his building, his reflection in the elevator doors looked like a stranger.
The apartment was dark except for the warm spill of light from the bedroom. He paused in the doorway.
Clay lay propped against the headboard, reading on his tablet. He looked up. “Hey. Get your loose ends all tied up?”
Jake forced a smile. “Yeah. Everything should be good now.”
Clay’s gaze flicked to his damp jacket, then back to his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Maybe I have.”
Clay set the tablet aside and patted the space beside him. “Then come lie down before it follows you home.”
Jake hesitated, then crossed the room. The sheets were warm when he slid under them, the kind of warmth that made you forget where else you’d been.
Clay rested a hand on his chest, tracing slow circles. “You smell like smoke.”
“Bad habit.”
“You’ll quit again.”
Jake stared up at the ceiling, the weight of Clay’s hand anchoring him to a life that suddenly felt paper-thin, his throat aching with words he wanted to say.
Then Clay leaned over and kissed him, and the truth sank back where it belonged.
When Clay pulled away, his voice was barely above a whisper. “You know I love you, right?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“Good. Never forget that,” Clay said, turning off the light.
Jake lay awake long after Clay’s breathing slowed beside him.
His phone buzzed once on the nightstand.
You’ll come back. You always do.
Jake didn’t answer.
He stared at the screen until the message dimmed, then set the phone face-down, his gaze drifting back to the dark ceiling, the pitter-patter of rain against glass echoing in the silence.
He could try to sleep.
But he already knew it wouldn’t happen.
Not while his soul silently smoldered with guilt.
And not while, deep inside, that same guilt seduced him with promises made of ash.
And a whispered confession.
That every bed of truth begins with a lie.
