Chapter 1

“Why are you so against this?”

I looked at Patrick, my partner of four years, and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. We’d been having the same argument for the past few months, ever since he’d told me he wanted to move for our condo in downtown Chicago to a house he’d inherited in the northern suburbs. I didn’t want to move. Our Streeterville condo was in a great location and I loved living in the city. The thought of moving to the suburbs gave me acid reflux…and a headache.

When I didn’t respond to Patrick’s question, he kept talking, trying to sell me on the benefits of moving to the suburban three-bedroom, two-bath Victorian house he’d inherited from his late aunt. We wouldn’t have a mortgage since the house was paid off. We’d have a yard so we could get a dog. We’d have so much extra space. We’d have a garage. I’d heard it all before and I didn’t want to hear it all again. Just as Patrick had laid out his reasons for wanting to move, I’d mounted my own defense to explain why we should stay in the city. If we did, Patrick could continue to rent the house and keep the income generated from that. Or Patrick could sell the house and make a killing since there was no mortgage. Our jobs, most of our friends, and our lives were in the city. I had just as many reasons for wanting to stay to counter his reasons for wanting to leave.

“Well?” he asked.

My darling, darling Patrick was driving me crazy and I knew I had to get away from him before I said something I’d truly regret.

“I’m going to the gym,” I said before heading to our bedroom.

He was right on my heels. “Why are you going to the gym right now?”

“Because if I don’t get out of here and away from you, I’m going to lose my temper.”

“I just want to talk about the house—”

“I knowyou want to talk about the house. You alwayswant to talk about the house. I’m tiredof talking about the house.”

I pulled my gym bag from the closet, made sure there were clean workout clothes and sneakers inside, and headed for the door.

Patrick blocked my path. “Clay, wait.”

I sighed. “What?”

He frowned before throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Nothing. Forget it. Enjoy your workout.”

I could feel his eyes boring into me as I left the condo. Normally, I wouldn’t walk out of an argument. I enjoyed a good tussle and I got off on defending my position, but I’d had enough of Patrick and that fucking house. The fight had gone out of me on that topic. I just needed to go to the gym, get on the treadmill for a while, and decompress. Then, hopefully, by the time I got home, I’d be calm enough to deal with Patrick and he’d be in a better mood to deal with me.

The gym we both attended was only a short walk from our condo (another reason to stay in the city) and it, thankfully, wasn’t crowded when I got there. After I changed into my workout clothes, I headed for the nearest treadmill. During my workouts, I liked to listen to music and I had several playlists on my cell phone that were specifically designated for the gym. When I pulled out my phone, I noticed a new playlist had been added, one titled “From Patrick.” I’d forgotten that Patrick had created a playlist for me. He’d mentioned it earlier that day, before we’d started arguing about the house. There were nine songs included that he said he’d chosen specifically for me. I decided to listen to them while I ran.

The first song was “Try Not to Breathe” by REM. Patrick and I both were huge REM fans, so finding a song by them on the playlist wasn’t a surprise. I remembered listening to this song while Patrick and I were driving to meet his mother for brunch one Sunday morning. We were both hungover from the night before. We’d been out late drinking with friends and probably should have bailed on brunch, but I was the one who’d insisted we go because I loved Patrick’s mother. She and his father had divorced when he was a teenager and both parents had remarried when he was in his twenties. Patrick didn’t have the greatest relationship with his father, who didn’t approve of his homosexuality, but he and his mom were very close. I’d met Julia soon after he and I started seeing each other regularly and she became a surrogate mother to me since my own mother and father lived in South Carolina and I wasn’t able to see them often. Julia and I had hit it off immediately and I always enjoyed being with her. She always called me by my full name: Clayton. Sometimes she called me by my whole name: Clayton Teal. She and I got along better than Patrick and I did.