Page 83 of All In

I don’t know what to do.

My stomach is in knots, my heart racing. I hate this. Being close to Harlow is everything to me. I love him. I want him. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to balance how I feel about him with our sham of a marriage.

I really thought I could do this, but maybe I can’t.

“I don’t like it when you lie to me,” Harlow says softly, his voice tight as he stares straight ahead.

“I’m not lying to you.”

Only, that’s a lie too. I’ve lied by omission for basically our entire lives. I’ve never told Harlow how I feel. He doesn’t know the depths of my feelings for him. I was content to keep it that way, but now everything is so fucked up that I don’t know what to do.

There’s a beat of silence before Harlow sighs. It’s rare that he’s upset with me. I’m sure there are friends who fight and have falling-outs, but that’s never been us. Never. We’ve never had a problem we couldn’t talk through. We’ve never come across a situation that threatened to tear us apart.

Now, as he sits no more than two feet away from me in the car, it feels like we’re miles apart. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.

After pulling into the driveway, I glance over at him. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, and it makes my stomach clench. I hate that. Hate that he’s nervous. I hate even more that it’s because of me.

I never, ever want to be the reason that Harlow is stressed out or worried. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be his calm. Trying to be the person to slow his mind down.

“Are you ready to go in?” he asks softly, glancing at me.

My throat tightens as I nod. “Yeah. Are you?”

He shoots me a smile, but it’s all wrong. I have to fix this, and I don’t know how. I don’t even know if it’s something I can fix.

Harlow pushes open the door, then climbs out, shutting it behind him and walking up to the house before I’ve even turned the car off.

Well, fuck.

I rush after him, and when we’re inside, he sits down on the couch. “I think we need to talk.”

My throat convulses as I nod. “Okay.”

“I don’t like it when you lie to me.”

“And I told you, I’m not lying to you.”

Growling under his breath, Harlow pushes to his feet. “You’re lying right now.”

I start to shake my head but stop when he glares at me.

This isn’t going to end well. I already know it. This has been my fear from the very start. I’m going to lose my friendship with Harlow. My stomach sours at the thought, my heart racing.

“You are. I’ve known you for literally ever, Grayson.” He starts pacing, not even looking at me. “I don’t know why you’re lying, and I don’t know exactly about what. But I know it’s a lie.”

“If you don’t know what I’m lying about, then how do you know I’m lying?”

The argument is weak at best, and I know that. He does too, because he stops pacing and glares at me again.

My palms are sweating, so I wipe them on my pants, and Harlow snorts. “Sweaty palms. Yeah, the hallmark of every person who’s telling the truth.”

There’s this comfort in knowing everything about someone. It’s sweet almost. This little slice of relief that you don’t have to hide yourself. It can also be a real pain in the ass. Especially in moments like this, when the person standing across from you is so fucking perceptive and they know all of your nervous tells.

“I hate that you know me so well.”

Hurt flashes across his face before he smooths his features out. “No, you don’t.”

I don’t. Not even a little. I shake my head because he’s right. “No.”