He had never told Paul about the neighbor—had never, in fact, told anyone. Eventually they had taken their lovemaking into other rooms, into Hudson’s inconveniently small student bed, where they had thrust against each other and left the sheets damp with sweat. And, slowly, Hudson had ceased to think of the neighbor when Paul was inside of him, although sometimes at the moment of climax he still smelled the sharp odor of cologne and felt calloused fingers on the back of his neck.

After Paul’s death, after the months of wrestling with the feelings of guilt and blame until he was too worn out to continue bearing the weight of misery and had exchanged it for the mantle of a champion, he had promised himself he would never again become involved with someone it was impossible to ever fully love. This, he told himself, had been his life’s curse, placed upon him by his father that afternoon in the garage. It had followed him from Maine, a reminder—along with the flatness of his accent and his habit of giving directions based on landmarks rather than the names of streets—that there were some things he could never change.

Since then he had tried, and failed, to partner with men who were good for him. He selected them as he might a dinner wine, attempting to choose those that would bring out the best in his character and balance his flaws. Occasionally he even convinced himself that he had found one. But always, usually after their first time together in bed, he was dissatisfied.

And now there was Ben. Ben who was so completely unlike either the neighbor or Paul. Ben who, until Caddie’s revelation, Hudson had thought of only as a friend. A friend he had been only too pleased to have, as the relationship involved no land mines to tread lightly around. Like Marty, Ben had been, until now, a part of his life that required only that he enjoy it.

Now the enjoyment had changed to dread. Sitting in Ben’s office he had, for the first time, feared what words might come out of the other man’s mouth. And his worry was not just for himself. He was afraid for Ben, afraid what he, Hudson, might have done to him. Some poison you can’t never get out. Had he somehow tainted this man who only wanted to be his friend? Logically, he knew it to be an absurd idea, one of his father’s ignorant explanations for something he could not accept any other way.