That evening, sitting at the table, he recounted the whole Enzo story to Douglas, who was putting the finishing touches to a lamb roast.
“It’s strange how you can be so head over heels for someone, and then look back and wonder what the hell you ever saw in them.”
“I bet it helps you heal faster.” Douglas was making mint sauce from scratch. “It’s harder when you can remember exactly what you saw in someone. But we won’t go there.”
They’d decided on Sunday evening, as they shared a pizza and a bottle of red wine in bed, the past should stay in the past, and that it was time for new beginnings.
“I need to let go,” Douglas had said. “Disentangle myself.”
It had made Brad smile, if only because the sooner Douglas could let go of his feelings of hurt and betrayal, and anger, the faster he
