CONFLUENCE : Chapter One

THE TIPPING POINT : Part Three

confluence

noun

us /ˈkɑːn.fluː.əns/

uk /ˈkɒn.fluː.əns/

1. the place where two rivers flow together and become one larger river

2. a situation in which two things join or come together

PRECIS

After the death of his mother, Wyatt Roan falls deeply in love with Charlie, only to be devastated when Charlie betrays him and disappears from his life. Years later, Wyatt builds a life in Chicago with his husband, Sam, but their marriage begins to unravel after Sam starts an affair with Hunter. What begins as an attempt to save the relationship ultimately destroys it.

Following the divorce, Wyatt transfers to his firm’s London office to start over. There, he reconnects with Connor Walsh, a college student he first met years earlier in Chicago, who is now studying abroad at Imperial College. Wyatt also forms a close friendship with Malcolm Fiddes, a fiercely loyal Scotsman who becomes both confidant and protector.

As Wyatt settles into his new life, he meets Leo Finley, a British photographer whose quiet presence gradually becomes something far more important. While returning briefly to Chicago forces Wyatt to confront painful memories, old wounds, and the life he left behind, it also brings clarity. By the time he returns to London, he finally understands that home is no longer a place.

It’s the people he has chosen to love.

▫ ▫ ▫

LEO:

“Do you know that guy?”

I looked up from the dinner I’d been pushing around my plate for the last ten minutes and saw Wyatt standing at the bar. As soon as our eyes met, he turned and walked out of the restaurant.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, sliding out from the booth. I ran out of the restaurant, hoping to catch him, but Wyatt was already stepping into a cab, and before I could stop him, the cab drove off.

I was having dinner with the art director from Creed. Despite my telling him about Wyatt, he kept asking me out. He was so persistent that I finally gave in. I went back to the table and apologized, explaining why I needed to leave.

I jumped in a cab and went to Wyatt’s flat. When he opened the door, the expression on his face was hard to read. His eyes stared directly into mine.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Can I come in?”

Wyatt didn’t answer; he just turned and walked into the living room. I followed him. Bowie jumped into my lap when I sat down on the couch. Wyatt sat in an armchair facing me. I started to explain. “It wasn’t a date.”

“It looked like one.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? You were smiling at him like you’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Do I?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I watched him lean across the table. You let him touch you, Leo.”

“Wyatt, Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This. The suspicion. Not trusting me.”

Wyatt’s expression softened for a moment. “Leo...”

“You’re the one who decided what I needed after Charlie. You said I should have my own place.” Leo swallowed.

“Not so you could see other people. I never said that.” Wyatt looked away. “If that’s what you want, you should have told me.”

“It’s you who needs to figure out what you want. “You’re a coward.” I walked out and closed the door behind me.

▫ ▫ ▫

Two days later, I stepped off the elevator into the vast lobby overlooking the Duomo.

I shouldn’t be here, but I was.

This was more than two strangers meeting for dinner, and we’d both known it when I said yes. It would be easy to turn around and get back on the elevator. He hadn’t seen me yet. But I didn’t do that. I pulled out my phone, hoping there’d be a text from Wyatt. Nothing. I called him from the hotel last night after I arrived in Milan. He didn’t answer. I left a message. We hadn’t spoken since our argument after he saw me in the restaurant two nights ago.

Three texts. Two phone calls. No reply. Wyatt and I had never quite decided what we were to each other. Maybe that was the problem.

I was in Milan to shoot a photo spread for Vogue Hommes. There was already a flurry of activity when I arrived at Quadrilatero della Moda at 6:00 AM. Stylists steaming racks of clothes, MUA’s, models crowded together smoking cigarettes and laughing. They might as well have come from the same casting sheet—tall, lean, pale, razor-sharp cheekbones, impossible eyes.

Then he walked in. The model everyone in the industry seemed to know by first name alone. Mattia. He was not like the others. He was athletic and muscular. His skin was the color of dark umber, smooth and unblemished. There was confidence in the way he moved. With his broad shoulders and cheeky smile, he drew the attention of everyone around him. He acted like he belonged wherever he was.

Flirting was part of the job. Models flirted with photographers. Photographers flirted back. Usually, it meant nothing. Whatever was happening between Mattia and me didn’t feel like part of the job.

By the time we broke for lunch, he’d asked me to dinner. His English was nearly flawless, but every now and then an Italian vowel lingered a fraction of a second longer than it should have. It made him even more seductive. And now he was standing across the lobby waiting for me. He turned and waved. We were doing this.

I walked to where he was standing and extended my hand, but he leaned in and pressed both cheeks against mine. “I’m glad you came,” he said softly into my ear.

I couldn’t help but notice people looking at us as the maître d’ showed us to our table.

“You turn a lot of heads,” I said.

“I think they stare at you, Leo.”

Thankfully, a waiter appeared asking if we’d like something from the bar. Mattia ordered a scotch and a beer for me.

“Wyatt… My boyfriend is a scotch drinker.” I said, unthinking.

“Ah, you have a boyfriend. Does he know you’re having dinner with me?”

I tripped over explaining that Wyatt wouldn’t mind. “Do you have a—”

“Sì,” he interrupted before I could finish asking. His name is Rémy. We met when I moved to Paris six years ago.”

I asked him to tell me about himself, but all he said was that he grew up in Pavia, then moved to Milan to model.

“You’re British, yes? Where’s home?” he asked.

“England. Norwich, originally. I live in London now.”

“With your boyfriend?”

I took a sip of my beer before answering. “No. I have my own place. We’re still figuring things out. We’re not doing a very good job of it. We had a fight just before I left for Milan. He thought I was cheating on him.”

“Were you?”

“It’s complicated, but no.”

Mattia nodded, with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Ahh, complicated. You miss him?”

“I’m flying home tomorrow.”

“That’s a tragedy. You’ve seen almost none of Milan. Stay. What’s the hurry? I’ll show you the Milan tourists never see.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You think too much, Leo.”

“I do not.”

Mattia laughed. “You do, bello. After that, we drive to Pavia. My mother makes the best risotto in Lombardy.”

WYATT:

“I told him to date other people.”

Malcolm stared at me. “You what?”

“I said if he wasn’t sure about us, maybe he should—”

“Jesus, Wyatt. Yer head’s fu’ o’ mince. “Ye spent years grieving Charlie. Then years grieving Sam. The lad’s telling ye he wants a life with ye, and ye tell him tae go date somebody else.” Malcom shook his head. “Yer a fuckin’ idiot. C’mere.”

I stepped into Malcolm’s open arms. All my life, there had been no safer place.

His arms had embraced me, shoved me against walls, held me together, pinned me to a mattress, hauled me back to my feet, and protected me.

“I know trust doesn’t come easy tae ye.”

He squeezed me tighter. “But Leo’s a good man.” Malcolm hesitated. “He’d have my hide if he knew I was tellin’ ye this, but he once said somethin’ I haven’t forgotten.”

I looked up.

“He said whenever somethin’ happens, good or bad, the first person he wants tae tell is you.”

“What if I’ve already fucked it up?”

“Then stop makin’ it worse. The lad’s still talkin’ tae ye, isn’t he?” Malcolm squeezed the back of Wyatt’s neck. ““I need tae be headin’ home. I promised Connor we’d FaceTime tonight. There are only two months left before he graduates.”

“Already?”

Malcolm nodded. “Aye. Doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

After Malcolm left, I picked up my phone to call Leo, but I realized Milan was an hour later than London, and it was too late, so I sent him a text.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Come home soon.”

Three dots appeared.

Vanished.

Appeared again.

Vanished.

I found myself holding my breath.

Finally, the message arrived.

I’m staying in Milan for a couple more days.

I stared at the message. A few days ago, I would have asked why. Tonight, I already knew the answer might hurt.

LEO:

Mattia was waiting outside the hotel when I came downstairs the next morning. I stepped out into the bright morning sun and into the shadow of the Duomo di Milano. The Italian air felt different from the air in London. It was a hot day, and I was already sweating through my shirt.

“Morning, Mattia.”

He shook his head. “Still doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Calling me Mattia.”

“It’s your name.”

“It’s the name my nonna uses when she’s annoyed with me.”

I laughed.

He opened the passenger door.

“You can call me Matt.”

“Okay. Matt.”

We wandered into the arched glass halls of Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II and walked through the massive brick courtyards of Castello Sforzesco. We took a lift up to the Duomo rooftop, and the panoramic views of the city were absolutely unreal; its delicate spires climb straight into the cloudless sky. When we stopped for lunch, Matt stepped away to take a call from Rémy. When he came back to the table, I asked if everything was alright.

“I forgot to call him to say I was staying in Milan longer. May I?” he asked, picking up his phone to take my picture. I nodded yes. “Rémy asked me what kind of trouble I was getting into. I told him I’d send him a picture.”

We headed to the Navigli District for dinner just as the sun started to set. The canals were glowing with warm light. Today was supposed to be Matt showing me around Milan, nothing more. But at dinner, his leg rested against mine under the table, and my body had already decided this was something else.

“Was Rémy expecting you back in Paris today? I hope he’s not upset that you’re staying in Milan to show me around?” I asked.

“No. He’s not upset. We’re free to do whatever we like when we’re not together. He took a sip of his wine. “And Wyatt?”

“Like I said, we’re still figuring things out.”

Mattia listened without interrupting.

“He’s not easy to know at first,” I said. “Most people see the lawyer. The confidence. The guy who always seems to know exactly what he’s doing.” I smiled despite myself. “But that’s not really him.”

Mattia tilted his head.

“His mother died when he was fifteen. After that, he got very good at taking care of himself. Maybe too good. He lets people in slowly.” I looked down at my glass. “When he loves someone, he loves them completely. He just doesn’t always know how to say it.”

“And you?” Matt asked quietly.

I thought about Wyatt standing in the doorway of his flat. “I thought he needed me,” I said. “Now I’m not so sure.”

Matt stood abruptly. “Come.”

I looked up.

“Tonight we dance.” His grin widened. “No arguments.”

Matt drove me back to the hotel so I could shower and change. I picked up my phone to call Wyatt, but every version of the conversation ended the same way, with us arguing about things neither of us seemed able to say out loud.

There was a long line of people waiting to get into the club, but the doorman knew Mattia and motioned us in. Mattia took my hand and led me to the dance floor through the crowd of moving bodies, pushing us closer together. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I remembered Wyatt’s text. Come home soon.

Mattia’s hands wrapped around my waist. He pulled my shirt off over my head, then he lifted his own shirt off. His chest glistened with sweat. A sweet musk and heat radiated off his skin. His muscled shoulders, broad enough to eclipse the world behind them, tapered into the hard planes of his chest and nipples, barely a shade darker than his skin. He ran his hands down my back to my ass and pulled me against him. He leaned in and pressed his lip to my ear.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

He pressed his lips against mine, pushing his tongue in. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want him to stop. We kissed until everything around us seemed to disappear. Then, he pulled back and began kissing down my neck, turning me around in his arms. I felt the hard length of cock press against my ass.

“There’s one more place I want to take you tonight, mio. Voglio portarti a letto. I want to take you to bed.”

We left the club and went back to his hotel.

Matt pushed every thought I had about right or wrong, every thought I had about Wyatt, out of my head. I was on my knees, gazing up at him, unbuckling his belt, sliding the zipper down, and pulling his still flaccid cock out. I took it in my mouth, feeling it grow hard and thick against my tongue. His fingers twisted in my hair, pressing my nose into the tangle of coarse black pubic hair. He only let go when I choked and gasped for air. He wrapped his hand around his rigid cock and slid the foreskin back from the pink head, squeezing a thick, milky pearl of precum into my open mouth. I went back to sucking his cock until it pulsed in my mouth, squirting more cum than I could swallow. I didn’t think there was anything romantic between us. This was both of us needing to fuck, that’s all it was. He pulled off the rest of his clothes and lifted me onto the bed, pushing my knees back to my chest. No foreplay, no kissing, I knew what he wanted from the way he ate my ass. I wanted it too. He lubed his cock and pressed the head against my hole. No words. No condom. He pushed in slowly until his balls rested against my taint. I felt every thick inch of him fucking into me. He propped himself on his elbows and pushed his sweaty armpit into my face. He needed a shower, but I inhaled his smell and licked his sweat like it was a delicious drug. I knew he was close when he started thrusting into me. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. “Ti riempirò del mio seme.” I felt his cock throb as he unloaded in me. He pulled out and flipped me over onto all fours and fucked me again, harder this time because I begged him to. He smacked my hand away from my cock when I reached for it. “No. Ti faro venire. I will make you come.” His fingers dug into my hips, and he came again with a growl. Then he flipped onto his back. “In my mouth,” he said. He fingered my hole while I fucked his face. When I warned him I was close, he gripped my ass cheeks, moaning, as I came down his throat.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, my arm was lying across Mattia’s chest. I slid out from under the sheet and closed the bathroom door behind me. I couldn’t look in the mirror.

MATTIA:

The sound of the shower woke me up. Leo wasn’t beside me in bed. We’d only been asleep a couple of hours, if that. We’d barely made it into the hotel room before Leo was on his knees, and I was coming down his throat. Lying in bed now, I could still smell him on my skin and taste him on my tongue. I wanted more of him. My cock was growing hard, remembering the filthy sound of Leo’s moans and begging while I ate his ass and fucked him. He took my cock better than Rémy. His hole stretched around my cock, giving way with every movement. I bred him twice, missionary, doggie, then sucked him off. He came so much in my mouth.

The shower noise stopped. Leo walked out with a towel pulled tight against his buttocks and over the curved jut of his cock.

“Come back to bed. We can fuck more before we drive to Pavia.”

“No. I’m not going to Pavia with you, Mattia. Thank you for inviting me, and for yesterday and… last night. But I need to go home.

▫ ▫ ▫

LEO:

I waited until I was at the airport. I stared at Wyatt’s number for several seconds before pressing call.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Then:

“Leo?”

▫ To Be Continued ▫