Page 183 of In at the Deep End

His dad nodded. “Good.”

Matt wrapped both hands around his mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.

If he wanted to talk, it would be about Owen, about the things that had changed without either of them acknowledging. The possibility he’d been reading more into Owen’s actions than was really there.

Except he couldn’t say any of that, not to Dad.

Not yet.

Besides, nothing was wrong. Because if there were a problem, Owen would tell him.

Wouldn’t he?

Matt pushed the thought away. He had enough to worry about with the dissertation.

Dad reached across the table and squeezed his forearm. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Matt smiled. “I haven’t even handed it in yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He looked down at his tea, embarrassed by the warmth that spread through him. “Thanks.”

He wished he could tell his dad everything. Then common sense returned.

Yeah, not gonna happen.

If he needed to talk, there was always Eric, who’d listened to him through every crisis at university and after, and knew him well enough to hear what Matt wasn’t saying.

Matt took another sip of tea. The person he really wanted to talk to wasn’t Eric.

It was Owen.

He wanted to know whether he’d simply been projecting his own feelings onto a weekend that had meant no more to Owen than any of the other experiences they’d shared.

Most of all, he wanted Owen to tell him he hadn’t imagined any of it, that there was still something between them worth believing in.

Matt stared at the surface of his tea.

That wasn’t going to happen either.

Not because Owen wouldn’t answer, but because some small, frightened part of Matt was beginning to wonder what the answer might be.

By Friday, Matt had stopped looking for the things Owen wasn’t doing.

At least, that was what he told himself.

He no longer expected Owen to reach for him when he arrived, or to find some excuse to touch him as they moved around the house. When they sat together, Owen was careful about the space between them. When Matt announced it was time to leave, Owen smiled and said goodnight, but he no longer followed him to the gate or stood watching until Matt disappeared around the corner.

None of it was dramatic. That was what made it so difficult. There was nothing to confront, nothing to ask about without sounding ridiculous. Because how would that sound?

Why don’t you touch me as much as you used to?

He could hardly say that, especially when Owen was still kind, still interested… still there.

So Matt tried not to notice.

Epic fail.