Chapter 32 - Uncover.

I woke up pinned to the mattress under 150-some-pounds of sweaty, naked, hairy man. My ass was ridiculously sore, but in a good way. I smelled like a cum-drenched gym sock that had been left to marinate in an oven for most of the night. My right arm was numb from having the circulation cut off for fuck knows how long. The left side of my face was scratched and sore due to severe beard-burn. And every time I inhaled, there was this one beard hair, longer than all the rest, that tickled my nose and made me want to sneeze.

Yeah, I’d never been happier in my entire fucking life.

And if I hadn’t needed to piss like a racehorse, I would have liked nothing better than to stay there, cocooned in a warm nest of blankets and weighted down by my lover’s body, forever. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like my Eggy was ready to move. I tried to wiggle a little hoping to wake him gently, but he just snored louder than usual into my right ear and settled down more firmly to sleep. 

A minute later those snores were matched with an almost equally loud purring in my left ear from the cat perched on the pillow beside my head. I turned my head slightly and looked into the slitted golden eyes of Mr. William Shakespaw. Maybe I was reading too much into the situation, but I thought that Bill was looking at me a little judgmentally, like he knew Brian and I had done it, and wasn’t sure he approved. It made me feel a bit self-conscious, and if I could have freed my arms to shoo him away I would have. But Bill just blinked at me, as if in greeting, and then reached out with one paw to gently pat at my nose. Of course, this didn’t help with my allergies any, and combined with the nasal tickling I’d already received via Eggy’s beard, my nose decided it wasn’t going to take it anymore. 

*AAAAACHOOOOO!*

At least my sneezing finally woke up my man blanket; Brian startled and rolled away from the now snotty mess I’d become. If I wasn’t afraid it would result in more snot explosions, I’d have had to laugh at Eggy’s grossed out look when he discovered the mucus and germ-laden state of his bed companion. He rushed to pull several tissues out of the box on his bed stand and shoved them at me insistently.

“Morning!” I burbled, then honked into the wad of kleenex until I was able to breathe correctly again. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to wake you but your beard was tickling my nose, Big Guy.”

“What do you have against my beard?” he mumbled, finally calming a bit now that there wasn’t any snot in sight. 

I felt myself lean forward until my face was pressed tightly against Brian’s and rubbed my already sore cheek against his prickly beard. I really did love it. It was so rugged . . . so manly . . . mmm. 

“I have nothing against your beard, in fact I think it’s incredibly sexy . . . My skin, however, isn’t too fond of being torn to pieces every time it comes into contact with that patch of wiry bristles. I mean, normally it’s fine when we’re just making out, but last night, when you were devouring me like some wild animal, I thought my face might actually catch fire from all the friction.” I laughed at how pathetic I sounded, but shit, it hurt. 

“Could you be any more fucking dramatic,” Brian scoffed, rubbing self consciously at his beard as he took in the red marks all over my face. “You’re probably allergic to me.”

I hit him playfully. “Don’t even joke about that.” Because seriously, that would be just my luck. 

Brian shrugged and climbed out of bed, walking towards the bathroom - all naked and delicious. If I stayed in bed where I was, I could see him staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, but as much as I wanted to just lay back and ogle him and his naked perfection, I still had to piss something fierce. So I got up and padded after him, jumping slightly as my feet hit the cold tiles. I hopped about for a second until I got used to them, but I finally made it to the toilet to take care of business. And when I was done, I looked up and saw him smirking at me in the reflection of the mirror. 

“You got ants in your pants this morning or something?” he teased. 

“Your place is always so cold.”

He turned around and wrapped his arms around me tightly. “There, that better?”

“Mmmm,” I hummed. 

“How about now?” he asked, rubbing his beard roughly against my face and laughing maniacally like the asshole that he was. 

“You’re a dick.”

“I was going to make a really funny comment about you sucking me off - but we have more important things to do.”

I scrunched up my face. “What’s more important than sucking you off?” This was a legitimate question, because honestly, I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.

“Usually, nothing, but . . .” I watched as he retrieved something from underneath the sink. “This morning, you’re going to help me get rid of this thing,” he said, scratching at his beard while he examined his hairy self in the mirror. 

“Brian, I was only kidding . . .” Well, I was mostly kidding.

“It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while. I just . . . I guess the idea of shaving kinda freaked me out, you know? I’ve had it for so long. Change is . . . not my strong point, as you might have noticed.”

I nodded. I knew change was hard for him, and if this was truly something he wanted to do, then I would help him, but I didn’t want him to do it just for me. This HAD to be for him. 

“Okay, But only if you’re sure.” I asked. “And I’m not using that.” I pointed to the elector razor in his hands. “It’ll clog the blades.”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes at me like I was an idiot. “This is for later. First you’ll need to trim it with those,” he explained, pointing to the scissors on the countertop. “Then we can either use this,” he grinned, waving the electric razor at me. Or, if you’re feeling brave, you could try this.” He laughed, handing me the sharpest straight edge razor I had ever seen. Judging by the look on his face, I don’t think he was expecting me to pick the blade so quickly. 

“I swear, you better not slit my throat with that thing.” He was joking, but I could tell there was some anxiety behind his words. 

“You trust me? Right?” I asked, bumping our hips together to try and lighten his mood. 

He nodded seriously. “Sure . . .”

“Good, then if you will please follow me, Sir.” I grinned and pulled him around so that my back was now against the countertop, hopping up and spreading my legs, then pulling him into the vee of my thighs, before placing a hand towel across my legs. 

I held the scissors tightly in one hand as I gathered as much hair as I could in the other. “You ready?” 

Brian took a deep breath and eventually nodded. 

So I started. I cut as close to the skin as I could. We both watched as the hair fell onto my lap in large chunks. I heard him gulp loudly. 

“You wanna take a peak?”

He shook his head, his eyes refusing to look in the mirror. “No, finish it first.”

It didn’t take long until I’d finish with the scissors, cropping the entirety of his beard close enough to make shaving feasible. I scooted over slightly, depositing the trimmings into the trashcan and filling the sink up with warm water. I then used a washcloth to wet his face and remove as many stray hairs as possible. Finally, I used some ridiculously expensive shaving foam - no idea why he had that in his bathroom when he’d never shaved before, but whatever - and lathered him up real good, making sure to put a huge dollop on his nose, just because I could, and because I’m a little shit like that. 

I scooted closer and raised the blade up to his cheek, but he quickly grabbed my hand. 

“You do know how to do this, right?”

“It may take me longer than you to actually grow some facial hair, but I have shaved before, you know!” I was being a smart ass. 

“Yeah, but this isn’t like a normal razor, this thing is extra sharp. It’s not some disposable Gillette safety razor, kid.”

I leaned forward and gave him a kiss, getting shaving cream all over my face in the process. “I know. But it’ll be okay. My father originally taught me to shave using one of these.”

The look on his face was priceless. I don’t think he was expecting that. 

“He taught you to shave using a regular straight blade? What was wrong with using a regular razor like everyone else?” 

“Because my father doesn’t like being the same as everyone else. He’s a pretentious asshole who believes he’s truly better than others. And he would never touch some tacky piece of plastic like that to his face.”

Brian ran his hands down my bare arms; his way of saying he understood and that he was sorry I was raised by an asshole. I shook my head - I don’t know why doing that helps me clear my mind, but it does - and then offered him a smile. 

He returned a grin from behind his lather. “Fine. Let’s get this done, then. My ass is getting cold standing here,” he said, changing the subject from my father for me. 

“Your ass? I’m the one sitting bare-assed on a marble countertop.”

He shivered. “I may have come a long way, but please don’t tell me that - I don’t wanna know anything about your ass touching something besides my cock.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, giving him one last kiss before bringing the razor up to his right cheek and making the first swipe. 

There was something incredibly intimate about this moment, and it wasn’t just the fact that we were standing there together naked. It was the way he was trusting me with a sharp blade at his throat. The way we worked together, him tilting his head as I directed or turning to the side so I could get to another spot. The way my hands would feel along his jawline to make sure I hadn’t missed any spots. We barely spoke; mostly just one word or two whispered here and there, with a subvocal grunt in reply. And yet we were communicating so perfectly that you could almost envision the connection we had. It was beyond physical. 

It was all about that new trust we shared. 

So I took my time, enjoying the moment, as I patiently scraped at his cheeks and chin, removing a section of stubble and then wiping the blade on my towel, before moving to the next area. Slowly excavating the real Brian Kinney hidden behind the mask he’d made for himself. Uncovering the beauty I knew was underneath with each small patch of skin revealed. Until I’d scraped off the last little dribbles of lather from under his nose and it was done. 

When I finally looked at the finished product, I let out a loud gasp at the gorgeous man standing before me. 

I used a clean corner of the towel to wipe away any last traces of the shaving cream and dropped it in the sink. Then I just sat there, awed into silence, gazing in wonder at the face of the Greek God I’d just uncovered. Because, fuck me, I’d always thought Eggy was handsome, but I’d had no fucking idea that under his scraggly beard he was this damned GORGEOUS!

“Fuuuuuckkkk!” I muttered, at a loss for words.

“What?” Brian took a step back, startled by my response. “Is it that bad? Am I that hideous?”

“Hideous? Fuck no! Shit, Egbert, you’re . . . I don’t know if there are adequate words to describe how utterly beautiful you are,” I exclaimed, reaching out to pull him back, closer to me. 

The skin that had just been unearthed from behind Eggy’s whiskers was at least two shades paler than his normal golden complexion, which is probably why the ensuing blush showed up so well. He tried to look away, embarrassed, but I refused to let him. I took hold of his strong, square jaw and physically forced him to look at me. Forced him to stare directly into my eyes. I wanted him to see the truth of my words in my eyes. 

“You are stunning, Brian. You literally take my breath away. It’s practically a crime for you to hide yourself away - behind a beard or behind these walls, it doesn’t matter - because a work of art, like you, deserves to be worshiped,” I declared with all the sincerity I could infuse into the words. 

Okay, so maybe I tend towards the hyperbolic at times. I can’t help it that I’m passionate about my art - it’s just part of my nature - but I’d never felt this passionate about another person before. I mean, I've had my share of boyfriends, even a few I thought I was in love with, but there had never been anyone who’d inspired me with so much . . . Reverence is the only word that came to mind at that moment . . . With as much reverence as I felt for the amazing man standing in front of me. He was the epitome of physical perfection and his emotional complexity and inherent vulnerability only added to the attraction. I wanted to bow and kiss his feet. I wanted to wrap him in cotton and keep him safe. I wanted to fucking ravish him and eat him alive. 

And I wanted to kiss him.

So that’s what I did. I reached up with one hand and pulled his newly shorn face down towards me until I could reach his lips. He didn’t kiss me back with full force at first. I think he still wasn’t convinced of the truth of my words. But eventually he gave in, his lips responding as I bit and nibbled and sucked at him until he relinquished control. That was when I knew he had finally accepted my assertion that I really did find him to be beautiful - or at the very least he was no longer fighting it. So I kissed him some more in celebration, my hands stroking at his smooth cheeks and my lips following along to nibble at the fresh skin I found whenever I wandered from his mouth. We were both breathless by the time I finally let up. 

“Okay, this is what we’re going to do next,” I declared, getting up off the counter and moving the both of us around so that Brian was sitting in my place, making him short enough that I could reach his hair. “I’m going to give your hair a little trim, so it matches your newly spiffy face, and then I’m going to sketch you in all your unhairy handsomeness.”

Brian started to protest that he didn’t need a haircut too, but I wasn’t listening. I’d already grabbed up the scissors and a comb and started to snip at the too-long tendrils that were obscuring his eyebrows. It didn’t take me very long to neaten him up. I left it a little longer on top but went ruthlessly short on the sides and above the collar in the back. And shit, was he ever amazing-looking when it was all done. I swear, he could be a fucking model or something, the way he looks. Which is precisely what I wanted him to be - for me - so I hustled him back into the bedroom and arranged him artistically on the bed and spent the next hour or so drawing the Adonis.

Since it was a Saturday, and we’d been up late the night before, I didn’t feel at all guilty when I crawled back into bed to join my newly-shorn Samson, who’d dozed off while I was doing my artistic thing. It was pretty evident, though, that this Samson hadn’t lost any of his powers despite losing his hair - in fact, he seemed to have more energy than ever, judging by the enthusiasm he showed when he woke me for yet another fuck after about an hour. I had apparently created a monster. Shit, I wasn’t sure my ass was up for this development, but I was definitely going to enjoy it in the meantime. 

“Fuuuucckkkk!” Eggy sighed as he came, just managing to pull out and remove the condom before he collapsed beside me on the bed. “Have I mentioned how much I missed that all these years?”

“I think your actions make that pretty clear,” I replied, stretching out my legs to try and relieve some of the cramping after having been bent in half like a pretzel for the past twenty-some minutes. “Good thing you didn’t completely forget how during your hiatus.”

“They say it’s like riding a bike - you never forget,” he grinned at me like a happy goof.

“I’d rather ride you,” I hummed, twisting my body around so I could drape myself over the top of him, reveling in the unrestrained touching, not to mention the fact that Eggy wasn’t immediately jumping up to disinfect the both of us.

“Sorry, Brat. The spirit is willing but, for once, I think the body will need a few minutes to recover,” Brian half-apologized. “I forgot how much more . . . strenuous . . . real sex is compared to simply jerking off. You can get off either way, but I haven’t had to be quite this athletic in a while.”

We both chuckled quietly, thinking back over the athleticism of the past few hours. And if I was being honest, I really needed a bit of a break myself. Cuz, I do love to bottom, but it had been a while since I’d been fucked that much in such a short period of time. I figured I was gonna need to ease my way back into the role. Either that, or convince Egbert to switch off every so often so my ass had time to recover between rounds. But, no way was I about to argue with my hermit’s suggestion that we give ourselves a bit of a break.

On the other hand, after our impromptu nap, I wasn’t the least bit sleepy. So, to keep myself occupied while we snuggled - and, yes, it WAS snuggling even though I hesitated to bring that fact to my touchy lover’s attention - I reached once more for Billy’s journal. I guess there was something sorta striking in the contrast between whatever Brian and I had, and the way our relationship was blossoming, and the destruction of the historical love affair I’d been reading about. Maybe I was just projecting my own happiness, but I really wanted Billy and Andrew to figure it out. To come together despite all the adversities they were fighting and the public sentiment of the time. I WANTED them to have a happy ending. It was almost like, if THEY could work things out, even considering all the strikes against them, then Brian and I would be sure to end up happy as well. And, yeah, I knew that was naive, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still rooting for Billy and Andrew, despite reading about their breakup. 

So, while we were lazing about, I dove into the journal again, only to have my high hopes dashed almost immediately. 

‘May 8, 1886 - Things have been moving apace and I am amazed at the outcome of these many bewildering developments. One hopes that writing it down will somehow assist in making sense of it all, although that is a tall order. Yesterday, I found out through a mutual acquaintance, that Andrew and Jay had a serious falling out, no doubt in consequence of my dire revelations. Apparently the two almost came to blows, held back only because of the public venue in which this argument came to pass. Thankfully, according to my source no names were revealed, so I am not discovered as being the basis of their disagreement. However, it seems that the partnership between the two men may be irredeemably broken. I am devastated to have been the cause of this disaster. It was never my intent to come between two such admirable men. Besides, it is not as if Jay were free to act upon our secret leanings - he is a married man. We can never nurture the tendrils of what bloomed between us this Spring. It would be even more impossible than the already impossible situation I have been attempting to keep secret since I first met Andrew. This entire imbroglio is impossible, to be honest . . . 

“Damn. Doesn’t look like Billy and Andrew are going to be able to work things out,” I announced, and showed Brian the passage I’d just read. 

Brian took over reading at that point, the next entry confirming my fears. “‘May 10, 1886 - Just returned from a private assignation, after receiving a note from Jay that he needed to see me immediately. I met with him at the Hotel Liberty, for lack of other better accommodations, and was astonished to hear this man, who obviously knows how insurmountable the obstacles before us truly are, importuning me to continue our association. I knew I should deny him, send him on his way back to his wife and societal obligations, but I found I could not. I know we are both mad. There is no possible way we can ever attain that of which we dream. And yet I could not send him off or tell him no. How this may work, I have no idea. I will not - can not - deny myself further, though I be damned for it through all eternity.’”

Brian shook his head and tossed the folio back to me in disgust. “If you ask me, Billy really is crazy if he thinks he’s better off with Jay. No way is that going to end well. Guys like Jay - rich and from a prominent family - don’t leave their wives for their cute twinkie boyfriends,” Brian commented, mirroring my own thoughts. 

And, as we continued reading, it quickly became clear that Brian was right; poor, naive, overly-trusting Billy, really didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Worse yet, it seemed that the dalliance with Jay was doing actual harm to old Peebles. The more I read, the more disgusted I got with Billy’s flightiness.

‘June 12, 1886 - Jay informed me today that he and Andrew have permanently dissolved their association. Jay has obtained the financial support needed to buy out Andrew’s interest in the Triangle Building and will be taking over it’s management. Andrew is returning to Philadelphia, for the time being, to finalize his work there. He is not slated to return to Pittsburgh until sometime next year, when he will be starting work on the Lutheran church here. I am saddened by this development but feel it is perhaps for the best. It was exceedingly difficult seeing him at the Club and other social venues. It is my sincere hope that this time away from all the reminders of our past will heal his soul. And, on a personal level, the development makes it easier for Jay and I to continue to build what we have started.’

“And after all Peebles did for the twat? Ingrate,” Brian proclaimed, not any happier with Billy than I was.

“Yeah . . . I don’t know. Maybe it will all work out somehow?” I hoped.

Reading on through the next couple of entries, Billy continued to gush about his plans with the new love interest. “‘June 15, 1886 - Father has finally returned to Pittsburgh and will thankfully take up the reins on the many business enterprises he and Uncle Andrew had me managing all last winter. I will gladly give up the tedium of acting as their factotum for the time being. And, with all my resurrected free time, I will hopefully be able to spend more time with my dear Jay . . .’” 

There followed a series of more mundane entries detailing all the many social engagements that Billy enjoyed over the course of that summer. By my calculations he would have been nineteen; a perfect age to ‘sow his wild oats’ as my grandmother would have said. And, reading between the lines of his prosaic descriptions of the many outings and entertainments he and Jay attended together, it certainly sounded like the boy was sowing as many oats as he possibly could. I was torn between empathizing with him over wanting to experience the most out of life, and enjoying his burgeoning relationship with his new lover in the process, and being disappointed with him for leaving Peebles just so he could sneak around behind the back of Jay’s wife. But then I reminded myself I wasn’t in a position to judge since I had no reference for what life was like as a gay man in that day and age. Even in the best of circumstances it would have been difficult for two gay men to be together back then, but with a society type like the younger brother of Henry Clay Frick, one of the brightest lights amongst Pittsburgh’s Steel Elite, it would have been virtually impossible. Still, it didn’t make me feel all warm and happy inside to read about their escapades; not like it had when I was reading about Billy and Andrew. I just had a really bad feeling about the whole situation.

That’s when I came across the most shocking entry yet.

“Shit! Listen to this,” I warned Brian before reading the whole passage aloud: “‘August 25, 1886 - Disaster! We are discovered! We had gone to Jay’s country estate near Lake Conemaugh earlier in the week so as to escape the heat and stench of summertime Pittsburgh. However, too distracted in our own pursuits, we did not hear the carriage when Alma arrived, intending to join us. Alas, she found us ‘in flagrante delicto’. Needless to say, there was an extremely unpleasant scene. Alma proceeded to leave in the very same carriage she had arrived in. We promptly packed up and followed her back to the city. Jay says he has not spoken to his wife in the days since, as she has hidden herself away at her sister’s and will not see him. What the outcome of this incident will be, no one can tell.’”

“Called it!” Brian crowed. “Like it wasn’t inevitable that they’d get caught - the way they were practically flaunting it and all. At least Peebles was trying to protect Billy with his fucking tunnels. Sounds to me like this Jay didn’t give a damn.”

“I don’t know about that; it seems like Jay’s in the soup along with Billy,” I concluded as I started to read the very next entry: “‘September 6, 1886 - I have not written for several days because I have been too desolated to put into words all that has occurred. I have, myself, yet to comprehend it all - perhaps an impossible task - however I will endeavor to relate herein what has transpired. Following our disastrous trip to the country, Jay and I returned to Pittsburgh on the heels of his wife, who absolutely refused to speak with him. Jay, however, remained hopeful that he would eventually be able to reconcile with Alma once he was allowed to somehow explain. Personally, I was doubtful of this, as I couldn’t fathom what possible explanation Jay was likely to give that would alleviate her understandable objections. It was not until the Annual Harvest Festival Dinner at the Club that the two were finally brought face to face. I was watching from the wings, trying to remain unobtrusive, as Jay repeatedly attempted to converse with the woman he’d been married to for so many years. From all appearances, the discussion was not going very well. Alma was reluctant to accord poor Jay any quarter. Jay seemed determined to press the matter, though, and in the end he rather loudly demanded that Alma ‘cease her ridiculous display of hysterics and return home’. Mrs. Alma did not seem inclined towards this suggestion and, equally vociferously, told Jay to unhand her. Alas, dear Jay did not heed the warning.’” 

At that point I almost didn’t want to continue reading - knowing what I knew was the outcome for Alma - but I was too caught up in the story to quit there, so I continued. 

“Shit! This is bad,” I read on. “‘So, in front of some fifty or more of Pittsburgh’s creme de la creme, Mrs. Alma Frick announced that she did not intend to return to the home or the bed of a Sodomite and advised her husband that, if he desired companionship in the future, he should look to his ‘man whore’ - pointing rather dramatically in my direction. Needless to say, the uproar that surrounded this proclamation was earth shattering. Matters were not ameliorated by the presence of both my parents and Jay’s older brother at the event. Jay and I were each taken in hand by our respective families and summarily removed from the environs of the club. I have since been subjected to endless lectures, admonishments and threats, all meant to force me to amend my evil ways. I have not been allowed any contact whatsoever with Jay or any of my other associates. I have been told I will be completely disinherited and left destitute if I dare to have any congress with Jay Frick ever again, and I do not doubt the certainty of this outcome. In the meantime, there is ongoing discussion of my ostracism to New York so that I will be kept away from the ‘bad influences’ here in The Burgh . . .’”

“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’,” Brian commented with a sour smile. “But I told you so.”

And HE calls ME a brat?

“Unfortunately . . .” I then turned the page and read the next, even sadder, entry. “‘September 10, 1886 - Tragedy has stricken! All hope that our discovery and disgrace will blow over is lost. Jay’s wife, Alma, has cinched the infamy we will be saddled with forevermore by making us all front page news. Alas, Poor Alma has taken her own life! She was found in her sister’s guest room, an empty vial of arsenic on her nightstand, and an accusatory note addressed to Jay in her hand. There is no hope that this scandal can be kept quiet. I am lost . . .’”

From the way the entry was written, it appeared that there should have been more written there, but the bottom half of the page was stained, as if it had suffered water damage of some kind, and the remainder of the journal entry, along with a good many of the following sheets, were torn out. I flipped forward in the book, but there was nothing more. The rest of the journal was blank. 

“No!” I yelled at the inanimate journal. “Damn it!”

“What? What the fuck’s wrong?” Eggy demanded, startled by my outburst. 

I showed him the torn journal page. “It doesn’t say what happened. It just . . . it just fucking ends . . .”

Brian laughed at my dramatic outpouring of emotion, but I couldn’t help it. This was totally unexpected. 

“Seriously, Brian. I need to know what happened next . . . this is fucking crazy.”

“Calm down, brat, you’re talking about them like they’re your friends. They’re just people in a book. Old, dead, people to boot.”

I huffed loudly. “They’re not though, I mean, yeah they’re people in a book,” I waved the diary around as though this would help prove my point even more. “But it’s not JUST a book, is it? It’s a diary, it’s real life - it’s THEIR real life. I . . . I kinda feel like I know them after reading this.” I sank back into the pillows with a huff of disappointment. “You probably think I’m crazy, huh?”

Brian leaned back, rested his head against the headboard and sighed loudly. “No, I don’t think you’re crazy. I guess I feel it a little too - maybe not to the same extent as you though . . .” He winked, teasing me to try and make me smile, which sorta worked, as I felt my mouth turning up a little. 

“I guess I just wasn’t prepared for something like this to happen.”

Brian looked over my shoulder, his curiosity finally getting the better of him, he scanned the final journal entry and huffed a sigh. “I mean, we kinda knew - there was that letter from Alma with the wedding band - but . . . Shit.”

“Right?” I didn’t know what else to say, I was shocked. 

I could tell that Brian empathized with my feelings from the way he pulled me into his arms again, holding onto me more tightly than before, as we both contemplated the unfinished journal. Despite my frustration over the missing pages, I was reassured by the feeling of Brian’s now-smooth cheek rubbing against my own. The contrast between what we had and the troubles of our historic doubles had never been more stark. But just the knowledge that I’d somehow succeeded with Brian - I’d persisted and worn down his barriers and eventually uncovered the truth behind the grumpy recluse the rest of the world saw - made me more determined than ever to unearth the rest of Billy’s love story. I never could resist a puzzle. 

I’d solved the mystery of the Triangle Building, and I wasn’t going to give up till I discovered the resolution to Billy Carnegie’s mysterious love triangle story either.