I’m a man living with regret. It eats at me night and day.
Eights years ago, I ran from Reagan instead of facing the music. I was sure he would shut me out if he knew the truth, so I beat him to the punch. I left and never looked back.
Or at least I tried not to.
To this day, Reagan is always in the back of my mind, trying to make me remember the fun we had. I always wonder what he would have thought if I’d told him everything.
The regret echoes in my head.
Now he’s standing in front of me, looking for answers I doubt he’s ready for.
Can Reagan accept me for who I really am?
Warning: Contains sexual situations between two men.
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