Shared Boyfriend Panic Disorder

Roy parked early, well before the first real rush of cars nosed into the lot. The office building rose in front of him like a slab of glass and concrete judgement, reflecting the washed-out sky back at him. He stayed behind the wheel, engine off, keys in his jacket pocket, pretending he was just finishing a podcast or gathering himself rather than flat-out stalling.

People streamed past, bags slung over shoulders, earbuds inserted, heads bent against a breeze that smelled like rain and exhaust. A few spotted him and waved. He waved back automatically, his smile polite and thin. It felt like a costume piece he'd forgotten to take off after the play ended.

Sleep had not helped. Going home had not helped. That cold, neatly made bed had offered no peace. Of course Elaine had wanted him to stay the night, wanted to curl against him, wanted to act like the couple she believed they were. But he'd insisted he needed rest, needed the early morning. It was a lie, but she'd swallowed it whole. Why doubt the man that she so utterly was in love with?

And then she'd reminded him that he had a big night tonight too.

That was the comment that had kept him awake most of the night.

A big night with Claire.

Also his girlfriend. Apparently.

A knot of anxiety rose in his throat at the thought, and he swallowed hard enough to hurt. The whole situation seemed engineered to break his brain. Elaine was wonderful. Elaine was more than enough. A gorgeous, kind, generous woman that Roy had no business being in a relationship with, and yet she was gleefully handing him over to her daughter like a dessert she was done with.

That was unfair, he told himself. Elaine hadn't handed him off. She'd shared him. Which was somehow worse.

Claire was beautiful, of course she was. Just like her mother. Funny, too. Warm. He could understand why Adam liked her. Why people liked her. Why she would make anyone feel special just by locking eyes with them. But that was the point. Someone like her belonged with someone like Adam. Someone with a future. Not with a middle-aged man hanging on to his job by his bitten fingernails. His romantic life had begun to feel like a tangled fishing line no one could untie.

With all the unexpected amorous attention he'd received over the weekend, work had, for the most part, been shoved out of his mind; swept aside by dinner parties, make-out sessions, and gas station blowjobs. But now the building loomed over him, reminding him of the waiting fight. Tom with his false evidence, his petty campaign, his smug plan to push Roy out and spit-shine the empty office after.

The weekend could have been a dream. Hot kisses, satin sheets, women paying attention to him in a way that Roy had never experienced before. He should have felt elated, like he'd won the lottery, but his job felt too solid to ignore. A weight on his chest. A life he'd built that someone else was about to dismantle plank by plank.

There had to be a diagnosis for this. Some technical term for a man in his mid-forties whose romantic life suddenly went supernova while every other part of his existence crumbled. Work Anxiety with Acute Libido Compensatory Disorder. Relationship-Induced Nervous Collapse, Subtype: Shared Boyfriend Panic. He almost snorted. Maybe someone should start a clinic.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Confrontation wasn't his specialty. Never had been. Nicknames from his childhood years locked it in stone: Go-Along Roy. No-Wave Roy. Reliable Roy, receding steadily into wallpaper while louder men made the rules.

He already knew how he would handle Tom. Not through lawyers or arguments or whistle-blowing. He would capitulate. Pack a cardboard box. Leave the badge on the desk. Call it transition rather than retreat and hope a recruiter believed him. Maybe one of their competitors would take his résumé seriously. Maybe he'd land in a smaller firm where politics mattered less and skill mattered more. Or maybe he'd end up consulting from his sofa, explaining to strange new coworkers over Zoom that he left because he "needed a new challenge."

Would Elaine stick around for any of that? Could he imagine telling her he was unemployed right after becoming her boyfriend, her shared boyfriend, and hoping the magic of the wish bolstered her affection long enough to keep a roof over his head? He didn't want to contemplate the answer, but the question burrowed deeper than he liked.

A notification pinged, shattering his spiralling thoughts.

He unlocked his phone and looked at the text from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Good morning sweetie! I've got a few minutes before class starts. Hope you slept well! Looking forward to tonight!

His throat tightened. Was this from Claire? The next vibration came too quickly.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Got any ideas about what you want to do? Honestly, I don't care, as long as we're together. Maybe your place?

Then a third.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Was thinking about you all night. Here's something to keep me on your mind today.

A photo popped open: Claire in a bra and panties, lying on her bed, lips pursed in a kiss. Bright. Confident. Young.

Roy felt the flip in his stomach turn into a full somersault. The air in the car went thin.

He locked the phone fast enough to fumble it, stuffing it into his jacket like it burned. The pressure behind his ribs swelled to something close to panic.

So much for navigating the day.

He climbed out of the car, feet hitting the pavement harder than necessary. The building stood imposing ahead. One foot in front of the other. Work first. Whatever tonight became, disaster, bliss, or a total ethical meltdown, could wait.

At least until 5 p.m.

Roy shut the door behind him and walked toward the entrance, pretending gravity still applied and the world hadn't tilted beneath his feet again.