Survival Game (Men of London Book 9)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  “Oh, I can’t.” Kyle said regretfully. “Luce leaves at midnight to go back to the US and we have a girls’ night out. Just the two of us. Because no doubt there will be tears and snot. And plenty of drama when we wave goodbye.” He snorted in amusement. “Plus Luce and I have been tasked with getting something special organised for the club.”

  Eric tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Oh. She’s off already? It was only last week we all had dinner together. Her departure came around quickly. Maybe another night then. I’ll text her, say goodbye before she goes.”

  After what Luce had done for Kyle in Vegas, they deserved time together, and Eric certainly didn’t begrudge them it.

  There was silence, then Kyle spoke softly. “I heard that there’s a great Impressionism exhibition at the National Gallery. Maybe you’d like to join me and we can go for dinner afterward? It’s Monday night, so I guess you’ll be off?”

  Eric didn’t have a clue what Impressionism meant but he wouldn’t disappoint Kyle a second time.

  “I like Impressionism.” He made a mental note to look it up before they went out. “And Monday is good. And the best thing is it’s only two days away. It’s a date. Just let me know where to meet you.”

  “I’ll do that. I’ll text you but it won’t be that stupid stuff you do.” The smile in Kyle’s voice warmed Eric. “Okay then, I’ll speak to you soon. Looking forward to it.”

  Eric smiled at his phone. “Me too.” He ended the call and slumped down into the armchair. His stomach was still queasy with the aftermath of yesterday’s events.

  Perhaps Aaron was right. Perhaps Eric needed to talk to someone again about the recurrence of the nightmares, the fact his job meant less and less to him each day and that he might have found someone else who was special.

  Eric knew Kyle was important to him and was becoming more so every day. It was time to begin living again, to place his trust and caring in another person. Carrying the shadow of Lincoln’s death in his soul and the still-twisted remnants of the similar event of yesterday was not going to bring him that solace.

  With a sigh, Eric picked up his phone again and scrolled through the numbers. Then, with a resolve he drew up from his soul, he dialled a number he knew off by heart.

  “Wow, that exhibition was amazing. The brushstrokes on that Cezanne were so intricate they were breath-taking.” Kyle’s enthusiasm about the art they’d seen should have lifted Eric’s spirits more. Instead, he smiled and continued walking down the busy street, avoiding people coming in the opposite direction. The streets were packed, and he was irritated at the constant pushes and shoves as people strode past, uncaring of whether or not they knocked into anybody.

  I should have known better than to go the therapist this morning. I should have cancelled. But Kyle was so looking forward to the exhibition.

  This morning’s session with his old doctor, Louisa Kenton, had been rough. A specialist in PTSD and survival guilt related disorders, she’d been soft-spoken yet thorough and it had left Eric feeling shattered and drained.

  Dredging up old feelings had been tougher than he’d imagined. He’d never had thought his guilt at not saving Lincoln and surviving was a living thing, a despotic malingerer intent on destroying him from within. Dr Kenton had shown him a glimpse of the monster and Eric wasn’t a fan. The fact he felt he’d failed at saving the suicide jumper hadn’t helped either.

  “I’m surprised you’re so chipper when you got in at one this morning,” Eric said dryly. “You sound as if you and Luce had a really good time.”

  Eric was glad that he’d managed to pull off normal. Sure, he’d been quiet—but then, Kyle said enough for both of them.

  “Oh, we did,” Kyle chirped. “We pub crawled, did the whole dance scene thing, then she caught her taxi to the airport around ten.” His face clouded. “There was a lot of snot and drama. We were both a mess when we said goodbye, but she said she’s coming back in six months’ time.” He bounced happily. “It’s something to look forward to.”

  Eric frowned. “If she left at about ten, how come you got in at one?”

  Kyle made puppy dog eyes at him. “I met up with an old friend. We had a few drinks afterward because I was still upset, and he was a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Anyone I know?” Eric asked. He felt a teeny bit put out Kyle hadn’t called him, and yet, he’d been the one to tell him not to come over, hadn’t he?

  Kyle glanced at him slyly. “Maybe.” He grinned widely. “Is that a hint of jealousy I detect there?”

  Eric grunted. “No. I’m just being polite. You can be friends with whomever you want, you know that.”

  “Ooh, Mr Grumpy Pants,” Kyle chided. He squeezed Eric’s hand. “It was Ryan, you doofus. He’d dropped Mango off at the airport for some gung-ho conference he was going to and decided to pop in at the bar on his way home. That’s where he saw me and we spent some time together.”

  Eric felt much better knowing it had been Ryan, but he wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of letting Kyle know that. “I’m glad he’s back to his old self now, and is getting out and about. That’s cool.”

  “So, where do you want to go to get something to eat?” Kyle chattered beside him.

  Eric glanced over and grinned. “Anywhere you like. What kind of cuisine do you fancy, my liege? The night is yours to command.”

  Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? I can have anything I want?” He reached down and clasped Eric’s hand tentatively. “This work?”

  Eric’s throat clogged up at the simple gesture. “That feels good.” He squeezed Kyle’s chilled hand harder.

  The blinding smile Kyle gave him made Eric want to give him the world. God, he’s beautiful. I don’t want to lose this—what we have. What we’re building. I hope the feeling is mutual.

  “Hmm. Maybe we should try Korean? There’s a great place a couple of blocks away,” Kyle suggested.

  “Sounds good. I don’t think I’ve eaten Korean before. What’s it like?”

  As Kyle burbled on enthusiastically about tofu and kimchi, Eric’s attention was diverted to an elderly man further away coming toward them with a guide dog. Eric deftly manoeuvred him and Kyle out of the way to allow him to pass unhindered.

  Someone else, however, was not as courteous. A woman in front of them, carrying a shit ton of designer-labelled bags barrelled toward the man as if expecting him to give way. She was talking on a headset of some sort.

  Eric opened his mouth to warn her to watch out. Before he could, the dog changed course, no doubt to attempt to change the owner’s direction to avoid a collision. But the crowds were too thick and, as Eric watched in horror, the woman barrelled into the unseeing man, causing him to stagger and lose his balance.

  He shouted in surprise and the dog gave a deep woof.

  Leaving a startled Kyle behind him, Eric rushed forward to try and break the man’s fall. He managed to grab an arm and used all his strength to curtail the man’s descent. If he’d fallen to the pavement, the rushing throng of traffic may well have trampled on him.

  “Sir, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Here, let me help.”

  The man righted himself and threw a smile of gratitude toward Eric. “Thank you so much. I must have not been paying attention to Kirby…”

  Eric presumed Kirby was the dog, who now sat patiently waiting for instructions.

  “No,” he said grimly, glaring at the woman who was clutching her parcels to her chest as if he were a thief attempting to take them from her. “It wasn’t your fault. It was this woman who knocked you over. She was the one not watching where she was going.” He stared at her. “Perhaps next time you could be more careful, madam.”

  “Fuck you,” she spat, her face contorted with anger. “People like him shouldn’t be allowed on the streets in rush hour. They’re a bloody nuisance, them and their animals.” Around them some curious eyes stared, but for the most part people scurried by uncaring.

  A slow flare of temper crept throu
gh Eric’s chest and he clenched his fists to keep it in check. “People like him,” he said caustically. “You mean blind people? You’re a nasty piece of work, aren’t you?”

  Kyle was at Eric’s side now, a hand on his arm. “Calm down, babe.” He moved over to the blind man. “Are you okay, sir? Can I help at all?”

  “I’m good, young man.” He waved a hand. “Thank you for asking though.” He shook his head wearily. “And honestly, please don’t get riled on my account. I’m used to it.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have to get used to it,” Eric growled. “It’s not right. You have as much right to be here with your dog as she has, selfish cow.”

  “Eric,” Kyle said warningly. “Come on, let it go. She’s not worth it.”

  The woman’s eyes opened wider. “Not worth it? And what would you know about it, you freak?” She scrutinised Kyle, who stared back defiantly. “Fucking purple hair, piercings, and showing your body off. You’re a sight, you are. I bet your mum’s not proud of you, looking like that.”

  Kyle looked at her pityingly. “My mum’s just fine with who I am, thanks. So am I.”

  Eric’s fury welled at the bitch’s biting words. In his opinion, Kyle looked perfect, and his tight stomach showing beneath the crop-top shirt he wore was fabulous.

  His frustration at his therapy session and the emotions still surging beneath the surface got the better of him. “Better than being a bitch, lady. And leave my boyfriend alone. You want someone to insult, you can insult me.”

  Kyle pulled his arm, his face pale. “Eric, let’s go. The gentleman is fine and there’s no point causing a scene in public.”

  “I agree,” the elderly man said. “Kirby and I need to get home to my wife. But thank you, both of you, for standing up for me. I appreciate it.” He cast a glare in the direction of the now red-faced woman. “And you, madam, need to learn some manners. Good day.”

  With a farewell wave and Kirby leading the way, he set off. The woman harrumphed and turned to leave. But Eric couldn’t let it go. “Enjoy the rest of your night,” he called after her as she sashayed away. “Try not to knock any more elderly people down, why don’t you?”

  “Eric,” Kyle hissed, face darkening. “That’s enough. You’re being a prick now.”

  Eric turned to Kyle in angry surprise. “A prick? For defending an old blind man? Jesus Christ, Kyle.”

  Kyle flinched. Eric moved toward him, arm out, intending on taking his hand to continue their walk home. His gut roiled at the sudden look of panic rising on Kyle’s face. Kyle gathered his jacket closer around him in a defensive gesture and motioned to the street. “Let’s go home. I’ve had enough of tonight.” He moved swiftly forward, through the crowd. Eric followed, stricken at how the ending to their night had turned out.

  Perhaps he had overreacted, but God, Kyle hadn’t thought he was going to get violent with him, had he? Fuck it, surely, he knew him better than that?

  Confused, awash with dread that he’d fucked up—again—and with the beginnings of a quiet flame of resentment that Kyle could even think that of him, Eric followed his lover home in silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kyle opened the door to his flat and strode inside. He switched on the light and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. His hands were shaking slightly and he willed them still. Behind him, he heard Eric throw his jacket over the back of the couch and sit down in the armchair.

  What the fuck had that all been about? He’d never seen Eric so aggressive, so in someone’s face. It was as if the man he knew, the one who helped people and who had held him at night in some of the darkest of his times, was another person.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  Eric grunted, “No thanks.”

  Kyle turned back and poured another glass of water, downing it. He went over to the couch and sat down. Eric stared at him moodily.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “For causing such a scene. I overreacted.”

  “Yes, you fucking did,” Kyle retorted. “Care to tell me what had you in such a mood tonight? Don’t think I couldn’t see you were trying so hard to appear normal. I knew something was off the minute I saw you.”

  Eric shrugged. “It was a rough week. Not much to tell.”

  Kyle took a deep breath, trying to ignore the prickling irritation at Eric’s reticence. I spilt my guts and that’s all I get? “That’s what boyfriends do, isn’t it? Listen to your tales of woe?”

  He hadn’t missed the use of the word when Eric shouted it at the woman back on the street. At the time, it had given him a warm, fuzzy feeling that he’d been described that way.

  Eric’s nostrils flared at the word boyfriend.

  “Unless of course, that was said in the heat of the moment and you didn’t mean to use it.” Kyle cocked an eyebrow.

  Eric scowled. “I meant to use it. Duh. I mean, we are, aren’t we?”

  Even Kyle wasn’t a hundred percent on that one, although he hoped so. “If you tell me what’s bugging you. Otherwise, I’ll have to recant the honorific.” Kyle played his ace. “And you still owe me some payback, remember? A little something for me telling you my story. We agreed.”

  At that, something happened. Eric jumped to his feet and paced around the room like a caged animal.

  “You want to see the inside of me? Try to figure me out and see if you can fix me? She tried that this morning and all it did was make me feel more miserable.” He picked up a cushion and glared at it before flinging it back on the couch.

  Kyle blinked. “Who tried what this morning? Who the fuck is she?”

  The way Eric’s arms folded across his chest told Kyle he wasn’t happy about spilling the beans.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “It’s my business.”

  Kyle had heard enough. “For fuck’s sake. You just answered your own question about being boyfriends. If you’re not ready to talk to me about whatever bug you have up your arse, I don’t think that’s a term we can call ourselves.” His chest ached and his heart was bleeding but he had to say it. “I think the word fuckbuddies is more what you have in mind. And that’s not something I want to be for you.”

  Eric remained silent and shut off. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the floor.

  “The fact you aren’t denying it makes me think it’s the truth.” The lump in Kyle’s throat made the words hard. His eyes prickled but he was damned if he was going to cry. “Look, maybe we need to be alone tonight. You have issues. I have issues. Maybe this isn’t a good idea right now.” Say something. Tell me I’m wrong and this is as serious for you as it is for me.

  Eric remained tight lipped. Kyle closed his eyes briefly then opened them to see Eric staring at him. His stormy gaze showed both pain and guilt but his face was unreadable.

  Kyle reached for his phone. “I think maybe you should go home. I’ll call you a taxi then we can see how things are tomorrow when we’re both not so hyped up.”

  Eric stood up and pushed Kyle’s hand away from the mobile. “That’s not necessary,” he said. “I’ll find my own way home. Perhaps you’re right. We need to think about things for a while. Alone.”

  Before Kyle could say anything, Eric had picked up his jacket and was out the door. It swung shut behind him and all Kyle could do was stand there and wonder how everything had suddenly turned to shit.

  “And now—it’s karaoke time!”

  The audience in Club Delish roared in delight, anticipating the entertainment that was to come. Seated at the table in front of the stage, Kyle laughed out loud at how those words must have stricken fear and fury into Ryan. He knew how his boss felt about the dreaded curse of patrons butchering his favourite songs.

  The fund-raising benefit had taken some organising; the little surprise they’d all planned for Ryan’s unofficial welcome-back party had been hard to keep secret. Between himself, Luce, Mango and Lenny, though, they’d managed.

  And now the object of that surprise, young
teen singer and Goth sensation Callum Webster was pouring his heart out on stage. Kyle was sure when Ryan realised exactly who they’d convinced to karaoke at his club, all would be forgiven. His boss had an unholy crush on the singer. Luckily Kyle had an in with Callum from his days in Vegas and he’d been happy to oblige with a favour.

  Kyle took another sip of his drink and looked around the room. He stared at the name badge on the table next to his, and wondered if Eric was still coming tonight. Since their argument a week ago, he hadn’t heard a word from him.

  He reflected drolly that it was just as well Eric had been out of the picture, as Kyle had had more time to devote to the event tonight. He was still hurt by the fact Eric hadn’t even tried to get in touch.

  And since Kyle had been left with plenty of time on his hands, he made sure his flat was sparkling and tidy. He tended to clean when he got upset.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Brook Hunter leaned across the table, his smile dazzling. Lenny’s boyfriend, with his dark, debonair good looks, was a delicious specimen of man who wore a suit like a fashion model.

  Kyle forced a grin. “Just thinking about Ryan’s reaction when he heard the word ‘karaoke.’ I bet he threw a hissy fit the likes of which even Mango hasn’t seen before.”

  Brook’s hearty laugh rang out around the room. On stage, Laverne glanced their way and blew Brook a kiss.

  “The lady is looking mighty fine tonight.” Kyle waved a hand at Laverne. “She certainly knows how to put on a show.”

  “You know it,” Brook said fondly as he regarded his partner. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way for either of them.”

  “Evening.”

  Kyle’s heart leapt at the familiar voice.

  “Am I still welcome at the table?”

  Kyle looked up. Eric looked splendid in a pair of dark blue smoothies and a pale blue shirt teamed with a trendy open waistcoat in differing shades of blue and grey. His auburn hair curled around his ears and Kyle noticed it had grown a little.

  He shrugged. “Sure, feel free. It says your name right there.” He felt a little better when Eric rolled his eyes at his sass as he sat down.