by River Jaymes
Even after the words left his mouth, he knew they didn’t fit any better. Noah lifted his eyes heavenward, calling Dylan out on the lie. Maybe he should try something a little closer to the truth.
“I’m pissed off,” Dylan said.
“I can tell.”
“Alec shouldn’t have pushed,” Dylan said, growing angry all over again. “He wants me to make some kind of goddamn commitment. Just because he said he loves me—”
“He said that?” Noah looked positively stunned.
“What? Is that so hard to imagine?”
“To be perfectly blunt, yes. You wouldn’t be an easy man to love.” Noah crossed his arms, regarding Dylan calmly. “In fact, you might never get this chance again.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.”
Dylan ignored Noah and finally shared his greatest fear, the one that had been nipping at his heels for weeks. “But how do I know Alec won’t suddenly decide he wants Tyler back?”
Dylan’s chest ached, as if set to split wide open. That was the trouble with voicing his thoughts instead of keeping them safely tucked in his head. They sounded so much worse when spoken out loud.
Noah, as usual, wasn’t helpful. “You don’t.”
Dylan scowled, and the memory of his response to Alec’s question punched hard.
Who do I belong with?
How the hell should I know?
The desire to push back with everything he had returned. Scream profanities. Punch through a wooden door. Kick a brick wall.
“He could go back to Tyler at any second,” Noah went on. “He is the safer choice, being a confirmed gay and all.”
“If you’re trying to help, please stop.”
Noah didn’t comply. “Just like I didn’t know that Rick would die.”
All the air in Dylan’s chest rushed out on a crushing whoosh. “Jesus, stop. Just fucking stop.”
“I’m sorry, Dylan.” Noah settled back, his arm resting on the ledge behind Dylan’s shoulders. “You need to hear the truth right now. Coddling you will gain you nothing.”
Dylan let out a scoff. “When have you ever coddled me?”
“When Rick was dying.”
Dylan closed his eyes, but the spinning only got worse. He wasn’t sure if he should blame Noah’s words or the four beers he’d consumed.
“But don’t worry,” Noah went on, patting Dylan on the back. “You more than made up for that horrible day in the weeks that followed.”
Dylan dropped his elbows to the table and pressed his palms against his eyes. Yeah, they’d taken turns falling apart. Dylan had been a basket case those last few days of Rick’s life, forced to watch the only person on the planet he cared about slip away, in pain, with Dylan helpless to do a goddamn thing. Noah had kept Dylan together enough to keep him focused on Rick. But after Rick passed, Noah had crumbled. Seven days’ worth of Noah crying and drinking had followed, culminating in a night where he’d made a move on Dylan. Wasn’t hard to figure out the seduction attempt had been all about pain control. The alcohol certainly hadn’t been doing the trick, for either one of them.
Dylan had almost felt bad for turning Noah down.
“You were my first attempt at seducing a straight,” Noah said with a wistful smile.
Despite everything, Dylan’s lips quirked. “Am I the one who got away?”
Noah threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, trust me, there’ve been others. But you were the first. A romantic figure I have no intention of changing.”
“Glad I’m good for something.”
“It’s okay to be mad at Rick.”
The words came out of the blue. But, deep down, Dylan knew the thought had been circling in his brain like a swarm of sharks growing closer and closer.
“Jesus, Noah. It’s not like the man wanted to die.”
“Yes,” Noah said. “But we both know his choices played a role in contracting the virus.”
“He didn’t have any choices, man.”
“Then why are you mad?”
The words came out like a fifty-mile-an-hour slide of bare skin across concrete. “I’m pissed at him because he left me alone.”
Noah steadily met Dylan’s gaze while Dylan’s pulse pounded so hard the motion shook his chest. One of the teams on the widescreen scored a touchdown, and a rousing sound of cheers, and a few groans, filled the air. None of the noises, not a single one, seemed louder than Dylan’s stomping heart.
When the din died away, Noah went on. “So quit taking your anger out on Alec. An anger you should have worked your way through ages ago.”
Dylan let out a soft snort. “So says the guy who’s been chasing unavailable men ever since.”
Noah picked up his bottle of Perrier with a smug smile. “There’s something deliciously forbidden about the impossible-to-obtain man. I’ve grown rather addicted to the chase.”
Dylan shot his friend a look. Noah might appear pleased with himself, but Dylan knew better.
“Noah, you are a walking, talking, lying sack of shit.”
Noah wrinkled his nose at the description. But Dylan noticed the way Noah’s gaze slid from Dylan’s eyes to somewhere over his shoulder.
“Your roughneck ways are usually intriguing.” Noah wiped a nonexistent spill with his napkin. “Though currently I can’t remember why.”
Because you know I’m right.
“Besides”—Noah set his bottle down—“we’re not talking about me, handsome. We’re talking about you.” Noah’s brown gaze refused to back down. “And you’ve fallen, Dylan Blaine Booth, something I thought I’d never live to see, especially for another man, but there you go.”
There you go echoed through Dylan’s head until replaced by you’ve fallen.
The words paralyzed him, left him shit-scared and panicking.
Fallen.
Fuck. What a lame-ass description. He felt more like he’d plummeted helter-skelter from three thousand feet, life as he knew it splattering on the rocky ground below.
“Sorry to be the one to break it to you,” Noah went on glibly, as if he hadn’t just altered the course of Dylan’s life forever. “I promise. If I ever fall again, you can rub the news in my face.”
Dylan dragged his hands down his eyes. Jesus, he needed to find some better friends. Preferably ones more sympathetic.
“And how, exactly, does that promise help me now?” Dylan muttered through his fingers.
“Gives you something to look forward to, of course,” he said cheerfully.
Implying, no doubt, just how much Dylan would need something to look forward to. Especially with his future looking so bleak and all.
Yep, he was definitely going to need new friends.
~~~***~~~
Two Wednesdays after the horrific end to the awards ceremony, soft country music greeted Alec as he entered the empty Front Street Clinic reception area. Sleep deprived, he clutched his latte. Fortunately the day had been long and grueling. Now he just needed to retrieve his laptop from his office before he could go home and collapse. He’d been pushing himself harder than usual, burying himself in his work and avoiding being alone with his thoughts. All of which centered on Dylan.
Chest aching, Alec wearily swept his hair behind an ear.
Computer. Home.
And then blissful escape in sleep.
Then he spied Martha, her back to him as she typed on her computer at the reception desk, and his heart sank. Hopefully the song on her radio would help him pass by without being detected. Exhausted, he couldn’t deal with further interaction today.
Usually he split his week equally between the office and making the rounds in the mobile clinic, recruiting new patients and checking in with their regulars at the local soup kitchens. The clinic used food as incentive to keep their patient population coming back, because Maslow had been on to something when he listed out his hierarchy of needs.
According to the psychologist, the base of the triangle—the most fundamental of needs
—included breathing, food, water, sleep, warmth, and sex. Dylan had learned to exist along the bottom rung, wringing all the pleasure possible from the very basics, like food and warmth and sex. He never really aspired to attain more, mostly because he didn’t expect much out of life. A direct result of being given so little.
Alec gripped his coffee cup tight, hating how much that truth still hurt.
As far as his patients’ priorities went, taking antiretroviral meds to treat HIV fell well below the need for food and a safe place to sleep. In addition, despite a van providing rides, the no-show rate for appointments at the office bordered on fifty percent.
This was why Alec had volunteered to spend long hours in their mobile clinic. Sitting around here with nothing to do, even for five minutes, left him with too much time on his hands. Too much time to contemplate the huge mess he’d made of his life and how much he missed Dylan.
Christ, he needed to get a grip.
Alec flicked his gaze between the hallway across the room and Martha’s back. If quiet enough, he might be able to pull this off. He’d taken five steps when Martha spoke without looking around.
“Here’s your appointment list for tomorrow.” She swiveled in her seat and held out a clipboard. “Tyler’s out in the RV, restocking supplies. You’re supposed to stop by and see him before you leave.”
Another person with too many questions. Unlike Martha, though, Tyler wouldn’t hesitate to ask them.
Alec accepted the list and scanned the names. “What does Tyler want?”
Martha sent him her standard look, the one Alec imagined she made when coming across something in her refrigerator that looked iffy and smelled even worse.
“Haven’t a clue,” she said.
She paused, as if she wanted to say more. Alec took advantage of her hesitation and pivoted to leave.
“Wait.”
Alec mentally groaned and turned to face the receptionist again.
Martha pushed her reading glasses up on her head, her salt and paper hair now sticking up at odd angles. “Haven’t seen that boyfriend of yours around lately.”
Numbed by the words, Alec waited for her to go on. He knew she was referring to Dylan. In the months since Tyler and Alec had broken up, not once had Martha made a comment. Everyone had known the moment Tyler had moved out, and most of the employees had either offered words of support and condolences or sent Alec sympathetic looks.
Not Martha.
Alec appreciated how the nurse/secretary/front-desk bulldog had been the single employee at the clinic who had kept her opinions and sympathies to herself—assuming, of course, sympathy was within her capabilities. She didn’t believe in small talk or socializing. Nothing but work.
Until now.
“You tell him the next time he comes around he needs to park that motorcycle of his in the parking lot,” she said. “Not on our walkway.”
Despite the surge of sadness, Alec smiled at her grumpy way of wishing Alec luck with Dylan.
“Thanks, Martha,” Alec said. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah?” She looked embarrassed at being caught being nice. “You might not be so grateful after you see the names on that list,” she said, nodding at the clipboard. “The most disagreeable, noncompliant patients I could assemble.” She propped a hand on her hip. “I suspect you need a little challenge right now.”
“Thanks, Martha.” Alec let out a small huff of humor. “I think.”
Martha nodded brusquely at the side exit. “Tyler is waiting.”
Gripping his latte, Alec set down the clipboard and headed outside into the fading afternoon light, crossing the sidewalk and stepping up into the RV that had been converted into a rolling clinic. The front of the vehicle contained two chairs for drawing blood to send for labs, the middle devoted to a tiny exam room complete with a patient table. The back consisted of a makeshift pharmacy where the medications were kept.
Testing was crucial, but if patients identified as HIV positive lacked access to medications, then the system failed in its most vital role. Alec would always be proud of what he and Tyler had built here.
A clinic that could have prolonged Rick’s life.
Alec locked the sadness away and found Tyler in back squatting in front of an open cabinet, restocking their supply of brochures about safe sex. Alec had to smile. Even at the end of a long day, Tyler still looked impeccable, not a wrinkle to be found on his dress shirt, tie, or slacks.
“Hey.” Alec leaned against the narrow doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
Tyler acknowledged Alec with a nod. “Logan and I broke up,” he said before continuing with his task.
The coolly delivered words came as a shock. For a moment, Alec forgot to blink. He’d never even considered Tyler wanted to talk about himself.
“What happened?” Alec asked.
Tyler lined up the stacks of pamphlets with the same precision he applied to everything in his life. “His job,” he said. “Turns out being an award-winning documentary film producer requires a lot of travel. And while I’m all for being monogamous, if your partner’s gone most of the time, monogamy kind of sucks.”
Alec absorbed the news as he finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash.
“I’m sorry,” Alec said.
“Don’t worry.” Tyler paused to rest an arm on his thigh, and a hint of humor crept into his eyes. “I won’t call your mother and tell her I’m a free man again.”
Alec’s lips twisted wryly. “Thank you.”
Tyler’s gray gaze held Alec’s. Alec expected his ex to return to his task. Instead, after a brief pause, Tyler stood and faced him.
“We could try this again,” Tyler said, leaning a hip against the counter. “Try us again.”
The statement made an impressive landing, leaving Alec’s mind reeling. Stunned, Alec stared out the RV window as a car roared by on the street beyond, the sound fading as the vehicle disappeared over the hill.
And what if Tyler claimed he wanted me back, Dylan? What would you say?
I’d say you don’t belong with him.
“Think about it, Alec,” Tyler went on. “We make sense.”
In the days following their breakup, Alec would have given anything to hear those words.
In fact, if he hadn’t met Dylan, Alec would be jumping at the offer right now. And he and Tyler might have made a real go at the relationship this time, even worked out their differences and been completely content. But contently happy could never replace soul-deep joy.
Dylan had taught him the difference.
Alec had never loved Tyler. Not the way he loved Dylan. Alec had been so focused on the idea of permanency, of getting married, that he’d clung to the idea of the relationship more than the man himself.
“I don’t think…” Alec shifted his weight on his feet. “I don’t think it’s supposed to make sense.”
A faint crinkle appeared on Tyler’s brow.
“Dylan’s not really gay,” Alec said.
Tyler’s crinkle grew deeper. “You mean he faked that too?”
“Yes,” Alec said. “And no.” He rubbed his forehead, realizing he sounded crazy. “I mean, he was sleeping with me, but—”
“Let me guess.” One brow shifted marginally higher. “He’s so deep into that walk-in-sized closet of his he couldn’t find his way out with a flashlight, a GPS, and a search-and-rescue team.”
“That’s what I originally thought,” Alec said. “But he truly has no hang-ups when it comes to labels. Gay, straight, bi, and every shade in between. He just doesn’t care. It’s almost funny.” Alec watched the fading light filter through the trees outside, wishing he could laugh. “I’m the guy who’s supposed to be protesting the limitation of labels. And yet, all along, I’m the one who tried to force Dylan to accept one.”
“Most people need labels because they bring a measure of security.”
“Exactly,” Alec said.
Tyler crossed his arms. “Then what’s the problem w
ith Dylan?”
Stumped, Alec considered the question before letting out a self-chastising scoff.
“I guess it’s another labeling issue. I want him to accept that we’re in a relationship, and the idea freaks him out.” Alec slowly blew out a breath. “He doesn’t care if people know we eat dinner together every evening or that he spends most every night in my bed. But God forbid you call him my boyfriend.”
“So he’s afraid of being in a relationship.”
Fear. The word did sum up the problem nicely. Dylan had learned to live with the loss of his mother and then his father. But Rick’s death had been one loss too many.
“I just don’t know where to go from here,” Alec said.
“Well, I know how important being part of a couple is to you.”
Pressure made Alec’s throat ache as he looked at his ex. In the days that followed Tyler moving out, Alec had been too busy throwing a pity party to realize he was a major part of their problems. He’d mourned the loss of the couple label more than the loss of his partner.
God, I’ve been such a dick.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. I didn’t mean to use you that way.”
As always, Tyler’s eyes remained cool and calm, but the muscle in his jaw clenched—the only sign of his discomfort. “It’s okay,” he said. “Took me a while to figure everything out. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Perceptive.”
“No, it’s not okay. I ignored us in my focus on the clinic and ending Proposition 8. Essentially, I totally took you for granted. And you deserve better than that.”
Tyler gave a single nod. “I do.” He lifted a shoulder with his signature economy of movement. “Then again, doesn’t everyone?”
They slipped into a companionable silence, and Alec leaned against the wall, grateful they’d managed to salvage their friendship. He was going to need all the friends he could get to survive the loneliness of the next few weeks. Months.
Years.
Christ. Alec fought the need to close his eyes against the painful thought.
Hip parked against the counter, Tyler crossed his ankles. “What are you going to do about Dylan?”
