Same old body. Same old—
Tattoos. His eyes landed on his “Blessed” tattoo and for the first time in two years, he didn’t want to shake his fist at the sight. Instead he felt a bit wistful, yes, but also...peace. He was blessed. He had two amazing kids, whom the kindergarten teacher had nothing but praise for, a mother who had spent all day covered in yellow paint without complaint, a family who loved him, and Dylan. Well, he didn’t exactly have him, not yet anyway, but more than once over the course of the day, Apollo had pictured Dylan in the sunny space, thought about what he’d say. Dylan’s words he could imagine easily. His own...
Yeah, still working on that part.
Turning away from the mirror and questions he still didn’t have answers for, he scooped up his clothes from the floor.
Thwunk. His ring tumbled from his pocket, skittered across the tile floor to land precariously near the vent. He plucked it up, spinning it around his palm.
Neal. What would he think of Apollo blithely declaring himself “blessed” again? Daydreaming about showing their master bedroom to some young—
Happy. He’d be happy for you. Apollo almost dropped the ring again he was so startled by the reply echoing inside his head. He didn’t feel Neal out at Singing Hills where he was buried, didn’t sense him at important events, no matter how much he tried, but every so often he’d caught a whisper of him in the edges of life—the corner of the garage where he used to work on his bikes, the chaise in the bedroom where he’d curl up and read, the old rocker in the twins’ room, but never here.
He fiddled with the ring, rubbing the beveled edge.
After his father’s death, he used to catch his mother talking to him, sometimes serious, sometimes irreverent, little casual asides that Apollo always felt casual about witnessing. But as much as his mother had been a model for how to cope with loss, Apollo had never deluded himself into thinking that Neal could hear him or that talking would help with anything other than making him feel worse, but with everyone pestering him to find someone to talk to, maybe...
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, voicing aloud his dilemma of the past few weeks for the first time. “How do I let you go?”
The universe had no answer for him, his head as empty as ever.
“Soon as I met you, the only thing I ever wanted was to be a guy worthy of you. And that’s all I’ve wanted since. To be the man you’d be proud of, but here’s the thing. I also want to be a guy who’s worthy of him, and it’s tearing me up.”
No answers, but talking was loosening something inside his chest, making him feel less on the knife’s edge of anxiety than he’d been since Dylan had moved out. “And I couldn’t be that guy without you. That’s what keeps getting me. Before you, I didn’t know about relationships...being a partner...being a dad. You taught me all that. Gave me a blueprint to a future I never knew I wanted. But I knew I wanted it with you. I knew what my place in the universe was, but then you were gone and I had no place. No blueprint.”
He was crying now, real tears, the kind he hadn’t shed in...maybe ever. Big fat angry tears rolling down his face. “Damn it. You didn’t leave me a map. Nothing.” His hand squeezed around the ring. “And I was so, so fucking angry about that. For so long. Everyone thought I was this ball of grief and sadness, but really, I was raging. Furious. At you. For leaving. But then something happened...”
He took a deep breath, sinking to sit on the floor, kicking a stuffed goldfish aside. “One day I wasn’t so angry. I wasn’t so...anything. I was just existing. And something—someone—made me want more than just breathing. I want to live again, Neal. I need to live again.”
He shut his eyes, head coming to rest on his hands. “And you...you’re happy for me. I can feel it. I’m the one who’s scared, who’s holding back, who’s using you as an excuse. And you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be my ghost. You never would have wanted that. Right?”
The warmth of the metal in his hand was his only reply, but he felt a strange calm descending over him, the sort of full-body exertion that followed a tough workout, his body feeling warmer than it had in years, like the ice around his soul was finally melting in the flood of anger and truth that he couldn’t deny any longer. Truth was that Neal would never have wanted to be Apollo’s albatross, the 180-pound weight he lugged around with him every day, the shrine to the heart he used to have.
God, Neal would have hated who Apollo had become for a while there, but he’d be pretty damn proud of the guy who shredded his triceps reaching overhead to paint trim. The guy who was finally, finally taking charge of his future again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“We won!” Dylan looked around for Ben to high five. The fall soccer season was well underway, and today’s scrimmage would be a great warm-up for their game next week. After his help in the exhibition game, the team had welcomed him back for their competitive season, and he was loving the team camaraderie and the outlet of the game.
Because of his schedule, Ben didn’t make all the practices, but when he did, they often rode together, grabbing a beer on the way back. Back home, watching Isaiah’s revolving love life was just as entertaining as the game, and come Monday, he had a job he loved waiting for him. He had a great leaf craft in mind for the kids this week. All in all, it wasn’t a bad life.
And yet, he was still lonely. Soul-crushingly, painfully lonely, constantly aware of exactly what he was missing.
“Great job.” It wasn’t Ben’s voice and Dylan whirled around, scarcely hoping, but there he was. Apollo.
“You...you came to watch? The girls dragged you?” Chances were high this was about the girls, not the weird limbo they’d been in ever since their...hell, it wasn’t really a fight even. Their discussion. Him moving out. The weeks of second-guessing himself and barely restraining himself from going to Apollo, begging and cajoling him to try. But he’d known, deep in his marrow, that Apollo had to be the one to come to him.
And now he had. And Dylan honestly wasn’t sure how—or if—to react.
“No girls.” Apollo’s smile was a bit lopsided. “Just me. That okay?”
“I suppose.” Dylan scarcely trusted his voice to speak, and his body was still deciding whether it was angry. It had been a long damn wait for this moment, and his hope muscles had all but given out these past few weeks, replaced instead by his old enemies dread and doubt, and it was hard to get his mind to shift on a dime just because Apollo had shown up.
“I was thinking we could walk a bit? If you’re finished here?”
“We are, but I rode with Ben—”
“I can give you a ride back,” Apollo said quickly. “No problem at all.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Dylan’s shoulders curved in, as if they could protect his heart by sheer bodily force. Now that this moment was here, he wasn’t sure he was ready for it, wasn’t sure he was ready to trust Apollo, wasn’t sure he trusted himself when it came right down to it.
“Please. Just talking. There’s some stuff I need to tell you, and I wasn’t sure you’d take my call. And I needed to see you in person.”
Dylan wasn’t sure whether he would have answered the phone either. In their time apart, he’d come to realize exactly how deeply he loved Apollo, and that had only strengthened his resolve that he wanted a true relationship of equals—he couldn’t risk being the one who cared and loved deeper.
Across the field, Ben gestured at Dylan’s stuff, eyebrows raised in clear question. It wouldn’t be fair to make Ben stick around. “Fine. You can give me a ride. But no promises.”
“Fair enough.” Apollo gave him a tentative smile, one that Dylan couldn’t quite return yet.
After grabbing his stuff, he jogged back to where Apollo stood. He looked damn good in civilian clothes—faded jeans and a blue button-up shirt with the sleev
es rolled up.
“So what’s up?” he asked as they headed down the path that led back to the parking lot. Dylan figured there was no need to make small talk, not when his heart was galloping like an angry stallion finally set free of the stable.
“Well...” Apollo rubbed his face. “I was wondering if you might want to come someplace with me.”
An outing? Where was Dylan’s apology? An explanation for the past few weeks? “Where?”
“I’m getting a new tattoo. Right here.” Apollo pointed to a bare patch of forearm.
“A new tattoo? But you said you were never getting ink again...”
“I said a lot of things.” Instead of heading straight for the cars, Apollo kept on the path, eyes forward, not on Dylan. “A lot of things I need to apologize for, actually.”
“Go on then.” Dylan’s throat was wool-blanket thick, but he wasn’t letting Apollo off the hook so easily.
“I’m sorry that I treated you so badly. Sorry that I was too scared to see what was right in front of my face. Mainly sorry that I kept you waiting so long. It’s not too late, is it?” Apollo sounded so genuinely panicked that Dylan had to laugh.
“No, it’s not too late,” Dylan admitted. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to let the hope monster out of its cage. “But I’m not going to lie about the waiting being easy. It sucked. And I can’t do it again. Can’t do the hot-cold thing we did all summer with you running and me chasing. I won’t go there again. I’m finally sleeping again after weeks of not, and I’m starting to find a life again with the soccer team and my new friends. I’m not ready to go back to that limbo land place if you’re not sure what you want.”
“I’m sure. I want you. Us. And I don’t want you going through hell, not ever again. I’m so sorry. For everything.” Apollo’s voice broke, and he still wasn’t meeting Dylan’s eyes. “I let you think this was all on you, when really I was just as invested as you, but I just couldn’t let myself see it. And I took it out on you—”
“You did,” Dylan agreed.
“And that wasn’t fair. I should have just faced up to my stupid self—”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re quite so bad. Tell me about the tattoo?”
“Well...” Apollo finally looked over at him, wariness in his eyes that Dylan hadn’t seen before. “It’s a puzzle piece.”
“A puzzle piece?” Dylan wasn’t sure he followed.
“Yeah.” Apollo’s strides lengthened, almost as if he might be as nervous as Dylan. “A small one. I’ve spent the last two years searching for a map. Or maybe a flowchart. Something to make sense of my life again. But now I realize...there is no map, just a puzzle to solve, one with jumbled pieces.”
“And you’ve solved it?”
“Not hardly.” Apollo’s laugh was warm, blanketing him like a favorite jacket. “But you, see, you’re an edge piece.”
“An edge piece? Like a corner?”
“Exactly. One of those pieces that helps you make sense of all the other pieces and start to put the puzzle together. One of the pieces you might not even realize you were missing until you started trying to sort things out. I’ve got so many other pieces—the girls, my family, the SEALs—and somehow you bring it all together. Help me balance it out and make sense of where the pieces are supposed to go.”
“I do?” This gesture was so achingly sweet, it was making it hard for him to resist risking his heart again.
Apollo nodded. “You do. And I wanted something to remind me of that. Even if we’re just friends, even if you move on, I want to remember that you showed me what was missing from my life.”
“I don’t want to move on,” Dylan admitted, grabbing Apollo’s arm to slow him down, move him to the side so some joggers could pass. “I think we’ve both got some...puzzle-piece sorting to do, though. See where we fit together. If we fit.”
“We fit,” Apollo growled and pulled Dylan closer to him, and there, where Ben or the team or anyone else passing by could see, he kissed him. And not just a sweet peck either—this was a full assault from a deadly operator intent on the mission of blowing up the last of Dylan’s brain cells.
“Okay, okay.” Breathless, Dylan pulled away. Too much remained unsettled between them, but he still couldn’t resist nipping at Apollo’s lower lip as he tugged up his shirt, desperate to get his hands on skin.
“Hey, now. It’s the middle of the day.” Apollo stayed Dylan’s hands. “And I’ve got an appointment over at Metropolis Tattoo. Are you coming with me?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dylan gave him a searching look. “I can’t guarantee... I mean, I’m happy to see you. And we need to talk. A lot. But ink...that’s a huge step.” He was babbling again, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He wasn’t sure he was ready for Apollo to do something so permanent when Dylan’s own feelings were still such a jumbled mess.
“I’m sure. I want the tattoo regardless of what happens with us now. I want to remember this summer and what you gave me—”
“Maybe our story isn’t done.” Dylan cut him off before Apollo could write the epigraph on something that was barely getting started. Dylan might not know much at the moment, but he knew it would be hard as hell to walk away from a second try with Apollo. Dylan’s hope monster was already dancing up a storm again, making it hard to think rationally about their future. He could give Apollo a chance, but whether he could truly trust Apollo with his heart was another question.
* * *
A few hours later, Dylan followed Apollo as they snuck into the house. Apollo’s mother had texted that the girls were already in bed while they were grabbing food after the tattoo. And not that Dylan wasn’t eager to see the girls, but he was kind of grateful for the quiet house. It seemed comfortingly familiar yet brand new at the same time—just as their tentative evening together had. Dylan was still struggling between letting the hope monster roam freely and trying to guard his heart against another crushing disappointment.
They kept stopping to kiss on the stairs, but once upstairs, Dylan headed toward the guest bedroom by instinct.
“No. Not there.” Apollo tugged him toward the master.
“Here is fine.” Dylan didn’t want to rock the boat. It had been such a magical evening—Apollo’s appearance, watching him get the tattoo, which was strangely sexy even though Dylan still didn’t have much urge to get ink himself, dinner where they couldn’t seem to stop holding hands—he didn’t want to ruin things by pushing for more than Apollo was ready for. He’d told Apollo they could try again. That was enough for now. Later, maybe tomorrow, they could talk more about what this all meant and decide if there was a good path forward, but right now Dylan was desperate to get his hands on Apollo again.
“Come on. I want to show you something.” Apollo pulled on his hand again, and Dylan reluctantly followed. It felt weird, entering his and—
“Whoa.” Dylan was taken aback by the transformation of the space. What had been gray and somber was now aggressively sunny, a bright yellow on the walls and framed pictures of the ocean above the bed, which had been moved and was covered with a loud paisley spread. “You painted,” he said in the understatement of the year.
“It was time.” Apollo ducked his head, uncharacteristically sheepish. “And I know the comforter is hideous. That’s my mom’s doing. I was thinking...maybe you could help me pick something better? I mean, assuming you have an opinion—”
“Apollo.” Dylan attempted to kiss the weird nervousness out of Apollo, shutting the door with his foot before he pulled Apollo close. He didn’t quite know how to say thank-you for a gesture—step—this huge, and he tried to put all his surprise and happiness into the kiss. The puzzle-piece tattoo had been awesome, but this felt bigger somehow. Less of an “I’m sorry” and more proof of how they could actually fit together. “Yes, I’d love to have an opinion on your
bedding, but right now, I want you on it, and could give a fuck about the print.”
He grabbed Apollo’s hand to pull him toward the bed, noticing something he should have picked up on hours ago. “Your ring...”
“It was time for that too.” Apollo shrugged. “I put it away with a few other things I packed up from the room. Still not sure exactly what I want to do with them—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be sure.” Dylan’s eyes burned as he kissed him again, trying to convey with his mouth and roving hands that he knew how huge these changes were for Apollo, that he appreciated the effort. “Take your time. I meant it when I said I don’t want to rush you—”
“I was ready.” Apollo was more decisive now. “It took me a bit to get there, and even longer to figure out the words to say to you, but like you said about your job, I had to do this for me. I changed the space and put away the ring for me, because I needed that, because I was ready. Not because you pushed me, but because you gave me wings to do what I needed to do for me.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re doing a pretty fine job with words.” Dylan’s heart swelled, so much that he wasn’t sure his chest could hold all the hope—yes, hope—that he was finally letting free. God, but he loved this man. Trying not to tear up, he forced himself to laugh and pushed Apollo onto his bed. “I am going to miss the mirrored door though.”
“You’re welcome to come visit the guest room any time.” Apollo chuckled, then got serious as he sat up on the bed. “But you don’t have to either—I heard what you said that night. I want you for you. Not because the girls adore you or because I want live-in help, but for you.”
Dylan bit his lip hard to keep the tears that kept threatening at bay. He hadn’t realized until this moment how badly he needed to hear that. All day he’d been fighting a losing battle against his emotions, against the need to forgive Apollo, to love him again. To trust in this thing—more than tattoos, more than paint jobs and empty ring fingers, he’d needed that trust, those words from this man. His man.
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