Stefan arrived at Market Garden at eight o’clock sharp the next night. Right on time.
Frank had taken up his usual booth, and he was halfway through a drink that really, really needed some booze in it. Even if he had stopped drinking a long time ago, sometimes he was tempted. Employees weren’t allowed to drink, though, and Frank wasn’t a “do as I say, not as I do” kind of boss. Rum-less Coke it was, even if it was barely enough to keep his mouth wet.
Stefan was on his way to the back room where the guys left their keys and things in lockers, and Frank stopped him.
“Hey.” Frank glanced up and made eye contact. “Do you mind coming into my office for a minute?”
Stefan swallowed. “Uh. Sure. Just”—he tugged at his jacket—“give me a minute to put my stuff away.”
“Sure. Come on in when you’re ready.”
Stefan held his gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. The faintest shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn’t had any more sleep last night than Frank had, and probably for the same reasons. He’d wisely covered up the circles with a little foundation—the boys here weren’t above some cosmetic touch-ups, since their looks put money in their pockets—but Frank still noticed.
Stefan cleared his throat. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Without another word or glance, he brushed past Frank.
Frank waited for him in the office. With no one around to scrutinise his body language, he let his restlessness out in drumming fingers, occasionally tapping his heel against his chair too. When footsteps came down the hall, he stilled. Mostly. His foot still tapped quietly against the chair as Stefan appeared in the doorway.
Frank sat back in his chair. “Shut the door and have a seat.”
Stefan obeyed. “So. Um.” He coughed into his fist. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to clear the air. After yesterday.” And we’re off. “I don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us.”
“Oh.” Stefan fidgeted, leaning on one armrest. “I guess that’s probably a good idea.”
Frank took a deep breath and folded his hands on the desk. He stared at them while he collected his thoughts. He wasn’t getting any less nervous as the clock on the wall marked every second of silence, and his stomach still twisted and turned. It wouldn’t get any less difficult or awkward. Time to bite the bullet.
“I’m going to be perfectly honest here.” Then do. Start starting.
“You’re going to be frank?”
Their eyes met. They both laughed, which at least broke some of the tension.
“Yes, something like that.” Frank unfolded and refolded his sweaty hands. “Listen, there’s no point in me pretending I’m not attracted to you.”
No surprise registered on Stefan’s face. This wasn’t news to either of them, and he was too cocky to pretend it was.
Frank continued. “And yes, it’s true I make a point of not getting involved with men who work for Market Garden. But it’s . . . a little more complicated than that.”
Stefan’s brow furrowed. “Okay.”
Frank took another deep breath to calm his nerves. “I lost my partner. A year and a half ago.”
Stefan jumped. “Oh. I’m . . . sorry to hear it.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, like he’d run out of air.
“Thank you.” Frank’s voice didn’t have any more strength than Stefan’s. “It’s been difficult. I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Ooh, yeah.” Stefan broke eye contact and stared down at his own hands, wringing them in his lap. “I can definitely imagine.”
“Stefan.” Frank drew a deep breath. “My partner died of AIDS-related complications.”
Stefan’s head snapped up, and Frank thought the kid lost some colour.
Frank moistened his lips. “And the reason I don’t mess around at the paintball field or—”
“You’re positive too.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it an accusation. Simply a conclusion based on the evidence presented.
Frank nodded slowly. “I am.”
“Oh.”
“Under the circumstances, I should have told you before we went to the field. But it’s not something I want to be common knowledge here.”
Stefan’s eyes lost focus. “I understand.”
Heavy silence settled in, and it seemed to press down on Stefan’s shoulders as much as it pressed on Frank’s. Stefan didn’t look at Frank, which made Frank’s skin crawl. Nothing like announcing you were a leper to someone who’d wanted into your pants twenty-four hours earlier. The kid was probably reeling, mentally replaying all the moments when he’d tried to get to Frank, realising how many bullets he’d dodged.
As if HIV was the Grim Reaper’s touch. Frank was in excellent health with an exceptionally low virus count. There were condoms. Safe practices. But the disease was still terrifying, and Frank couldn’t deny he’d had the same reaction in his pre-positive days. He couldn’t blame Stefan, but it still hurt.
He cleared his throat. “That’s all I wanted to discuss. You can go.”
Please go, Stefan.
Stefan nodded and pushed to his feet. “Okay. Um, thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This stays between us.” Stefan pushed the chair back into its place. “Don’t worry.”