“My orientation is irrelevant to this conversation.”
“I think it’s very relevant. I think you’re afraid to admit you’re bisexual.”
“What does that even mean?” Agitated, Dylan strode a few steps away before turning to pace back. “Fifty percent gay? Fifty percent straight? Can I be ninety percent of one? Ten percent of another? I’m not part this or part that. I’m just me.” He came to a halt in front of Alec. “A hundred percent whole me.”
Which all sounded to Alec like denial wrapped up in pretty protests.
“You couldn’t admit it with Rick, and you can’t admit it now,” Alec said.
“I told you.” Dylan’s voice was harsh. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about, Dylan?”
“Rick—” He snapped his mouth closed.
Alec held his breath and then let it all out in a rush. “You loved him.”
“’Course I did,” Dylan shot back.
Oh God. Acid burned Alec’s stomach, crawled up his esophagus, and reached the back of his throat…
Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit.
The first time he’d asked Dylan if he loved Rick, Alec had wanted him to say yes. A Dylan who’d loved Rick would have been gay or bi, and either one would have been infinitely more available. Now Alec didn’t know what to believe. With Dylan, Alec was learning nothing was set in stone.
“But I didn’t love him like that,” Dylan said. “Jesus, I told you before. Rick was a brother, not a boyfriend.”
“So why—”
“Because he died on me, goddamn it!” Dylan blurted. “Everyone always leaves. And I have such a huge fucking hole in my chest—” Dylan clamped his lips together. “Shit.” He turned away, his shoulders rising and falling as if fighting every necessary breath. He braced a hand against the brick wall of the building and closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. His words no longer held any punch. “Why did he have to leave?”
He sounded so…lost.
And maybe that was what this was all about, a loss that Dylan would never recover from. One too many for him to adjust. He’d lost his mother, his father, and even his childhood. And, if that hadn’t been enough, he’d gone and attached himself to Rick. And then lost him too.
Like a self-protective mechanism of an animal forced to shed a tail to survive, Dylan had sacrificed a piece of himself at every devastating turn.
Until not enough of him remained to recover.
Eyes burning, Alec stepped forward, hoping his voice remained steady. “I’m not leaving, Dylan,” he said, laying a hand on Dylan’s back.
“Don’t.” Dylan spun away from his touch. “Don’t touch me.”
Stung, Alec dropped his arm to his side.
Dylan’s eyes flashed a shade of green Alec had never seen. “You just had to push, didn’t you?”
Dylan might be lost, but he was also pissed as hell. Or maybe furious fit the description better. Whether Dylan was furious at Alec, at Rick, or the world in general, Alec didn’t know. At this point the recipient of all that anger hardly mattered because the emotion took up so much space there wasn’t room for anything else.
Like Alec.
“You’re so friggin’ set on a committed relationship that you can’t see what’s right under your nose,” Dylan went on.
“That’s not true.”
“I’ll admit Noah’s party was my idea, but you were the one who wanted to keep up this charade in hopes of avoiding a confrontation with your mother.” Dylan’s gaze refused to budge, boring into Alec’s. “Face it, you’re too fucking scared to be honest with your own family.”
Alec opened his mouth, hoping to produce a decent protest. But none came.
“I’ve had enough of this black tie affair,” Dylan said.
Dylan turned and headed toward the door, and this time, Alec didn’t bother following.
Chapter Fifteen
Dylan drove his car home and then spent the next two hours on his Indian Blackhawk, riding aimlessly around town with no particular destination or plan in mind. Thinking about the end of his friendship with Alec made Dylan feel slim, spread thin. Like not enough jam trying to cover too much toast.
No surprise this charade had finally caught up with him.
He passed through neighborhoods Alec liked to cruise and wound up parking at Alec’s favorite sports bar. The destination reeked of a stupid idea, but Dylan couldn’t help himself. So he parked his bike and found a table inside, ordering a beer. He never, ever drank while driving, but tonight seemed like a good time to start.
He jerked open the top button of his dress shirt, pissed he hadn’t taken the time to change before he’d left on his motorcycle. But being revved up and ready to burst at the seams meant movement was the only way to remain sane.