“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.