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.