Cast Off (18 page)

His mother responded with a light slap to his shoulder. “I’m not daft, you know. That boy is young enough to be my grandson. No, I knew the minute I saw that sweet Rick, and the way the two of you looked at each other.”

He should never doubt his mother’s powers.

“He said he didn’t want to see me anymore. I… I….” Ian shut his mouth, afraid tears were going to fall along with his words.

“Did you do anything stupid? Like inviting that boy here?” His mother raised a brow.

“Leon’s just a friend. And I knew Rick was nervous about… anyone thinking we’re anything to each other.” God, he felt fifteen again, awkward and unsure. It fucking sucked.

Shaking her head, his mom grabbed his hand and held it, transferring a little more comfort. “I think you care a lot for that Rick, my boyo. Which means you’re going to need to show him you care, even if it’s not what he thinks he wants. And that includes showing him you’re not going to find an attractive substitute just because it’s easier. You need to go get him. Fight for him. Straighten this out. Make sure he knows Leon has no chance, because as sure as I’ve got eyes in my face, that Leon would scoop you up in a hot second.”

Okay, his mother wasn’t infallible. Leon didn’t like him like that. Ian would be able to tell. But the rest of her advice… he’d have no chance with Rick if he allowed Rick to cut off contact entirely. He needed to fix this. Now.

“Go on, honey. It’s early still. I’ll make your excuses.”

Ian smiled and his mom wiped away a stray tear that escaped. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You know I want to see you happy. All of you. Rick’s going to lead you a merry chase, but if he’s the one, he’s the one.”

Ian hugged his mom and ran for the door he’d been intending to escape through just moments ago.

He slammed through and was about to head for his car, but he stopped short and pulled out his phone. After sending a short text, he paced, waiting for a response. His mom had said she was going to make his excuses—showing up back in the bar would ruin her good work.

A few minutes later, Kurt opened the back door.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I need Rick’s address.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to talk to him. Tonight. It’s important.”

“He’s here at the bar. Talk to him inside.”

Ian almost let loose a tirade about how unobservant his police detective brother was, but when he thought about it, his whole fight with Rick and Rick’s departure had probably taken place twenty or thirty minutes ago. Forty-five minutes, tops. There was no reason for Kurt to know Rick had already left, not considering how many people were still in the bar.

“He’s gone. We had a fight.”

“Ian, what the hell is going on? Rick doesn’t fight with people. Nor do you, not really.”

This time, he made himself look Kurt in the eye. Let all his wounded fear out for his brother to see. “I screwed up and I need to fix this. Please.”

The tightness around Kurt’s eyes softened. “I wouldn’t do this if you weren’t my brother, you know? Rick’s not big on letting people know where he lives.”

That was weird, wasn’t it? “Is there something wrong—”

Kurt sliced a hand through the air to cut off Ian’s words. “No, man, but he’s one private little guy. I mean, he’s far more likely to get up on a table and rip off his pants than he is to let just anyone into his house.”

“I’m not just anyone. I promise.” God. He had to be something more than “just anyone.” Had to.

“Then you need to promise me that if you can’t fix this—whatever it is—that you’ll lose this address. Rick doesn’t need any of your shit. Got it?” Kurt suddenly became all benevolent but stern police officer, and if it weren’t for the fact he was desperate to get to Rick’s place, he would have rolled his eyes.

“I swear, I swear.”

Kurt pursed his lips, then texted Ian an address. As soon as his phone vibrated with the message, Ian hugged his brother and ran for his car.

Chapter 6

R
ICK
locked the door behind him and fell against it, panting. He barely remembered the drive home, but he drove like the devil himself had been chasing him. Sinking down to the floor, he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. In the safety of his home, he let the tears fall, the same tears that had been blurring his vision and burning his eyes since the bar.

How could Ian have done this to him? Ian had told him that he couldn’t spend their usual Saturday night together because of his sister’s birthday party. Kurt had already begged him to attend with Jon and the others, so it wasn’t an issue. He’d stupidly thought Ian had avoided asking him to attend because he’d figured out his family made Rick nervous.

And they did. But they were a big part of Ian’s life, so he’d given in and gone, hoping it wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking if he was there as Kurt’s friend, rather than some sort of pseudodate of Ian’s. He didn’t want anyone speculating about their… relationship.

But Leon had changed everything. Turned everything he thought he knew upside down. Made him wonder how many “friends” Ian had. Which of them were getting the benefits he should be getting. How many more lies Ian had told him.

In a matter of minutes, he’d become a jealous idiot.

Goddammit. He’d been happy, spending time with Ian, able to pretend they were friends. About to be friends with benefits. He’d even been thinking of other things they could do together, ways he could spend even more evenings with Ian. All under the comfortable fiction of friendship.

Then, Ian had to rip off his blindfold.

Like poking an open sore, trying to make it bleed more, he let himself remember Ian’s words.

We’re already more than friends, even without the sex.

They were. Which made Ian’s decision to invite Leon all that more inexplicable. Damn him. Ian had made him care, more than he should. More than was safe. Cutting things off between him and Ian was the wisest thing he’d ever done, but why did it have to hurt so much?

A sob caught in his throat. Had he really told Ian he didn’t want to see him again? The number of Ian-less hours in a week stretched endlessly before him. If only Ian had left things alone, they could have still had their friendship. Rick could have pretended he didn’t care so much about Ian, and Ian could have provided the benefits he’d promised. It wouldn’t be a relationship, but it would be the nearest Rick could allow himself to have. Now he wasn’t going to have the comfort of Ian’s company ever again.

Sniffling, he wiped a shirtsleeve across his face to dry his eyes. Blotchy red was so not a good look for him. Crying over a man. He’d never done it and never thought he would. He’d have to make that another rule. No crying for any man.

As creaky and stiff as an old man, Rick levered himself to his feet.

He kicked off his shoes and dropped his keys in a bowl by the door. Then he walked, zombie-like, to his bedroom. He began peeling off his shirt when he caught sight of the clock. Was he seriously considering going to sleep at nine on a Saturday night? A flash of anger helped bury his sadness. What if Ian had been
trying
to make him jealous? The club frenzy hadn’t even started yet, and he could go out and find himself a sweet twinkie like Ian had found. Show Ian two could play that game. A glance in the mirror dispelled that notion.
He
was the sweet twinkie. But a bear cub out on the town… that would be a great countermeasure to Leon. Assuming Rick ever saw Ian again, that was.

Tearing through his closet, he found the perfect outfit. One that said, “bring on the sex.” Rick was determined go out and not return until he’d shared an orgasm with someone other than Ian. He’d already been weeks without having someone else bring him off. His right hand had never gotten such a workout. Tonight that changed. He was going to start a new roster. Fuck Ian for preventing him from building a new one.

In front of the mirror, Rick smoothed his hand down his sheer burgundy shirt. Along with the tight black pants, he looked great. Once he got to that club, he’d have a hot mouth around his dick inside of ten minutes; he’d bet money on it. If there was anyone here to bet with. Peering at his eyes, some of the blotchiness from his tears remained. He should probably put on some makeup.

Tears welled up again, sudden and unexpected, when he realized he’d managed to put on the exact same outfit he’d been wearing the night Ian had convinced him to try out this unorthodox friendship.

He couldn’t decide between crying his eyes out or shouting out in anger. The warring emotions had almost sent him out to fuck some random stranger, and he felt like he’d been ripped apart inside. Then the tears burst their dam and streaked down his face, another rule broken, this one in record time. Fuck Ian. Rick threw himself across the bed, finally acknowledging he’d lost the desire to fuck anyone else, but didn’t dare let himself have Ian.

He was losing his mind. Just like his mother had.

A
FRANTIC
knocking at Rick’s front door made him raise his head from the damp pillows. It might be early for the clubs, but it was damned late for someone to knock on his door.

Then again, he’d sent Jon a brief text after he’d left the bar saying he wasn’t feeling well and was going home. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that Jon had come over to make sure he was okay.

The knocking paused for a moment; then the doorbell rang twice and then the knocking began again.

He wiped at his eyes, but there was no way he could hide the red remnants of tears. Although he wasn’t eager to explain his foolishness, if he had to tell anyone, Jon would be his first choice. And since it didn’t sound as though Jon was going away, he might as well get it over with.

He turned on the outside light and swung open the door.

“Jon, I….”

But it wasn’t Jon. Ian stood outside, pale as milk, with a hesitant smile gracing those full and supremely talented lips.

“What are you doing here?” A surge of anger that Ian had ignored his wishes was quickly swamped by a wave of relief at seeing him again. Which was the main reason he didn’t slam the door in Ian’s face, as he probably should have.

Ian’s gaze took him in from head to toe, and the smile fell away as he paled even more. “Are you going out?”

“I….” Rick didn’t know what to say. Despite having done everything in his power to avoid having a relationship, he sensed that he’d managed to hurt Ian deeply. The fact that he’d come home and gotten ready to go out right after had to seem like a knife in the back. Deliberately hurting Ian wasn’t something he wanted to do, no matter how hurt or scared Ian made him.

“Please don’t go out. I want to talk to you, get this sorted. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to be done. Please.”

Redness rimmed Ian’s eyes, a telltale sign he’d not fared any better than Rick the past hour. Knowing Ian cared so much warmed him as much as it terrified him. As foolish as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to make the same break he’d made at the bar. If talking gave him the chance to keep a little bit of Ian, he’d take it. Anything more was out of the question, no matter what he wanted.

Heart beating furiously, he stepped back, letting Ian into his foyer.

Ian responded to the unspoken invitation and walked into his home, but he didn’t bother looking around or making any comment on the interior.

“Were you going out?” Ian’s voice cracked over the hurt he couldn’t disguise.

Rick shrugged. “No. Not really. For a few minutes, it seemed like a good idea.”

Cupping his face, Ian tilted his head, peering at him. Rick blinked, his eyes still swollen and sore. Ian brushed thumbs across the tender skin underneath his eyes.

“You’d have been going for all the wrong reasons.” The tenderness in Ian’s voice made him shiver. “Look at you. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

With a tiny nod, Rick indicated his assent. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Not yet.

“As gorgeous as you are in this shirt, we really do need to talk. Got someplace we can sit?”

A blush made his tear-swollen tissues throb. How could Ian still call him gorgeous? He looked like a train wreck. But Ian was right; they needed to talk.

“Sure.” Crying had made his throat dry and his voice creaky. “Follow me.”

Rick led them to the living room with its plush, comfortable sofa facing the TV. “Did you want something to drink?” He could use some liquid courage for this.

“Water, please.”

Postponing their talk just a few more minutes, Rick got them each a glass of water. As much as he might yearn for alcohol to help him through this, he didn’t need to be even more dehydrated than he was now.

When he returned to the living room, he considered sitting in the lone chair off to the right, but Ian patted the seat on the sofa beside him, and Rick gave in to the request.

Ian curled an arm around him, pulling him tight. The warmth of Ian’s body seeped into him, a comfort he hadn’t experienced since the last time he’d woken in Ian’s bed. It was good, so good, but he didn’t dare let himself get used to it.