Cast Off (26 page)

He took a deep breath before going back inside to endure, as best he could.

F
UCK
this. Over the span of the entire night, every goddamn sib and their spouse had asked him who he was bringing to the wedding and he didn’t want to tell them Leon. He’d stupidly lost the man he was falling for… had fallen for… with his own stupid words. Might as well make this week one to remember. Ian strode out behind the building. He didn’t want his family overhearing this.

Pulling up his contact list, his finger hovered over Hector’s name. Not everyone had the big boss’s private number, and Ian had never used it before. If that damned fucking story hadn’t forced his hand, he’d still have Rick. He’d been so close, with Rick having agreed to come with him to the wedding. Once Rick saw his family was okay with him, they’d have been able to tell people they were a couple and then they could eventually find what his brother—what his whole family—had found.

He stabbed a finger at his phone, and in a few seconds, he’d been connected with Hector’s private line.

“Ian? What can I do for you?”

The calm, reasonable tone of Hector’s voice, the voice of someone who wasn’t seeing their life unravel around them, only made him angrier.

“I quit.”

“What? Ian, are you drunk? You’re my best account manager. Have you had a better offer somewhere? Don’t do anything rash. We can talk about this in the morning. I’ll clear my schedule.”

“I’m not drunk, Hector. But I refuse to stay somewhere that will not only destroy the livelihood of a hardworking man, but will stoop to using an employee’s private life to help.”

“What are you talking about?”

The panic in his boss’s voice was certainly gratifying, but Ian was under no illusions. The big boss had definite visions of how
Errant
should be run, and it didn’t matter if he cleared his schedule for the next year. He would never do what Ian was about to ask, which meant Ian had no choice.

“The Sandor Svenson story. If that goes live, I’m gone.” Wow. Two ultimatums in one day. He was on a fucking
roll
.

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a Friday Lost Ones story. And it will not only end a good man’s career, but it’s going to out me to the world, and not by my choice.”

He bit off the words that he was also going to sue for defamation of character. He’d seen a number of people try that and fail, but he still intended to talk to Stephanie and find out what the options were. Obviously a lawsuit wasn’t going to happen in time to prevent damage to Rick’s practice, but maybe there was a chance the lawsuit could help ease the pain.

“You know what’s a good story? The story of how Sandor made his way in the world with everything against him, how he overcame some significant odds to make himself not only a functioning member of society, but also growing up to be a good man. That’s a fucking good story, not this sordid tale, dripping in falsified muck.”

There was no turning back now, but with each word he spoke, Ian got angrier. How had he not realized he worked at such a despicable place?

“I’ll be in next week to get my stuff.” He sure as shit wasn’t going in tomorrow, especially since he’d already booked it off to help with wedding preparations. Ian cut the connection and then turned off his phone. That way he could ignore any callbacks from Hector and also ignore the fact that he wasn’t getting any phone calls from Rick.

He broke up with his boyfriend, he lost his job, was going to have his naked ass plastered all over the Internet, was going to have to put on a happy face while yet another sibling pledged life and soul to another person, and would have to keep smiling until he shoved Dylan on that plane to Hawaii. He went back inside to find a beer or four.

Worst week ever.

T
HE
minutes alone in his house ticked by, each one longer than the last. Even if they hadn’t fought, Ian wouldn’t be back, because of the wedding. But Rick was finding out there was a significant and painful difference between Ian at work or running errands and Ian not ever coming back.

Instead of going out Thursday night, he’d spent a fair portion of the night curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, and the rest of the night staring sleeplessly at his ceiling in bed. He’d tried to call Ian a few times, but it only went to voice mail. Which may or may not have been Ian screening. Rick hadn’t bothered leaving a message; he didn’t know what to say.

Screening or not, their fight had been far more monumental than he’d understood at the time, and he didn’t know what to do to fix it. Funny thing was, he had this overwhelming urge to ask Ian what he would suggest. Not that Ian had any more experience with romantic relationships than he did, but Ian did have a lot of relationships with people he loved. Ian probably knew what Rick had to do to fix this, but he wasn’t around for Rick to ask.

The only thing he had the energy to do during the day was call his appointments and cancel. Nothing more than a logical preemptive strike. Even if he had the energy for clients, they’d be canceling in droves as soon as
Errant
published that fucking story.

He hadn’t even turned on his computer to search for the damned thing. Just lay around like a dead fish waiting to go bad. Not one person called his cell, but more importantly, Ian hadn’t called either.

Now it was Saturday. Somewhere, Ian was dressing in a tux, preparing to socialize with his big, boisterous family. Drink some, dance some… maybe even meet someone. His soul withered a little inside as he imagined someone else admiring how gorgeous and strong Ian would look in a tux, and when he imagined Ian admiring back, he wanted to throw up.

Which left him with only one option.

A
T
L
ETTIE
’
S
, Rick made sure he got a table out of view from the one he’d shared with Ian. It wasn’t difficult. It was a little too early for the downtown preclubbing or pretheater dinner rush.

Jon didn’t make him wait long, and with a breathless rush, he slid into the seat across.

“Rick, sweetie, seems like it’s been ages since we’ve done this. I’ve been crazy busy with the club and I guess you’ve been busy too.”

His jaw tightened painfully. He had been busy, but not the way Jon thought. “Yes, well, that’s sort of the reason I wanted to meet with you. Can we order first, before I get into it?”

With his stomach twisted up, he didn’t think he could eat, but a glass of wine would go down really well. He’d much rather have a margarita, but he wasn’t willing to risk upsetting his stomach any further. He ordered a bottle for them to share, knowing Jon would drink just about anything.

With a half-empty restaurant, but a full staff on hand anticipating the later dinner rush, they got their food and drinks in record time.

Despite the mouthwatering aroma, Rick pushed his plate away. His throat was so tight he’d never be able to swallow solid food. Instead, he sipped at the sweetish Chardonnay and wondered where he should begin.

Jon took a bite, then put his fork down and peered across the table. “What the hell is going on? You look like hell.”

“Thank you, darling. Way to make a girl self-conscious.” Rick blinked. Sarcasm wasn’t setting the appropriate atmosphere. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jon frowned. “Why not? That was classic Rick, exactly as I expected. But now you’re really worrying me.”

Rick pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no stalling, though. His oldest and best friend wouldn’t allow it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his new investment in Anaconda, Jon would have sussed out Rick’s secret liaison well before this.

“I’ve been seeing Ian.”

“Ian? Ian who…. Wait. Ian O’Donnell? Kurt’s brother that you slept with twice and then… what?”

“He wanted to become friends, so we started hanging out.”

“And yet you never mentioned him once? We never ended up out with the two of you together? That doesn’t sound like a friendship, that sounds like an affair. Why the hell would he want you to hide a friendship?”

Rick raked his fingers through his hair. “He didn’t want to hide it. I did.”

“Why? I mean, I know you’ve never had or wanted a boyfriend, but if you started seeing Ian, why would you keep it a secret?”

He pressed a fist to his stomach and told Jon everything. Absolutely everything. The things from his childhood, his name change, all the things he’d only ever told one person—Ian.

When he was done, their food was cold and their wine was nothing more than drops at the bottom of their glasses.

“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. Rick, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me?”

Rick bit his lip and shrugged. Although this second telling had been easier than the first, the addendum of his fight with Ian had him feeling unaccountably weepy.

“Okay, okay. It was a big thing. You were probably worried I’d hate you or not want to be your friend or something. I get that. But you know this changes nothing between us, right? You’re still the first friend I made after my parents kicked me out. My first roommate. You’ve always been there for me, and I’m always there for you. Always. Got it?”

Sniffing, Rick lost the battle to restrain the tears that had threatened while he spoke.

“Oh, hey, Rick. You and me, we’re all good. And we’re going to make you and Ian good.”

Jon slipped out of his seat and joined Rick on his bench and curled an arm around him. Burying his face in Jon’s neck, he let himself sob. At the back of his mind, he wondered if anyone recognized him and was this very minute appending footage of his breakdown to his
Errant
story. So far, his notoriety had been far more low-key than he’d expected.

When he’d cried himself out, Jon handed him a napkin. He wiped his face and blew his nose while Jon returned to his seat. At some point during his meltdown, the wait staff had brought them lattes. He wasn’t sure if that was Jon’s doing or if they figured he was one of those people who got weepy and emotional when they drank and were trying to sober him up. Either way, the hot, steamy beverage was welcome.

“I know you. The real you, whether you call yourself Sandor or Rick.” Jon stared at him, forcing him to keep his burning tear-swollen eyes directed up. “You’ve spent your whole life engaged in battle. Every time someone suggested you couldn’t do something, you went and proved them wrong. Every time you were afraid you’d fail, you found some deep well of determination and persevered. Which is why you own that great house and why you’ve got a thriving practice. Why aren’t you turning that determination to your personal life? I know you want Ian or you’d have never started dating him. I know you care for him, maybe even love him, because otherwise you’d move on to the next ready cock without a single regret, like you’ve done your whole life. You need to go fight for him, even if that means fighting yourself and your fears.”

“Well, that sounds good, but what if he doesn’t want me?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Honey, you should have had a boyfriend or two before this. Everything you’ve told me were actions taken by a man trying to get you to commit. He was doing whatever he could to make you comfortable with it. You just pushed him too far and pissed him off.”

“What if he cheats on me? What if I’m too much like my mother and hurt him?”

“There are no guarantees in this life, but how do you feel about having sex with only Ian and nobody else?”

Rick thought about it for a moment. It had been surprisingly easy to let other guys go, and the thought of trying new things with a man he could trust was like being given a fantasy he’d never dared to dream about.

“Good. Happy.”

“Okay, then. Why do you suppose it will be different for him?”

Good point. If he was willing to be faithful, then there was no reason to assume Ian wasn’t.

But Jon wasn’t finished. “And let’s just say it was. Think about it. Pretend you’ve been living with him for years. You’ve got a dog together, a house, a life.”

It sounded so good. More things he hadn’t known he wanted.

“And one day you come home and find out he’s cheated on you. Or he’s leaving you for another man. How do you feel?”

The opposite of his fantasy, it was painful to consider, but for Jon, he did. “Hurt. Sad. Angry.”

“And what would you do?”

“Kick him out, probably. Keep the dog.”

Jon picked up a steak knife from the table and brandished it at him. “No burning desire to stab him in the gut with a knife?”

Rick gasped and reared back. “No!”

“I rest my case. I’m not saying you shouldn’t go talk to someone who might be able to help you work through this, deal with your fears. Ian was right about that. But if the worst should happen, you’ll get through it, and go on, with me at your side. Got it?”

He smiled, feeling hopeful for the first time since Ian walked out of his house. “So what do I do? And All-Knowing-One, why can’t I call him darling anymore?”

Jon wiggled his fingers like an oracle at a street fair. “First of all,
darling
, you call simply everyone
darling
. Or honey or sweetie or big boy. It probably represents intimacy to him, intimacy that you share with everyone, making them all… common. If you want to call him something that’s not his name, find him something unique. He wants to know he’s special to you.”

The heavens didn’t break open with golden light or erupt in song, but Jon’s interpretation was a revelation, all right. Rick thought he might have just the ticket. It had been threatening to pop out of his mouth for days, and it was an endearment he’d never used with anyone before. “And how do I fix this when he won’t answer my calls?”

“Well, that’s simple. Go see him. Now.”

“Now? He’s at his brother’s wedding!”

“No sense in letting this fester. They should be finishing dinner up right about now. Speeches while you drive, then nothing but dancing. He’ll be more likely to listen to you because he won’t want to cause a scene in front of his family.”