Fight? Was that what it was?
He was good with thecharactersin his novel having conflict, but not happy at all with the real tension between Tyler and him. He stood and walked over to the window.
It was Tuesday, noon, and they had not spoken at all… no late-night phone calls, no early
morning e-mails. Neither had caved to the silent separation imposed… and Alec was determined to
give Tyler some space, in case he was having doubts.
Doubts? Doubts about what, he thought.
He had intended for the characters in his story to have an ultimate conflict and then get together in the end. That was how romances work—conflict, resolution, and then a happy ending. But this was real… and he wasn't convinced that happiness was in the cards for the two of them. Somewhere,
communication had broken down. They were in the same story, but not on the same page.
Alec had tried to give Tyler space all along, thinking that he had needed it, what with losing
Brett, and having been accustomed to living alone.
As for himself, he had come to Montana for clarity… not sex, or a rebound boyfriend. No. That
had not been the case at all.
But now, in the silence of his own space, he missed the man something terrible.
Everywhere there were reminders. He looked out the window across the snow at the reflective
pie-plates Tyler had hung to chase away the woodpecker.
Hell, he even built the damn cabin I'm standing in.
Yes, sir. There was no escaping him here.
He reached for his phone and began dialing, then immediately killed the call and set the phone
back on the table.
No, he told himself.Just wait. Go to the show tonight. You'll see him there.
He sat back down, opened Skype, and clicked Demarco's icon. He needed a familiar voice.
Someone he could talk to about… about anything… anything other than the depressing situation that he found himself in. The electronic tone chimed and chimed but there was no answer. Alec pressed the
button to disconnect.
Lovely, he thought.What was I thinking… coming to the mountains… seeking isolation towork. Well, there's plenty of that.
He turned the coffee maker on noticing the olive oil on the counter next to the stove.
Reminders… everywhere.
When the coffee was done and he was adding cream to his cup, he heard the familiar Skype
chime on his computer.
Thank God, he thought, answering without hesitation.
It was Mac. He was shirtless and pale, at least three days worth of beard growth on his jaw.
