One of Holloway’s dark brows went up. “Good. Although surprising, coming from you.”
Holloway gestured for Dara to take one of the chairs near the window of his study and rang for tea instead. “Peppermint,” he specified over the line with a knowing grin for Dara; clearly Holloway still remembered Dara’s tastes.
“How’s he doing?” Holloway asked once they’d both settled in with their drinks, Holloway’s long legs stretched out before the sofa and crossed at the ankles.
“I don’t know.” Dara stared down at his own tea. His reflection was visible on its surface, if only in fractured pieces obscured by the billowing steam. “He hasn’t woken up.”
Holloway hummed. “Perhaps we shouldn’t move him tonight, after all. I haven’t been able to arrange a hotel yet—and if Mr. Álvaro is still so weak ...”
Dara nodded.
Holloway took a sip of his tea, set the cup down in its saucer with a clink of porcelain on porcelain. “I thought he’d be safe,” he admitted. “Lehrer seemed to ... care about him, in his own way.”
“That’s not how Lehrer operates.”
“Relatively safe,” Holloway revised. “The real risk, of course, being if Lehrer realized he was being double-crossed.”
“Noam was always at risk.”
The silence that followed that comment was heavy, laden down by implication—although Dara still couldn’t tell if Holloway had realized ...
Dara curved his hands closer round his teacup, tipping his face down into the steam.
“Did you know?” he asked his tea. “About Lehrer. About what he did to me.”
He’d never checked. He’d been so cautious reading minds, especially in those later years.
He hadn’t wanted to have his fears confirmed—that everyone looked at him and saw his own victimization written on his skin like fresh bruises. Only perhaps that was giving high society too much credit. No one would have thought Calix Lehrer capable of such things.
When he finally dared to glance up again, Holloway watched with wary eyes, his own cup held in hand as if he’d forgotten to take his sip.
“No,” Holloway said at last. “But perhaps I should have guessed. I’m sorry.”
A tight smiled pressed at Dara’s mouth. “It’s fine. No one did.”
And the people he’d told outright hadn’t believed him.
They stayed at Holloway’s that night. With Noam still in poor condition and Holloway playing it safe with the hotels, staying in place was starting to seem increasingly optimal. Lehrer hadn’t shown up yet, after all, and Holloway had plenty of guest rooms—but Dara eschewed his in favor of sitting curled up in a chair in Noam’s room, staring at Noam’s face in the dull moonlight.
He still hadn’t woken up.
A lot of that was sedation, Dara knew. The physician had injected Noam with some pain medication, had left bottles of pills for later—bottles Dara shoved under the bed so he wouldn’t see them and be tempted.
But it still worried him. If Noam would come to for a moment—long enough for Dara to sayI love youandit’s okayandI forgive you, then ... maybe ...
Selfish, of course. Noam was asleep for a reason, and here Dara wanted to drag him back to consciousness—to agony—just to get this guilt off his chest.
Leo found him later in the night, long after Dara’s watch had ticked past three a.m. and he’d torn it off his wrist and thrown it across the room—couldn’t stand looking at it anymore, couldn’t keep remembering the day Lehrer gave it to him.
“You okay?” Leo settled down on the floor by Dara’s chair.
“Essentially.”
Dara’s gaze didn’t shift from Noam. He didn’t want to miss the slightest movement.
“Can I get you something? There’s leftovers from dinner. Or even just ... a coffee, maybe?”
Dara shook his head.
