By Friday night, he was worn out. He met his friends because it was what he did. Cancelling would make them ask questions he couldn’t answer. Showing up meant he could pretend, for acouple of hours, that he wasn’t carrying something he wasn’t ready to deal with.
The café was busy when Allen arrived, but his friends had managed to get a table in the corner by the window. He ordered his usual chai, and once it had been made, he walked over to the table and sat down. He laughed when someone told a story about their boss losing it over a printer jam, but he felt distant, like there was something between him and them.
Mark nudged him with an elbow. “You’re quiet.”
Allen glanced over. “Just tired.”
“Again?” Connor said, and there was a look in his eyes now. “You’ve been like this for a couple of weeks.”
Allen’s stomach tightened. “Work’s been a mess.”
Jamie held his gaze longer than Allen liked. “Is it work,” he asked, “or is it Rick?”
Allen’s hand tightened around his drink. “It’s work.”
Jamie nodded slowly and said, “Okay.”
Mark leaned in. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look… off.”
Allen forced out another smile. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“Don’t forget tonight.” Connor glanced around the table. “We’re going to the bar later.”
Allen nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Taking another sip, Allen put his chai down because his hand was starting to shake and he didn’t want anyone to see. Connor watched him for a second, then turned the conversation to work. Allen nodded along, but his phone felt heavy in his pocket and he couldn’t stop thinking about Rick. Rick’s hands on his jaw. Rick’s voice. The way Rick had looked calmer the second Allen gave him what he wanted.
Allen hated that he missed it. Missed Rick. Hated that his body still wanted him.
When he finally left the café, the air outside was cold enough to sting. He stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. Hepulled his phone out and opened Rick’s thread, seeing that there were no new messages. Allen stared at it for too long, thumb hovering over the screen, then locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.
He didn’t make it far before he pulled it out again. He unlocked it, opened Rick’s thread, and stared at the empty screen. He typed, we need to talk, then deleted it. He then typed, did you mean what you said? He stared at the words, then deleted them too.
Allen stood with his phone in his hand and tried to figure out what he was doing. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to invite anything like that back into his life, but his fingers moved anyway.
You said you’d be back.
He didn’t add anything else. He hit send and saw that the message had been delivered. Allen stood on the sidewalk with his phone in his hand and felt his stomach churn, because he’d just reached for the man he was afraid of, and he didn’t know what that said about him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rick was halfway through his drink when the TV above the bar switched from sports to a talk show. A laugh track came on, the studio set bright enough to make the whole screen look fake, and two men sat on a couch while the host grinned at the camera. One of the larger screens angled toward the back booths had changed over without anyone in the room reacting.
Rick didn’t look up at first. He wasn’t there to watch TV. He was there because the place was dark and loud, and no one cared who he was if he kept his head down. Then he heard the name the host said, and Rick’s hand stilled around the glass as he looked up at the screen.
On the screen, the host leaned toward a younger singer who leaned back with an easy smile. “Rick Marcus?” the host said. “Come on. He’s over. He had his moment.”
The singer laughed in what seemed like a dismissive way. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Over.”
The host made a face as if he’d been waiting for it. “Thought so.”
Rick kept his face blank while the bar carried on around him. He didn’t look around to see if anyone had clocked him. He kept his eyes on the screen until the clip ended and the host moved on to the next topic like it hadn’t mattered. Like Rick hadn’t mattered. Rick finished his drink, but he didn’t taste it. When he put the empty glass down, his hand was surprisingly steady.
He pulled his phone out and searched for the clip. It was already up, chopped into shorter versions with captions. Rick scrolled through the comments and watched them shift the way they always did. It started as jokes, people quoting the singer and adding laughing emojis, and then the tone changed.
He was a nightmare to work with.
Wasn’t there a story about him and that producer?
