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He didn’t want to talk again until they had privacy. And until he figured out which way he wanted to play this, whether he wanted to shove his hurt down deep and keep Remy however he could for whatever time they had, or whether he wanted to cool things off now so that he had a better chance of surviving when it ended.
At the hotel, he avoided catching Remy’s eye as the keys were handed out. Remy hung around awkwardly for a minute, then headed to the elevator with Jake and Petey. Jake had his arm protectively around Remy’s shoulders and shot Jed an unmistakably dirty look, which kind of pissed Jed off. How was he the bad guy here? Petey and Jake might not know that Remy had gone to Mike, but Remy sure as hell knew what he’d done. He shouldn’t be acting so innocent.
Hal was looking at Jed with some concern, too, so Jed headed to the hotel bar instead of to the elevator, fairly certain that Hal was going to want to call home right away and wouldn’t follow him. No such luck, though.
“Jedediah,” Hal said, as the bartender handed Jed his whiskey, neat. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like, Erik?” Jed took a big swallow and relished the burn it left behind on the way down.
“It looks like you’re drowning your imaginary sorrows instead of talking to your boyfriend about whatever’s got your head up your ass.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“No?”
“Apparently not. Because I found out his sister’s in the hospital from the guy he was fucking before me.” Jesus, that sounded like the whiskey talking already. He needed to get a grip.
“Ah.” Hal looked confused. “Okay. But are you sure it means whatever you seem to think it means? Remy is still looking at you with heart eyes. Wounded heart eyes.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Jed did not have the energy for this conversation. He had just enough energy to get slightly buzzed and then fall into bed. “Wounded heart eyes? What the hell, Hal.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do.” More whiskey, more burn. Good.
“He cares about you, Jed. It’s obvious. And you care about him. Also obvious. So for fuck’s sake, go talk to him.” Hal looked almost angry, which pissed Jed off even more, because Hal didn’t know anything about not getting what he wanted.
Jed swallowed the rest of his whiskey and considered the matter. They were heading back to Denver in the morning. He didn’t think he could stomach driving Remy back to their house—no, Jed’s house, his refuge, but where he’d always picture Remy, now—without hearing whatever Remy’s explanation was going to be, no matter how much he was going to hate it.
The sooner he came to terms with the fact that Remy didn’t care about him the same way he cared about Remy, the better for everyone.
“I don’t think this is going to turn out the way you think it will. But I’ll go talk to him.”
“Good. And Jed, listen to him, okay? Remember that he cares about you. I’ll pay your tab. Room 1408. Go.”
“Whatever you say, Cap.” Jed placed his glass carefully on the bar, thought about downing another one to prove that whatever he was about to do, it wasn’t because Hal was right, and decided it wasn’t worth making the point.
Sure, Remy cared for him. Just not enough, not the way Jed wanted, because Jed was a fucking idiot to let himself believe that was a possibility. Jed stuffed a twenty in the tip jar on the bar, slapped another in Hal’s hand, and headed upstairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
REMY
Remy was sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his suit, staring at his phone and wondering if there was anything he could text Jed to make things better, when the knock came. He opened the door cautiously, hoping it was Jed but fearing it was a well-meaning Jake checking up on him one more time.
“Can I come in?”
Jed’s voice was quiet, but the words felt sharp. Remy’s stomach clenched even tighter as he studied Jed’s face, trying to figure out what was going on. Jed looked cold and closed off and as unreadable as he’d been back in January before they’d become them. So instead of saying anything, Remy stepped back and gestured to Jed to enter.
“Hal said I should talk to you.” Jed sounded stiff, like he’d rather be anywhere else. But he was here. So. Remy could work with that, right?
“Yeah, uh, I’m glad you’re here. I want to tell you what happened.”
“You don’t need to if you don’t want to.”
Remy’s stomach dropped. Jed sounded pissed, and Remy didn’t know what he’d done to screw up so badly.
“I want to. But like, can we sit down? This feels weird.” Weird was an understatement. It felt like the end of rookie camp last summer, when he was waiting to find out whether he’d made Montreal’s roster or whether he’d fallen short and been found wanting once again.
