The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (25 page)

Alec tossed Dylan an I’m-sorry look, and Dylan sent a small shrug back.

Oblivious, Emily went on. “Alec, have you seen Tyler? I had a few things I wanted to discuss with him.”

Dylan thought he heard Alec sigh.

“Mom,” Alec said, “you have to let go.”

“Let go?”

“Grieve,” Alec said. “Move on with your life.”

“Who says I need to grieve?”

“I do,” Alec said. “Tyler’s here to accept the award and enjoy himself, not be cornered by the mother of the man he
used
to live with.”

“I just…” Emily Johnson blinked owlishly at her son. “I just expected to see you happily married by now, Alec.”

The air around them grew thin, as if pulling enough oxygen from the atmosphere took more of an effort. Alec’s shoulders sagged as he shifted his gaze elsewhere, a little bit of misery and a whole lot of guilt in his expression, and the painful catch in Dylan’s chest made breathing that much more difficult.

All Dylan wanted was to offer him a little comfort. Standing by Alec’s side, Dylan had no trouble discreetly reaching out to link their fingers together. Alec sent him a wistful smile, squeezing Dylan’s hand in a clear message of appreciation and sidetracking Dylan with smooth skin and the heat of his palm. Even more distracting was the way the fingers curled around Dylan’s so easily.

Half listening to Alec’s mother ramble on, Dylan realized the handholding represented the most intimate act he’d ever engaged in, which was a friggin’ ridiculous notion, really. They’d spent countless hours wrapped around each other, Dylan’s front pressed to Alec’s back or vice versa as they’d driven each other higher.

Reassured by the hot memories, Dylan squeezed Alec’s fingers back. Alec visibly relaxed. And when he smiled and those blue eyes crinkled in response, the wave of relief nearly bowled Dylan over.

Jesus, maybe this
was
more than friendship.

A suffocating feeling started in his chest and spiraled outward. Panic rising, Dylan dropped his gaze to Alec’s nails—clean and well-trimmed and lacking any of the stains Dylan constantly found on his own—and a memory of the only other time he’d held a man’s hand slowly seeped into his consciousness.

As the morphine pump whirred softly in the background, Dylan stared down at the hospital bed sheets and the fingers threaded through his. The fingers were too pale and too thin, and Rick far was too young to be so weak.

“You’re gonna be fine, kiddo,” Dylan said, squeezing his hand.

He’d used the nickname intentionally, hoping to get a response, and he waited for Rick’s laughing protest. The one-year gap in their ages had always felt more like a hundred. Rick had been born optimistic and kind while Dylan was convinced he’d dropped from the womb bitter and angry. His nickname for his friend was more a reflection of their personalities than their ages.

But Rick didn’t comment on Dylan’s use of the name.

“Fine?” Rick said.

He didn’t open his eyes, and Dylan wondered if he was now too weak to lift his lids. Panic crowded the back of Dylan’s throat, cutting off his air.

“You’re king of the bullshitters,” Rick muttered, his lips curving at the corners.

Dylan smiled, so friggin’ grateful his friend could still speak that, for a moment, the simple joy bubbled up and spread, infusing him with a warmth that had been hard to find lately. Learning to appreciate the little things was new for him, something Rick had always been ragging on Dylan to do. But, as Rick’s condition grew worse, and the end closer, those little moments were the only thing that got Dylan through the day.

And they were becoming harder and harder to find.

“King of BS? That’s totally me. Until my last breath,” Dylan said, squeezing Rick’s hand again and regretting the words that were a reminder of Rick’s current condition.

Rick murmured something Dylan couldn’t make out, and he leaned closer to catch the words on his second try.

“Hopefully your last breath won’t be for a long time.”

Dylan tightened his fingers around Rick’s because, Jesus, pushing forward hardly felt doable right now. They’d spent years holding each other’s spirits up, refusing to let the crappy weather, the rain, or a cold night spent in a back alley get them down. But right now it took all of Dylan’s energy not to scream and rant and bang his fists against the wall.

Because life was so fucking unfair…

“Dylan?”

Dylan blinked, bringing his focus back to Emily Johnson as she continued talking. Dylan was very aware that Alec was looking at him with concern.

“Sorry,” Dylan murmured, a heated flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“Four to five percent of geese and duck pairings are homosexual,” Emily said. “I’ve heard females will lay eggs in a homosexual pair’s nest. Some say they’re better at raising the young than the heterosexual couples.” She turned to address Dylan. “Do you plan on getting married and having kids?”

The words landed like a swivel kick to the chest.

Married
?
Kids
?

“Christ, Mom,” Alec said at the same time Dylan blurted out, “
Hell
no.”

The suffocating feeling reached its zenith. Five heartbeats pounded painfully by as two sets of identical blue eyes—Emily’s a blank, blinking stare and Alec’s more of a horrified gaze—remained firmly fixed on Dylan. He finally succumbed to the desperate need to bolt.

“Excuse me,” Dylan said hoarsely and pivoted on his heel, taking off in search of air.

~~~***~~~

“Mom, I’ve got to go,” Alec said.

“But—”

Alec ignored whatever she’d been about to say, heading for the French doors as he followed Dylan’s path. Once outside, he paused on the brick patio.

The evening was beautiful, crisp and clear. The lights of the city spread out below, headlights streaming by like ribbons of light. He spotted Dylan standing in the corner between the wall and the metal railing that provided protection from the considerable height, his hands pressed against the top bar.

Alec came to a stop and crossed his arms against the pressure beneath his sternum, fighting not to fall apart. There was so much riding on the next few minutes. His future. Dylan’s future. Their
happiness
. Alec knew Dylan played the part convincingly, but prior to their relationship, he hadn’t been happy.

“Your mother is really something,” Dylan said.

“I know,” Alec said softly, but this wasn’t the conversation they were about to have.

The cool, nighttime breeze smelled of recent rain and ruffled Dylan’s hair as Alec waited.

Dylan still didn’t look at him. “At least I’m more convincing as the backup boyfriend this go-around.”

If Alec heard that term one more time he’d puke.

“Christ, Dylan. We’ve spent every night together for the past three weeks. We’ve tried every sexual position in my repertoire, and a few that were new to me—”

“Really?”

For some inexplicable reason, Dylan looked pleased, as if succeeding at sex was a mission to be accomplished. Nothing wrong with admirable goals and all, but
seriously
.

“Yes,” Alec said. “But that’s not the point. The point is you’re still hell bent on pretending this relationship isn’t real.”

“Whoa.” Dylan threw up a hand as if to stop traffic, eyes wide with shock. “Nobody said
anything
about a relationship—”

“Bullshit.”

Alec watched Dylan’s mouth work, jaw clenching and unclenching as he scanned Alec’s gaze. And then Dylan shifted his focus to the door beyond. Hoping for an interruption? Looking for an escape route?

The pain beneath Alec’s ribs made every breath hurt.

“Because I don’t know about you,” Alec went on, “but this began to feel real a long time ago.”

Dylan looked as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run screaming from the building or throw himself over the rail.

“Dude, I’m not…” Dylan plowed a hand through his hair. “We don’t…” He dropped his hands and began to pace along the low brick wall. “I am
not
your boyfriend.”

Alec inhaled, trying to rein in his frustration. And his pain. He watched Dylan stride to the end of the small patio and return, waiting until Dylan was close enough to hear the words that came out low.

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?” Alec asked.

Dylan frowned. “’Course I do.”

“Do you, or do you not, enjoy having sex with me?”

“Dude.” Dylan whirled, his frown bigger as he strode closer, coming to a stop in front of Alec. “I am not gonna dignify that with a response. But that’s just friendship with…with…” He rolled his hand in the air, as if the motion would help him find the right word. “Extras.”

“Benefits.”

He threw his hands up. “Whatthefuckever, man. Does it really matter what it’s called? The bottom line is, I don’t want to be labeled as anybody’s boyfriend.”

Alec forced himself to steadily meet the turbulent green gaze, debating his next move. He could say no. He could go on pretending it didn’t matter. At least he had Dylan in his life. But he was tired of Dylan referring to himself as the fake boyfriend.

And Alec couldn’t live in limbo anymore.

“And what if Tyler claimed he wanted me back?” Alec asked, and Dylan’s features froze. But the man said nothing, so Alec pushed forward. “What if I told you I was going back to him?”

“Fuck a duck,” Dylan said, scowling as he moved closer. “Is that true?”

Alec held his gaze and refused to step back. Or back down. “Does it matter?”

“Oh, heck yeah, it matters.”

“So what would you say?”

Dylan’s chest rose and fell with every aggressive breath. “I’d say you don’t belong with him.”

Hope flared bright, almost consuming the pain. “Then who do I belong with, Dylan?”

Me
, Alec wanted to hear him say.
Me
.

Instead, Dylan said, “How the heck should I know?”

The clamp around his chest grew tighter, and Alec pretended to remain calm. “You’re not the first man who’s struggled with his sexual orientation.”

“My orientation is irrelevant to this conversation.”

“I think it’s very relevant. I think you’re afraid to admit you’re bisexual.”

“What does that even mean?” Agitated, Dylan strode a few steps away before turning to pace back. “Fifty percent gay? Fifty percent straight? Can I be ninety percent of one? Ten percent of another? I’m not part this or part that. I’m just me.” He came to a halt in front of Alec. “A hundred percent
whole
me.”

Which all sounded to Alec like denial wrapped up in pretty protests.

“You couldn’t admit it with Rick, and you can’t admit it now,” Alec said.

“I told you.” Dylan’s voice was harsh. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Dylan?”

“Rick—” He snapped his mouth closed.

Alec held his breath and then let it all out in a rush. “You loved him.”

“’Course I did,” Dylan shot back.

Oh God. Acid burned Alec’s stomach, crawled up his esophagus, and reached the back of his throat…

Don’t vomit. Don’t
vomit.

The first time he’d asked Dylan if he loved Rick, Alec had wanted him to say
yes
. A Dylan who’d loved Rick would have been gay or bi, and either one would have been infinitely more available. Now Alec didn’t know what to believe. With Dylan, Alec was learning nothing was set in stone.

“But I didn’t love him like that,” Dylan said. “Jesus, I told you before. Rick was a brother, not a boyfriend.”

“So why—”

“Because he died on me, goddamn it!” Dylan blurted. “Everyone always leaves. And I have such a huge fucking hole in my chest—” Dylan clamped his lips together. “Shit.” He turned away, his shoulders rising and falling as if fighting every necessary breath. He braced a hand against the brick wall of the building and closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. His words no longer held any punch. “Why did he have to leave?”

He sounded so…lost.

And maybe that was what this was all about, a loss that Dylan would never recover from. One too many for him to adjust. He’d lost his mother, his father, and even his childhood. And, if that hadn’t been enough, he’d gone and attached himself to Rick. And then lost him too.

Like a self-protective mechanism of an animal forced to shed a tail to survive, Dylan had sacrificed a piece of himself at every devastating turn.

Until not enough of him remained to recover.

Eyes burning, Alec stepped forward, hoping his voice remained steady. “
I’m
not leaving, Dylan,” he said, laying a hand on Dylan’s back.

“Don’t.” Dylan spun away from his touch. “Don’t touch me.”

Stung, Alec dropped his arm to his side.

Dylan’s eyes flashed a shade of green Alec had never seen. “You just had to push, didn’t you?”

Dylan might be lost, but he was also pissed as hell. Or maybe furious fit the description better. Whether Dylan was furious at Alec, at Rick, or the world in general, Alec didn’t know. At this point the recipient of all that anger hardly mattered because the emotion took up so much space there wasn’t room for anything else.

Like Alec.

“You’re so friggin’ set on a committed relationship that you can’t see what’s right under your nose,” Dylan went on.

“That’s not true.”

“I’ll admit Noah’s party was my idea, but you were the one who wanted to keep up this charade in hopes of avoiding a confrontation with your mother.” Dylan’s gaze refused to budge, boring into Alec’s. “Face it, you’re too fucking scared to be honest with your own family.”

Alec opened his mouth, hoping to produce a decent protest. But none came.

“I’ve had enough of this black tie affair,” Dylan said.

Dylan turned and headed toward the door, and this time, Alec didn’t bother following.

Dylan drove his car home and then spent the next two hours on his Indian Blackhawk, riding aimlessly around town with no particular destination or plan in mind. Thinking about the end of his friendship with Alec made Dylan feel slim, spread thin. Like not enough jam trying to cover too much toast.