The Backup Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Chronicles) (26 page)

No surprise this charade had finally caught up with him.

He passed through neighborhoods Alec liked to cruise and wound up parking at Alec’s favorite sports bar. The destination reeked of a stupid idea, but Dylan couldn’t help himself. So he parked his bike and found a table inside, ordering a beer. He never, ever drank while driving, but tonight seemed like a good time to start.

He jerked open the top button of his dress shirt, pissed he hadn’t taken the time to change before he’d left on his motorcycle. But being revved up and ready to burst at the seams meant movement was the only way to remain sane.

Speeding down the highway hadn’t helped.

Settling back against the booth, he tuned out the sound of the patrons who had gathered to watch a football game. From the occasional cheers, the crowd seemed pleased with the score. He remembered how Alec had looked every time they’d wound up here and got caught up in a college game. Or the fucking beautiful smile on his face when he first started getting his Harley to start. But Dylan didn’t want to dwell on how he felt with Alec around cuz that wasn’t going to happen anymore.

The thought twisted Dylan’s heart in ways he’d never experienced before. Grumpy as hell, he slumped deeper into the seat.

Four beers later and Dylan’s head spun, his stomach churned, and his chest didn’t feel any less likely to detonate at any moment. And why did walking out on Alec hurt so badly? Not that how he felt right now held a candle to Rick dying, but in some ways, the feeling
was
similar.

Loss was loss, whether through situation or death.

Dylan clutched the handle of his mug. “Why’d you have to die, you son of a bitch?”

“Handsome, you are going to regret this in the morning.”

Dylan blinked, and for one bizarre moment, he wondered if Rick was speaking to him. But Rick never called him handsome. That was Noah’s job. And when Dylan looked up, he spied Noah, who was peering around as if he’d just entered a meat market and was dying for a prime rib.

“Mmm,” Noah murmured, eyeing the men in suits enjoying end-of-the-day beers at a table nearby. “Wall Street movers and shakers.”

Despite the headache, Dylan rolled his eyes and then winced when the dizziness grew stronger. “How did you find me?”

Noah cocked an eyebrow. “You drunk texted me.”

“Oh.” Dylan frowned. He didn’t remember doing that.

“I’m kidding.” Noah slid into the booth beside him. “If you believed that, you must be worse off than I thought. Alec called, worried you were so angry you’d crash your car on your way home from the ceremony. When you didn’t answer your cell phone, I said I’d go look for you.”

Well, damn. That was a relief. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as his whirling brain suggested. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, and spied four empty mugs.

Okay, maybe he was.

“When I got to your apartment, your car was there, but you weren’t,” Noah said. “So I called Alec to report back, but he was still worried. Said I had to go find you.”

“San Francisco’s a pretty big city.”

“He told me which routes you two liked to take when out for a ride. He also mentioned Danny’s Suds and Sports. From the number of mugs on the table, clearly I’ll need to drive you home.” He picked up a napkin and wiped the table, clearing a spot for his elbows. “Why were you angry?”

Dylan scowled into his current beer but didn’t say a word.

“Alec was very tight lipped about the whole thing,” Noah went on.

During the silence that followed, a waitress wandered by, and Noah ordered a sparkling water. When she was gone, Noah hooked his arm around Dylan’s shoulders.

“Come on. Tell your Auntie Noah.”

Dylan sent his friend a frown, though his heart wasn’t in it. “You gonna try and take advantage of me again?”

“Please,” Noah said with a loud bark of laughter that made Dylan’s head hurt worse.

The waitress returned with his Perrier, which, fortunately, meant Noah had to remove his arm from Dylan’s shoulder to take a sip of his drink.

“Just because you’ve discovered you like dick doesn’t mean I want yours,” Noah said.

“I don’t like dick.” And then Dylan frowned, hating the taste of the words in his mouth. “Not most of ’em anyway.”

“You like Alec’s.”

Dylan kept his mouth clamped tight and tried hard not to think about how Alec would be surprised to learn that he
could
shut the fuck up. Several seconds ticked by, and Noah’s silent, speculative gaze finally did Dylan in.

“There’s something very neat and orderly about sleeping with your friend.” Proud he’d made so much sense while buzzed beyond belief, Dylan went on. “You know, like a two for the price of one kind of thing.”

Even after the words left his mouth, he knew they didn’t fit any better. Noah lifted his eyes heavenward, calling Dylan out on the lie. Maybe he should try something a little closer to the truth.

“I’m pissed off,” Dylan said.

“I can tell.”

“Alec shouldn’t have pushed,” Dylan said, growing angry all over again. “He wants me to make some kind of goddamn commitment. Just because he said he loves me—”

“He said that?” Noah looked positively stunned.

“What? Is that so hard to imagine?”

“To be perfectly blunt, yes. You wouldn’t be an easy man to love.” Noah crossed his arms, regarding Dylan calmly. “In fact, you might never get this chance again.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

Dylan ignored Noah and finally shared his greatest fear, the one that had been nipping at his heels for weeks. “But how do I know Alec won’t suddenly decide he wants Tyler back?”

Dylan’s chest ached, as if set to split wide open. That was the trouble with voicing his thoughts instead of keeping them safely tucked in his head. They sounded so much worse when spoken out loud.

Noah, as usual, wasn’t helpful. “You don’t.”

Dylan scowled, and the memory of his response to Alec’s question punched hard.

Who do I belong with
?

How the hell should I know
?

The desire to push back with everything he had returned. Scream profanities. Punch through a wooden door. Kick a brick wall.

“He could go back to Tyler at any second,” Noah went on. “He
is
the safer choice, being a confirmed gay and all.”

“If you’re trying to help, please stop.”

Noah didn’t comply. “Just like I didn’t know that Rick would die.”

All the air in Dylan’s chest rushed out on a crushing
whoosh
. “Jesus, stop. Just fucking stop.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan.” Noah settled back, his arm resting on the ledge behind Dylan’s shoulders. “You need to hear the truth right now. Coddling you will gain you nothing.”

Dylan let out a scoff. “When have you ever coddled me?”

“When Rick was dying.”

Dylan closed his eyes, but the spinning only got worse. He wasn’t sure if he should blame Noah’s words or the four beers he’d consumed.

“But don’t worry,” Noah went on, patting Dylan on the back. “You more than made up for that horrible day in the weeks that followed.”

Dylan dropped his elbows to the table and pressed his palms against his eyes. Yeah, they’d taken turns falling apart. Dylan had been a basket case those last few days of Rick’s life, forced to watch the only person on the planet he cared about slip away, in pain, with Dylan helpless to do a goddamn thing. Noah had kept Dylan together enough to keep him focused on Rick. But after Rick passed, Noah had crumbled. Seven days’ worth of Noah crying and drinking had followed, culminating in a night where he’d made a move on Dylan. Wasn’t hard to figure out the seduction attempt had been all about pain control. The alcohol certainly hadn’t been doing the trick, for either one of them.

Dylan had almost felt bad for turning Noah down.

“You were my first attempt at seducing a straight,” Noah said with a wistful smile.

Despite everything, Dylan’s lips quirked. “Am I the one who got away?”

Noah threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, trust me, there’ve been others. But you were the first. A romantic figure I have no intention of changing.”

“Glad I’m good for something.”

“It’s okay to be mad at Rick.”

The words came out of the blue. But, deep down, Dylan knew the thought had been circling in his brain like a swarm of sharks growing closer and closer.

“Jesus, Noah. It’s not like the man wanted to die.”

“Yes,” Noah said. “But we both know his choices played a role in contracting the virus.”

“He didn’t
have
any choices, man.”

“Then why are you mad?”

The words came out like a fifty-mile-an-hour slide of bare skin across concrete. “I’m pissed at him because he left me
alone
.”

Noah steadily met Dylan’s gaze while Dylan’s pulse pounded so hard the motion shook his chest. One of the teams on the widescreen scored a touchdown, and a rousing sound of cheers, and a few groans, filled the air. None of the noises, not a single one, seemed louder than Dylan’s stomping heart.

When the din died away, Noah went on. “So quit taking your anger out on Alec. An anger you should have worked your way through ages ago.”

Dylan let out a soft snort. “So says the guy who’s been chasing unavailable men ever since.”

Noah picked up his bottle of Perrier with a smug smile. “There’s something deliciously forbidden about the impossible-to-obtain man. I’ve grown rather addicted to the chase.”

Dylan shot his friend a look. Noah might appear pleased with himself, but Dylan knew better.

“Noah, you are a walking, talking, lying sack of shit.”

Noah wrinkled his nose at the description. But Dylan noticed the way Noah’s gaze slid from Dylan’s eyes to somewhere over his shoulder.

“Your roughneck ways are usually intriguing.” Noah wiped a nonexistent spill with his napkin. “Though currently I can’t remember why.”

Because you know I’m right
.

“Besides”—Noah set his bottle down—“we’re not talking about me, handsome. We’re talking about you.” Noah’s brown gaze refused to back down. “And you’ve fallen, Dylan Blaine Booth, something I thought I’d never live to see, especially for another man, but there you go.”

There you go
echoed through Dylan’s head until replaced by
you’ve fallen
.

The words paralyzed him, left him shit-scared and panicking.

Fallen
.

Fuck. What a lame-ass description. He felt more like he’d plummeted helter-skelter from three thousand feet, life as he knew it splattering on the rocky ground below.

“Sorry to be the one to break it to you,” Noah went on glibly, as if he hadn’t just altered the course of Dylan’s life forever. “I promise. If I ever fall again, you can rub the news in my face.”

Dylan dragged his hands down his eyes. Jesus, he needed to find some better friends. Preferably ones more sympathetic.

“And how, exactly, does that promise help me now?” Dylan muttered through his fingers.

“Gives you something to look forward to, of course,” he said cheerfully.

Implying, no doubt, just how much Dylan would need something to look forward to. Especially with his future looking so bleak and all.

Yep, he was definitely going to need new friends.

~~~***~~~

Two Wednesdays after the horrific end to the awards ceremony, soft country music greeted Alec as he entered the empty Front Street Clinic reception area. Sleep deprived, he clutched his latte. Fortunately the day had been long and grueling. Now he just needed to retrieve his laptop from his office before he could go home and collapse. He’d been pushing himself harder than usual, burying himself in his work and avoiding being alone with his thoughts. All of which centered on Dylan.

Chest aching, Alec wearily swept his hair behind an ear.

Computer. Home.

And then blissful escape in sleep.

Then he spied Martha, her back to him as she typed on her computer at the reception desk, and his heart sank. Hopefully the song on her radio would help him pass by without being detected. Exhausted, he couldn’t deal with further interaction today.

Usually he split his week equally between the office and making the rounds in the mobile clinic, recruiting new patients and checking in with their regulars at the local soup kitchens. The clinic used food as incentive to keep their patient population coming back, because Maslow had been on to something when he listed out his hierarchy of needs.

According to the psychologist, the base of the triangle—the most fundamental of needs—included breathing, food, water, sleep, warmth, and sex. Dylan had learned to exist along the bottom rung, wringing all the pleasure possible from the very basics, like food and warmth and sex. He never really aspired to attain more, mostly because he didn’t expect much out of life. A direct result of being given so little.

Alec gripped his coffee cup tight, hating how much that truth still hurt.

As far as his patients’ priorities went, taking antiretroviral meds to treat HIV fell well below the need for food and a safe place to sleep. In addition, despite a van providing rides, the no-show rate for appointments at the office bordered on fifty percent.

This was why Alec had volunteered to spend long hours in their mobile clinic. Sitting around here with nothing to do, even for five minutes, left him with too much time on his hands. Too much time to contemplate the huge mess he’d made of his life and how much he missed Dylan.

Christ, he needed to get a grip.

Alec flicked his gaze between the hallway across the room and Martha’s back. If quiet enough, he might be able to pull this off. He’d taken five steps when Martha spoke without looking around.

“Here’s your appointment list for tomorrow.” She swiveled in her seat and held out a clipboard. “Tyler’s out in the RV, restocking supplies. You’re supposed to stop by and see him before you leave.”

Another person with too many questions. Unlike Martha, though, Tyler wouldn’t hesitate to ask them.

Alec accepted the list and scanned the names. “What does Tyler want?”

Martha sent him her standard look, the one Alec imagined she made when coming across something in her refrigerator that looked iffy and smelled even worse.