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There it was.
“Oh, really?” Hayes asked, staring him down.
“Yeah, really.”
“You probably would’ve liked it if it was.”
“Not as much as you would’ve.”
Hayes, in true Hayes fashion, doubled down. “Want me to set it up? You can jerk off while I choke on his cock for you. You like that, right?”
“You’re sick.”
“And you’re bein’ a fuckin’ asshole. My ride’s almost here, I gotta go.” Hayes shoved his phone into his back pocket and walked toward the front door.
“So, it’s like that?” Ryan called, following him.
“Yeah. It’s like that,” Hayes responded without turning around. “I’m not fuckin’ leavin’ him here, Rook. He wouldn’t leave me here.”
Checking the time on his phone and knowing damn well he was going to miss his flight and his practice, he sighed, rolled his eyes and followed his boyfriend. “Wait up. I’ll…fucking drive you.”
It Hurts (8)
“I think his phone might be dead, but I’m pretty sure I know where to find him.”
Hayes stood at the edge of the boardwalk, removing his socks and shoes before heading out onto the beach. He turned back toward Ryan, who had taken a seat on a nearby bench. “Guess you’re stayin’ here. Good, hang onto these for me,” Hayes called, stuffing his socks inside his Vans and chucking them at Ryan’s feet. “I’ll be back, hopefully with TK.”
“Great. Can’t wait,” Ryan mumbled, shaking his head.
If someone had told Ryan Baylor six months ago that he’d be sitting by himself on a bench at the Santa Monica pier, after having missed his flight home so his junkie boyfriend could search the beach for his missing junkie friend, he’d have laughed maniacally in their face.
Yet here he was doing exactly that.
Hayes glanced back one final time at Ryan, who was looking the other way, inhaled the salty air, then began walking along the sand. He took a moment to appreciate the way it felt between his toes as the oxy had kicked in full force and he was feeling normal again. Head on a swivel, he dipped underneath the pier, making sure to check around each piling as he called out TK’s name repeatedly.
The tide had come in a few hours ago, so his feet were caked with clumps of wet sand, but he didn’t mind. It was raw and gritty, yet still soft and gentle at the same time.
He felt that.
It provided him with a sense of comfort as he searched desperately for his friend, knowing full well that TK would do the same for him if the roles were reversed.
Ryan, on the other hand?
He wasn’t sure he could say the same about him.
They were in love; he knew it. He felt it deep down in places of his soul that he’d previously assumed were dead for good. Ryan had resurrected all of those lifeless remnants. He’d reassured him that he wasn’t just some broken, abused, damaged little boy who used cockiness as a coping mechanism; he was a strong, resilient young man who, despite all of the past trauma he’d endured, was absolutely worthy of healing and love. It was something for which he’d be eternally grateful.
The problem was that Ryan didn’t know how to love another addict yet. Having only recently learned to love himself and accept his own struggles with dependency, Hayes knew he just didn’t have the capacity to effectively love another addict right now. That wasn’t something for which Hayes faulted him; to effectively love an addict was a task even the strongest, toughest, and most well-adjusted people on the planet struggled with.
Hayes knew Ryan was doing his very best.
Ryan had lived a sheltered life for the most part, the only experience he’d ever had with addiction being his own. And Hayes was beyond proud of his boyfriend’s progress; he wasn’t the same man Hayes met for the first time in that sixth-floor Bridgeport apartment over a year ago, when he’d shown up with beer, flowers, and Osi. But Hayes also knew that even if Ryan had fallen back to his old ways, or if he hadn’t progressed the way he had, Hayes would still know how to love him. He’d been loving addicts his whole life; it was second nature to him.
Ryan Baylor knew how to love the version of Tyler Hayes he wanted him to be, and Tyler Hayes wasn’t sure he could ever be that version of himself.
Where that left them, he had no clue.
“Ty?” a faint voice cried out.
