Page 85 of See My Words

“Garrett called me in much the same state,” he said quietly. “I could barely understand him, he was crying so hard.”

Scott blinked rapidly, determined not to lose it again. “It—I—” His voice was hoarse, raspy, and Rylan touched his lips to shush him.

“He said he hung up on you, and he felt so bad about it because he didn’t mean it like that.”

A lone tear escaped and ran down Scott’s cheek. Rylan wiped it away with his thumb. “He didn’t know how to deal with what he was feeling, and he didn’t want to cry in front of you. Hearing your voice again, it was harder than he thought it’d be.”

“I thought we had a nice talk,” Scott croaked. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“I doubt you did anything in particular to upset him,” Rylan said, his tone reasonable. “He didn’t anticipate how talking to you again would make him feel, that’s all.”

“I hope he can forgive me someday. I hope they all can.” He looked up at Rylan. “Even you.”

Rylan smoothed his palm over Scott’s chest. “If what you need is for me to say it, then Scott, I forgive you.” His voice was firm as he went on, “Now what I need from you is for you to accept my forgiveness and not dwell on it or internalize it anymore. It’s in the past, and we can’t move on if it doesn’t stay in the past.”

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “God, I hate this,” he burst out. “I hate—I hate feeling so much, Rylan. Sometimes I wish you hadn’t—” He broke off before he said it out loud, but when he heard Rylan’s soft intake of breath, he realized dully he hadn’t been quick enough.

“You wish I hadn’t come back into your life?” Rylan’s voice was almost inaudible, and he let his hand fall from Scott’s chest.

Scott rolled on his side and faced away, biting his lip almost until it bled, hoping he could keep from falling apart until after Rylan walked out the door…

The bed shifted, and Rylan pressed up against his back, his arm like a steel band as it came around his chest. He put his lips to Scott’s ear. “You will not push me away like this, Scott Ashworth. You hear me? Not again. I’m fucking tired of it, and also just fucking tired, so right now, I’m gonna sleep with you in my arms.” Scott buried his face in the pillow, trying not to bawl his relief, but Rylan wasn’t done. “And when we wake up, you’re gonna make love to me, and you’re gonna look me in the eye and let yourself feel everything you can’t bring yourself to say.”

Rylan hugged him closer, kissing the back of Scott’s neck. “I don’t need the words. What I need is for you to fight. Fight through all of this—this shit being dredged up, because I think it’s almost over, and I need you to fight for me. For us. Don’t let it win.”

Scott didn’t—couldn’t—say anything, but he let go of the sheet his fingers were twisted in and reached up to cover Rylan’s hand with his own. Rylan let out a sigh that sounded a little like a sob, and he gripped Scott’s hand, burying his face in the side of his neck. “I love you,” he whispered. “I will never stop loving you. Never.”

Only silence came after that, and eventually Rylan fell asleep, his body heavy and warm where it was wrapped around Scott, their fingers threaded tightly together. Scott lay awake and just listened to him breathe.

* * *

Garrett didn’t call the next day, or the next.

“Remember he’s looking at all this from the perspective of a child,” Rylan said a week later. “He doesn’t see the big picture, and all he can focus on is his hurt. Give him the time he needs.”

Scott was trying, but the toxic mixture of guilt and shame he’d shoved deep down inside him for years was seeping through the cracks and flowing to the surface. Every day that passed made him more antsy, more agitated.

Rylan was so steady, so patient, so fucking understanding, that unbelievably Scott found himself growing resentful of it. Why, oh why, hadn’t he dropped Rylan off at his apartment complex that first day and driven off into the sunset with a cheery wave and a “Nice to see you again”? After everything that’d happened, they’d managed to move on with their lives, for fuck’s sake, and now old wounds were being ripped open, and they were right back where they started six years ago, all because Scott just had to play the hero for a hot piece of ass in gold lamé shorts.

Trying to avoid taking his anxiety out on Rylan, Scott took it out on his workout routine instead, pumping iron until he was trembling with fatigue, pushing himself on the treadmill until he was drenched with sweat. He didn’t eat much, or sleep much, but he looked amazing…according to Corey, at least.

“Your body’s on point, sweetness,” Corey said, running his hand over Scott’s pecs and abs. “Flex for me.”

Scott did, and Corey just about purred. “Sexiest man in the club. Now go work it.”

Relieved to be back in Corey’s good graces, Scott worked it hard. He drank, he danced, he flirted. He searched out the fan he’d been rude to, Byron, and lavished him with attention until the guy was starry-eyed and slack-jawed.

“What’s up with you?” Minh demanded at one point. “You be like one of those fuckin’ wind-up monkeys that clash the cymbals together, you know, the ones that twirl around, make lots of noise.”

Scott glared at him. “That’s rude as hell.”

Minh gave a careless shrug, but his eyes held a wealth of worry. “Just sayin’. You can’t sit still, and you’re here, there, and everywhere. What you runnin’ from, Scotty?”

“At the moment, nosy bitches who can’t mind their own goddamn business,” he snarled. He downed his shot of vodka and slammed the empty glass to the bar top before turning and walking away. Byron came up to him, and Scott slung his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

“Having a good time?” he murmured, and Byron looked up at him with a besotted, worshipful expression.

“I am. But can we maybe get out of here, go somewhere?”