Page 92 of See My Words

He showed them out, took a hot shower, and collapsed naked into bed to finally—finally—fall asleep.

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur. Steady stringer work kept Rylan busy, in addition to his sporadic work at the club. He and Chris spent most of their free time together, compiling and refining their packing lists and going over their itinerary. Rylan’s Ugandan entry visa was approved and emailed to him, and their departure date was finalized.

“Looks like we’re flying from here to JFK and then Dubai to Entebbe International,” Chris said, his tone one of suppressed excitement. “Once in Kampala, we’ll be met by a couple representatives of the Institute for War and Peace Reporting, who are supposed to be arranging for a driver to take us north to Gulu and the refugee camps still operating in the area.”

Chris had a world map open on his MacBook, and he was pointing each stop out to Minh, who was sitting next to him on Rylan’s couch. “This is where we’ll be the majority of the time, babe. Right here.” He rested his finger on an area north of the Ugandan capital city of Kampala. “We’re touring the camps and the villages all around an approximate fifty-mile radius.”

Minh’s lips were tight, and Rylan wondered why he was holding himself so stiffly, not leaning against Chris or even sitting in his lap, as Rylan had observed him do many, many times in the past. In fact, the two of them were known for their lavish displays of affection around the club, neither of them bothering to hide the fact they were completely and utterly besotted with each other.

He got his answer a few minutes later when he walked in on them in the kitchen. Minh was perched on the counter, Chris standing between his splayed legs, Minh’s arms wrapped around Chris’s neck as they kissed. Rylan ignored them, opening the fridge and leaning inside to grab himself a beer, surprised when Minh emitted a horrified squeak and pushed Chris away.

“Sorry, Rylan,” he babbled, jumping down from the counter and running his fingers through his hair, his cheekbones flushed a dull red. Rylan froze in his bent-over position, confused, before the light came on. He snagged his beer and straightened, closing the fridge door.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a long, satisfying swallow of the cold brew. “I’m not gonna collapse on the floor in a sodden puddle of woe, wailing my heartbreak, if I catch you guys playing tonsil hockey or hugging.” He shrugged. “Hell, if you wanna go at it on my couch, there’s a very comfy chair right there for my viewing pleasure.”

Both Minh and Chris’s faces were bright red by then, and Rylan winked at them before heading back to the living room. After a moment, they followed him, and Rylan grinned in satisfaction when Chris dropped to the couch and this time pulled Minh into his lap.

“That’s better,” Rylan said, lifting his beer bottle in a mocking toast. “Seeing you two sitting apart actually makes me anxious, because you know I don’t like it when Mommy and Daddy fight.” He ducked to avoid the throw pillow Chris tossed at him.

“We weren’t fighting, dude, we were just—”

“Trying to spare poor ol’ Rylan’s feelings. I get it.” Rylan sobered. “I’m not gonna fall apart just because you show affection in front of me. Honestly? It makes me happy to see you like this. Really happy.”

He rolled his eyes when the other two took full advantage of that, kissing and murmuring to each other, hands roaming. Rylan chucked the throw pillow back at them, smirking when it bounced off the side of Minh’s head, making him squeal. “Okay, changed my mind. I don’t wanna watch, but by all means, feel free to use my bed if you just can’t wait till you get home. Clean sheets are in the closet for after.”

Chris lifted Minh off his lap and settled him against his side with an abashed grin. “Sorry, Ry.”

Rylan waved off the apology, and after a moment, Chris turned the TV on to CNN and leaned forward to type away busily at the computer sitting on the coffee table in front of him. When Minh wandered off to the kitchen a few minutes later, Rylan got up and trailed along behind.

He got another beer, propping his hip against the counter to watch Minh stick a package of popcorn in the microwave and turn it on. Minh glanced at him.

“Are we makin’ ourselves too much at home?” he asked ruefully. “We can leave anytime.”

Rylan put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “God, no,” he exclaimed. “I love having you guys over. I was just busting your collective balls.” Minh heaved a sigh of relief as he went on. “Keeping busy is the best thing for me right now, you know?”

When Minh nodded sympathetically, Rylan asked, his voice tentative, “How is he? I haven’t asked you because I don’t want to put you in the middle—”

This time it was Minh’s turn to give Rylan a reassuring pat. “I’d never feel that way, baby. Truthfully, Rylan, Scott—well, he’s not himself right now. There’s been a lot, uh, goin’ on.”

Rylan winced. “I know. Jesus.”

The microwave dinged. Minh took out the hot bag of popcorn and dumped the contents in a plastic bowl, proceeding to ignore the whole thing as he came and slumped next to Rylan.

“He’s gonna lose the MC₂ contract,” he said quietly. “That video…”

Rylan shook his head. “What a fucking mess.”

He remembered his utter shock when he heard about the short video someone had uploaded to Instagram a couple of weeks ago, one of Scott and Lance in the bathroom at Spectrum that awful night. Unbeknownst to either one of them at the time, a dude had been in there doing a few lines in a nearby stall, eavesdropping on their conversation. Hoping for footage of a salacious blowjob, he’d turned his phone on them, instead capturing Scott deliberately and maliciously leading Lance on for the sole purpose of humiliating him. That humiliation had ended up on the Internet for gleeful public consumption, and the resulting fallout had dealt Scott’s reputation a serious blow. A follow-up video of a red-faced Scott yelling in the restraining hold of a bouncer while Chris crouched against the wall in a defensive posture, arms thrown up over his head, had unfortunately finished it off.

Mallory Creswell had issued an official statement not long after, the gist of it saying that in light of recent events, newly signed model Scott Ashworth’s short-term contract was unlikely to be renewed. If Rylan knew Corey, though, he was doing some frantic damage control, but Scott had already been branded an Asshole with a capital A, and Rylan was even hearing the old Trashworth moniker being bandied about.

It all made Rylan’s heart ache, and he couldn’t help but text Scott to let him know he was here if he needed him. He’d gotten a one-word reply: Thanks.

That hurt, but it was all part of giving someone space, he supposed. More and more he was glad to be leaving for a while, because sitting by on the sidelines and watching Scott’s life implode wasn’t his idea of fun. He sighed. “I’m so worried about him, Minh.”

Minh moved into his arms for a comforting hug. “Me, too. But don’t worry, baby. I got his back. And besides—” He swallowed hard. “—when you guys leave, me and him are gonna need each other.”