Page 7 of Promises Kept

3.

The Argument

Alec sipped his whisky, leaned back in his armchair, and thanked God today was over. Dealing with grumpy artists and mouthy cartoonists who thought they were God’s gift had left him with little tolerance. Not for the first time he questioned why he did the job he did, dealing with high-maintenance individuals day in and day out.

Oh yeah. I do it because I love my job.

He grinned to himself and went back to what he was reading. Dylan had a function on the other side of town, some playwright dinner he’d been invited to. Dylan had gone straight from work and Alec expected him home any time now. He glanced down at his watch. Eleven pm. Perhaps he should go to bed and read his book for a while. It was a damn sight comfier than the armchair.

The front door slammed, and his eyes widened in surprise as Dylan stormed into their flat and threw his jacket on the couch violently. Alec looked up worriedly. “Everything okay? You look in a right mood. Something happen at the event?”

Dylan ignored him and walked over to the mini bar. He pulled open the door and took out a beer, opened the tab, and drank it thirstily. Alec got up from his chair and walked up behind Dylan. The distinctive scent of his lover thrilled him. He’d never tire of Dylan’s familiar smell of spicy soap and sandalwood cologne.

“Dylan? Talk to me. What’s the matter?”

“Something personal. I’m dealing with it,” Dylan answered gruffly.

Alec blinked. He let out a deep breath. “Oh. Okay.” He heard the hurt in his voice, seeing Dylan swallow as he refused to meet his gaze. His lover took a pull of his beer and Alec watched as a drop slid down his chin and onto his shirt.

“Well, let me know if you want to talk. You know I’m here.”

“Makes a change,” Dylan muttered.

Alec’s heart sank. Lately he had been kind of absent, what with Bennett’s upcoming tour, clients who seemed to demand every minute of his time, and dealing with a growing business. This, however, was not the time to rise to that bait.

He’s already in a mood. I don’t want to make things worse.

Alec sank back down into the depths of the couch. His chest tightened but he tried to ignore it. Stop being such a drama queen, he admonished himself. Dylan isn’t the secretive type. He’ll tell you what’s up when he’s ready.

Alec curled up like a cat, tucking his legs underneath him. He eyed Dylan cautiously then shrugged and went back to his book even though the upset feeling in his stomach hadn’t subsided. He tried to read but the words didn’t really take shape.

He glanced up to see Dylan staring out of the window, into the dark London night. He took another drink, gazing out with unseeing eyes.

Alec sighed. “Are you hungry?” He’d already prepared food to warm up when Dylan got home. All it would take was a microwave.

Dylan shook his head. “No, thanks.” He finished the rest of his beer and went to get another one. He opened it and drained half the can in one swallow.

“Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell me.” Alec had to give it another shot. Dylan swung round to face him. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It’s my problem to deal with and I don’t need you involved. It’s none of your damn business.”

Alec drew in a breath, the heaviness in his chest deepening. None of my business? Everything to do with you is my business.

“Anyway,” Dylan continued bitterly, “I’m not a client, so it’s not important.”

Alec’s normally mild temper sparked at those words and he took a deep breath.

I’m not holding the punches now, mate. You asked for this.

“Dylan, I’m fucking sorry I’m so busy. But things have gone a little mad in the last few months. I can’t help it that I’m being approached to take every man and his bloody dog on. Don’t you think I’d rather be home here with you?” He waved his hands around the flat they shared together.

Dylan’s face darkened. “I know it’s your fucking job, but it seems to be taking over our life.”

Alec stared at his boyfriend, who flung himself down onto the couch and lay back with his arms over his eyes.

“Jesus, give me a break,” Alec retorted angrily as he sat down on the broad arm of the couch, where Dylan’s feet touched the edge. “I’ve been working day and night, yes, but I try to make sure I have enough time for you. You’re acting like a spoilt brat.”

“Whatever,” Dylan snarked from beneath his folded arms. “Can you not talk anymore? I’m trying to think.”

Alec stood up, hands shaking, and drained his whisky down in a gulp. “Fine. I’ll leave you in peace. You enjoy your little pity party and don’t forget to lock up when you come to bed. If you come to bed and don’t pass out from all those beers you’re drinking.” The anger in Alec’s tone was hard to miss, and the good resolve he’d had on not making things worse had flown out the window. Dylan and he had never kept secrets.