CHAPTER NINETEEN
A week. A whole week had passed since Riley had walked out on Thorne, and he’d felt like he’d been asleep for most of it. Leaves were turning and beginning to fall off the trees. But instead of enjoying the brilliant colors like he usually did, Riley thought about how he felt as brittle and dead as the mass of brown leaves piling up on the ground.
He’d quit working for Sheila. How could he work for another client when all he thought about was Thorne? He couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else, and he resented that. Resented that he couldn’t stop loving Thorne when he wanted to hate him. But his earnings in the months he worked for Thorne had added so much to his bank account that he could start school in January if he was careful about money until then. He’d cook with Susan, and that would be enough.
He was much more worried about his emotional state than his financial one. He’d heal eventually, wouldn’t he?
Susan assured him he would. She’d been incredibly supportive, but he’d grown tired of her bashing Thorne. Yes, Thorne had been an ass, an idiot. But had Thorne truly meant to hurt him? After days of reflection, Riley didn’t think so. Of course, that didn’t mean Thorne was in love with him. But what if…
No. If he let himself run with those thoughts, he’d call Thorne. And then he’d be right back where he’d been before—in love with a man who only appreciated what Riley could do for him. Or at least, Thorne wouldn’t admit to more. That was not what Riley needed.
Calling Thorne was a terrible idea, but he needed to call Marc. He’d been avoiding his friend because he knew he’d have a breakdown if he started talking about Thorne. He’d sobbed all over Susan and then eaten three quarters of a devil’s food cake the day Thorne had made his business proposition. Marc had warned him. And he wouldn’t hesitate to point that out; that was just how Marc was. And as much as Riley was tired of Susan insisting that Thorne was, if not Satan himself, his top minion, he also wasn’t ready for Marc to remind him that there was fault on both sides. Marc would see right through him. Riley still believed Thorne was more at fault, but he could have handled things differently himself.
His phone buzzed, interrupting his nightly pity party. Marc’s smiling face showed on the screen. Speak of the devil. Marc had called twice the day before. Both times he’d left a message asking Riley to call him back. The second time he’d sounded uncharacteristically upset. Was he worried that he hadn’t heard from Riley in so long?
He accepted the call. “Hey, Marc.”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“I—”
“Never mind. I’m coming home. My overnight flight leaves in three hours, and I’m hoping you’ll pick me up.”
Marc’s despondent tone told Riley he wasn’t just coming for a spontaneous visit. “How long will you be here?”
“I’m moving back.”
Apparently the last week hadn’t gone any better for Marc than it had for him. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah, he ended it. I was counting on making it through the holidays at least. January is a good time to be alone, shivering in a blanket, drinking cocoa, and having movie marathons. Fall is a time for dating.”
That was so Marc. “Do you need a place to stay?”
“Yes, I was hoping—”
“Please move back in. I could use the help with rent. Thorne asked me to work for him full time. I stormed out, quit Sheila’s, and I’ve basically been hiding for the past week.”
“Wow, we’ll make cheerful companions, won’t we?”
“What’s your airline and flight number?” Riley asked.
Marc gave him the info.
“I’ll be there.”
Marc moved back in with Riley the next day, and they spent several weeks drinking, crying, watching sad movies, and generally hiding from the world.
***
THORNE’S TWO WEEKS of vacation were a mix of grieving, restless energy, and sailing. Once Thorne got over thinking constantly of the last time he’d been in a boat—and the things Dash had done to him on that tiny island—he managed to relax and take in the cool air, the breeze, the freedom he felt. He was on the water for hours every day except the few when rain poured down. He spent those days feeling sorry for himself and jerking off to thoughts of Dash.
By the time he returned to work, he was far from healed, but he no longer thought the weight of his need for Dash would crush him. Jack told Thorne he was “considering other options,” but he managed to keep his personal issues out of the office. Thorne got a few stares from junior partners and assistants, but for the most part things were just like they’d always been. But Thorne wasn’t; he would never be the same.
On Friday morning, nearly six weeks after Dash had walked out the door, Thorne hit snooze on the alarm and rolled over. Fridays were the worst. He hadn’t been sober on a Friday night yet. He also hadn’t eaten a pancake, or cake of any sort, and he didn’t know if he’d ever go to Bavaria Haus again. Fuck, when would this get easier? When would he be okay again?
Never.
At least most of the changes Dash had wrought in his life were good. The rest… He’d just have to keep praying that would pass. Maybe…no, he wasn’t ready for that, or was he?
Would getting laid exorcise his Friday demons? He hadn’t wanted any man but Dash in months, but he couldn’t stay celibate forever. He could go to the sort of club where sexual need hung in the air, where there was no doubt what everyone was there for. Maybe he could at least forget the ache he still felt every day for a few hot, sweaty moments.
He dragged himself out of bed and dressed for work, not yet decided about what the night would entail. He picked up coffee from a cart. Then, as he passed the door of a restaurant, the sweet smell of pancakes and syrup hit him, and his stomach clenched. He tossed his coffee in the trash. He’d regret that later when a caffeine headache rendered him useless, but he couldn’t possibly swallow anything right then. The smell of pancakes had made him sick ever since that horrible morning five weeks and six days ago.
He’d managed to push himself through work each day, robotically going through the motions but lacking the spark that had once made him a great consultant. He’d gone sailing almost every Saturday, and the time on the water was the highlight of the week, though it would have been so much better with Dash at his side. He pretended he was happy, hoping that eventually he’d convince himself of it. But as soon as he smelled chocolate or heard a voice that reminded him of Dash, or saw a young man with blond curly hair, all the pain came back. Thinking of Dash still had the weight to crush him. His sister and Lauren had both made suggestions for things that might take his mind off Dash. But those were, at best, temporary fixes. He began working longer hours again, because even relaxing reminded him of Dash.
He’d watched Say Anything about twenty times since Dash left, and he’d cried every fucking time. He’d also watched The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles and Some Kind of Wonderful. He was turning into a fucking sap. That was going to end tonight. He would find a man and fuck him until he begged for mercy. Hell, maybe he’d even try a threesome.