Chapter Seventeen

Seth hit the save button on the patient file he’d been editing and stretched his arms overhead. Working on his laptop at Vargas’s kitchen table for the past two hours, his back was beginning to protest. He’d been scheduled for a light day of paperwork, but it had taken him longer than he expected to finish entering the billing forms and complete the insurance claims he needed to get done. Same thing as the day before.

Actually, same thing as every day that week.

He’d just been so unfocused since the night a week ago when he’d begun staying with Vargas. His mind kept wandering, reliving that morning in his bed at his apartment when they’d kissed, trying to figure out how to bring it up with Vargas, what to say, what to do. They hadn’t talked about it since, or about what Vargas had said Seth’s first night there about wanting to be with him, and Seth was terrified of hoping for anything more.

Throughout the week, they’d gotten into a comfortable routine. Vargas would work on club business in his office, and Seth would spend the day on his laptop in the living room or the kitchen or even on the couch in the office with Vargas. They took breaks for lunch and an afternoon snack and then later to drive to Seth’s PT appointment. Seth had made a point of not scheduling any sessions with Dr. Arteaga for the week. He hadn’t wanted to lie to her about where he was staying or what was going on in his life right then. He’d simply told her it wouldn’t work out with his schedule.

Each night, after he and Vargas ate dinner together, they’d sit on the couch and watch TV. They were in the process of working their way through the first season of Queer as Folk. That had been Seth’s brilliant idea, hoping the erotically-charged show would set the mood for something to happen between them. But once they began the first episode, he realized what a shitty idea that had been. He sat there hard as hell the entire time while Vargas’s attention was locked on the TV screen.

Just thinking about it had Seth shifting in the kitchen chair for reasons other than the ache in his back.

He glanced at the clock on his laptop. Four-thirty in the afternoon. He had time before he’d need to figure out what to make himself for dinner.

Earlier that morning, Vargas had said he had several deliveries to oversee and other club-related tasks he personally needed to take care of, so for the first time that week he spent the day in his other office downstairs in the club. Before he’d left, though, he repeatedly asked Seth if he would be okay alone in the apartment. Seth had to insist multiple times that he felt comfortable enough to stay there on his own for a few hours. Then after each of the deliveries, Vargas had returned to check in with him and take Charlie out for a walk, once staying long enough to fix them grilled sandwiches and bowls of tomato and basil soup for lunch. How he made such a simple dish taste so amazing was beyond Seth. As they had their lunch, Vargas said he had several meetings he couldn’t miss and would be gone until later in the evening.

Plenty of time for Seth to get started with what he’d been dying to dig into: reviewing the club’s financial records. He gripped his cane and headed down the hall toward Vargas’s office.

Planning to sit at the desk to work, he gathered the laptop and a few of the files from the cart, and stacked everything on the desk. He stepped around to sit in the office chair but drew up short. The curtains were closed on the window that overlooked the club. Same as they’d been all week, except for that first day.

Without giving too much thought to the fact that he was about to face the Haven by himself for the first time, he went to the window. He leaned his cane against the wall. Raising both arms, he threw back the curtains. As was typical for most weekdays, the club hadn’t opened yet, but there were several servers and bartenders preparing for the dinner hour. It felt different seeing the club with some people in it. More tangible, more real.

But he wasn’t panicking. He felt calm and unaffected by it.

He kept watching as a young man with blond hair who reminded him of Aaron came into view. The guy had an unassuming way about him as he moved around the dining room, positioning napkins and silverware at each place setting. Yet as Seth watched the man smile at a coworker strolling by, he saw there was a flirtatious spark hidden underneath that meek veneer. Was that what Aaron was like before?

The thought saddened him. Not just for Aaron, but for himself. He was definitely different. He couldn’t even attempt another kiss with Vargas, let alone more.

He snatched his cane and spun away from the window. He went to sit at the desk and got started on the files. A half hour into it, the doorbell rang.

With the cane at his side, he made his way through the apartment and opened the door. Ian, the guard on duty, stood there blocking the entrance.

Ian gave a nod to Seth. “Good evening, Mr. Fisher. You have a visitor.” The top of a head popped up over Ian’s shoulder as Dylan got on his toes for a peek. “He’s on the list and has already been cleared.”

“Thanks.” Seth stepped back from the door, but Ian didn’t move to let Dylan enter.

“I’d like to hear you say verbally that it’s okay for him to come inside.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, he can come in.”

Ian still didn’t move. “You don’t have to say that just because he’s standing right here. You tell me you don’t want to see someone, and I’ll keep them out. No questions asked.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s okay. I want to see Dylan.”

“All right.” Ian moved aside. His thoughtfulness had Seth feeling bad about his initial response to the man and his duties.

At first having a guard outside the door all day had weirded Seth out, and he wasn’t sure if that was because it was a new experience for him or if it was something else. If he had to guess, it was Ian and Neil that bothered him. They were always nice to him, but there was something about both men that put Seth on edge. He found the contradiction jarring. He thought about mentioning it to Vargas, but he didn’t want to make a big deal out of a reaction that wasn’t based on anything real.

Vargas trusted them. Which meant Seth could do the same. He had to learn how to trust people again.

Dylan rounded Ian to enter the apartment. As soon as Seth had the door closed, Dylan’s jaw dropped. “Wow. I thought I was going to have to give that guy a blood sample to get in here.”

Seth laughed it off. “It’s not that bad. Vargas just likes to be thorough.”

“That’s because he’s one paranoid man.” Dylan meandered farther into the apartment and surveyed the living room. “So, this is where he lives?”

“Yep.” Seth sat on the couch, leaning his cane against the cushion beside him.

Dylan gave the space a last scrutiny. “Very tidy. And sparse.” He came to the couch and plopped down. “Doesn’t he ever let loose? Get a little crazy?”

Seth laughed again, but he couldn’t keep the mental images of their kisses at bay, couldn’t refrain from recalling the way Vargas had tugged him closer, his hands wandering all over him like there wasn’t a part of Seth he didn’t want to touch, his body shifting against him with both incredible power and remarkable restraint.

Dylan leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of Seth’s face. “Hellooooo.”

“What?”

“Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.”

“Sure.” Dylan grinned at him. “So what’s it been like staying here?”

“It’s nice.”

“Nice?” He sat back and scrutinized Seth. “So the sex with Vargas is… nice?”

“We haven’t…” Seth glanced away and shook his head.

“Not yet, huh?”

“I’m not sure he wants—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it, Seth. He wants you.”

“Wants me? Yeah, I guess.”

Dylan studied him again. Without Seth offering more, it was clear Dylan got what he really wanted with Vargas, what Seth could barely admit to himself, and how scared he was that it wouldn’t work out.

“Okay.” Dylan patted Seth’s thigh. “We don’t have to talk about it.” He got off the couch and wandered around the living room. “Where are you sleeping?”

“One of the guest rooms.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” Seth got up and led Dylan down the hall to his room.

Dylan stepped inside. “Pretty cool digs.” He went to stand before the steel door of the safe room. He pointed at it. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah.”

“A panic room?”

“It’s called a safe room.”

“I take it that’s new?”

Seth went to sit at the foot of the bed facing the safe room door. “It is.”

“Because of you staying here?”

He nodded. “It’s really neat, actually. Fancier inside than you’d think. He stocked it with books and other stuff and there’s a bench with pillows. Oh, and I guess it’s bulletproof.”

Dylan moved closer to the metal door. He gave the surface a rap with his knuckles as if he had to touch it to see if it was really made of steel. “You’re so wrong, man.” He looked back at Seth. “It’ll never be just about sex for him.”

“He just wants me to feel safe.”

“He wants all of us to feel safe, but he’s not spending a shit-ton of money to buy the rest of us expensive-ass, steel-encased, bulletproof safe rooms.”

Seth said nothing to that.

Dylan came forward and sat beside him. “I know I’m right. He has serious feelings for you. But I also think you’re the one who’s going to need to make the first move. I don’t think he’ll do it. Not now. Not here. You should ask him what he’s feeling. And you need to tell him what you’re feeling. Or else you’re always going to wonder what could’ve happened between you two.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can do anything, Seth.”

He scoffed. That description fit Dylan far more than him. He’d seen Dylan do the unimaginable. The thing was, though, he used to feel that way about himself.

Dylan sighed in frustration, but he dropped the conversation anyway. They chatted for the next half hour about what Dylan had been up to and the recent movie-night marathon he’d had with Toby, Aaron, and Ryder.

After they said goodbye and Dylan was gone, Seth returned to the office and got back to work, needing to do anything other than think about what Dylan had said. He went through the file folders, comparing the figures on each bill to what had been entered into the software, marking each receipt when he finished reviewing it.

Halfway through the last pile of folders on the desk, his pen ran out. He searched the desktop for another but found nothing to write with. He opened the top desk drawer. There were loads of sticky notes but no pens. He moved on to the right-hand side of the desk. In the tall bottom drawer sat a stack of books and loose-leaf printed pages. He went to close the drawer, but then the title of the top book caught his eye. When the Person You Love is a Survivor of Rape.

He read the title several more times, staring at each word in turn until all he saw was the word love.

He reached for the stack and pulled everything out. There were half a dozen books and more printed articles from websites covering topics like PTSD, anxiety, victims of kidnapping and abduction, rape survivors, male victims of sexual assault, and various therapies for treatment. He leafed through them, reading each title. Several stood out:

When Your Significant Other Has PTSD.

How to Support Your Loved One During Therapy.

How Sexual Assault Affects Relationships and Sex.

Rebuilding Intimacy with a Sexual Assault Survivor.

How to Help Your Partner Heal.

Seth opened one of the books. Vargas had dog-eared numerous pages, each page marked with highlighted text and handwritten notes in the margin. Most of the marked sections were about how to listen when the victim wanted to talk, what to do when they didn’t, how to offer other types of support, and why it was important not to push too hard. Each of the suggestions could’ve been describing Vargas and his actions and reactions over the past two years.

Seth continued flipping through pages until he arrived at a section specifically about physical interactions. He read the passages Vargas had highlighted. They mentioned how someone suffering from PTSD after a physical assault may feel on guard or anxious or worried much of the time, and that they may not be able to completely relax or feel at ease enough to be intimate with anyone.

He moved on to another section Vargas had marked.

This one addressed how the victim may feel fine for a long time, years even. Then without warning, when they are touched, it might trigger a fight-or-flight response or cause them to completely freeze up. The article gave suggestions on being patient and not taking the victim’s actions, decisions, or reactions personally. The partner should instead learn how to be gentle, how to avoid the triggers and create a safe and loving environment.

Another passage talked about how the survivor may have difficulty lying under their partner. It suggested being accommodating to the positions that allow them to feel safe, helping them find ways to be intimate that won’t trigger memories of the abuse, and giving them lots of chances to say that something doesn’t feel good. The article went on to point out that all those actions would allow the survivor to see that their partner is concerned and wants to know how to be with them in ways that allow them to relax and enjoy the experience.

Seth quit reading and sat back. How long ago had Vargas read those books and articles? How long had he been hoping they’d be together like that one day?

Did he still want him? Did he love him?

Seth bit at his thumbnail. Did he really need to ask those questions? Hadn’t Vargas already told him with the way he cared about him, the way he’d always been there to listen, the way he touched him and kissed him? The way he’d been avoiding taking it any further because he most likely didn’t think Seth was ready?

Dylan’s words came back to him.

“He has serious feelings for you.”