Dalton was silent too long, or his expression gave him away, because Tierney croaked like a frog: wordlessly, mouth hanging open, face paling. Dalton grabbed the man’s shoulder as he swayed, then pulled him toward the car where he could prop himself upright until he regained enough equilibrium to do it on his own.
“It’s okay,” Dalton soothed.
“What?” Tierney panted. “What’s okay?”
Um . . . “It’s okay about Ian.” Cringe. Not really, but he had nothing else to offer.
Tierney slumped against the car so hard it rocked. Dalton gripped his arm and stepped closer, trying to shore him up. Physically or emotionally, he didn’t know. “I’m sure I’m the only one who’s noticed. Ian hasn’t, I’m positive.” Please let that be true.
Tierney began wheezing. Too bad Dalton didn’t still carry Xanax with him everywhere, but he hadn’t needed it for years, not since the months after he’d been kicked out of his parents’ house and reality had slapped him in the face.
“K-kinda—” wheeze, Tierney said.
Dalton leaned forward to hear better, close enough to see how clammy Tierney’s skin was.
“Pathetic,” Tierney spit out, barely louder than the buzzing of the lot light. “Kinda pathetic.”
“It’s not.” Dalton shook his head. “It just . . . it just is. You can’t help how you feel sometimes, no matter how wrong it is.” He had the personal experience to back it up.
They stood there forever like that, Dalton inches from Tierney, breathing in a regular pattern as if he could get Tierney’s lungs to settle down just by setting a good example. Either that or time worked and eventually Tierney calmed. He was less pasty and the sweat that had popped out on his forehead had disappeared.
Dalton sighed silently, backed off, and glanced around. Someone was watching them intently from the window of the coffee shop. An employee judging by the apron.
Dalton was just about to suggest they go in or leave when Tierney muttered, “What a fucking mess.”
Oh, he totally concurred. “I’m sorry.”
Tierney snorted halfheartedly. “It’s not your fault; you didn’t get them together, right?”
“I mean I’m sorry for saying anything. For even trying to talk to you outside of their house. I should have left you alone.” Maybe other guys wouldn’t feel guilty for breaking an ego this fragile, but Dalton couldn’t help it.
Tierney shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up from under his brows. “No, it’s okay. I feel better.” He swallowed. “At least someone else knows, now. I’m not alone.” He flinched, closing his eyes.
Dalton pretended not to notice that Tierney’d admitted to loneliness, glancing away, toward the window again. The employee was gone—maybe she’d decided they were harmless. “Do you want to go inside and get that coffee now?”
Tierney’s eyes popped open. “I guess.” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “Oh, good. A Klunhausen’s.”
Of course. Of course Tierney would be one of those guys who liked Klunhausen’s. The chain was the “it” coffee purveyor in the city. If Dalton had noticed earlier, he would have driven on by and found someplace else. Except not, because they really did have fantastic coffee. How else would they get away with charging nearly twenty bucks a pound for their regular roast? Not that he ever bought it, but sometimes he let himself have a latte there.
This time he indulged in a mocha because Tierney insisted on paying for it. Dalton let him. The way the guy wouldn’t meet his eyes and his fidgety body language convinced him there wouldn’t be any more “I’m such a big dawg you should be into me” crap.
He hated to admit it, but humility did make the man a little, tiny bit more appealing. God, he was such a sucker for damaged men. Coming here was a horrible idea. “I can’t believe I agreed to have coffee with Tierney Terrebonne,” he muttered to himself while they waited by the barista’s counter for their drinks.
Tierney took a step closer to him. “Did you just say my name?”
Cringe. He hadn’t thought he’d said it loud enough to be heard over the espresso machine and other ambient noises. Dalton turned to him, forcing his eyes wide. “No. I was talking to myself, but I don’t think I said anything that sounded like ‘Mr. Terrebonne.’” Oh, seriously, that just sounded wrong now. He knew the man’s darkest secret, after all.
Tierney squinted. “Are you ever going to call me by my first name?”
“Um . . .” Too intimate. “If you insist, I suppose I’d have to.” Oh, that was gracious.
“I insist.” Tierney tipped his chin, and his nostrils flared. But then he shifted his weight and his air of command disappeared. “Please don’t call me that anymore.”
Did he have to look at Dalton that way? “Okay. Tierney.”
Zing.
Oh no.
Tierney compounded Dalton’s small attraction problem by smiling suddenly and brilliantly. “Thank you.”
“Tall mocha with whip,” the barista announced. Thank God for impeccable timing.
Dalton led them to a dark, semisecluded corner of the shop, and Tierney couldn’t help wondering why. Because he was sensitive to Tierney’s being in the closet, or because it was a good atmosphere for a serious talk between near strangers? Whichever, they sat down at a rickety table with thin, scrollwork iron legs that were all a different height. Every time either of them set their cups on the marble top, the whole thing rocked in a new direction, creaking.
That was the bulk of their conversation for the first few minutes. Dalton sipped and looked around, but didn’t say anything, just occasionally glanced across the table.
I need a drink. “I love the coffee here,” Tierney blurted.
Dalton nodded. “It’s good.”
“Yeah. The quality of my coffee’s almost as important as the quality of my bourbon.” Tierney took out his flask, tipping some liquid gold into his vanilla latte.
Dalton didn’t say anything, just tilted his head and watched.
Tierney put the flask back and gripped his mug between both hands, taking a few drinks, one after the other, letting it scald him a little but not to the point of real pain. “Yeah, I love coffee. Especially when I’m hungover. I buy beans here and make it at home. I have one of those machines that grinds the—”
Dalton’s fingers landed on Tierney’s forearm, and the babble pouring out of him stopped. The heat of the guy’s touch rolled over him, relaxing Tierney’s shoulders and loosening his chest enough to let him take a deep breath. “Thank you.”