Tierney sighed and ran a hand down his face, letting it fall into his lap. “It’s weird growing up the way we did,” he said finally. “I don’t know, maybe it’s not, but everything was so fucking competitive. He was better at sports and talking to people, plus he was older. I just never . . .” He met Dalton’s eyes. “I was jealous.”
“And he’s not gay,” Dalton said softly.
Tierney’s face changed, mouth pulling down at the corners and lines growing on his forehead. “Yeah, that.” He slumped into the couch, picked up the remote next to him, and turned off the television.
“So, you’re still staying in the closet because of your family?” It had to be the whiskey affecting him; he normally wouldn’t pry like this.
Tierney shifted again, tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. “Yeah. Now that Grandfather’s gone . . .” He swallowed. “I’ve been lying about it too long. They wouldn’t handle it well.”
Who exactly is it that wouldn’t handle it well? Dalton couldn’t ask it, because it was so obviously Tierney himself who was terrified of facing the world as an out man, and he’d pushed enough already. He didn’t want to inadvertently find Tierney’s breaking point. Guilt flooded him because he’d led them into this conversation. He emptied his glass down his throat, barely noticing the taste, and set it down on the floor. Then, leaning back again, he turned toward Tierney, settling his arm on the back of the couch, thumb inches from Tierney’s neck. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“This’s embarrassing,” Tierney whispered. “I keep spilling my guts to you, and I ambushed you in the parking garage, and I drunk-texted you, and now you’re here and—” He ran his hand through his hair.
“I embarrassed myself by doing a spit take on you.” Dalton brushed his fingers across Tierney’s shoulder, warm under the soft fabric, trying to tell him it was fine. “And I’ve been prying. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t.”
“It’s okay.” Tierney snorted. “But my life’s not really interesting.”
“It is, kind of.” He couldn’t suppress his smile.
“You’re weird.” Tierney sighed and let his head fall back on the couch, grazing Dalton’s hand. “So what’s your story?”
“My story?” He thought he knew what Tierney meant, but he was stalling. Giving himself a few seconds to shore up his defenses before telling the tale. Because he felt a connection with this man that went beyond the way his hair tickled and slid along Dalton’s fingers. If—when—he told Tierney about his coming out, it would be a far more intimate conversation than the one he’d had with Sam.
“Yeah.” When Tierney nodded, Dalton could feel it in the suddenly-very-sensitive palm of his hand. “You gotta have some trauma in your past, otherwise you’d blow me off.”
“I guess my past does make me more empathetic to your situation,” he began slowly. Tierney gazed at him, waiting for him to go on.
How much do I tell? How much do I trust him? “I’m kind of trying to pay it forward, I suppose,” he said, stalling a little longer.
“Pay what forward?”
“After my parents found out I was gay and kicked me out, my brothers and sister were supportive . . . but I was so hurt. And I guess I was mad at them for not being able to make it better.” He still couldn’t quite understand why he’d been so angry with them.
“You were living with your parents?” Tierney shifted again. “You were just a kid, huh? Where’d you go?”
“My brother’s place. And then I found a boyfriend who wanted me to live with him.” He let his bangs hide him from Tierney’s squinty-eyed expression.
“So . . .” Tierney began. “He was older than you. Had his own place.”
Dalton shrugged. “He was thirty. I was eighteen.”
Tierney let out a low whistle. “How long did that last?”
“Less than a year.” Dalton felt his lips twist into something mirroring the derision he felt inside. “Then I found another one to move in with.”
“Oh.” Tierney said almost soundlessly. “So, you, um—” He cleared his throat. “You faced it.”
Dalton blinked, staring at him. This was the point of the conversation where he obliquely admitted he used a string of older guys for security, while they used him as a boy toy. Yet somehow Tierney had missed the obvious. “Faced what?”
“You didn’t hide in the closet.” Tierney’s mouth thinned into a straight, hard line. “Like me.” He jerked upright, back hovering near the cushion but not resting on it. “I’m a coward.”
“I don’t believe that,” Dalton objected, but that was all he had to offer. Because on the surface, Tierney did appear to be a coward, and Dalton couldn’t explain why he didn’t believe it. Long seconds of silence stretched out between them, during which Dalton wanted to touch Tierney, comfort him somehow, but the man was frozen, one hand gripping the opposite elbow while he stared into space, focused away from Dalton.
All at once, Tierney slumped, dropping his head on the back of the couch, hair trailing on Dalton’s fingers again as he shifted to look into Dalton’s eyes. “Thank you for not believing that,” he whispered. “You’re always so nice to me, and I don’t deserve it.”
Oh God, these were the things that made Dalton so susceptible to this attraction. When Tierney got vulnerable, it made Dalton’s chest ache. He could see so much inside the man wanted out, and the more he saw the more he wanted it to come out and play too. Before he could stop himself, he ran his fingers through Tierney’s hair.
Tierney turned into his hand, letting Dalton stroke his scalp, his eyes going half-closed. “Are you tired?” Dalton asked.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? There’s nothing to be—”
“Made you come over here. ’Cause I felt lonely.”
“You didn’t make me. You asked me and I came.”
“If I hadn’t had anything to drink . . .” Tierney leaned further into Dalton’s touch. “I needed to not be alone,” he whispered.
“Everyone has moments like that.” Dalton ran his thumb quickly across Tierney’s cheek, wanting to cup his face, but he settled for these smaller caresses. He was already pushing the boundaries he’d set. But these touches are just comfort, not seduction. Just friends. Intimate friends.