Tierney spun around, knocking the dude’s hand off of him, backing away. “I can’t believe I was such a fucking dumbass. I convinced myself you might actually want to be with a guy like me. But there’s no way— I’m a fucking prick. In the closet and a homophobe. You know what I did to Ian when he told me he was gay? I kicked his ass!”
“Tierney,” Dalton said, shaking his head. “That’s not—”
“You saw his black eye. I’m no better than those fuckers who beat up Sam and Mil—”
“That’s not true!” Dalton got right in his face again, like he had that night outside Ian’s house. “You aren’t like those guys at all. I hate hearing you talk about yourself that way.”
Great way to goad him, then, wasn’t it? “I’m a loser,” Tierney said, leaning in and enunciating. “I’m a douche bag, and you sucked me off. Without a condom. What does that say about you, huh?” He snorted, turning away from Dalton’s wide eyes and perfect face. Stunning. He’d had those stunning lips on his dick, and he’d better remember it for the rest of his life because that was as good as it would ever get. “Well, since I got everything I’m gonna out of you, I guess I’ll take my bottle and go to bed. You can let yourself out. Don’t worry about locking it.”
Tierney had about half the bottle of bourbon left. He considered going back out into the kitchen to get more, not sure if that would be enough, but he hadn’t heard Dalton leave. The dude could have been quiet, or he could have slammed out when Tierney was in the bathroom, head between his legs, trying not to puke. He wouldn’t have noticed an earthquake then.
Didn’t matter—he wasn’t leaving his bedroom to find out. Better to hide in here. If he chugged what was left of the bottle, it would do the job. Too bad he didn’t have any sleeping pills— With the way he’d been drinking lately, it was better not to have them around. Six swallows and he’d emptied the bottle of Eagle Rare, the alcohol burning its way down and then spreading out from his stomach. A slow-acting sleep potion.
It took longer than he’d like. He sat on the bed in his briefs and T-shirt, staring at the floor, then at his gut. When had he stopped working out? The memory of tracing Dalton’s perfect abdominal muscles with his fingers wormed its way into his mind, making him more nauseous before he forced the image away. Finally, when he couldn’t follow much of a thought at all, he lay down, the room spinning around him. The drunken carnival ride swooped around his head, up until he faded out.
He woke later than normal for self-recrimination hour—after four—to find Dalton in his bed, asleep. Tierney blinked, trying to remember how that had happened. Had he blacked out, and they’d somehow . . . What? Not had more sex, because Dalton was fully clothed and on top of Tierney’s bedding, covered with a throw that looked kind of familiar. He squinted at it, which set off a pounding in his brain. Going to be a hell of a hangover.
But then he remembered—that was the blanket his interior designer had put on that stupid frilly ottoman she’d bought and he hadn’t touched since. As far as he knew, this was its first use in three years.
Which explained nothing about why Dalton was here. Half-drunk and all fuzzy-headed was no time to figure it out. There would be answers later, and possibly accusations. Best to put all that off (since he could) and deal with the torture of now. Tierney drifted, fighting the bad memories and the barbs of the inmates. Arguing with them.
Tons of people stay in the closet their whole lives.
This is only a temporary period of intense stress.
Who needs love?
He said it was good.
They overran him, though, looking for blood, and eventually Tierney gave in. Surrendered and let them kick him while he was down, just like those guys had done to Miller. He curled up and tried to protect his internal organs while they hit him with the same thing, over and over. And he couldn’t disagree.
Yeah. Totally unlovable.
Eventually he wandered into half sleep, dreaming about being that giant dude in the land of those teeny tiny people. They tied him up and poked him with their spears until the sheets under him were damp with his blood. Would they let him bleed out? What did they care? He was just a big, ugly monster to them.
But another monster came along, taking his wrist and untying it, then stroking fingers through his hair. This other monster scared away all the tiny savages that had been torturing Tierney. An angel-monster, one with bangs that glowed like a halo and obscured one of his eyes, and a soft voice that said Tierney’s name. It felt so good every time he murmured “Tierney.” Healing. Like medicine, or maybe a balm that flowed through him and sealed all the miniature wounds.
Then the angel-monster kissed Tierney on the cheek, high up by his temple, soothing the pounding in Tierney’s skull. “Can you wake up?” he whispered in Tierney’s ear.
He nodded carefully, and when his headache didn’t grow stronger again, he opened his eyes.
Dalton. “What are you doing here?” he rasped.
“I was worried about you.” His gaze flickered behind Tierney for a second, then refocused on him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For what happened last night.”
Oh. Oh fuck. Tierney groaned and rolled onto his back, Dalton’s fingers trailing out of his hair. He laid his arm over his eyes. “The blowjob?” he mumbled into his armpit. The longer he lay there, more and more of what happened came back to him. Jesus. I’m such a dick. He was the one who should be apologizing. He didn’t believe any of what he’d said about Dalton. The dude was a good guy, but Tierney obviously wasn’t worth his effort. He’d proved that. The inmates were pissed, but he was relieved. Meeting expectations was something he only failed at.
“What I said to you after,” Dalton whispered. “I overreacted. It’s . . . complicated.”
Tierney snorted, even though it hurt his sinuses. Why did they always burn after he drank too much? “It’s okay.” He didn’t need this pity-laced brush-off, he just needed Dalton to leave so he could do what he did. Repair his facade and carry on. Live the life he’d carved out for himself. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t have anything.”
Dalton was silent for a few seconds. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
His fingernails dug into his palm, but Tierney didn’t move otherwise. “Look, you don’t have to do this, I’m not that fucking fragile. Just leave.”