Tierney buzzed him into the building without a word, and he was waiting in the doorway when Dalton got off the elevator.
“Hey, I’m here,” he said, feeling suddenly nervous and shy for no reason he could pinpoint, except that things felt different. As he walked toward Tierney, he realized most of what was different was the man himself—resting against the jamb, hands in the pockets of his suit pants, dress shirt untucked, and tie gone. In seconds, Dalton stood in front of him, combing Tierney’s hair back and cupping his face. “Are you all right?”
Then Tierney was hugging him, fingertips digging into his shoulders. Dalton wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and let him squeeze as much as he needed to, until he shuddered with one big release of tension and his muscles began to relax. Dalton could feel them loosen as he smoothed his palms up and down Tierney’s back.
“Better?” he asked when Tierney eased his hold, not quite pulling away, but letting some air between them.
“Yeah,” Tierney croaked, lifting his head to show red-rimmed eyes.
Dalton kissed him. A chaste kiss. A short clinging of lips and no tongue, but still it sent a jolt through his body, lighting up that spot in his heart reserved just for this man. He smiled, trying to cover up how not platonic he felt right then, sliding a hand down Tierney’s cheek before letting it drop and backing up slightly. He forced a short laugh. “I’m sorry. That was just a friend thing.”
“Sure.” Tierney swallowed. “Come inside?”
“Yeah.”
But Tierney didn’t move right away; he stared at Dalton a few more seconds. “Thanks for coming over,” he finally whispered, then turned, leading Dalton toward his sectional, and the nearly full bottle of golden liquid on the coffee table. As he flopped onto the cushion, he picked up a glass with more booze in it, resting it on his thigh.
“Are you sure you want that?” Dalton asked. He sat down right on the edge of the couch.
Tierney took a huge breath, then hesitantly set his glass on the coffee table. “I don’t. I’ve been trying not to drink it for hours.”
“You were successful.” He’d not had any on his breath when Dalton kissed him. Totally a good excuse for kissing him. He just needed to watch the touching. Keep it friendly. “Do you want me to get rid of it?”
Tierney hung his head, elbows on his knees.
“I could put it in the kitchen?” One of his hands got away from him, fingers landing on Tierney’s forearm. His skin was damp, but it hadn’t been earlier. “Tierney?”
“Why don’t you call me T? People always get tired of saying my name and shorten it.”
“I like your name.” He made the executive decision and stood, picking up the alcohol. Tierney said nothing as Dalton stepped around the coffee table and walked through the shadowed dining area. In the kitchen island, he found one of those little bar sinks, so he dumped out the drink, ice cubes clinking against the stainless steel, and set the bottle next to it. Emptying that seemed like too much distrust. Too presumptuous.
Until Tierney called out, “Get rid of the rest of it.” So he did, listening to the bourbon glug-glug and rush down the drain.
When he got back to the living room, Tierney was still staring at the wet ring his drink had left on the coffee table. Dalton sat, angled toward him but leaving Tierney his space, trying not to disturb the cushions. As if he were afraid to wake someone walking in their sleep.
Except disturbing him might help him work through this sooner. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
Tierney groaned and covered his face with his hands.
“You don’t have to tell me anything.” He had to put his arm around him. “We can just watch Star Trek and grunt monosyllables at each other.”
Tierney’s shoulders shuddered under his hand, and Dalton gripped him, feeling the strength of his muscles. God, he wasn’t going to cry, was he?
But Tierney dropped his hands and straightened up, blinking. “I thought I was ready for it . . .” He blew out a heavy breath and leaned toward Dalton, listing into his side.
“For what?”
“For facing all those people.”
He may not know exactly which people, but Dalton could imagine. The people he worked with. His peers and colleagues. “Yeah, being out isn’t always easy.” He trailed fingers through Tierney’s hair, the same way he might caress his cat. Like Blue, Tierney turned into it, pulling his leg up on the couch so they mirrored each other, knees touching. “But you faced them, right?”
Tierney grimaced. “Yeah, then came home and nearly drank.”
“But texted me when you decided not to.” Dalton dropped his arm off the back of the couch to take Tierney’s hand.
“Texted you because I didn’t know if I could stop myself. I should’ve been able to deal,” Tierney whispered. “I had a plan. But I didn’t follow it.”
“What’s the plan?” Dalton asked cautiously. Again, totally not his territory.
Tierney pulled in a breath, lifting his head. “I’m supposed to call my therapist. Or someone in my support network, if I can’t get him.”
“So did you try your therapist?”
Tierney swallowed. “No.”
“Um, am I in your support network?”
“Well,” Tierney said with a quick, tortured grimace. “You’re pretty much the whole thing. Probably should’ve talked to you about that, huh? Sorry.” For a second, his eyes flickered to Dalton’s, but then he looked away again.
“It’s fine.” He twined their fingers together, trying to physically express his willingness to be Tierney’s man. Support man. “So, if I’m your support person, does that mean I’m supposed to give you guidance?”
“I think you’re supposed to make sure I don’t drink.”
“’Kay, so we’ve done that . . . Now what?”
“I dunno.” He flashed a weak smile. “I was kind of hoping you’d have some idea.”
“So that means I’m in charge?”
Tierney shrugged.
God, don’t let me fuck this up. “Maybe you should call your therapist and refresh your memory?”
“You think?” Tierney ran his teeth across his lower lip a couple of times.
“Yeah.” Dalton smiled, trying to reassure even more with a squeeze of his fingers. “As your official support network, I’m saying you have to.”