Ian swallowed and nodded once. Taking a deep breath, Tierney tried to get his heart back into a normal rhythm before he told the dude the rest, but it didn’t cooperate. “I just, see, that’s what I did—what I’m doing. I, like, was afraid to be gay, so I chose to believe Grandfather when he said I couldn’t be. Subconsciously. And I chose to believe I was in love you with you, but you weren’t ready to be with me.”
Color was returning to Ian’s face. “T, man, I never meant to—”
“Yeah, no.” Tierney threw up his palm to keep him from saying more. “I know you didn’t, but, see, that’s what I told myself, and I used it as an excuse to not come out even after I knew I couldn’t fight the gay thing. Like . . .” He swallowed. “If the guy I thought I wanted wasn’t gay, or wasn’t out, there was no reason for me to be. I blamed you for all my, um . . . you know.”
Ian still seemed a little dazed, but he said, “Okaaay. So, you’re saying that now, you let this doctor tell you that you couldn’t be with Dalton because you’re scared . . . of what?”
“Fucking it up.” Wow, he was just spewing out the confessions today. Puking them up. “Of being a prick again, maybe even when I’m sober, and—” Oh yeah, totally nauseous. “What if I stop giving him a reason to want to be with me?” He paced over to the windows and stared out at the growing twilight.
“And what, you think I’m not afraid of things going to hell with Sam?” Ian asked in that “what are you smoking?” tone of voice.
Uhhh . . . “Never thought about it,” he admitted. Jesus he was stupid sometimes. Shoving his hands through his hair helped with the agitation. A little. “I gotta fix this. I mean, I have to try.” He swallowed. “I just, I don’t know what to say, because then we’re back where we were before I saw Dr. Palmer, starting a relationship when I’m a bad risk.” He whirled around to face Ian. “I can’t just jump in, man. I gotta do this right.” His eyes ached even more now, but his heartbeat was settling down. “I’ve leapt before looking too many times, and fucked too much up. I can’t do that to him again.” He shook his head, heading back to the chair, suddenly completely exhausted.
“You wanna talk to Janet?” Ian offered as Tierney flopped into his seat. “Or she could probably come up with some quality referrals.”
“I can call my counselor from Dunthorpe, ask him what he thinks. I have his emergency number, and he said I could use it.” He shoved out of the chair once more, but this time to find his briefcase and the notebook full of numbers he kept in it. “I’m calling Marty tonight. Far as I’m concerned, this is a fucking emergency.”
“You ever thought we’d be sitting around doing this, dude?” Ian’s voice was completely different, enough that Tierney forgot his mission for a second and turned back to him.
He was sort of smiling, mouth just turned up at the corners.
“Doing what?” Tierney asked him. “Talking about our boyfriends?”
Ian nodded, grinning now. “And our therapists.”
“Yeah.” Tierney shook his head. “No. Not in a million years. Now get outta here, man, I gotta call mine and then get my boyfriend back. I don’t have time to be all angsty with you.”
Ian laughed. Tierney walked the dude to the door. He had something serious to say to Ian, before he could call Marty. Something that was probably way overdue. “Thanks, man. For everything.”
“No problem.” Ian stared at him a second, then cleared his throat. “Um, what you said about your, you know, feelings for me—”
“Please.” Tierney ran a hand down his face, dragging his looser flesh along, like he could wipe out some of his recent past that way. “Can we do the macho straight-dude thing and just pretend I never said it? Maybe let it hang awkwardly between us occasionally, but never talk about it again?”
“Works for me,” Ian said, then gave him a bro-hug before leaving Tierney alone to call his lifeline.
But Marty didn’t answer, so he had to leave a message. “This is Tierney. Terrebonne. Uh, I’m having some issues and the local therapist is kinda, well, bogus. I mean, I think she is. Anyway, I have a pretty majorly pressing situation and I need to get someone else’s opinion on it. As soon as possible. Like, call me back at one in the morning if you get this then. Or two. Or whenever.” He remembered to rattle off his number, then he settled his butt in his chair, placed the phone on the arm, and waited for it to ring.
Dalton didn’t cry. He hurt too much to cry, like heartbreak had dehydrated his soul. He gave himself a headache, not crying. The pain forced him into bed early, where he lay awake all night, wishing Tierney was behind him, spooning him. Wishing for things to be different because then he could have what he most wanted. He knew Tierney wanted him in turn, but they’d had to do the responsible, adult thing and end it, so he couldn’t even get angry or hate the man. Mostly, he just ached with wanting what was best for him.
That was such a line, one he’d read in Sam’s books that sounded nice and altruistic, but he’d never experienced this—never felt that his own happiness was a reasonable sacrifice to make for someone else’s. He’d gladly give it up if it meant Tierney didn’t have to suffer.
It meant he had to lie here in the dark, trying not to puke, though. So, sick to his stomach, exhausted but wired, he waited for dawn. Eventually, wrung out, he drifted into one of those half-awake states that often followed tragedies of the heart.
That’s when questions started percolating in his mind. As sluggish as bubbles in tar pits, he could watch them form in his thoughts.
Why hadn’t they discussed the possibility of reconnecting when Tierney was on a more even keel?
If not seeing each other was supposed to make being sober easier, why had Tierney been so broken up about it?
Why had Dalton accepted it so easily? Because he hadn’t truly believed he could have this? Because he was the one with the disfigured soul in Sam’s romance novel scenario?
Because he was still afraid, deep down, of repeating his own past mistakes?
Well, duh. It was suddenly crystal clear. He’d had a freak-out at Tierney’s place yesterday morning because some cautious part of himself was still afraid, but losing his man had woken up another part of him. A more mature, confident piece, with an intrinsic faith in the new Tierney. He could write the man off as a bad bet, or he could go with his gut and heart and believe.