“Yeah.” Ryan wished he could will away the effects of that pill. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around any of this.
“I’m sorry to have to give you this news. Will you be okay? Is your, um, boyfriend—?”
“I’m fine,” Ryan said quickly, not wanting Wyatt to mention Fabian even in vague terms. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Ryan was so far from all right it wasn’t funny. “Yeah. I’ll look into the funeral. Have fun on the beach, okay?”
“Sure. But, y’know, call me if you need to.”
God, Ryan missed Wyatt. “I will. Thanks.”
They said their goodbyes and Ryan hauled himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where he immediately turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it.
Okay. He would find out when and where the funeral would be held, and he would drive there. That was something he could do. It was theleastthat he could do. Hopefully a lot of NHL players would do the same.
He couldn’t help but replay their last fight—or, more accurately, their non-fight—as he showered. Was Ryan partially to blame for what had happened to Duncan? Had his refusal to fight him pushed him closer to the edge?
He couldn’t let himself think these things.
When he stepped out of the shower, his head felt clearer and he realized his back wasn’t bothering him as much. It seemed that actually taking the time to rest and heal was indeed effective.
“You were right, Fabian,” Ryan said to the empty room.
“Feel free to take that off the shelf, if you want a closer look.”
Fabian blinked, and realized, as his eyes focused, that he’d been staring at a stainless steel anal bead wand with what must have been an expression of deepest longing. But the truth was he’d only been thinking about Ryan. Again.
“I can give you the staff discount on one if you want,” Vanessa continued. “It’s the least I can do after I made you test out that garbage vibrator.”
“No, sorry. I wasn’t even looking at it. I’m just...scattered.”
Vanessa turned away from the shelf of lube bottles she’d been straightening and rested a hand on Fabian’s arm. “You could reach out to him, you know.”
Fabian shook his head slowly, and forced a laugh that sounded hideous. “The whole idea of us was absurd. We don’t make sense.”
“But you miss him.”
“God, so much.”
Vanessa gave an exasperated sigh, then went back to straightening the lube shelf.
“What?” Fabian asked.
“I don’t know. It’s like you went into this thing with Ryan determined to prove that it couldn’t work or something. Yeah, I never would have expected you to fall for a professional hockey player, but you did. And then as soon as the hockey stuff got real, you bolted.”
“That’s not fair,” Fabian argued. “He was lying to me. Hurting himself. He’s...self-destructive.”
She jabbed a bottle of lube in his direction. “Sounds like he could use some love and support.”
Fabian didn’t have anything to say to that. He knew it was true, and it was the reason he’d felt like complete shit for the past two weeks. He wasn’t strong enough to be Ryan’s boyfriend. He wasn’t able to overcome his own hatred and fear of everything hockey was. Everything it did to people.
“I saw Claude last night,” he said quietly, changing the subject.
The disappointment was clear on Vanessa’s face. “Oh, Fabian. No. You didn’t, did you?”
“No. No, I promise. Nothing happened. I ran into him at Greta’s art opening. We talked. Shared a joint outside.” He looked away. “I mean, he didtryto kiss me. But I told him I couldn’t.”
