Sam sighed. “We’ve been really popular since I got myself bashed.” He started to stand, but Ian materialized from the kitchen, ruffling his hand through Sam’s hair on his way past.
“I’ll get it.”
“He thinks I’m broken,” Sam whispered loudly. “He won’t let me do anything, just makes me lie on the couch all day and read. It’s awesome.”
“If my boyfriend had been beaten up, I’d do the same thing.”
Sam wasn’t listening, he was craning around to see who was at the door.
“Hey, man,” Ian said from the entryway, just as Sam’s eyes went impossibly wide. Dalton tried to surreptitiously look, but he wasn’t willing to half fall out of the chair. He probably wouldn’t even know whoever it was anyway.
“Can I come in?”
Oh, but he recognized that voice. Mr. Terrebonne. It sounded raspier than before, but it still had a quality Dalton could almost feel, like fingernails trailing up his spine. Totally bizarre. He turned to ask Sam—quietly—what he thought of Tierney’s voice, but Sam’s body language was weird. Stiff. Even his face muscles had set.
Then Tierney Terrebonne walked into the room, coming up short just inside the door. “Um, hey.” He fumbled his hand out of his pocket, lifting it to acknowledge Sam, then dropping it.
“Hello.”
He looked even worse than he had three days ago. His suit was crumpled, like he’d been sleeping in it, but Dalton knew it wasn’t the same one—definitely a different designer. Maybe he’d put it on over the weekend and not taken it off since.
Ian glanced at Dalton from behind Tierney’s shoulder, giving him a look he’d already learned from the office—the grin-and-bear-it expression, but without the grinning. He came up alongside Tierney. “You’ve met Dalton, right?”
Tierney tore his eyes away from Sam to tip his head at him, but he wasn’t truly paying attention. He turned back to Ian right away. “Dude, can I talk to you? In private?”
“Yeah, let’s go in the kitchen.” Dalton caught the quick grimace Ian flashed Sam on his way out of the room, but Tierney didn’t. The man was so wrapped up in his own head he probably couldn’t see anything.
Sam frowned, but waited until the two other men left before he said, “Tierney’s got issues.”
Well, yeah. “He’s pretty much wearing them for everyone to see.”
“Not all of them.” Sam snorted.
Dalton raised his eyebrows because it would be rude to outright ask.
Sam’s glance darted off to the side. “It probably isn’t something I should talk about,” he mumbled.
The guy had shared his boyfriend’s painful coming-out-to-his-father story, what else could there be that he wouldn’t feel comfortable shari—
Oh duh. “Tierney’s gay.”
Sam bit his lip, looking all around the room, possibly for an exit. Then he leaned forward and nodded quickly. “Totally in the closet. He hadn’t even told Ian until the other night. The night I was . . .”
“The night of the incident.”
Sam pointed at him, or what Dalton had said. “Yeah, that. But I already suspected, of course.”
Of course. “So that’s why he wanted to talk to Ian last Friday?”
“I don’t know if that’s the real reason.” Sam scrunched up his brow. “I think he only meant to apologize. You know,” Sam waved at his own face, “for the black eye, but the part about him being gay just came out. I think Ian kind of guessed. Because, you know, I’d already told him I thought it was possible.”
“You’re very perceptive,” Dalton said, nodding.
Sam beamed, making it clear what had attracted Ian to him initially. “Thank you. Anyway, now that I know that . . .” Sam shrugged. “I feel sorry for Tierney.”
Dalton’s gut tightened up, rejecting that unpalatable morsel. Pity was a horrible thing to inflict on someone like Tierney. He was a walking textbook example of low self-esteem. “Don’t tell him that.”
“I know, right?” Sam tilted his head. “You’re very perceptive yourself.”
That was a nice thing to hear. “Thank you.”
Sam smiled. “You want to hang out sometime?”
Dalton was brought up short. Not because he didn’t want to—he did—but because he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought about it at all beforehand, but it hit him now that he’d expected this to be a courtesy visit, and then he’d go back to being Ian’s employee.
When he saw Sam’s smile slowly turning into a frown, Dalton blurted, “I’d love to. Maybe we could go to the gym?”
“The gym? Do I look like a guy who works out?”
“Uhhh . . .” How should he answer that?
Sam shook his head vigorously. “Let’s just do lunch sometime.”
“I can do that.” He was eager to, even. And that was his cue to leave. Dalton stood, digging in his hoodie pocket for his keys. “I should go. I don’t want to tire you out.”
“Yeah, ’cause my constitution is so delicate and all.” Sam stood too, walking Dalton to the door while reciting his cell number and then typing Dalton’s into his contacts. Just before leaving, Dalton turned to give him a hug. He didn’t know if it was living through a trauma together, or if they would have clicked anyway, but he really liked Sam. Sam hugged him back, so maybe the feeling was mutual.
The raised voices sort of ruined the moment, though.
Make that raised voice—Tierney’s only. And judging by the stomping, he was headed toward them. Dalton let go of Sam, both of them turning as Tierney stormed into the entryway, then rounded on Ian and pointed at him. “I trusted you, dude.”
“You can trust me as much as I can trust you,” Ian said calmly, reaching past Tierney to open the door. A muscle flickered in his jaw, regardless of how mellow his voice was.
Neck cording with tension and fists clenching, Tierney growled.
Ian stepped back. Not a retreat, but a move toward Sam, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close.
Tierney gasped, so quietly Dalton wasn’t sure he heard it, until he saw the man’s face in the second before he left. Deep lines were etched across his forehead. Pained ones. He turned, shouted “Fuck!” then slammed out.
“He really knows how to make an exit,” Sam said conversationally.
Ian snorted a laugh. Then he leaned close to kiss Sam on the temple. “You should rest, kiddo. Don’t let that asshole bug you.”