“You may go.”
Ben shoved to his feet at Dante’s words. He grabbed his pants and underwear, and made it to the bedroom door before Dante spoke again. “Sleep. Eat. If you want, you may call tomorrow night.”
Ben didn’t know if he would or not. He didn’t reply. He only stopped moving to get dressed in the living room before leaving Dante behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was late but that had never stopped Ben before. He picked up his cell and dialed. After the second ring he heard, “Ben?”
“Tristan,” Ben replied. “Who did you think it would be? It’s my number after all.” Ben was good at this, pretending everything was okay when he spoke to Tristan. He’d done it since college.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve been calling you for who knows how long and you never pick up, and then you randomly call one night and I’m not supposed to be surprised?”
If it had been Ben, he would have gone to Tristan to make sure he was okay. “Be careful, you sound an awful lot like you care.”
Tristan’s voice got softer. “You know I care.”
This was why he didn’t call. Ben couldn’t be weak for Tristan anymore. And he was. One phone call and he resorted back to the man who said whatever he could to get an emotional rise from Tristan. He easily made Tristan pity him and if there was one thing Ben didn’t want, it was pity.
Still, Tristan was his closest friend. He always had been, despite everything that had gone down between them.
And he wanted to talk to him tonight.
“Remember how we used to play? What I would let you do to me? How I would let you tie me down?”
There was silence for a moment before Tristan spoke. “Yes.”
That quickly Ben wished he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t need to do this with Tristan—reminisce about their past and Ben’s current failings.
“Is that something you can’t do anymore?”
Damn Tristan for knowing exactly where Ben went with that. He assumed it was from Tristan’s own past with having something done to him that he couldn’t get over. Ben didn’t know the details though. It wasn’t something Tristan ever shared with him, so he ignored the question. “I let someone fuck me tonight. It was the first time since you.”
More silence and then, “That’s good. Good for you. Should I bust your balls the way you did when I fell for Josiah?”
Ben actually laughed at that. What he had with Dante wasn’t anything similar to what Tristan shared with either of his men. “It’s not like that. I met him in a club. I’ve watched him fuck someone else.” He’d told Tristan so much more than this in his letters.
“God damn it, Ben. You need to keep your ass out of those places. I know you’re still not working. Come to California. My proposition still stands. We’d work well together.”
“It’s strange being the more fucked-up one between us. We had a role reversal,” he said rather than answering. Ben eyed his cup of bourbon but didn’t yet take a drink.
“You saved us, Ben. You’ve been the best friend I ever had, or probably deserve. Let us be here for you now.”
Us. Not me. Let us be here for you. Tristan was an us now. “How are they? The boy and the thug.”
Tristan let Ben’s names for them go. “They’re well. Josiah is enjoying Full Circle and Mateo is taking more pictures. He’s really good. His eye amazes me.” Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity before Tristan broke the silence. “Talk to me. Don’t become me. I should have talked to you, to someone long before I did. I know this isn’t all about me. We both pretend that I was the only one who kept myself locked out of your life but you did the same. There is so much I don’t know about you. If it’s not me, you need to talk to someone.”
No, he didn’t. What did talking do? How could opening up to Tristan change anything? “Go back to sleep, Tristan. I’m sure you have to be up for work early in the morning.” He assumed anyway. Ben didn’t even know what day of the week it was. “Go enjoy them. Be happy. No matter how I act, I’m glad that you’re okay.” And he was. Tristan deserved to be happy.
“Ben,” Tristan said but Ben hung up the phone, downed his glass of bourbon and then left for the gym.
He didn’t call Dante that night.
Or the night after that, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ben stood, looking out his window at the city below when his cell rang. It was late, darkness having descended over the city hours before. It was never fully dark here. He’d always loved that New York never slept, but now he wished it did.