Archer stared at the screen, then swallowed thickly. There was no reason to say yes, and the only reason he wanted to was because he was drunk. Archer was hardly ever a hero, and now was not the time to change.
It absolutely, completely, and entirely was not.
Chapter 5
Julian woke with a hangover, but it had nothing to do with alcohol, and everything to do with the stress of facing down his family and his ex with such an absurd lie. He managed to get through the rest of dinner giving minimal information about “Will” and trying to find some way to trust that Ilan would pull some miracle out of his ass by the weekend. He wanted to be more like his mother, callous and careless about feelings so when he got home from the dinner, Bryce took up no real estate in his head or in his heart.
But he wasn’t like her. He was too much like his father—a little soft and a little vulnerable in spaces most people didn’t get to see. He’d kept his head high and his comments sharp, but the moment his front door closed, Julian allowed himself to feel it. He canceled Ilan coming over, fixed himself a sandwich, then let himself fall apart on the sofa. His second panic attack of the night lingered in his trembling fingers and the fog that wrapped around his brain.
He took a long bath after, then a pill to help him sleep, but the weight of his emotions were still ever-present when he woke. It was easy enough to have a day in. He had a mountain of essays to mark, and he needed to get his final grades uploaded before he took off for the week of watching Bryce and Ashton fawn over each other.
Julian set his visual doorbell and left his hearing aids on the nightstand, then kicked his feet up on the sofa as he waited for his take-out. Ilan said he’d text when he had his answer to whatever his plan was, and Julian decided he just didn’t care. In reality, he’d probably go with it, whatever it was. He might have been the one who chose to marry Bryce, but he deserved better than his family’s half-assed support and their willingness to just go along with this wedding like it meant nothing.
Whatever happened around the wedding, this had to be the last time he carved up pieces of himself for the sake of others. If it meant applying for jobs overseas, if it meant applying on the West Coast, or in fucking Antarctica, it was time. He had to find some way to separate himself from all of it and figure out who the hell he was outside of these carefully cultivated messes arranged by his mother.
By four that afternoon, he was sitting on the floor with his back to his sofa, halfway through his second period essays and a few bites into his Chinese delivery when the light above his door flashed. He heard the faint buzz that accompanied it through the heavy cotton thickness of his hearing, and then the door opened.
He was unsurprised when Ilan strolled in, wearing a pair of cream cargo shorts and a t-shirt that hugged every single, perfectly sculpted muscle of his body. He looked like he should be on the cover of a magazine, not in an OR, but Ilan had always been the person to spit in the face of expectations.
He smiled, pushing his sunglasses into his hair, then flopped down on the sofa behind him and lifted one leg so both his thighs bracketed Julian’s body. He knew what was next, seconds before Ilan’s large hands dug into the muscles of his shoulder, and he leaned forward so Julian would be able to hear him clearly.
“How long have you been sitting like this? Your terrible posture is going to kick your ass by the end of the night.”
Julian turned and offered him a grimace. “Fine, I’ll book an appointment with a chiropractor tomorrow.”
Ilan snarled at him and squeezed just shy of too tight. “Why do you bait me?”
“Why do you take it?” Julian fired back, then turned to his essays.
Ilan said something else, but his voice was too much of a low rumble for Julian to make it out, and it was harder when he wasn’t looking at him.
“I should go put my ears on,” he said, and Ilan gave him two quick pats on