Preston said, then laughed when Ilan made a curious noise. “You have a reputation, and it’s not exactly for your deep, meaningful connections with your lovers.”
“More like deep-meaningful connections with the gym?” Ilan offered, and Preston sucked in a breath to say something, but Ilan beat him to it. “That was on purpose, you know. I thought…” He let out a ragged breath. “Shit, I thought I could avoid all the pitfalls of misery all my married friends fell into if I just didn’t let anyone close. Turns out it’s just a different flavor of misery.”
“Is that what you are?” Preston asked softly. “Miserable?”
Ilan rubbed a hand down his face, then laughed. “Fuck, I am way too drunk for this conversation.”
“Did you finish off that wine?”
Ilan’s eyes rolled toward the table and saw his glass half full and the bottle nearly empty. “Bottle’s probably emptier than it should be. I’ve been trying to cut back. Social lubrication crutches, you know?”
“I do,” Preston said, his voice a little heavier than it was before, but Ilan didn’t ask why.
“I’m good to go out Sunday, by the way. I’m looking forward to it. Today was…” He didn’t finish his sentence. He wasn’t going to tell this man that his feelings for someone he’d known his entire life had fundamentally shifted, and now he wanted something with a desperation he couldn’t name, with a power he couldn’t quantify.
“Today was what?” Preston urged, and Ilan reached under his glasses and pinched his eyes shut with his thumb and forefinger.
“Long,” he said, the lie tripping off his tongue. The day hadn’t been long. He’d tried to drag it out, but eventually he drove Fredric home and watched him walk away and sat with an ache in his chest.
And he’d suffer through more afternoons like that for the rest of his life—gladly. He’d watch Fredric move on, he’d watch someone make him smile and laugh and feel loved in ways he’d always deserved but never got. And it would fucking hurt, but it was something Ilan would never, ever take away from him.
He loved him too damn much to even consider it.
Staring down at his free hand, Ilan realized it looked older. Not old, but his skin was a little looser, and his knuckles were starting to get bigger—just like his dad’s had been. He remembered his own hand being dwarfed by his, the feeling of comfort it brought.
He missed his parents with a sudden fierceness that he hadn’t felt in years.
Fuck, he was a mess.
“I should go,” Ilan said, and Preston laughed softly.
“It sounds like it. Take a hot shower, take something for your head before you go to sleep, and at least…
“Two full glasses of water,” Ilan finished for him, his smile bigger now and definitely more genuine. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Preston gave him, and then the line went dead.
Ilan was glad there was no lingering goodbye. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull the plug on the call. He felt like he was free floating, like he’d lost all tangible connection to the outside world. And he could easily stumble the walk over to Fredric’s, even if it would take at least half an hour. He might have even sobered up in that time.
But he needed to do this on his own. If he was going to be good enough for anyone at all, he had to know he could piece himself together tight enough that he had the strength to reach for what he wanted.
Ilan never kept the Shabbat. His parents had when he was a kid, but the more he started socializing with friends, the more they became lax about it. Then he got into university and turning off for even a few hours was impossible. He’d go to shul if he was feeling particularly disconnected, but most of the time, his faith lived in the back of his brain.
More time passed, and his work schedule eclipsed anything and everything he wanted to do with his life. Every now and again—a Friday just before sunset, he’d glance around the room as he was scrubbing in for whatever emergency surgery he was about to perform, and he’d wonder if he was doing the right thing.
But those moments were fleeting. He’d lose himself in the rhythm and flow of the OR. His brain would become precision and calculations because someone’s life was literally in the hands of his team, and they all had to function at top form. Or else.
So, he