Love In Slow Motion (Love Beyond Measure #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,58
Ilan pulled off his shoes and peeled away his socks, then dug his toes into the sand and leaned back on his elbows. The cool morning air felt better now than when he’d first stepped out. It danced across his skin with the easy ocean breeze, and he smelled a little bit of brine on the current. He was pretty sure he’d never get tired of this, but he wondered if the sea would always hold the same magic.
Once upon a time, it was a luxury, a step outside of his life. What would happen when this started to feel like his new normal? He wanted to fill the empty spaces of his life with things that mattered, but he was terrified that real and actual contentment was beyond him. What if something was just fundamentally broken inside of him? What if he needed constant conflict to feel anything at all?
Before despair could grip him by the throat, he pulled his phone from the arm band, then counted back the hours before pressing his finger over Julian’s number.
“If I told you I was in the middle of an existential crisis on the beach,” he said when his friend answered, “what stupid Shakespeare line would make me feel like I could breathe again?” he said by way of answer.
Julian was quiet for a long while. “Is that really what you want? Or do you just want me to distract you?”
Ilan couldn’t exactly tell him he was terrified that he was falling in love with Fredric, so he bit the inside of his cheek and breathed out a heavy sigh. “Both, maybe? You always helped me make sense of things.”
“Hey,” Julian said very softly, then all the sounds in the background faded to nothing. “What’s going on?”
“I have a date,” Ilan said with a short laugh. He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a long second. “Remember that fucker I hated back during my residency? Preston?”
“Vaguely,” Julian said wryly. “You hated a lot of people back during your residency.”
Ilan would have flipped him off if Julian could have seen him. Or maybe he would have hugged him and never let go. “Whatever. He was tall, blond, gorgeous.”
“Mhm.”
“I asked him for some advice about getting into a new practice down here, and he kind of…asked me out, I guess.”
Julian hummed in thought. “Well, I’m surprised you’re not asking my dad this since apparently he’s your new best friend now…”
“Oh my god, are you twelve?” Ilan groaned, mostly because this was something he could not go to Fredric about. “You’re still my favoritest best friend in the whole wide world, Julian. So, will you fucking help me out, here?”
Julian chuckled and then let out a small sigh. “I just don’t know what you’re asking. Are you afraid of dating or afraid of dating him?”
“Both? Neither?” Ilan groaned and dragged his hand down his face, his water bottle thumping him hard in the chest. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I mean, when Papa asked me to help him with this dating thing, that was easy. But when it’s me, I feel like I’m having a two-week long panic attack.”
“I mean, I’m not even remotely surprised,” Julian told him. “I knew the moment you gave in and decided to date, it was going to be a goddamn disaster. You think you’re unlovable.”
“No, I don’t,” he argued, because he knew he was lovable. Just…maybe not that kind of love. “I don’t know how to be…you know…nice. I can do romance—I can do seduction. But I have no fucking clue how to be nice to someone who isn’t you. Or your dad.”
“Yes, you do,” Julian said, way too kindly, “your heart is just rusty.”
Ilan laid back in the sand and squeezed his eyes shut. “Is that Shakespeare?”
“No, asshole, it’s a Julian Pedalino original,” he answered with a small laugh, then he sobered. “The only thing I can tell you is to be patient and to let people be kind to you first. It’s basically what you told me when I was struggling.”
“I hate you,” Ilan said, and Julian laughed again. “Can’t you just give me some sonnet that’ll get rid of this fear that love is going to suck?”
“The day drags through,” Julian started, and his voice took on the familiar, melodic tone he always used when reciting poetry, “though storms keep out the sun. And thus the heart will break, but brokenly live on.”
Ilan froze, and he swallowed thickly. “That wasn’t Shakespeare.”