to let himself be loved, and loving just as hard in return would destroy him too. He brought Fredric’s hand to his lips, just like the older man had done with him before, and kissed him over thin, soft knuckles. Fredric let out a sharp breath, his hand going a little tighter on Ilan’s, but he didn’t push for more. He just stood there and let Ilan give these small bits of affection.
He wanted to ask what would happen when they had to tell everyone. Would Fredric really risk his relationship with his kids over this? Ilan had more to lose, and it was why he was so shit-scared. It was why that fear was eclipsing the trust he should have had in his best friend. With Julian, he had a love and friendship that spanned most of his life, but there was no blood shared.
His love was probably, on some level, conditional.
But Fredric was worth it, he decided as they stood there with their toes in the sand. He deserved to be worth it.
When the date was over, they didn’t kiss goodnight, but Fredric did press a palm to his cheek and held it there until Ilan’s resolve was so weak, he almost leaned in and took one anyway. And when the door shut, he stood there for long moments and stared at the handle, willing himself not to rush back in and take steps he wasn’t ready for.
His bed felt empty when he got home, and his body ached from lack of rest in the morning, but there was hope on the horizon that had never been there before.
Squinting against the sun and fighting the urge to go home and take a nap, Ilan ducked into the coffee shop across the street from his consultant’s office and got into the line. His fatigue was settling heavy into his bones, so when a voice spoke in his hear, he jumped half a foot.
“Are you stalking me?”
Ilan turned with wide eyes and stared at Preston. “I’m the one who lives here and doesn’t have a job. If anyone’s stalking anyone here…”
Preston laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m kidding. We had an IT training at the rehab facility here. We’re on lunch, and if I don’t get some coffee, I’m going to murder one of these old fuckers who won’t stop going on and on about how much better patient records were the old way.”
Ilan snorted as they moved a customer up. “What, like fountain pens and manila folders?”
Preston rolled his eyes. “Quill and ink.”
Ilan’s grin widened, and he stepped up to the pastry counter, eyeing the brownies he shouldn’t order. “Sounds like a bucket of fun. I can’t wait to go back to work.”
“I know you’re being sarcastic,” Preston said, reaching in front of him to snag one of the boxed lunches from the fridge case, “but are you going back?”
“I am. I actually just got done with making a schedule. I think I’ll be opening up offices in the spring. I’ve got a meeting with a realtor next week to look at a couple of places that used to be med facilities. She said they’d only take a couple of months to get them ready depending on what I need done. I’ve been toying with the idea of having a rehab facility on site.”
Preston’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t say anything until they’d both ordered. Ilan tried to protest when the other man slid his card over, but Preston elbowed him out of the way to sign. In retribution, Ilan shoved whatever cash he had in his pocket in the tip jar, then slid to the end of the counter to wait for his order.
“Paying doesn’t make it a date, you know,” he warned.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you don’t have a lot of friends,” Preston said, rolling his eyes. Ilan crossed his arms over his chest, and Preston shook his head with a sigh. “People can do nice things without expectation. And your protest is pretty fucking rich for the guy who used to pay for everything with his dick.”
“Slut shaming is passé,” Ilan snapped, and Preston’s mouth closed as his cheeks went pink.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” And he sounded contrite.
Taking pity on the man, Ilan waved him off. “It’s fine.”
Preston stared at him a moment, biting his lip. “I meant what I said about not chasing men who were in love with other people,