“You want to plant roots,” Fredric said, and Ilan blinked because he’d never really thought about it like that. “It’s normal at your age.”
“Oh my god,” Ilan breathed, and Fredric laughed. “You do know I’m not some lost teenager anymore, right?”
“Oh, I’m aware.” There was a hint of something in Fredric’s voice, without real form, but it made Ilan shiver for a second. “You’re smart, and you’re mature. And you’ll figure out what speaks to you.”
He pushed off from the counter, and Ilan was forced to follow him to the living room, and they both collapsed on the sofa. Ilan kicked his shoes off and put his feet up next to Fredric’s, letting his socked pinky toe bump Fredric’s sun warmed skin.
“When I sold my house,” Ilan said after a beat, “I was petrified. The first time I started doing adult things, I had help. I never had to do anything entirely on my own, you know?”
“I do,” Fredric said softly.
“I know it’s not the same as getting divorced, but there was this moment when I was signing papers the other day when I realized that there was no going back. And I know thirty-six is a fucking ridiculous age to have that realization, but it felt like…a lot.”
“I know you were only joking about nearly killing yourself,” Fredric said, and he laid his hand on Ilan’s arm. “But I’ve been worried about you for years. All you did was eat, sleep, and drink work. And I know you had your gym routine,” Fredric added when Ilan took a breath to argue. “And I know you and Julian took a trip once or twice, but that was not enough.”
Ilan stared down at his hands which were clenched together, resting in the space between his thighs, and his throat went a little tight. “Julian’s happiness makes me want to find my own,” he admitted, and Fredric made a soft noise of sympathy. “I’ve been avoiding it because…because I knew that happiness was possible, but it seemed so fucking rare. I mean, you with Jacqueline, Corinne and her seven dozen failed engagements. Julian and Bryce…”
Fredric let out a heavy sigh and held on just a little tighter. “I know what a disservice my relationship has done everyone around me, and I’m sorry about that.”
“No,” Ilan said, and he closed his hand over Fredric’s, holding it tight. “That’s not what I mean. I was perfectly capable of looking beyond that little bubble we lived in, but I was terrified because it meant putting myself out there. And taking myself away from work and everything. And it meant risking all that pain.”
“But it seems worth it now?”
Ilan closed his eyes and pictured the way Archer’s presence alone made Julian look like he was walking on clouds. And it wasn’t perfect. Julian had called more than once after a fight. He’d called more than once with doubts and fear. He’d even been packing a bag one afternoon when Ilan talked him down from making rash decisions just because he was angry.
Their start had been a lie, their ending chaos—but in the end, Julian knew that his love with Archer was going to transcend the known universe.
So yeah, having even a fraction of that seemed worth it.
But he wasn’t quite brave enough to admit it with such vigor. Not yet. So, he breathed out a sigh and shrugged. “I think so. I’m willing to try.”
Fredric said nothing, but he squeezed Ilan’s arm just a little bit tighter after that.
Chapter 8
Ilan curled his hand around his coffee mug and stared at the man across the table. The café was loud with mid-afternoon stay-at-home moms grabbing a caffeine fix after a long beach jog, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Yet. Ilan stretched his legs under the table and watched the light play off the man’s blond hair.
Doctor Preston Jones. Ilan had worked with him briefly, a six-month stint during his residency until he was transferred, and at the time, Ilan had been convinced the man was one of many clones churned out of a Princeton basement. He was tall, thick arms, narrow waist, sharp nose, thin smile. His blond hair was always just so, and his teeth were straight, bright-white veneers.
When he laughed, the air in front of him rumbled, and his voice always carried across the room.
Everyone loved him. Preston Jones, everybody’s darling.
And Ilan had hated him.
He hated him because he was the sort of man no one looked at askance when he grew up saying he wanted to be a doctor. He was the sort of man who sent in college applications and expected every single one to come back with an acceptance letter. He was the sort of man with a long family legacy of men just like him who were handed a future instead of having to work his ass off for it.
But he was also the only person who answered Ilan’s email he’d mass-sent to the network trying to get some advice on starting up a practice in the area. Preston’s office was in St. Augustine, and he specialized in geriatric orthopedics. They wouldn’t exactly be in competition with each other, though Ilan knew he was going to have to expand beyond sports injuries for private practice, considering the majority demographic in Crescent Cove were retired couples.
He’d taken the meeting in spite of his annoyance, and three minutes in, he was already regretting it. Preston was the sort of man who made Ilan feel clumsy and inadequate simply by existing in the same room as him. He finished his residency two years after Ilan had—or at least, that’s what his CV said when Ilan looked him up. He was in a network, operating out of a hospital facility, though he’d managed to avoid the pitfalls of working for the hospital the way Ilan had.
And he could see the lack of stress in his eyes and a quiet grace in his limbs as he smiled at Ilan across the table.
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again,” Preston said, then sipped his cappuccino.
“Mm.” Ilan struggled for some sort of small talk, but the worst part about Preston was that he was disarming. He carried with him all the markings of a deceitful man who would use his good looks and charm to falsify his way to the top, but he’d only ever been kind to Ilan, even when Ilan was openly hostile.
And Ilan did not trust people who were kind for no reason.
“I have to confess though, I don’t know if I’m going to have any answers that’ll help,” he added.
Lifting a brow, Ilan leaned forward. “Then why did you ask to meet up?”
Preston’s grin widened. “I wanted to see you again. We didn’t work together long, but I had fun when we did. You made the overnights bearable.”
Ilan blinked in surprise, expecting any answer but that one. And then he felt guilty because apart from resenting his ruined sleep, he resented Preston for being so well liked. “That’s…kind of you.”
Preston chuckled and shook his head. “I know you never really liked me, but I guess I hoped things had moved on?”
Ilan swallowed thickly and told himself there was no point in clinging to some one-sided resentment. “We’re good,” he said. “Things seem like they’re going well for you.”
Preston grinned. “They’re not bad. I mean, some days are worse than others, but that’s the way of things. Can I ask why you decided to leave?”
Ilan sighed and shrugged as he sat back in his chair. “It got old,” he told him simply, “working there, running my ass off, getting dragged out of bed at three am to pin some drunk driver back together.” He set his glasses aside and ran his hand down his face, then curled all ten fingers around his mug that was rapidly cooling. “I kind of jumped the gun and bought a house here before figuring out whether or not working here would be feasible. So, I was kind of hoping you’d tell me if I made a stupid decision.”