Ilan could easily write a book titled, How To Make Two Weeks Feel Like Two Years. Not that anyone would buy it, but it would probably make good research material for scientists who studied the relative passage of time. Or whatever it was called. Because Ilan was giving himself space from Fredric—which meant not answering his texts or calls and only keeping an eye on them to make sure it wasn’t an emergency.
But the seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes felt like hours, and those felt like months. He was lonelier than ever, and he’d run out of things to amuse himself. He’d gained at least a quarter of an inch on his arms from all the paddling he’d done on the water, and his calves were in the best shape of his life from the beach runs.
But his heart was still battered, and his ego bruised, and he wasn’t any closer to solving his problem of how to be around Fredric without giving himself away. It didn’t help that staying away this long in itself was telling, and apart from meeting with a consultant who was now officially hired to help him start up his own practice come next spring, he didn’t even have the excuse that he was busy.
All he could say that he was a giant asshole, a massive coward, and that he was sorry. Because at the very least, he was that. He just…didn’t know how to deal with the rest. Fredric was clearly terrified to lose him, and Ilan needed to fix it. He just wasn’t quite sure how to make it all work.
He’d decided on a drive up the coast when his phone rang, and when he saw it was Corinne, he knew he was in for it. He waited until he was out on the road before answering, and he said a small prayer that she’d hang up right as he pushed the button on the dash screen.
“So,” she hissed through the car speakers, and he winced as he pressed harder on the gas, “you are alive.”
“I think my lawyer probably would have contacted one of you if I wasn’t,” he shot back, ignoring the surge of guilt racing up his spine. “Julian gets all my money, but I willed you all my coffee mugs.”
“Cute. Except I’m not in the mood for your fucking jokes. Dad says that you’ve probably got a new boyfriend—which would be a fucking Christmas miracle…”
“I’m Jewish,” he said dryly.
“Exactly. As likely as a fucking Christmas miracle. Julian thinks you’re having an existential crisis, and as much as Dad wants to think something good is happening with you, he sounds worried. And you’re the asshole ignoring him.”
And he couldn’t really argue with that. He was ignoring him, and he was an asshole. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” What he had was a pile of fear he didn’t know how to work through, a crush that only got worse the more time he spent away from Fredric, and a tentative friendship with the one single guy he’d tried—and failed—to date. That was the sum of all his parts at the moment, and he’d never felt more pathetic. “I’m opening up a new practice, and it’s taking more time than I expected.”
“So much time you can’t call someone back?”
Ilan groaned as the traffic slowed to a crawl. “What the hell does it matter to you, anyway? When have you ever cared?”
Corinne let out a small breath. “I always care about my dad. Always. And I’m…trying to be better about Julian. I can’t really make up for the way I’ve been, but I can do this.” She was quiet a moment. “Since when do you answer my calls and not theirs?”
Since he’d fallen in love with her dad. And she would eviscerate him over it. Hell, she’d probably encourage everyone to join in, but he answered her call because she’d never been able to tell when he was lying. Not the way Fredric and Julian always could.
“I was going to call them today,” he said, though now he’d have to make good on that. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Dad’s…I don’t know. Dating a guy, I guess. He hasn’t told me much, just that he’s really into him and didn’t expect to be. Which maybe should be weirder since he was never gay…”
“He’s still not gay,” Ilan corrected absently. His mind was currently dealing with the sudden and stabbing pain of Fredric falling in love with someone else. “He’s bi.”
“Whatever,” she said, brushing him off. “I guess I’m just grateful he’s happy. He won’t even tell me this guy’s name, but I guess he makes Dad happy, so…”
“Hudson,” Ilan said, his voice cracking a little, and he cleared his throat to try again. “I think his name is Hudson. If it’s the same guy he was going out with the last time we talked. He’s a divorce attorney.”
“Jesus, that’s almost poetic,” she breathed out, then laughed. “That’s good though, right? I mean, have you met him? I just don’t want him making the same mistake twice.”
“I haven’t,” and god, he didn’t want to. Ever. “But I think you need to give him more credit. He was sixteen when he met your mom. We were all idiots at sixteen.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I know. I just…worry. I don’t want him to jump at the first person who pays him a compliment.”
“I don’t either,” Ilan said and meant that with every fiber of his being. And he also realized in that moment he couldn’t take more time away. He owed it to Fredric to be a present friend to him. No matter how he felt. Because he would always love him in some capacity, and at some point, this—this raw, aching, agonizing love— had to pass. Didn’t it? “I’ll go see him today.”
“Good,” she said. “Just…vet this guy, alright? You’re the only one he trusts right now to get that close.”
Ilan closed his eyes for a single second. “I will. Talk to you later.”
He hung up before she could say anything else, and then he pulled off into a gas station parking lot and reached for his phone. Fredric’s number was there, right on his screen with a little star by his name. His favorite. And god how that thought made his heart beat wildly.
He was nestled in there with Julian and with Corinne—his only family left, and fuck his feelings for trying to ruin that. Because that’s why he ran—and it was why he had to keep running. It was too much of a risk, and he couldn’t lose it.
But he could still be there for Fredric, even if his heart was locking itself tight behind his newly constructed walls. He could compartmentalize and do both because he’d been doing it for years without even realizing. And Fredric needed him.
He braced himself as he pressed on Fredric’s contact and then held his breath as he waited for the voice on the other end to pick up.
“I was hoping you’d call,” was the first thing he said, and it was a balm to his tattered, aching soul.
“Sorry, I was…” busy, panicking, desperate. All the truth, but all the words he couldn’t say. “I was being an asshole. I felt guilty for that night.”
“I had a feeling,” Fredric said quietly. “I was just scared I ruined it.”
“You didn’t,” Ilan said, and he felt suddenly he was gasping for breath. “You couldn’t. I promise. I was just being a selfish dick. Your daughter just ripped me a new asshole, by the way.”