And maybe Fredric should feel worse about falling for him. This was Ilan—his son’s best friend. Their relationship had evolved in ways he couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and it felt like another universe—another set of people when he thought back across all those years he’d known him.
But he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilt over what he wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to feel wrongness when Ilan had been such a force in his life that there was no escaping him. This just seemed like the inevitable end to a long story he hadn’t realized the universe was telling.
He just needed Ilan to stop and listen too.
Fredric was outside listening to the waves when his phone went off, and his heart thudded hard when he heard Ilan’s name. “Are you going to cancel on me?”
Ilan sighed. “No. Why does everyone think I’m so damn unreliable?”
Fredric winced. “I assumed it would have been out of panic,” he answered bluntly. “After that night…”
“Do we have to talk about that?” Ilan asked. “It was a mistake, and I feel bad enough.”
“I don’t want you to feel bad about it,” Fredric told him, his voice a little breathless, and he also didn’t want him to see it as a mistake. Hearing that was like taking a punch to the gut, and it took him a moment to recover. “I don’t want you to ever regret what happens with me.”
Ilan was quiet for a second. “How are things with Hudson? Corinne said you sounded happy.”
Fredric wanted to tell him. The truth was clawing at him, shredding him, but he needed Ilan here first. “I am happy. Or well, I’m happier. I think it’s always going to be a process. Coming to realize that no matter how far I move or what new job I take, I’m never going to wake up without having lived those last thirty-six years with her.” He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned over his thighs. “It was hard to accept. I’m sorry I didn’t handle things well that night.”
“You didn’t…” Ilan started, but Fredric wasn’t done.
“I’m sorry that you were unsettled,” he amended. “We should have talked things out before you left that night, but the time to myself helped me come to terms with a lot of things I needed to realize about who I am.”
Ilan swallowed thickly. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Like because of my past, I’ll probably always be hard to love,” he said and rushed on when Ilan made a noise like he was going to protest. “That getting past this trauma is always going to be work. By the end, I was so damn apathetic about my marriage, I didn’t bother putting up a fight about anything, even when I should have. I don’t want to be that man ever again.”
“I get it,” Ilan said quietly.
“I think I deserve to be with someone who understands all of that,” he said, and he didn’t care if Ilan figured it out right then. “Someone who thinks all this work is worth it.”
“You are worth it.” Ilan’s voice was rough and a little pained, and Fredric wanted to reach through the phone and shake him until he opened his eyes and saw what Fredric was offering him. “You deserve so much more than she ever gave you.”
“So, I’m not settling anymore.” He sat back again and crossed his legs in front of him. “How long until you get here?”
Ilan made a soft, considering noise. “That depends. Do you want help with the cooking?”
“No,” Fredric said around a grin. “If you get here early, you’re going to be sitting around and drinking wine and trusting that I can make something worth eating.”
Ilan laughed, and Fredric’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile widened. “Fine. I’m going to hunt around town for a worthy dessert, and I’ll be over before the table is set.”
“I can’t wait,” he said again, and Ilan let out another quiet noise before the line went dead.
Dragging his finger across the phone screen, he heard he had just enough time for a shower before he had to get the oven heating. He moved through the motions at a quicker pace, at least until it came to standing in his closet, and then nerves gripped him.
He had always been one note with his fashion, but everyone had always allowed it. The truth was he had just never cared if he was appealing. His wife never looked at him twice, and he only needed to appear professional in court.
But he wanted to try now. He wanted to be more than some aging old man trying to recapture his youth. He wanted Ilan to look at him and see someone he wanted. He needed to start making every effort, taking every leap, embracing every risk.
His fingers found rough fabric of a new pair of jeans, and he found a long-sleeved shirt that his pen told him was burgundy. It would match the wine at least, if Ilan was the one buying, and it felt comfortable against his skin. He washed his face, did a cursory shave, then ran a comb through his hair and hoped that he pulled off the look of someone worth giving a second chance.
Or third.
Or fiftieth.
He wasn’t really sure where they stood anymore, because he hadn’t been counting the ways he’d failed Ilan for so long.
He wasn’t going to let the past nip at his heels though—not now. He was going to give this his all, like it was a brand-new start. It was the least Ilan deserved from him.
Slipping his phone into the dock, he pulled up a playlist—the classical cabaret music he knew Ilan had always liked. Edith Piaf’s voice drifted through the speakers—the old recording crackling like an original vinyl, and he hummed along as he felt the buttons on the oven and turned it to heat.
He could grow to like cooking, he thought, as he worked through the steps. It was methodical and soothing—a routine that required some creativity and some precise measurements and had just enough space to let him think without getting too lost in his own head.
His fingers fumbled a little as he tried to stuff the bird, and the butter wasn’t soft enough as he began to rub it into the chicken’s skin. But the dried herbs went on smoothly, and he only failed at knotting the string twice. The roasting pot lid slid into place, and he carefully pushed it onto the rack, closing the door and setting the timer.
And then the doorbell rang like a warning before the door opened.
Fredric felt his breath catch as he heard Ilan’s laugh and the quiet jingle of Sebastian’s collar. He knew where he’d find the man, down on one knee with his hands in the dog’s fur. The rightness of it choked him a little, and he cleared his throat before he made his way through the kitchen doorway and into the living room.
“You weren’t kidding about being early.”
There was a smile in Ilan’s voice when he spoke. “Finding dessert didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” And then suddenly he was in Fredric’s space, but there was a hesitance there that hadn’t existed before. Fredric felt the way Ilan’s hand had lifted between them—and then hovered—before touching his arm in greeting.
And that hesitation to touch Fredric was new.
He laid his palm against the back of Ilan’s hand before he could pull away, and he took a step closer. “Remember what I said before?”
Ilan swallowed. “Not broken?”
“Yes. Except it’s never, okay? We’re never broken.”