Leaning in the doorway, Fredric listened to them a moment, then moved to his wine rack and grabbed a bottle from the top. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope,” Ilan said, his voice muffled from what sounded like a hand over his face. “I want to forget that contracts and agreements and insurance companies and physician groups exist.”
Fredric smiled softly and moved back to the kitchen for glasses. He poured, then made his way to the sofa and handed one off to Ilan before finding an open place to sit. Ilan got comfortable, prone across the cushions with his thighs draped across Fredric’s lap, and his hand settled over his calf, kneading it gently. “Happy first night,” he said, and he felt Ilan stiffen.
“Is it happy?”
Fredric frowned at the tension in Ilan’s voice. He’d brought over his chanukiah after Fredric invited him to stay for the weekend, and though he told Fredric he didn’t want to do more than light candles, he seemed willing to spend at least a little bit of the holiday with him. And Fredric didn’t have any specific expectations, but he was hoping for more than the brunt of Ilan’s bad mood.
“We don’t have to…”
“No,” Ilan interrupted with a heavy sigh. He carefully dislodged Fredric’s hand, then sat up and shifted over. “I had a really long, really bad day, and I’m being an asshole. And I smell dinner, which means you were cooking for me, and I definitely don’t deserve that.”
Fredric reached for the table, then set his glass down before taking Ilan’s face between his palms. “Yes, you do.” His cheeks were warm and smooth from a fresh shave, and Fredric dragged a thumb along the corner of his mouth. “You deserve a nice dinner and a warm welcome even when you’re having a bad day. Especially when you’re having a bad day,” he amended.
Ilan groaned, but he closed the space between them and took Fredric’s mouth in a languid, soft kiss. “You are too good. Like…saint-worthy good.”
Fredric chuckled and shook his head, dragging one hand down to curl in the front of Ilan’s shirt. “Believe me, I’m not. And it’s just dinner. Oh, and I got you…” The timer started to ping, interrupting his words, so Fredric carefully extracted himself from the younger man’s warm arms and stood. “Finish your wine, and I’ll plate. We can eat in here tonight. No fuss.”
“Okay,” Ilan breathed. “I’ll light the chanukiah while you do that.”
“Oh.” Fredric’s brow dipped. “Did you want me to do that with you, or…”
“I can do it,” Ilan said, and again, his voice was clipped short.
Fredric decided it was pointless to push him. Something was wrong, but Ilan was the sort of man who needed to be ready before Fredric could coax anything out of him. Ilan believed that frustration and anger were weakness, and weakness made him vulnerable. And while Fredric could sympathize with a need to be strong, he wanted to be Ilan’s safe space.
Their relationship was still new, still so green, but he’d known him nearly all of his life. Fredric started to feel a sharp edge somewhere deep in his gut, because if Ilan never trusted himself to be vulnerable, their relationship was doomed.
And the thought terrified him.
Pushing it aside, Fredric distracted himself with pulling the brisket from the oven. His talking thermometer chirped quietly, and he set it aside to rest as he pulled plates from the cabinet, then found his carving knife. It was hardly a five-star meal. It paled in comparison to the food Ilan’s parents had served that night he’d spent with them.
And Fredric wasn’t looking to replace that, but he was hoping a little taste of tradition might pull Ilan from his dark mood.
He startled when a warm arm slid around his waist from behind, but he settled when Ilan’s lips found the crook of his neck and kissed him. “I think I’m going to be apologizing a lot tonight, but I am trying.”
Fredric let out a small breath and let his arm rest over Ilan’s where it was holding him tight and possessive. “I just want you to know that you can tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s…” Ilan started, then deflated and sagged a bit against Fredric’s back. “It’s nothing specific. Even when things were totally shitty and Julian was sad last year, we were together. I guess I didn’t realize how much of it was going to change when we got him that ticket to Paris.”
Fredric nodded, because he felt it too. Regardless of how lonely he was, how chaotic his life was, how much he was working, he never missed these moments with his kids. But Corinne had caught her flight two days earlier to be with her brother, and Fredric had stayed unmoved and uncompromising about his decision to take a year to himself.
Only, that felt like a lie now, which was worse. Because he wasn’t taking time to himself. He was selfishly hoarding these moments with a man who should be on a plane to see his chosen family. Guilt gnawed at him, and he swallowed it back.
“I wish I could be enough for you.”
Ilan let out a frustrated growl and drew his arm away. “This isn’t about that, Fredric. This isn’t about us.”
Grabbing the counter to steady himself, Fredric turned to face the younger man. “Isn’t it? If you and I weren’t together, you would have been lonely enough to go. And you would have been happy there with everyone. All of you would have worried about me being on my own, but you would trust me to be alright.”
“I do trust you…”
“You wouldn’t be consumed with guilt because you’re lying to your best friend,” Fredric interrupted, and he heard the click as Ilan’s jaw snapped shut. “And I know this, because I feel it too.”
Ilan shuffled a step back. “You want to tell him.”
Fredric bowed his head. “Of course I want to tell him. I also want to wait until you’re ready, but I’m starting to feel like that day isn’t coming.”
“It’s barely been a month,” Ilan said, his voice rising. “I’m not asking for the impossible, I’m just asking for time.”
“If anything is going to destroy Julian’s trust in us, it’s dragging this out,” Fredric said, and he could almost feel something between them snap. Ilan made a soft, furious noise in the back of his throat, and normally that would have sent Fredric into a flurry of apology. If it had been Jacqueline, he probably would have backtracked and given in and done everything in his power to avoid her wrath.
But he was done with that.
No matter the cost.
“Julian almost lost Archer—not because he lied about who he was, but because he had the opportunity to tell him the truth for days, and he didn’t,” Fredric reminded him. “All of that pain could have been avoided with a little trust and honesty.”
“This isn’t the same thing,” Ilan said, and his voice was harder and colder than Fredric had heard it in years. And it had never sounded like that directed at him.
He swallowed back his nerves, his ache to drop it and apologize and to make it better, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “No, it isn’t the same. Because we are his family, and we know better.”
Ilan let out a furious breath. “So, you’re saying…”