What problems do you even have, Rian? the nasty little voice of his self-doubt hissed into his ear; this wasn’t that syrupy loving voice, no, but the two said the same things in different ways. Your biggest problem is that you don’t have any problems...and you don’t know what to do with yourself.
He closed his eyes, pushing that thought away.
That was why he was here, really.
Trying to figure out what to do with himself.
Trying to figure out how to rely on himself, when he’d left behind his trust fund, his—everything, barely kept contact with his parents, lived only on what he worked for.
What do you mean, you’re leaving, dearest? Why? Where will you go? A troubled look that had seen right through him as if he wasn’t even there, just translucent, insubstantial, meaningless. You don’t mean to stay with that man, do you? Which one? Oh, I don’t remember, they all do blend together, but...
Rian, darling boy, what will you even do?
What would he do.
When the real question had been, What can you even do?
Yet he still remembered the day he’d gotten his first paycheck.
He hadn’t even set up direct deposit yet, because he’d—God, he’d been so sheltered he hadn’t realized he’d needed to, when up to that point he’d been living on the last of the cash he’d withdrawn before leaving home in Rochester and just...
He didn’t even know.
He was trying to live as if he didn’t come from anywhere; as if he’d just sprouted up here out of nowhere, with no ties to a hollow and meaningless past, to a life as shallow and empty as the life of a mayfly. Living just to be a pretty thing, mate, and die.
Was he doing anything more now?
He didn’t know.
But he still remembered the pride of earning that first check, the memory of every day struggling to pretend to be a responsible adult these boys could look up to until suddenly, somehow, it wasn’t pretending anymore. He’d made the bank teller at the little Chase branch down in town look at him very warily, edging away from him, with how excited he’d been to open a new account in his own name.
And then what, Rian?
Is this far enough? Have you done enough?
That time it didn’t come in the voice of that nasty little voice in his head that liked to tell him how flighty, shallow, useless he was; nor in that soft, cloying, patronizing voice that sounded like a pat on the head every time she said Really, dearest?
That time it came in the voice of Damon Louis, smoldering brown eyes staring into him and peeling him apart and tossing out all the pointless bits of fluff that were the closest things Rian had to substance, asking him what he’d ever done with this life of merit that made him feel he had the right to charge into others’ lives and try to fix things.
Was that all he was?
So useless on his own that he could only find merit in himself if he tried to fix others’ problems? He—
The sound of the last bell yanked him from his maudlin circling, and he jerked his head up, sucking in a breath. Had he really just spent the entire class period brooding, caught up in a pointed and extended anatomical study of his own damned navel?
Apparently so.
Because the classroom was already vacating, students pouring into the hall like someone had let the gate up on the little animals’ pens.
And Chris was already out the door, his tall frame standing head and shoulders above the rest.
Crap.
So much for catching him after class for a talk.
Rian shot out of his chair, pushing it back from his desk quickly and darting around it, pattering toward the door in the wake of the last straggle of students. He knew now that Chris wasn’t dashing off to football practice, but if not...
Where was he going?
If Rian could follow him without being seen, he might get some sort of answer. Maybe it was something innocuous, like rushing off to meet a girl. Or a boy. Or a person. It didn’t matter; Chris wouldn’t be the first sixteen-year-old to turn evasive with friends, teachers, and loved ones because he was dating in secret and fully convinced it was true love in sophomore year.
Rian didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before.
It was such an obvious, simple explanation, and God, he wanted it to be that and just that.
He’d take that measured look Walden would give him during the rare times when they crossed paths in their suite, that said See? You have no idea what you’re doing, no experience with the world at large, and you overreacted.
And if he told Damon...
Damon might smile. Laugh. Shake his head, rake one of those large, thick hands back through his hair, and say We’re pretty goddamned ridiculous, you know that?
Rian’s neck and ears felt too hot, at that thought—and he tried to push it away as he swung himself around the door frame and into the hall, twisting his body to slip through the milling clusters of students. Chris was almost to the door at the end of the hall that would take him downstairs, to the main hall, the exit, and then either the locker rooms in the attached gym or to the massive football field and open stadium at the foot of the hill, behind the school and on the outskirts of town. If Rian followed him and that was where he did go, it might be a dead end, might mean nothing, might...
He ducked around another knot of students.
And spilled right into a broad chest.
Damon came out of nowhere—stepping out of an open classroom door just as Rian walked right into his path, Rian’s eyes fixed so far ahead on the messy crop of Chris’s hair that he wasn’t looking right in front of him, didn’t see Damon in his way until Rian was tumbling right into a face full of the dark gray Albin Athletics Department T-shirt stretched across the tight expanse of Damon’s chest, molded so close that it might as well have been painted on, cotton doing its best imitation of latex in how it sealed to and followed the contours of Damon’s body.
Damon’s very hard body.
Hard enough that when Rian hit, his nose exploded with throbbing pain as he bounced his entire face off Damon’s chest, then stumbled back, clutching both hands over the sudden knot of ouch nailed right into the front of his head.
“Ow!”
“Whoa, hey!” Damon caught his shoulders, heavy hands steadying and grounding Rian before he could trip more than a few reeling steps. “Hey, you okay?”
Rian froze, peeking up at Damon over his fingers; his nose hurt, pounding and hot, and he didn’t want to pull his hands away to see if it was bleeding. “No,” he mumbled, though it came out more like dbo.
Damon frowned down at him. Those large hands still curled against Rian’s shoulders, drawn in sharp angles that made them seem like cubist art with their starkness, and Rian almost felt captured, the two of them the only points of stillness caught within the space created where the stretch of Damon’s tight-muscled, corded arms connected them.