Oh, and I’ve gotten an email from Will about how much he’s getting along with your kid. Who knew they’d be roommates? You should probably get coffee with me if only to prepare for (possibly awkward) future social situations.

He closed the email, closed his laptop, and shot back his espresso.

Just like Gardner, he thought. Bumbling, inexpressive, and manipulative.

He had promised himself. When Jack left—and then when Father died, and when he decided to come back to Baltimore, start a family, live up to his mother’s expectations—Theo had promised himself that he wouldn’t let it hurt, anymore. He knew that he’d probably see Jack at Gwynns, or hear about his most recent charity work, and maybe he would remember a thing or two, but he wouldn’t let it—

He was too damned old to feel like this. Like something in him was shattering. Like he couldn’t breathe.

Theo stood, stripping off his robe and hanging it behind the bathroom door. He slid into the tub, built to be large enough for two, though he’d never shared it with anyone. Not even Lexi. Bubbles reached all the way to his chin. He closed his eyes.

He had to make the hurt go away.

So he imagined something else.

He moved his hand down his body, running over lithe muscle, over soft, fine hair. He felt himself grow hard. He tried to put together images, not a person: a mouth, open; unruly hair, pulled under his fingers; tanned skin, sweating; music, smoke, darkness; a choking sound, as he pushed too deep, over and over...

His hand sped up, and God, this was better than thinking about—

Toned muscles, and blue eyes like sunshine, and that mouth, the way it hated him sometimes, and the way he plowed into it—

Laughing at dawn and the too-small bed and birdsong—

Slow dancing, high as fuck, in that shitty apartment, cans of cider attracting flies—

Singing along with the trad band at The Thirsty and shots of Goldschläger and pulling down the back of his jeans and—

And that time they fucked in the hotel when Jack ordered champagne and—

Jack when he slid home for the first time and the way he looked—

Jack, fuck, and the sounds he made in the alley and—

Jack, when he said I love you and—and—

Theo came with a cry.

Empty. Hollow. Hating himself.

Fuck you, Gardner. He dunked his head under the water, and if there were any tears they washed away, down into the drain.

Cleaned, dried, groomed, and calmed, he sat at his desk. He opened his laptop. He typed out two words which he already regretted.

Gardner,

Fine.

It felt good, throwing things. He was considering getting fabulously drunk. Mother probably wouldn’t like that. She hadn’t liked the tattoo either, but he absolutely did not care.