Put a Ring on It (17 page)

“It does matter,” Kieran said across the space. “I told you I couldn’t deal with it. All this attention. People digging into our lives.”

“Really? Because you’re the one who told me to use it. I wasn’t going to. Not even for—” Theo pushed up from the couch and then grabbed the back to steady himself. There was no telling how full the bottle had been when Theo started, but there was less than three-quarters of it there now. His voice deepened as he came toward Kieran. “I got blindsided today, but I still could have turned it around. But you don’t really want me to.”

Theo was close enough now for Kieran to catch the high sweet burn of licorice on his breath. “You wanted me to use it. You think pretty damned far ahead—way better than me—and you knew it would just get worse. Because it wasn’t the publicity or the video that you couldn’t deal with.”

Kieran wanted the blank look back. Not all this hurt. Theo should always be smiling.

Touch him. Hold him. Be held. Make it right.

“It was me.” Theo smiled then, but it wasn’t happy. “You never wanted to get married. And I pushed and pushed.”

He’s right. Just go through the door he’s holding open and let him get to recasting his fantasy in peace. It was only a matter of time.

“I needed it. And you didn’t. I’m sorry, Kieran.”

Now no one has to know how much you do—did—need him.

“I’m sorry too.” Kieran cleared his throat before the words could choke him. “I wasn’t—I meant it when I said I love you.”

Theo nodded, but Kieran knew it was just Theo’s politeness. He didn’t believe it, but he was acknowledging it to keep things quiet. To preserve the DMZ, keep the sharper words in storage, avoid the messy, explosive drama Kieran hated.

“I’ll go to a hotel tonight,” Theo offered.

“It’s your condo.” God, he did not want to explain this to his mother or Brett, but no way should Theo have to leave his own place.

“Kieran. I’m really trying. And there’s no rush on you moving out. But fucking Christ, do not ask me to stay here with you and pretend—” Theo took a couple of soft steps away. “I’ll get a hotel.”

“No.” Kieran’s voice was just as unsteady. “I’ll go to Brett’s. There’s a couch.”

No matter how hard he blinked, it was tough to see, but he managed it. He shoved stuff to wear tomorrow into his backpack and scooped up his laptop. And then the diamond on the ring winked back at him and he twisted it off his finger.

“Um. Here.”

Theo held out his hand, and Kieran placed the ring on his palm. A microsecond of contact. Was that the last time they’d touch?

Theo closed a fist around it, then shoved it into his pocket.

“Last night, you asked why I wanted to marry you. Because of this. Because when you don’t like how things are, you run. And I wanted to make the running harder. Give you something physical”—he took the ring out again and held it between two fingers—“and something legal so you and I would be… us. But that’s not a good reason to get married. To force a connection on you. But I want you to keep this.” He grabbed Kieran’s hand and put the ring in it. “Because I can’t.” He stepped back so fast he staggered over the carpet edge and caught himself on the couch back.

But before he did, something else metallic brushed Kieran’s hands. As he watched Theo hang on for balance, Kieran saw what it had been. Caught in the cuff of Theo’s sweater was the little wire lion head Kieran had made out of the champagne cage and thought he’d thrown out. Theo must have been carrying it in his pocket.

Theo’s voice was steady now. “Call me tomorrow during your lunch and we’ll work some things out.”

There wasn’t anything to do but leave, so Kieran did.

A million things tumbled around in his head. Ways to fix it, reasons why this was better, what to tell Brett, worry over how much this would fuck with Theo’s career. But for the first time in his life, his concentration was shot. All he could think of was that stupid little lion head hanging off Theo’s wrist.

THE OUZO
helped numb Theo a little, but it had been a stupid choice. Ouzo was for celebration, for toasts, not for drowning sorrows. The licorice bite in Theo’s mouth was all wrong with the heaviness pushing him flat on his back, alone in his bed. At least the strong taste was a reminder not to make any stupid phone calls.

Not that he wanted to talk to anyone anyway.

Jax and Gideon and Dane wouldn’t come right out and say
I told you so
. They’d be full of sympathy. But they’d be thinking it. And they’d be right, the bastards.

Theo was pathetic. Fighting to keep Kieran was a losing battle, but Theo at least should have had the balls to fight
with
him. Not to roll over. God, he couldn’t even commit to getting shit-faced. All he’d managed were minor spins, a fuzzy brain, and a major case of fuck-it-I’m-never-getting-out-of-bed-itis.

The guys weren’t the only calls he’d have to make. There was Martin. Though that would be way more tolerable with a buzz on. Just not tonight. No way could he handle Martin’s why-are-you-doing-this-to-me whine now.

Tonight Theo was the only one who got to whine, thank you very much. And he had scheduled exactly seven more hours of feeling sorry for himself before putting his game face back on.

The ouzo helped. Whenever doubts crept in, telling him maybe it didn’t have to go down like this, he took another swallow. He’d abandoned the shot glass a while back, when he realized Kieran’s lion head was caught in the cuff of one sleeve. After wiping the shot glass out with finger and undershirt, Theo had put the little sculpture in it for safekeeping. Every time the ouzo hit his bloodstream, he had this vague idea of wearing it on a chain around his neck like a saint’s medal. Then the buzz would ease back, and he’d laugh at himself.

The front door opened. Theo froze in the act of dragging the bottle up to his mouth. He’d set the alarm after Kieran left. Since the alarm hadn’t gone off, that meant his—he squinted at his watch—1:40 a.m. visitor was either Gideon, who had not been in Theo’s condo in at least two years, or someone from the security company. Or Kieran.

Theo might not be puke-and-pass-out drunk, but he was no-fucking-way sober enough for another round. Not without getting mean. And he didn’t want to be mean.

He didn’t want to tell Kieran that all his cynicism and pretending not to give a shit was such an obvious act he’d get booed off the stage at a community theater production. That he was so fucking afraid of being happy and loved he’d rather throw his own heart on the ground and stomp on it than accept the risk.

“You’re right. I am scared,” Kieran said, suddenly right next to the bed, looking down at Theo.

Oh, shit. He’d said all that out loud. Ouzo had never made him tell the truth before. Truths weren’t supposed to get out like that.

“And I hate it.” Kieran’s voice was angry and mean. “I hate feeling like this, and I hate the idea of even letting you know how much I want to be with you. The idea of everyone else knowing—that kind of risk—I’m goddamned scared.”

Theo tried to get up and then had to settle for propping himself up on his elbows.

Kieran didn’t sound angry anymore, but it wasn’t his usual gentle voice that said, “The only thing that scares me more is not risking this. Because as safe as it is, it’s fucking cold in my head all alone.”

Theo managed to sit. He’d hit a point where his brain had cleared—or he was so drunk he didn’t know he was drunk. Even more likely was that he’d passed out and was dreaming the whole thing, because the next thing that happened was Kieran going down on his knees.

Before Theo had time to worry about whether he could get it up for an “I’m sorry” blow job, Kieran held out a hand.

No, not his hand. A ring. But not the one Theo had given him. In the low setting of the lamplight, it was white metal, a big square dark blue stone, and a crest on the stone with
BT
in the center of the crest.

Theo’s eyes felt as wide as an owl’s as he stared, trying to get his ouzo-soaked neurons to fire. Around the edge of the stone were the numbers 2-0-0-8.

“Your class ring?” he managed at last.

Kieran sighed. “Tiffany’s wasn’t open at midnight.”

The ouzo—or something very much like happiness—made a warm ball roll from Theo’s stomach and up his spine to tingle in his neck until even the tips of his hair felt good.

“So, you want to go steady?”

“Bastard,” Kieran muttered. “Theo, will you please marry me?”

Theo lunged at him, and they both went down on the floor. “Fuck yeah. But I think I’m going to make you ask me again when I’m sober. I can’t give you a full answer at the moment.”

“Full as in?” Kieran’s brow went up, and he slid a hand between them.

Theo started to laugh and then stared more closely at Kieran. “Why is there a cut on your forehead?”

“A difference of opinion.”

Theo should roll his weight off Kieran. But he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to go anywhere. And if he didn’t move, Kieran would have to stay.

“Between who?”

“Are you going to take my ring?”

After some squirming, Kieran held it up under Theo’s nose, which created two rings. Theo grabbed at them and shoved it on. It was too big, and he had to shift it to his index finger to keep from losing it.

“You had big hands even then.” Theo found one of Kieran’s fingers and sucked it into his mouth.

“I think you might be too drunk to appreciate the correlation right now.” Kieran drew his finger back gently. “I know you said ask tomorrow, but will you take me back?”

Theo put a hand in Kieran’s hair, palm rubbing over the soft prickle he’d never thought he’d get to touch again. “Yes. Wait, what happened to your forehead again?”

“I was headed to Brett’s, but I didn’t get farther than Columbus Circle before I knew I—” His throat bobbed.

Theo watched, hypnotized, but Kieran didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he squeezed his arms tight around Theo, and that was enough.

“What you said, about the ring, made sense. I wanted one for you, but I had eight bucks and my metro card.”

Theo wanted to watch his mouth, his eyes. Kieran didn’t usually tell stories that were longer than three sentences, but Theo’s head was heavy, so he put it on Kieran’s chest and felt the rumble of his voice.

“I switched trains to go to my parents’ to get this one—”

Theo jerked his head up. “Your mom hit you?”

“No.” The short bark of the word told Theo even without physical violence, Kieran hadn’t enjoyed the visit. “She impressed on me that she expected no fewer than ten of the twenty guests in that resort package would be my family, well, hers anyway.”

Theo put his head down again. It wouldn’t be a problem. Theo’s family wouldn’t come. Not that they were going to join up with Casey McMann’s three-ring circus.

“On the train back, there was this guy.”

Guilt and shame burned sharper than the ouzo in Theo’s throat. His fault. “If you’d called, I’d have sent a car, had the doorman pay a cab—”

Kieran put his fingers on Theo’s lips. Theo kissed them, then squinted, looking for further signs of violence.

“I’m fine. Usual shit. Started with harassment. Escalated to name-calling when I ignored him.”

The trains were supposed to be safer. More ways to signal, more cameras. They didn’t always work. No, Kieran should have been home in bed with Theo, not on a Brooklyn train at one in the morning.

Theo looked down to find Kieran watching him.

“Do you just want to freak out or hear the rest?” But his voice was gentle. The special voice Kieran used for Theo.

“I’ll listen and reserve the right to freak out after.”

“There were only two other people in the car, and they were ignoring it. So the guy said, ‘I’ll take your wallet and that ring and we’ll call it even.’”

Theo had to chew on his tongue to keep from interrupting.

Kieran put his hand over Theo’s. The diamond on the ring sparked even in this low light. “Stupid. I know. But I wasn’t giving it up. Then he said, ‘Gonna follow you off the train, bitch. Cut you up and take it anyway.’

“I didn’t want to be stuck with him going under the river, so at the Atlantic Ave station I waited until the doors were about to close and then I bolted.”

Theo held his breath. It didn’t matter that it was all over. Obviously Kieran was okay. What mattered was that he might not have been. Facing the world tomorrow and explaining that he and Kieran hadn’t worked out would have been bad enough. Facing the world knowing Kieran was hurt or worse and it had been Theo’s fault….

The ouzo started backing up on him.

“Are you going to hurl?” Kieran grabbed Theo’s shoulders.

“Not yet. Finish the story.”

Kieran’s mouth twisted. “I made it off the train, looked over my shoulder. He wasn’t coming, but I ran into a fucking support post.” His fingers brushed the cut on his forehead.

Theo didn’t hurl. Worse, a laugh burst out of him. It was classic slapstick, but even more, it was relief. It hit him in waves, and it spilled out in snorts from his nose as Kieran glared, then made a helpless smile.

Theo thought of cartoon sound effects, a
doink
of impact, and it hit him even harder. A big belly laugh and that was when his stomach had had enough.

Kieran’s eyes widened, and he scrambled away, then helped Theo up and shoved him toward the bathroom.

Even then he fought his body. He just didn’t throw up. Refused to. Because it never made him feel better. And he really hadn’t had that much to drink.

He clenched his fists, Kieran’s ring unfamiliar, big and awkward on the wrong finger. Then he wasn’t just fighting the ouzo. But shame, anger, fear, gut punches and low kicks to his ribs, his balls, body trying to contract away from too much feeling. The ouzo had to go.

Like anything else, once Theo committed, he gave it his all. He filled the bowl with proof positive that the only good use of negative emotions was for dramatic effect.

The spasms left him sweaty and shaky. Then Kieran was there. A hand on Theo’s back. A glass of water to rinse out his mouth.