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“Did you read my note?” Alek asked without preamble.
“I figured since you didn’t die, I shouldn’t read it.”
Good. Now he could tell Ian the way he’d wanted to be told, when Alek wanted to, when he had forgiven himself, because as with everything else, Alek wasn’t sure when or how it had happened, but he had started to forgive himself. That version of his story was the one he wanted Ian to know. No matter how hard it would be to tell him.
“I presume you checked the grave?” Alek asked.
A pause. “I’m so sorry, love. She wasn’t there.”
The term of endearment stabbed nearly as sharp as the empty grave.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I kept digging until I hit clay. I filled it all back in after. It felt wrong to leave it like that… I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Alek answered briskly. There wasn’t. He’d probably want to see the grave for himself, to have that closure, but it would only affirm what he already knew. “You aren’t actually selling the Victorian, are you? The Victorian turned into a bed and breakfast? Really?”
“So youhavebeen getting my letters?”
Smiling, Alek teased, “I eat those decadent chocolates you send and throw the letters away without reading them. It makes the chocolate taste better.”
“Asshole.” On the other end of the line, Ian cleared his throat. “I meant what I said. I won’t stay at the Victorian without you. I can’t.”
Alek said nothing. Fear had already snuffed the courage he’d caught from Ian’s letters.
Ian said, “Listen, I need to know you’re okay. It’s been so hard not knowing. Not talking to you.” His voice broke. “Are you feeling better?”
“I am.”
“Good. That’s… I’m happy.”
Before all bravery left him, Alek said, “I’ve decided that you may call on me this Saturday. I assume you’ve planned another visit?”
“I’ll be there,” Ian said before Alek finished his sentence.
“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”
“Wait. Alek?”
“Hmm?”
“When you woke up in the hospital, you asked me if there was a chance. You asked me after all that happened, and I said yes. I’m asking, Alek—love—please, tell me there’s a chance.”
“Do you want the truth or a lie?”
“You know what I want,” Ian answered breathlessly.
“Yes.”
A release of air, Ian’s held breath perhaps, snuffled against the line.
“Okay. That’s… Thank you. Thank you for talking to me. I love you, Alek.”
“I’ve got to go. There's a line for the phone.”
Alek hung up before he did something dangerous like admit that he loved Ian too.
44
