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IAN
Nerves wriggled like snakes in Ian’s stomach as he forced himself out of his truck and up the grand front steps of Alder House. The experience was nothing new; he’d visited on each of the seven previous Saturdays, but today was different. Over time he’d accepted that he would arrive, check in, and then be turned away, but now he had a different expectation, one that might not be met.
Sunlight grazed the back of his neck and a salty breeze toyed with the bottom hem of the henley he’d worn because Alek had a self-professed love of him in long-sleeved henleys.
Outside the lobby door, he took a fortifying breath and entered. The lobby was painted in varying shades of warm whites—Alek would say it looked like an evangelical's store-bought version of heaven. There wasn’t a line to check in, so Ian gave his name and claimed his usual spot in an armchair beside an unlit fireplace with a mantle made of an enormous slab of driftwood.
With a spike of completely unwarranted adrenaline, he realized he’d forgotten his weekly box of offerings back at the truck. Calling them gifts wasn’t exactly right, because in all honesty, hewas practically prostrating himself at Alek’s altar. Ian would circle back to the truck later; he couldn’t risk delaying his visit.
A blonde-haired woman in high heels and an expensive-looking linen dress moved around the desk and headed for him. That didn’t mean anything. A staff member always delivered the news directly to him. There was no calling of names across the lobby at Alder House. There was no guarantee that Alek had said yes.
“Mr. Stewart?” The woman bent down until they were at eye level.
Ian checked her name tag.Helen.
“Mr. Katin will see you now.” She procured a sticker badge from her clipboard. On it was Ian’s full name and the picture they took of him on his first visit. She passed it to him, and rose back to her full height. “Please keep your badge on at all times.” Once he’d stuck it to the left side of his shirt, she said, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you through to the lounge.”
Ian seemed to have lost the ability to talk, so he nodded and stood. Each step that followed was like fighting the strong pull of a riptide as the receding saltwater snatched the sand from beneath his feet.
Helen tapped a plastic card against a black badge reader beside a set of double doors that Ian had never been allowed to go through. The doors opened with a mechanicalkshinto a small, windowless room with a wall of lockers on one side and a burly security guard waiting.
“You can put your belongings here,” the guard said, pointing to the first available locker.
Ian emptied his pockets and placed his phone, wallet, and keys inside.
“Are you wearing a belt?” the guard asked.
Ian shook his head and the guard patted him down before pronouncing him free of potential weapons.
As if they were entering a prison, or an aviary, the guard double-checked that the doors remained closed behind them before buzzing them out of the room. The second set of doors led to a wide hallway with pale oak floors. On his right, a wall of windows framed a striking view of the sea.
They reached what must have been the lounge and nothing else mattered because there was only Alek—Alek backlit by a glow of sepia sunlight, sitting imperiously in a leather armchair.
Blood roared in Ian’s ears. He raced across the room, dropped to his knees at Alek’s feet, and laid his head on his lap because he was completely overcome with relief to see him again.
This was real. This was Alek. Tangible and warm and living.
Underneath him, Alek stiffened, and Ian started to pull away, but Alek laid a staying hand on his head and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” Ian sniffed, returning to his feet. “I should have asked if I could touch you.”
With an amused smile, Alek waved a flippant hand. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do,” he said in a faint Bulgarian accent. He gestured to the chair next to him. “Please sit.”
With a nod, Ian did what he was told. He turned his chair until they were facing each other and let his starving eyes rake over him.
Alek was dashing in a casual black tee and the lounge pants Ian’s mom had made for him. He filled out his clothes much better than Ian had expected, the muscles of his shoulders and chest outlined beneath the fabric and his lean biceps no longer drowning in his sleeves. His olive skin had tanned to a glowing, warm brown—it was actually the first time Ian had seen him look anything other than mildly anemic. His shiny raven hair had been trimmed and a closely buzzed beard shadowed thelower half of his face. The sharpness of his cheekbones had softened and the half moon hollows under his eyes disappeared.
“I take it you like what you see?” Alek said, a small smirk teasing the corner of his lips.
“You look so good, love.” He stopped, distracted by how his voice shook. It was hard to talk, hard to even breathe with Alek sitting across from him, without knowing if he would come home.
“You look good, as well.” Alek lifted a hand at him. “Have you taken up weightlifting in my absence? I was hoping you would look far more scrawny and heartsick.”
Ian looked down. He hadn’t noticed. “No. It’s probably just from working. I had to keep busy…”
Alek nodded like he understood. “How is your mother?”
“She misses you. I miss you.”
