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“Tell me just one thing,” Ian said. “One thing that’s true.”
“I…”
“Whatever it is, I promise I will still love you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Alek bit into the soft flesh of his cheek until he tasted blood. Ian brushed his thumb over the spot, a silent reminder to stop. How could Ian say he didn’t know him when he knew his bad habits? Alek buried his hands in his hair. He pulled until his scalp stung. He wanted to pull harder, rip his hair out in tufts, but he was rather fond of his hair.
When he lifted his head, an armor of apathy shielded his face. His voice was cold and empty as he said, “If you don’t say yes, I’ll have no other choice.”
“No other choice?”
Alek was standing at the edge of a cliff and rocks slipped beneath his feet, but he would jump before he’d ever fall. He plucked the ring from the box.
“Marry me or it’s over.”
Ian’s jaw turned sharp, the color returning to his cheeks. “You can’t manipulate me into marriage.”
It was just a game, right? Ian was calling his bluff. Well, Alek wasn’t bluffing. Falling in love with Ian had made Alek weak, and Alek would never forgive him for that. Never.
Alek pushed back his chair and stalked to the sink. Wood scraped against floorboards. Ian’s footfalls thundered. But Alek was faster. He turned the tap on full blast and held his hand out over the drain, the ring clutched in his hand.
“I’m serious, Ian,” Alek said. “Say yes.”
Ian worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Tick tock.” Alek shook his hand. The ring bounced around like a bird flung against a cage.
“Alek, wait.” Ian showed his palms. “Let’s talk about this. We can figure this out. What if?—”
“Wrong answer.” Alek dropped the ring and flicked the switch for the garbage disposal.
The metallic racket of the ring ricocheting against the blades was so loud, all Alek saw was bright red.
Ian pushed Alek aside and turned off the garbage disposal. He cast Alek one warning glance, then shoved his arm down the drain.
Something was burning. The galette! Alek opened the oven. Smoke billowed out, carrying with it memories unbidden—a distant fire glowing like a rising sun trapped on the horizon, snow angels made in ash.
Without thinking, he reached for the pan, and snatched his singed fingertips back. Good. Now when he played, he would be able to feel it. The pain that he deserved. A reminder not to stray from the rules that kept him safe.
Deception is survival. People are meant to be manipulated. Hoping is foolish.And above all else,Love is a weakness.
2
IAN
THREE WEEKS LATER
Four rooms separated Ian from Alek, but nothing could mask the sound of the headboard banging against the wall. Ian didn’t have to imagine what was going on. He was very familiar with the sequence of events.
The lover was sometimes male, sometimes female, but never, ever repeated. First was laughter and drinking, the smell of smoke curling in through the window. Then music—piano if Alek was in a conceited mood. Next came the quiet murmurs, the groans and squeals that grew into a crescendo.
A short time later, Alek would walk that night’s lover out to their car and see them off, well-bedded and their brains just shy of being too sex-addled to drive. He would smoke some more out on the front stoop, the lit end of his hand-rolled cigarette like a beacon in a sea of mist and redwood trees. He’d look up at Ian’s window from time to time, throw the cigarette on the ground, and squash it beneath his foot like it was a voodoo doll to channel all of his aggression into.
Then he’d come inside, not taking any care to prevent the front door from slamming, and stomp to his piano, completely unconcerned that it was two in the morning. Alek’s expert handswould next twist notes into an oppressive fog of melancholy that climbed the stairs and slipped under doors until Ian could hardly breathe against the weight of it.
But tonight there would be no postcoital piano, because during the earlier cacophony, Ian installed a mute rail that could only be removed with hours of hand screwing and a smattering of curse words.
