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As he sipped his beer, he swiveled about a quarter of a turn and glanced at the pair out of his peripheral vision. They were still oblivious, talking and making eyes at one another.
Trey sipped and found it difficult to make out more than every other word. But, as it turned out, every other word was more than enough to piece together the gist of their conversation.
And Trey didn’t like that gist. Not one bit.
The bartender returned after a few minutes to see if Trey wanted to order any food. “The Spam sliders are great,” he said.
“I just want to be alone, okay? I’ll let you know.” Trey glanced back again, hoping he hadn’t attracted attention. He hadn’t. The bartender, smile gone and both hands up in surrender, retreated. Trey had a feeling it would be difficult to order another IPA, so he sipped slowly.
The gist of what was going back and forth was that Steve had made a mistake in leaving their “family.” He blamed himself and his own vanity—something about the approach of middle age and his head being turned by someone showing interest when he thought such interest was in his past. He’d been foolish and self-centered. He knew that now.
And the bombshell. Could they maybe work toward a reconciliation?
Trey nearly choked on his beer at Connor’s reply, which was not, as Trey had hoped, a firm no.
Because Connor’s voice was a bit more on the tenor side, it rose above the crowd noises better than Steve’s. And his words made the anger rise inside Trey, like a horde of murder bees had awakened and taken flight.
“Good god, Steve. I told you I got married. That ship has sailed.” There was a long pause. “But. But. I do miss you.” Another pause. “And, although there are a lot of good things about my new husband, most of them are superficial. I don’t know, hon, I might have been a little hasty.”
“Just like me,” Steve said.
“No,notjust like you, mister.” Connor’s correction was voiced in a loving, teasing way. “I was free, not by choice, but by circumstance. I didn’t wreck a home to be with someone new.”
If Connor’s words had been spoken in a condemning way, Trey might not have been as upset. But what he was gleaning from Connor’s tone was a flirtatiously chastising vibe. He hated it.
Connor went on, sighing. “I don’t know, Steve. As my mom might have said, were she still around,we’ve both made our beds; now we have to lie in them.”
Steve said something along the lines of how he always thought that old chestnut was stupid. It allowed no chance for correcting mistakes.
“Is that what you did with Rory? Made a mistake?”
Trey didn’t hear a response, but he assumed Steve was either nodding or shaking his head. The next words out of his mouth were clear enough and came down on the side of nodding. “We called off the wedding.”
“For me?”
“Aren’t you full of yourself?” Steve asked and they both laughed. “But yeah, you had a lot to do with it. That and Rory finding someone else! Jesus. When you told me you’d tied the knot, I was stunned.”
“I was too,” Connor said so softly Trey strained to hear and make sure he got the words right. Connor went on, “I mean, I could live with the decision, but there are so many red flags—”
Trey suspected Connor was about to launch into waving those flags around, and maybe twirling a baton, but the waitress arrived and interrupted, asking if they wanted to order anything else. Trey hoped they’d request the check and put Trey’s torture to an end. But they told her they wanted another round and even ordered more food—a burger for Steve and the blackened salmon special for Connor.
And here Trey was, stomach rumbling and feeling a little sick. Was he about to lose his good thing?
The waitress swung by him, since she was close. “Get you anything to soak up the suds, dude?”
Trey shuddered. “No.”
Her attention caused Connor’s head to swivel toward him. Trey caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned away and hunched over his beer. He needed to get out of here. His Spidey-sense tingled, telling him he didn’t have long before he was spotted.
What could he say? What would he say?
He didn’t want to have to grope for an answer. He couldn’t allow Connor to see him as a stalker. It was bad enough his being here, worse that he hadn’t identified himself, especially when he sat about two or three feet away.
He threw a ten on the bar and stood. As unobtrusively as possible, he edged toward the door, but he didn’t miss Connor saying, “We can talk about it.” And those words burned Trey to his core.
Outside, he could smoke, make a plan.
Chapter Twenty-One
