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In truth, Emil would be fine no matter what he chose to do. Like Victor, he was rich with both choice and money, even if he was tragically poor in people who gave a shit about him. He’d never starve, but he might die alone and very, very lonely if he wasn’t careful.
“Well, I think—” Victor started, but Emil cleared his throat, interrupting him.
“I wanted to invite you to come.”
Victor froze. “Oh. Um.”
Emil’s blush darkened. “You kind of knocked some sense into me, and I know you don’t exactly have plans right now, so I thought maybe we could start over together.”
Victor let that offer sit for a moment. He had no real idea what to say. It was definitely something he’d never considered before, and it would be nice to have someone who knew him when he left.
“Let me think about it,” Victor said.
Emil rested his elbow on the table, his chin on his curled knuckles. “Are you being serious, or are you bullshitting me so you don’t hurt my feelings?”
Victor laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’m done with polite bullshit. The truth is, I never considered going that far from here. Not permanently. But it’s something I should think about. There’s nothing left for me in this godforsaken place.”
And no one, he added to himself. Seven months felt like nothing in the grand scheme of life, but it was enough time to tell Victor that Oliver meant what he said: there was no future for either of them.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Emil pressed.
Victor took a last sip of his wine before wiping his mouth on the linen napkin and setting it beside his plate. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse. We’ll talk about it someday. Just…not right now.”
Emil looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just pulled out his wallet and laid his black card on the edge of the table. “Call me before you do anything drastic.”
Victor laughed as he grabbed his crutches and eased himself to his feet. “When have I ever done anything drastic?”
Emil met his gaze and didn’t relent. “I have a feeling that’s part of the story you don’t want to tell me. So just…promise me.”
It was the second time in as many months that Victor was willing to make a vow that he knew he could keep. He extended his hand, and when Emil took it, he squeezed down softly—not like a handshake, but something more like an embrace. He saw when Emil realized it—the shock in his eyes, because how long had it been since someone touched him with kindness that didn’t expect something in return.
Victor ached for his friend.
But there was nothing he could do about that now.
“I’ll speak to you soon.” It was the most he was willing to offer. He slipped his arms through the cuffs on his crutches, then made his way to the valet without looking back.
* * *
Victor didn’t indulge in cigars often, but for whatever reason, it felt right. The late-spring evening was cool and only slightly humid as he sat on the rental terrace. It was a far cry from the penthouse, but it felt more like home than anywhere he’d been since leaving Oliver.
He dreamed of that little seaside home—not of the place itself but of the sanctuary he’d taken for that single week. He wanted something simpler than that. He wanted something cozy and soft. A place he could settle in and leave his mark. He still felt adrift, but he wasn’t panicked about it.
He was just a little sad.
Stretching his legs out, he flexed his feet. His recent Botox treatment had his spasms under control, and he felt at peace with his body. Leaning back in the chair, he stared up at the full moon, a soft ring around it in the gentle fog in the distance.
Like a halo.
He wondered if he really did miss Oliver or if he just missed the idea of someone giving a shit about him. But it felt cruel to assume that Oliver was only worth his proximity and kindness. After all this time, Victor could no longer deny he was so much more than that. He was bright and beautiful. He was smart and he was good, in spite of all the jagged edges of his childhood that could have turned anyone soulless and cruel.
He took a long pull from his cigar and watched the smoke drift, his eyes going half-lidded.
Victor considered Emil’s offer, and more and more, he felt like he might take it. There really was nothing left for him in Santa Teresa.
And, after all, the world was too large to resign himself to something so confined.
Feeling exhaustion creeping into his bones, Victor carefully stubbed out the cherry on his cigar and was just leaning forward to slip it into his small silver case when his phone buzzed. It was just a quick, doublebzzt bzztindicating an email.
