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“Sounds like you’ve known a few.”
“They’re common where I’m from.” It was the most Emil was willing to offer. Renzo was a stranger and would likely remain a stranger. It was Emil’s one and only chance to be someone else, undefined by the man he’d turned into after leaving his mother’s care. “You don’t seem like you fit the bill.”
“I could be clever,” Renzo pointed out.
Emil laughed and shrugged. “You could be.”
Silence settled over them, and Renzo stretched out his legs, breaking the soft contact between them, and Emil hated it. “I’d like to ask you a question, but I don’t want you to hate me.”
Emil lifted his brows and turned to face him a little better. In the light of the fire, he was almost overwhelmed with the way it struck Renzo, the way it highlighted his form. He was thin, his sharp cheekbones almost gaunt in the flickering orange glow, and he had dimples. His hair was dark and cut short, and he looked like he could be very young except for the tiny wrinkles just at the edge of his hairline.
“I’d prefer you tell me to fuck off instead of giving me the silent treatment,” Renzo said.
Emil flushed. “Sorry. I’m not used to people waiting for permission. You can ask me anything. I doubt I’d hate you.”
Renzo hummed uncertainly, then took a breath. “Why the fuck don’t you have a proper winter coat?”
It was the last question in the world he was expecting Renzo to ask, and for whatever reason, he burst into laughter. But it didn’t last long. Something in him snapped—like a coiled rope snapping, and the next thing he knew, he was sobbing into his hands. He was desperate to stop, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cracked.
Decades of repressed pain, joy, sadness, grief, and malcontent came pouring forward, and he was helpless to do anything except curl into himself and hope that in the waves of shame he was feeling, Renzo would leave. Being abandoned would be better than facing his gaze when the moment passed.
But, of course, Emil had never been particularly lucky. A warm hand touched his back, hesitant at first, then more firm when it was clear Emil wasn’t going to shake him off. Renzo rubbed up and down his spine, then eventually curled fingers around the back of his neck and tugged until Emil was resting his forehead against Renzo’s side.
“Been there too,” Renzo whispered when Emil had quieted to hiccups.
“The divorce?” Emil asked. His voice was thick, and it almost hurt to speak, but he couldn’t handle silence.
“Yep. Also when my parents died.”
“Did they die at the same time?” Emil asked. He wanted to lift his head, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He tried to surreptitiously wipe his face, but the way Renzo moved to give him room told him he was crap at being subtle.
“No. But it was close enough that I had barely stopped crying for my dad before my mom went. It’s been years, but yeah. I remember it. I’m pretty sure I did the same thing you were doing—minus burning their clothes. But there was a bonfire, and I was about two hundred yards from where we’re sitting.”
“Was it as humiliating as all this?” Emil asked.
Renzo laughed very softly and rubbed a gentle touch over the back of Emil’s neck, making warmth shoot through his limbs. “Yeah, but I was with my sister and my brother, and they’ve already seen me at my worst. For what it’s worth though, I don’t think less of you.”
Emil nodded, then finally lifted his face. “I probably look a mess.”
“I know at least half a dozen guys who’d sell their soul for their good days to be your messy ones.” Renzo smiled and lifted his hand, brushing his thumb over Emil’s cheeks. The touch was painfully tender and far too unexpected.
Emil flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Renzo told him, and for whatever reason—foolish as it was—Emil believed him.
Emil’s breath trembled on his exhale. “What is a person supposed to say after they’ve broken down in front of a stranger and thoroughly embarrassed themselves?”
“Well, embarrassment usually calls for wine,” Renzo said. “And better conversation than this one.”
The temptation was powerful, but he didn’t want to give in. He wanted to prove to himself he could be stronger than all this. “I’m a few weeks sober.” He didn’t fully meet Renzo’s gaze when he admitted that.
Renzo rolled his eyes up toward the stars. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
Emil laughed and nudged him gently, the gesture braver than he thought he could be. “I’m not offended. It’s not like I was wearing a sign.”
Their gazes connected again. “I have tea. Chamomile since it’s late and caffeine is probably the worst idea for you. I also think I have a mint somewhere. Also, my house is warm, and you’re clearly not. Youseriouslyneed a better jacket.”
“Why are you so worried about me being cold?” Emil asked as he shifted back.
