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Holden said nothing. The subject was apparently closed. He wondered if Tyler was in the VA system and had somewhere to go for treatment when he needed it. He guessed whatever compensation he got barely covered his living expenses.
Tyler looked around the hallway, with its peeling paint and high ceiling. To the left was the living room. Straight on was the kitchen. All of it was barely furnished and monastic but Holden suspected Tyler was used to that. He glanced towards the stairs at the same time Tyler did. He guessed Tyler wouldn’t be tackling the stairs at the present time and had no wish to see the guy sliding up the steps on his ass.
He led the way into the living room. Tyler looked around his bare surroundings.
“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make coffee.” Holden didn’t give Tyler the chance to reply, but fled to the kitchen. Once there, he leaned against the counter breathing heavily. Don’t proposition him. Don’t beg him for sex. Don’t drop to your knees and say you’ll do anything.
For Holden, sex addiction went hand in hand with degradation and humiliation. He had done almost everything in the name of addiction. He couldn’t remember a normal relationship. Certainly that hadn’t come with Leo. His addiction sent him to nightclubs and online hook-ups. He’d begged men who weren’t into him to let him suck their cock. He’d paid for it, he’d hung around in public toilets and used glory holes. He’d been spit roasted by two guys up a dark alley. At his lowest, he’d hooked up with twins on line. He’d gone to their apartment and two men turned into four. All four men had used him under the influence of cocaine and alcohol. He’d gloried in it, begged for more. He’d passed out, woken up sore, and found out they’d ridden him bareback. He’d slunk home and despite his horror, he’d jerked off over the memory for months, because that was the way it went. The more terrible it was, the more he needed to relive it and get off.
He clenched his fist, looked towards the living room in fear. Please don’t let me, God, please don’t. He deserves better than me any day of the week.
He poured coffee into two mugs with a shaking hand and took a deep breath before he went back to the living room. Tyler was sitting bolt upright on the uncomfy couch looking as uneasy as Holden felt. He handed over the mug and Tyler thanked him. Holden took the sagging armchair opposite. He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee and sipped his coffee. Silence reigned.
“So, there’s plenty needs doing,” Tyler said, looking around. “Painting, electrics…”
“You can do electrics?” Holden interrupted him.
Tyler gave him a withering look. “I was in the army. I can manage some wiring.”
Holden reddened. He took a long look at Tyler, wondering just what he had suffered. Everything Holden had suffered was down to his addiction and his own fault. This man had suffered through what he had signed up for. He bit his lip before he said, “Was it awful? In Afghanistan?”
Tyler flinched. He looked as though he couldn’t believe Holden had dared mention it.
“Sorry,” Holden said quickly.
Tyler clutched his mug in both hands. He looked down into the coffee and Holden gazed at the long sweep of his lashes against his cheeks. After the longest silence, he said, “It wasn’t too much fun.”
“I’m sorry,” Holden said again and he meant it. He had a lump in his throat at the expression of torture on Tyler’s face. “Do you…do you have counselling?”
“That’s all bullshit,” Tyler said with a glare.
“Yeah,” Holden agreed before he could stop himself. Counselling hadn’t done much for his need to pursue men for cheap, fast sex.
Tyler met his gaze for a long while. He seemed to see deep inside Holden and he squirmed under his direct stare. He knows. But how could he?
Tyler put his mug down on the table near the couch. He grabbed his crutches. “I should go.” He stood and hopped forward. Holden let him go first and followed him to the front door. He didn’t know if he was relieved or not that Tyler was going. After wanting him to stay away, he’d kind of enjoyed his presence in the empty house. Tyler stopped to open the front door. He negotiated his way outside and turned to look back at Holden. Once more their gazes held.
“Look,” Holden said, and his words dried up. He couldn’t say sorry once again. He couldn’t let Tyler know how sorry he felt for him. Pity didn’t help anyone and Tyler was obviously proud and strong. Or at least, he had been when he was US military. He had joined the army for a reason. He had the strength of character, leadership skills and discipline needed. He had fought for his country and his country had rewarded him with the loss of a limb and an annex outside Holden’s crumbling home in a backwater people came to hide in. He had no money, no job, and his prosthesis hurt too much to wear. What exactly could Holden say that could ever make Tyler feel better? He wore his psychological wounds like a cloak. Holden could never compare his own life to Tyler’s and could never understand the depth of his torment. “If you need to talk…”
Oh God, is that the best you got? He shriveled up inside at Tyler’s frank stare.
“I’ll bear it in mind.” The veteran turned and hopped away.
Chapter Four
Tyler
A knock came at the door next afternoon. The pain had woken Tyler continuously from sleep all night. He was bad-tempered and tired. It had to be his hot landlord at the door, but when he negotiated there on crutches and swung it open, he found Finn from the diner standing outside. In his arms he held a box full of food with a white plastic package lying on top.
“Hey,” he said with a smile. He wore a black T-shirt and grey shorts. The scar on the inside of his right arm stood out white against his tanned skin.
“Hi,” Tyler said awkwardly. He didn’t know if he was happy to see him or not.
“I brought you some groceries.”
Tyler frowned.
“Because you’re feeling under the weather and might not feel up to shopping,” Finn said hurriedly as though reading Tyler’s thoughts about not being a charity case.
