Chapter 28
Dylon
T he walk cleared my head and made me realize I have to confess last night’s urge to throw away my sobriety. The old pattern of secret-keeping is back. He assumed I was meeting with my sponsor, and I didn’t come clean. If I keep this up, the lies will build on one another, and I can’t risk losing Lars.
He’s what I want, playing hockey together, cuddling on the couch, having life-changing sex. Alcohol can’t compare, and I hate the fact that I’m struggling. It’s absurd. He’ll know what to do, he always does.
Lars is in the office on his computer, and I recognize his therapist so I backtrack out of the room to give him privacy. I’m out of sight when I hear his agonized voice ask, “Okay, then what?”
My heart rate spikes because Lars is calm and composed, not scared and unsure. I don’t mean to listen, but I hear her response.
“Lars, tell Dylon the truth. Don’t hold back. Don’t be afraid of your truth. He’s been your friend for a few years, and you have a solid base of a relationship. Believe in that. He will understand, and you can work through it.”
A timer dings and they end the call. The roar in my head drowns all of my thoughts, and I’m frozen in place. Lars has something he’s afraid to tell me. So afraid he needs a pep talk from his therapist. My mind fixates on the obvious…he knows how close I was to relapsing and doesn’t want someone like me.
“Hey, Dyl.” He stops short, almost bumping into me. “I missed you,” he murmurs in my ear before kissing me .
I don’t trust his words because he’s not telling me everything. He’s the one who demands the truth, but he’s been holding back.
It’s my fault. My addiction is too much. I’m not worth the effort. The thoughts are mine, but they’re also from my past.
“How was your meeting?” His warm palm dips into the hollow of my back above my jeans.
“Fine.” I wave my hand as if I’m unconcerned.
He takes my hand and tugs me down the hall to the living room couch. “There are a couple of things I need to tell you.” He sits, staring up at me, expecting me to sit next to him.
Expecting me to just listen while he tells me all the reasons we’re not going to work out.
That my addiction will always be an issue and he has to change his life and abstain from drinking because of me. That I’m too needy. That it could affect the team and our jobs. And I’m supposed to be okay with whatever he says.
I’m not okay with it.
His face changes, and he charges up to cradle my jaw. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
My tongue is thick, and the dire pleas die before I can persuade him not to leave me. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket for a distraction.
“It’s a new person my sponsor and I were discussing,” I lie and pretend to read the message from a meditation app of all things. “Shit. I gotta go. Raincheck on the convo,” I say like a fucking moron.
Lars won’t let go and seems to crumple into himself. I pry his hands away, and my feet eat the path to the door as fast as they can without running. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” I holler, slamming the door and bending at the waist, choking on bile. I need a plan. A plan to prove my worth. A plan to change his mind.
The coffee I drank burns my esophagus, and I swallow it back, gasping for breath. When I hit the street, I walk aimlessly. The thing about New York is there is no shortage of places to go and things to look at. My mind can’t focus on anything but Lars leaving me, making a plan is an unattainable mental feat .
An hour later, I find myself standing outside of a liquor store.
Years ago, when I could walk into a liquor store and buy a bottle of Maker’s Mark without worrying about the price and if I’d be able to buy food and drink, I shook off my lower-income roots. I thought it was the best money could buy. I didn’t know anything back then.
Now it’s a test. The plan that had eluded me pops up fully formed.
I buy their largest bottle.
Lars
Something is very wrong. A foreboding sinks into my bones. I was so worried about how Dylon would react to my fears that I wasn’t paying attention to how stiff he was and that he didn’t kiss me back. Something’s haunting him or…
My therapist is right. Catastrophizing situations won’t prepare me for reality.
My energy should focus on what I can do, not what might happen.
I pace the apartment and try to distract myself with a book, video games, and sports TV. Nothing works but I cannot give in to the urge to run after him. He cannot change his life and stay with me all the time because I am terrified my past will repeat itself.
Dylon’s entitled to time and space to do whatever he wants, including helping someone in need. His sponsor is a critical part of his success in recovery.
My phone lies dormant in my palm, and no prayers to Norse gods get it to light up with a message from Dylon. I debate texting the guys to hang out, but everyone sounded like they had plans for the day, getting ready for our overseas trip tomorrow.
This is my issue, and I refuse to burden anyone else, especially Dylon, with my irrational fears. Knowing they’re irrational doesn’t lessen their impact or make them go away.
I turn my ringer on high and change to use the gym in our building.
Dylon
The bottle’s heavy. I’ve been carrying it for hours. I should get something to eat, but the bile has eaten away at my stomach and the thought of food makes it worse.
Every minute hurts.
Every minute without him.
Every minute without a drink.
My feet have blisters from walking, but I can’t stop. There’s nowhere to go. The sun’s low in the sky, and I follow the streets to Central Park. At this point, I could be mistaken for a vagrant. I left without a coat so I’m shivering in my hoodie.
I can’t make a decision that would wreck everything.
My phone’s open to my text thread with Lars. I want so badly for him to save me, but I have to do this on my own. I have to save myself. I’ll never be worthy of him if I can’t do it.
Lars
Still no word from Dylon after a long workout that Coach and the trainers would bench me for if they knew I pushed my body to the extreme and did it without a spotter. Physical pain steals the focus of my emotional pain.
Standing under the shower spray, I let the scalding water burn my skin and relax my muscles. I should soak in a hot bath or use the sauna after the amount of weight I forced my body to push and pull.
I am surprised at how reckless I am today. One slip and I could be out for the season or longer. Always thinking the worst in every situation, I cannot stop the thoughts from invading my head .
It’s been hours and I convince myself all I need is confirmation he’s okay. I will calm down when I know he’s eaten a good meal.
Me: Hey want to order a late dinner with me?
There’s no response so I order his favorite to have ready when he comes home. I turn on his favorite playlist while I pack for our trip. It doesn’t drown out the worry of wondering if he wants this to be his home. I should have asked him if he wanted to bring his furniture here. Helped to combine our things to make it ours, not mine. I overlooked the obvious. I did not make room for him and his things, frantically forcing him to fit into my sterile, bland life.
Dylon
My phone lights up with an incoming message, but it’s on silent as I stare at the bottle and the cup on the nightstand of the hotel room.
It’s ironic, my parents think I’m no fun when I don’t drink and hold the money I make over my head as if I’m too good for them now. But they can’t see the truth that, as an addict, if I drink, I’ll lose it all. And that is absolutely no fun. Fun is watching Lars react to my flirting, the way the blue in his eyes deepens and the corners of his mouth draw up.
I want things that might not be mine to keep.
My career. Lars. Self-respect.
I unscrew the cap.
Lars
There’s my irrational panic, and there’s my boyfriend leaving for hours, which is not like him. He will text me while we’re in the same room. We haven’t gone this long without speaking since the day he moved in. Even before that, if I texted, he would answer almost immediately.
We don’t share our location because we’re together 95 percent of the time. He gave me his sponsor’s number as soon as he was serious about getting sober. I have never used it, and I hate checking up on him, but I’ve texted our friends and although I didn’t outright ask, Dylon isn’t with them.
Me: Hi, this is Dylon’s roommate, Lars. He must have his phone off. Can you have him text me?
Sponsor: I haven’t seen Dylon in a week
Sponsor: Are you worried about him?
I stare at my phone, and my panic turns into terror.
He lied.
Dylon lied to me.
I dial his number, and it goes to voicemail.
I dial again and again and again because I don’t know what else to do.
If I call the police, the tabloids will be alerted. They have cops on their payroll and listen to scanners. If I call the team… I’m catastrophizing again.
Sponsor: Dylon didn’t pick up my call
I dial another number, and when he picks up, I blurt out, “Finn, I need help.”
Dylon
The vibration of my phone startles me again, but the swirling amber liquid holds all my attention.
This is the most important thing right now.
I close my eyes and inhale the scent. It’s been over a year, and the ghost smell in my brain can’t compare to the real thing. It makes my nose hair tingle .
I hope the tip I gave the front desk agent is enough to keep them from calling the tabloids. No one can know where I am until this is over.
This is the only way.
Lars
“What are you talking about?” Finn speaks so quickly my mind can’t separate the words. My brain diverts to Swedish, and his English is nonsense about a shirt being private and pictures.
“Slow down,” I bark but then realize I spoke in Swedish and take a breath to repeat it in English.
“I told him not to wear that damn shirt in public. It was a private joke for the team and me and Trevor. You two fucking idiots practically screamed to the world, hey, look at us, a couple of gay NHL players,” Finn says indignantly.
“You are not making sense.” I rub the heel of my hand in my eye sockets.
“I’d ask if you went on a bender, but I know better. Here, I sent a link.”
I open my texts and press the button to see a photo of me and Dylon, him wearing the shirt that clearly says Daddy Drake’s Property while I’ve got my hands on him, guiding him into the car. He’s grinning, staring into my lust-filled eyes.
Last night, I dared to believe in us. Is he running because he could tell I began spiraling out of control or from the fallout of these pictures? He’s missing and avoiding me on purpose.
“Are you there?” Finn asks.
“I cannot find him,” I breathe out.
“Wait! What? Fuck, you can’t find Dylon? Because of these pics? We can fix this. We can say it’s a joke. It is a joke. I had Trevor make the shirt. This will be a pain in my ass for a week or two, but I should have made him take the shirt off before he left. Serves me right for having a few drinks with coworkers,” Finn rattles on .
“I do not know if he saw the pictures. Never mind, I have to go.” I hang up, but he calls back. Finn will tell everyone, and the team cannot know Dylon lied to me.
Finn: I’m blowing up your and Dylon’s phones until one of you picks up
It rings again, and I throw it across the room.
Dylon
Lars won’t understand why I have to do this alone. I’m too afraid to look at my messages, so I ask Siri to text Lars, telling him I’m fine and I’ll see him early tomorrow morning. I can’t miss our flight for this.
I dial the front desk and schedule a wake-up call.
After I stick my phone in the bathroom with the door closed, I add ice to the glass and stir it with my finger. I drift in and out of sleep, uninterrupted by the buzzing of my phone.
Me and my bottle of Maker’s Mark have the entire night to ourselves.
One of us will come out a winner. The other loses everything.
Lars
The doorman buzzes, asking if Patrik can come up. I am tempted to refuse, but I could use a friend. He and Trevor get off the elevator with concerned expressions, and I stand aside so they can enter.
“Finn’s on his vay here, but ve vere closer.” Patrik gives me a bro hug.
“If you need to talk, we can keep it a secret.” Trevor pats my arm.
“Or you can vait and let Finn do all the talking.” Patrik settles onto the couch .
I trust Patrik because he will understand and won’t tell anyone about Dylon and me. “I fucked everything up. We leave for Germany tomorrow, and he is gone.” I pace the length of the living room, wearing a path from my stress today.
“Your relationship with Dylon?” Trevor asks. “Because you’re more than friends.” He sits so close to Patrik their legs touch.
“What?” He cannot know about us.
“For almost a year, Trevor has thought you and Dylon are more than friends,” Patrik says.
“ Skit ,” I mumble. “We haven’t been together for very long, but…” I don’t want to admit I have fallen in love over the last year.
“I could tell when I hosted Thanksgiving at my old apartment last year. You were very broody, sneaking forbidden looks and pining like Patroclus before Achilles gave into their love.” Trevor curls into Patrik’s side.
I rake a hand down my face.
“Ve aren’t here to out you or anyone else, but Finn said you sounded terrible, and no one knows vhere Dylon is. Ve’re here for support.”
“He finally texted saying he’s fine, but he’s not fine. The message was incoherent and has me more worried.” I cannot profess my love for Dylon to them before I tell him. “Things moved fast for us, but I have had feelings for him for over a year,” I admit, and Trevor’s eyes light up. “I had a relationship that ended badly, and I am afraid Dylon will change his mind about us.”
“Oh honey, that man looks at you like I look at dark chocolate.” Trevor pats the seat on the couch next to him.
Patrik grumbles, “Vhat about me?”
“Snug, you’re better than dark chocolate,” Trevor placates him. “What does Dylon think?” he asks.
“He ran out earlier today when I tried to talk to him.” I recount the morning, and his lies, and not answering his phone. Patrik texts him. “Up until I got his text, I thought about calling the police. This is not like him. Because of a past relationship, I am having a hard time figuring out what is rational concern and what is driven by fear.” I pull my hair.
“Vhat are you most afraid of?”
“The last time this happened…” I explain my relationship with Boe and how it ended.