Taylor hadn’t wanted to hear what Will had to say then—and he didn’t want to hear it now.
They had never been great at talking about their feelings, but until recently they hadn’t stopped trying.
And once they stopped trying…
“We can afford to take a little break,” Will said.
Taylor pushed his plate aside. “We took a little break for Thanksgiving.”
“I mean a real break.”
Taylor shrugged. “Thanksgiving with your family. Seemed like a real break to me.”
It was hard when he was like this. Hard to say the things Will knew he needed to say.
“I know. I mean…” Will took a breath. “I think maybe it would do us good to get away after…everything.”
Taylor’s green eyes met his, direct and unblinking, like the stare of an unfriendly cat.
“I would like to take you on a real vacation,” Will said. “Like I’ve been promising for…”
Years.
Since before Paris. Since before the High Sierras. Since before Taylor had been shot and everything had changed forever.
“I appreciate the thought,” Taylor said. “But we’re busy now, and I don’t want to waste money we don’t have.”
Finances remained a touchy subject given that they were still in hock to Taylor’s stepfather. Not that Richard gave a damn about the money—he spent that amount and more on charity dinners—but Taylor did.
“Business is as slow as it’s going to get. It’s the holidays. Plus, I talked to Stuart Schwierskott about covering for us if something does come up.”
“Schwierskott? You’re serious?”
“Yes. I’m serious. He’s looking to make a change.”
“From bad to worse?”
Will let that go. “We’re not going to never take a break again, and we need some kind of coverage, so why not give him a shot? It’s only a couple of days.” Lately Will had gotten into the habit of not arguing when Taylor shot him down. He didn’t want to risk the fragile balance between them. But there were worse things than arguing.
“Will…”
“We need some time together,” Will said. “We need to talk—”
Taylor said with unexpected, almost shocking fierceness, “What the fuck do you think there is to say, Brandt?”
Will stared, silent and stricken in the face of that restrained fury.
Taylor glared at him, then rose and went to the window to stare out at the night-shrouded garden.
Will watched him, his heart beating unpleasantly hard in his chest. He had not seen that coming, had not anticipated Taylor’s…what the hell was that even? Had never expected to see Taylor looking at him like he hated him. He almost couldn’t think past it.
His gaze dropped to Taylor’s left hand, spotted the glint of platinum. Taylor was still wearing his ring. So okay. That was a relief. It wasn’t over. Not yet. Maybe that would change in the next five minutes. He was afraid to speak. He had no idea what to say. He was never going to regret any decision that kept Taylor alive and in one piece. And even if he did regret it, he would make the same decision every time. Period. He wasn’t going to lie about it.
Taylor reached up and squeezed the back of his neck. He let out a long sigh, and turned back to Will. “I know what you’re saying, and I’m working through it, Will. Okay?”
“Since when do we work through things alone?” Will added bitterly, “Or am I what you’re working through?”
Something flickered in Taylor’s eyes. Bingo. The pain of recognition was beyond anything Will had experienced. Maybe even worse than the night he’d thought Taylor was going to die.
His mouth was so dry, he thought the words would turn to dust before he got them out. “Are you leaving me?”
Taylor’s face twisted. He shook his head. “No.”
And now it was Will turning away.
Taylor came back to the table, dragged his chair out, and sat down. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not leaving. I’m not… I’m still…” He stopped and tried again, and the fact that he was trying again was a good sign, right?
“I can’t help feeling the way I feel. I’m not saying it’s fair. I know it’s not.”
Will nodded, expelled a breath, turned back to face Taylor.
“Okay,” he said wearily. “Where do we go from here?”
They locked gazes—once upon a time and not so long ago, they had known everything the other was thinking just by looking into each other’s eyes.
Taylor grimaced, offered a curl of his mouth that was not quite a smile.
“I guess we head to Hawaii for Christmas.”
* * * * *
A Santa in a red and yellow Hawaiian shirt and shades was Aloho-ho-hoing everyone passing through Kahului Airport on Maui.
It turned out Christmas in Hawaii was not an original idea, and the small airport was packed with holidaymakers in shorts and Santa hats. Even so, it was only a brief wait for their rental car, and then they were on the road to Kihei and the Pineapple Inn.
They’d had a couple of drinks on the not-quite-six-hour flight, and the lush scenery—luminous and sparkling from recent rain—was genuinely breathtaking, so their collective mood was cheerier than when they’d boarded at LAX that morning. Taylor, face partially hidden behind his aviators, looked…maybe not relaxed, but less rigid than he had in a week. The damp breeze through the Jeep windows whipped some color into his face, and Will began to feel a little more confident about insisting they needed to get away.
The inn turned out to be cozy, quaint, and very small—a total of four guest rooms and a little cottage—which was not a problem for two guys pretty sick of humanity at the moment. It was about a twenty-minute walk to the ocean, but that was also okay. They were surrounded by a sprawling tropical garden complete with fountains, pool, and hot tub, and, most importantly, given Taylor’s precarious mood, the whole setup was relatively affordable.
Taylor nodded in approval at their room, unexpectedly soothing with lots of verdant light streaming through all the windows, dark-wood furnishings, and
