After their leisurely meal, they agreed they were both too much the worse for wear and phoned an Uber to take them back to their hotel.
Once back in their room, there was an unexpected awkwardness about what to do next.
Will began, “Did you want to—” He was thinking along the lines of go for a walk in the moonlight, but Taylor looked so instantly and totally blank, the words died in his throat.
His expression was probably a reveal, because Taylor said quickly, awkwardly, “Whatever you want.”
Which was clearly not how he felt.
“We could try out the hot tub,” Will said desperately, and Taylor leaped at that.
And, in fact, the hot tub turned out to be a great idea. The air was cool and balmy, the tub deliciously, bone-meltingly hot, and they had its frothy, steaming waters all to themselves. The lush garden and twinkling stars gave the night a magical feel.
Nothing like that hot spring in the High Sierras, where they had first made love.
Could you call that making love? Maybe not.
“What would you like to do tomorrow?” Will asked. “You want to go on a whale watch? Take a helicopter tour?”
Taylor murmured, “You’ve been reading the guidebook.”
“Whatever you want to do, I’m up for it,” Will said. “You want to go surfing? The big winter waves are supposed to be great for experienced surfers.”
Taylor raised his brows. “Do you surf? Because that would be news.”
“Well, no. But I wouldn’t mind having drinks and watching you surf.”
Taylor was silent for a moment. He said, “Nah. Big-wave surfing is out of my league these days. Besides, we should choose something we can both enjoy.”
“Hey, there’s nothing not to enjoy about sitting on the beach, drinking Mai Tais.”
Another pause before Taylor said almost gently, “Will, you don’t have to try so hard. I’m not convalescent.”
He didn’t mean it as a slap, that was obvious, but it still stung.
Will said, “No, but you’re not happy.”
“Are you?”
Will’s heart was pounding so hard, he wondered if it was going to explode. He had known they had to talk, he wanted to talk, but not this soon. Not before they had a chance—he had a chance—to remind Taylor of everything that was right between them.
“At the moment? No.”
Taylor’s shadow nodded as though this confirmed his thoughts.
Having admitted that much, Will couldn’t think of another thing to say. Or rather, he could only think of one thing, and he was afraid that if he said it, it would mean the end of everything.
The words came out anyway.
“You don’t want to believe it, but he was going to shoot you.”
Taylor turned his profile to him.
Will said harshly, “But even if he wasn’t, you’d have made the same choice.”
“Only I didn’t. I didn’t pull my weapon.”
“I don’t mean to protect yourself. I mean to protect me. If our positions were reversed, you’d have made the same call.”
“As usual, you’re thinking you know b—”
Will burst out, “You shot me, MacAllister. You shot someone you loved when you believed you had to, so I know you’d have shot him in my position.”
Taylor gave that little huff that indicated unwilling acknowledgment.
The minutes ticked by and Taylor didn’t reply, so maybe Will was wrong about that.
Taylor finally said, “Is there a Plan B?”
“What?” Will asked blankly.
“For tomorrow. Did you have a Plan B for how we spend tomorrow?”
Will’s heart started beating again. He had been expecting annihilation, but it seemed he had cut the blue wire after all.
“We drive to Hana. It’s supposed to be spectacular. Rain forest and waterfalls and ocean views. It takes about three hours if you drive straight through, but if you do it right, there are all kinds of hiking trails and places to swim and roadside stands. We could make it an all-day trip.”
Christ. He really was beginning to sound like the guidebook.
“Okay,” Taylor said. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”
What I want? More than anything, I’d like my best friend, partner, lover back.
Instead, Will said lightly, “Your wish is my command,” and Taylor’s mouth curved politely.
Excruciating. Since when did they have this kind of trouble talking to each other?
Neither spoke for a time. Taylor tipped his head back, watching the stars, and Will watched him out of the corner of his eye.
After a time, Taylor commented dreamily, “Hey, a shooting star.”
“Aren’t you supposed to make a wish?”
Taylor closed his eyes. Opened them. He continued to stare at the sky.
Chapter Eight
The next day—two days before Christmas—they spent the morning and afternoon driving the road to Hana, which turned out to be a 64.4-mile-long very windy, narrow highway through lush tropical rainforest with passes over fifty-nine bridges—many of which were only wide enough for one lane of traffic.
Hours of wind in their hair and sun on their faces. Hours of nothing to do but drive and think and be. They stopped a few times to take photos, to hike up to see waterfalls, to buy iced coconut water and snacks at roadside stands. They didn’t talk much, but they shared smiles, helped each other across tricky patches of terrain, shared bites of their shrimp and pineapple and garlic hot dog and red bananas and hot Kona coffee over ice cream.
Anyway, it was a great day. The best Taylor had in what seemed like months. He felt almost normal. It helped that Will had quit watching him like he expected him to detonate at any moment. Better yet, Will had stopped looking so drawn and weary. The shadows around his eyes were fading, the hard line of his mouth softening. Will had needed this trip.
Maybe they both had. Maybe Will was right about that.
In Hana they swam at Red Sand Beach and lunched at the Hana Farms fruit stand and restaurant, which, they agreed, served the best fish tacos either had ever had. They were watching cars zipping along the road when a red Ferrari went roaring past, driven by a guy in sunglasses, Hawaiian shirt, and old-school
