Greg’s footsteps slowed. The basketball thudded dully by his feet. He wasn’t looking at the court anymore, only the flickering embers, the red lights of a fire truck. His throat closed.
It had taken him years to forgive himself after Tony’s death. How could he promise Dale anything, when he wasn’t even certain about his own future? Anyone could die, or make a stupid mistake. Tony was gone. Greg hadn’t trusted in his future for a long time.
The basketball hit his foot, bouncing off. Greg stared as it skipped across the court, losing momentum.
He needed to talk to Dale. He knew he needed to be there for Dale, for the baby. But beyond what he could foresee, how much could he really promise Dale?
Greg didn’t know. He didn’t think Dale had answers, either.
14
Dale
The red sports car was parked at his apartment when Dale pulled in that evening. His stomach flipped as he remembered—June, Bernard Hastings, Penny’s awkward questions.
Dale lying about his relationship with June.
Between Bernard’s office and his own lab, Dale had decided on one thing: he needed to stop this pseudo-relationship with Greg. As soon as possible.
Except Dale pulled in to the empty parking spot in front of his apartment, and Greg was there by his front door. Greg’s eyes were solemn as he leaned away from the brickwork, his arms folded across his chest. Dale parked the car, his heart sinking.
Greg was still here, and that meant something. Even if he looked like he brought bad news.
Dale stepped out of his car, locking it. Greg waited for him to reach the door.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Dale said, fishing his keys from his pocket. “I haven’t... been fair to you.”
Greg looked away. “We should probably talk.”
Dale’s mouth twitched. Yes, they should have been doing that from the start. Not fuck first, and trip over everything else while they tried to make amends. “Inside,” he said.
When the front door was locked, Dale set his satchel down, pulling his shoes off. “I’m sorry about this morning. I’m aware that it upset you.”
Greg shrugged. He smelled like soap, like he’d gone home for a shower first. “It’s fine. I understand.”
“Do you really?”
“Yeah, your job’s at risk,” Greg said. “You did the right thing, faking that thing with June. Took me a while to work it out of my system.”
“But something’s still bothering you.”
“The baby. Essentially, all of this.” Greg followed Dale to the tartan couch, meeting Dale’s eyes. His own glimmered with uncertainty, and Dale’s chest tightened. He wanted to set Greg at ease. Greg didn’t need to go through this mess; it had been Dale’s fault.
“This isn’t the way a relationship should go,” Greg said.
“No, it isn’t.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed so hard with this staying-together thing,” Greg said, sitting on the couch adjacent to Dale’s. “I kinda got ahead of myself.”
Well, this was easier than Dale had thought. They would part ways from here, and that would be that. “What’s got you changing your mind?”
“The baby,” Greg said. “But not exactly. I still want to do a fifty-fifty thing. It’s not so much the baby as the future.”
“I don’t blame you,” Dale said, even as a pang hit his chest. Greg was leaving. And maybe Dale had been looking forward to the week with him more than he’d thought.
“No, I just... How do you even have a kid when you don’t know how your future’s turning out?”
Dale frowned. “What do you mean?”
“See, this.” Greg pulled his phone out. He tapped on the screen, and that same picture came up again, the one of Greg with that other boy, with a sparkling sea behind them. “That’s Tony. My best friend. He died four years ago.”
Dale’s breath froze in his lungs. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He’d thought maybe Greg was pining for that boy, or maybe Greg was somehow seeing him on the side. He hadn’t thought the boy was a dead best friend.
For a long moment, Dale looked between Greg and the boy, their smiles in that photo. The boy with the blond hair was Tony, and four years ago, he’d been alive.
“You... couldn’t have been more than eighteen,” Dale said, chest aching. Whatever Dale had been through... Greg had had it worse.
“We were about eighteen, yeah.” Greg flipped the phone over, setting it on the coffee table. “We were on a camping trip. I had a lit candle by the window. The curtains caught fire and it spread. I—I tried to get him out. There was fire everywhere. I had to carry him over the burning floors. He died of smoke inhalation.”
And Dale suddenly understood the shadows in his eyes, the jadedness Greg harbored when he looked at the other students. The crimson fire-shaped scars on his calves, the way he glanced at the windows when he stepped into the apartment.
Greg wasn’t like any of the other students. Of course he wasn’t—and it shouldn’t have taken Dale this long to realize it.
Four years ago, that other boy had been alive. With his death, he’d taken part of Greg, and Dale couldn’t imagine the grief Greg had suffered. The guilt. No wonder he’d protested when Dale talked about his future.
Dale’s skin felt two sizes too tight. “I’m sorry about that. I—I don’t know what else to say.”
Greg watched him carefully. “My dad said I should move on. Tony and I were never bonded. We’d dated, but then we’d decided we were better matched with other people.”
Dale wanted to comfort him somehow, but Greg’s eyes held uncertainty, not grief. “I want to make you feel better,” Dale said. “How do I... how do you want me to help?”
And Greg cracked a smile, his shoulders relaxing. “You don’t have to do anything. You care. That’s enough.”
“That isn’t what we came here to talk about, though.”
Greg sighed. “Yeah. See, the thing is, life is transient. Why would anyone have
