Page 71 of Amid Our Lines

Eric.

That was ridiculous. Adrian had only known him for a few short weeks—certainly not long enough for him to top the list of people Adrian turned to in a crisis. But Martin would swear like a trooper, then pour them both a stiff drink, and yeah, that was great for some situations but not what Adrian needed right now. His mum would pat his shoulder and tell him it’d be all right,it’s probably nothing to worry about, darling, while his dad would jump into what ifs and should haves.

Eric would be steady about it. He’d listen and ask questions, help Adrian sort through the mess. Maybe he’d offer a hug too, and Adrian could lose himself in that for a bit, the familiar feel of Eric’s body, his quiet presence.

But Eric wasn’t looking for a guy with a landslide of problems, was he? He wanted fun and easy, casual.Can you please hold me together so I don’t fall apart?Yeah, not so casual.

Slowly, Adrian shook his head. His rib cage clamped down on his chest, making it hard to inhale properly, and anyway, the air up here might be ripe with spores, malevolent dust, so should he hold his breath? His head was swimming.

“Thank you.” Wrong language. “Danke,” he corrected. “Ich brauch nur einen Moment.”

He needed more than a moment. He needed a run and a good cry, some outlet for the panic gripping his spine. Then he’d have to find a building surveyor who’d come in with expertise and tools for a thorough assessment of the damage, ideally without alerting hotel guests to the issue.

Well, sitting on the floor feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Adrian clenched his jaw and released a slow breath. He’d figure something out. The hotel would be fine.

Using that thought as his anchor, he pushed to his feet. The world swayed for a second, then righted itself.

The hotel would befine.

It had to be.

Adrian wasn’t a liar.He’d always been a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, had never seen the point in pretending. If people didn’t like what he stood for, they were most welcome to turn elsewhere.

It felt an awful lot like lying when he rushed into the dining room, five minutes late due to a nerve-wracking call with the building expert. “Sorry,” he rushed out, already reaching for some cutlery. “Lost track of time.”

“No problem.” Eric shot him a bright smile, and God, between Martin’s emotional nuke earlier this morning and Georg’s doomsday find, it very nearly made Adrian blink back stupid tears. All he wanted was to fold himself into Eric’s arms and forget the rest of the world for a little while—was that too much to ask for?

Probably, yes.

So he angled his head away and busied himself with laying out the forks. Usually, this was the point when he’d say something, wasn’t it? Ask about Eric’s day, demand a line, comment on Eric’s arse. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Did the plumber manage to fix the leak?” Eric asked after a minute or so, and Adrian startled.

“Yeah.” He clenched his jaw until the sting behind his eyes passed. “How was your conversation with the record label?”

Eric had spent the last five days working on a summer tune for a boy band, spending hours at the piano upstairs. Adrian had fallen into the habit of checking in on him every so often, making sure thatEric didn’t get too swept up in the creative flow to remember regular hydration and mealtimes. While Eric claimed that Adrian didn’t have to—‘I’ve survived twenty-seven years without you, you know?’—his protest didn’t feel particularly credible.

‘If you really want me to stop,’Adrian had told him,‘you need to not look at me like I’m your favourite sin.’

‘Who says I want you to stop?’Eric had asked, and that was all the invitation Adrian needed to pull him towards the bedroom.

“They liked the song,” Eric said now. “Just a couple of minor changes.”

“Congratulations.” Usually, Adrian would follow it up with a hug, a kiss, or a blowjob offer—right now, he could barely look at Eric. “That’s really great.”

It was quiet for a beat before Eric mumbled, “Thank you.”

Adrian should say something. Heneededto say something.

“I still think it’s ironic that you’re writing about sunscreen-scented hair, tan lines, and beach fires in the middle of a mountain winter.”

“It’s called using your imagination,” Eric said mildly.

Adrian’s thoughts were about to drift off—he’d need to fit in a trip to the hardware store tomorrow—before he pulled them back on track. “Wasn’t that Bernie Madoff’s line of defence?”

Eric’s quiet chuckle eased the tightness in Adrian’s chest, if only briefly. “I’d call that criminal intent.”

“Potato, potahto.”

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