Boyfriend Chronicles 02 - The Boyfriend Mandate (30 page)

Ah…

Understanding arrived like a slow-rolling wave. This was Dylan being proactive. Tyler supposed he should appreciate the effort. If Alec had wandered over to help him out, as he most likely would have, Dylan eventually would have sent Tyler one of those stares. The one that screamed,
keep this up, dude, and I’m gonna kick your ass
.

“Alrighty then,” Dylan said with a tutorial air. “There are many, many different brewing styles but basically only two types of beers, lagers”—he gestured at the three shot glasses on the left—“and ales,” he finished, running his finger across the three on the right. “For the most part, all beers are either one or the other.”

Tyler decided to play along and wait patiently for the real punch line to this conversation. “Like red wine versus white.”

“Tops versus bottoms,” he said with a sharp nod, and Tyler raised a brow but decided not to bring up the versatiles. “As it turns out,” Dylan went on, “ales are made with
top
fermentation yeast. And lagers are made with
bottom
fermentation yeast.”

Seriously?

Tyler stared at him for several seconds before a bark of disbelieving laughter broke from his throat. “You’re making that up.”

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “Turns out beer is queer, too.”

Tyler’s lips twitched as he failed to keep his smile in check. He reached for one of the ales and hoped to God this wasn’t leading up to a sex talk, because that would be all kinds of weird. He sipped the dark brew and then proceeded to try the other two, returning the shot glasses to their lineup on the table.

Dylan cocked his head in question.

“Strong and bitter,” Tyler replied.

Tyler then took a sip of each of the lagers, enjoying the lighter taste. In one, he detected a hint of citrus and coriander, a delicious combination, and he pointed at the three beers on the right.

“I like the lagers best,” he said.

Dylan gave a quick, sharp nod. “You’re a bottom fermenter,” he said, his expression entirely too innocent to be believed. “I’m not surprised.” He reached for one of the opened bottles of lager. “Me?” Dylan said, lifting the beer in a toast. “I like ’em both.”

What the hell?

Tyler sifted through the words for an undercurrent of meaning. He knew there was something Dylan was leading up to. The mechanic was known for being far too blunt, but today’s interaction wasn’t their standard and left Tyler second-guessing everything that came from Dylan’s mouth.

The only way to know was to ask.

“What’s the advice you’re trying hard
not
to give?” Tyler asked.

Dylan picked up one of the bottles of ale and took a drink, studying him for a moment before leaning his elbows on the center island across from Tyler.

“Okay, since you asked.” The mechanic’s expression was one Tyler had never seen before. “Like trying the beer, you’ve got to be open to new things. Let your guard down a bit. Me as a father is
definitely
a stretch,” he said with a wry twist to his mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be afraid to get our asses kicked by life now and then.”

After two beats of stunned silence, Tyler slowly exhaled and chose to ignore the obvious reference to his relationship with Memphis.

“Of all the people I know,” Tyler said, his lips curled at the edges, “I think you’re the one who’d enjoy watching me get my ass kicked the most.”

Dylan huffed, a mix of humor and acknowledgment of the truth. “I gotta admit it’s been good to see you on the receiving end for a change.”

Receiving end? Surely this wasn’t another sexual reference.

“I don’t understand,” Tyler said.

“Dude.” He drained his beer and then wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, cocking an eyebrow with a hint of sympathy. “I saw your expression when Memphis smiled at Julissa.”

Although the delivery was easy, the look of understanding paired with the ominous words lifted the hair on Tyler’s arms. Feeling an intense need for more alcohol, he curled his hand around the cold bottle of lager that tasted of citrus and reminded him of Memphis.

“Should make things easier between us, I guess.” Dylan gathered up the empty shot glasses and carried them to the sink before returning to the center island across from Tyler. “Now that we share something in common other than Alec.”

Sweat broke out along the nape of his neck, and Tyler took a careful sip of his beer, forcing himself not to choke and to remain calm as he steadily met Dylan’s gaze. His heart was screaming
don’t ask
, but his head had to know.

“What do we have in common?” he asked.

The man gave him another
you’ve got to be kidding me
look. “We both know how much it sucks to fall for a guy who’s still involved, in one way or another, with his ex.”

Fall?

The truth landed hard, a soul-jarring hit to the heart. Tyler’s stomach briefly threatened to reject the beer he’d swallowed, and his pulse pounded in his head as the pressure in his chest expanded exponentially. Suddenly, everything made so much sense.

Christ.

Was he doomed to live his life stuck in stupid? How had he missed the obvious signs? He’d fallen in love with Memphis Haines all over again.

He’d
fallen
.

And the knowledge changed everything.

With Tyler beside him, Memphis headed up the walkway toward the hospital, ignoring the voice in his head that kept telling him to turn around and get the hell back to his Jeep. Life seemed bound and determined to drag his ass back to a medical facility. When Patrick’s condition had prevented him from attending the support group as planned today, the organizers had made the decision to move the meeting to Patrick. Which, of course, was the right thing to do.

But, Jesus…

The automatic doors
whooshed
open before them, and they entered the cool air of the lobby. Memphis instantly hated the smell of antiseptic and the squeak of shoes on polished linoleum. He despised the sight of doctors and nurses in colorful scrubs and boring white coats. How was he supposed to say something meaningful, to share something
worth remembering
, if he was busy puking his guts out?

And what brilliant piece of wisdom was he going to impart today, anyway?

Oh, yeah. That’s right. He didn’t freaking know. He still hadn’t come up with anything.

Fuck.

Tyler, thank God, had kept his agreement to come along and keep him company. His presence was the only thing that kept Memphis moving forward. And if he broke his support-group promises now, everyone would wonder if Memphis had lost his mind for good.

Actually, he kinda wished he would.

“They might not let me in,” Memphis said.

Tyler looked unconcerned. “I’m sure they will.”

“The security guards don’t like me much here,” he added.

“Microwave explosions have that effect on people.”

For a moment, hope surged. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d kick him out on sight.

“Noah told me that Julissa said security would frisk you and then let you go up,” Tyler explained. “But I’m pretty sure he was kidding about the frisking part.”

Memphis shot him a look from the corner of his eye as the sound of their footsteps continued for several more seconds.

“This is the part where the old Memphis would say something suggestive,” Tyler said.

“You mean the one who’d use his wiggling-eyebrow voice to say
the only one I want frisking me is you
?” he said.

They both stopped walking, and Memphis turned to face him.

Tyler studied him for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “
That
Memphis. He’d probably go on to encourage me to leave no potential hiding space untouched,” he said dryly.

Despite everything, a tiny grin crept up Memphis’s face. “I think I admire that guy. He sounds like a real line crosser.”

Tyler’s smile looked almost…fond. He seemed different today. Then again, so was Memphis. After their last run in with the press, he’d decided to stop flirting and pushing. If Tyler wanted more from him, Memphis wanted him to make that choice without any pressure.

He also refused to admit the fatigue was growing worse, that he wasn’t up for an aggressive chase anymore.

His voice serious, Memphis went on. “You know how I feel, Ty. You know what I want.”
You, in my bed
. Several heartbeats passed, and then his lips twisted wryly. “The ball is currently in your court, both literally and figuratively.” He concentrated on gorgeous gray eyes and black hair, hoping to absorb some of that calm demeanor. Desperate to delay upchucking in front of an audience, he went on. “Maybe we should address this issue now.”

Tyler gazed at him for a couple of seconds before coolly hiking a brow. “Nice try. But now is not the time.” He took Memphis’s arm and turned him until he faced the wrong direction, heading
into
the lobby and not out. “I admire the stalling technique, though.”

Memphis pressed his lips flat. Damn, Tyler wasn’t going to let him escape the hospital.

With a sigh, Memphis continued walking. He’d spent the past several days wondering what to say to these kids. In ten minutes, he was going to have to come up with something. He pulled at the collar of his T-shirt, giving it a tug in an attempt to ease the sensation of choking, as they headed for the front desk. A balding man in a security uniform sat behind the counter, obviously bored out of his mind. Tyler cleared his throat, and the employee looked up from his cell phone.

“We have a group session to attend on the pediatric oncology ward,” Tyler explained.

Without a greeting, the guard handed them a clipboard. “Sign in, please.”

Memphis scribbled his name while keeping one eye on the beefy guy whose polyester uniform was about two sizes too small. When Tyler had completed the process as well, the security guard took the sign-in sheet. A glance at their signatures was followed by a frown. The look he narrowed at Memphis wasn’t welcoming, and hope surged. Memphis sent him his most mischievous smile, the one that screamed
hell yeah, I’m up to no good
.

With any luck, the guard would send him packing.

“We were told to expect you, Mr. Haines.” The man pushed his rolling chair back and stood. “I’ll be accompanying you to the elevator. You’re to go straight to the pediatric oncology ward,” he said with a disapproving tone. “I’ll be radioing the child life specialist, and she’ll meet you once you get off the elevator on the twelfth floor.”

Goddammit, they were letting him in.

And Memphis didn’t need a universal translator to interpret the meaning beneath the words. He wasn’t allowed to wander around the hospital without an escort.

The guard rounded the desk, nodding in the direction of the elevator. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

Tyler fell into step beside Memphis, his voice low. “Wow,” he murmured, and Memphis thought he heard humor laced with awe in his voice. “They really don’t like you being here.”

“What a coincidence,” Memphis muttered. “I don’t like me being here, either.”

Tyler eyed him curiously but didn’t say anything. They entered the elevator, and Tyler hit the appropriate button. As the doors started to close, Memphis couldn’t restrain the smile and an annoying finger-wave good-bye to the security guard. Maybe Memphis would get lucky and piss the guy off so much he’d chase Memphis down and kick him out anyway.

One could only hope.

Tyler turned to face him, crossing his arms. “You look really wigged out.”

“I am not wigged out,” he lied.

Memphis wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a soft scoff slip from Tyler’s lips.

“You could have fooled me,” the man said.

No, and that was the problem. Memphis
couldn’t
fool Tyler. And that was beginning to be a really freaking inconvenient state of affairs.

“I just have no idea what to say to these kids,” Memphis finally said.

He was glad Tyler seemed satisfied with the partial answer, because the truth would have been too hard to share.

The elevator arrived at their floor with a
ding
, and the nerves twisting in the pit of his stomach began writhing in earnest, like a goddamn bed of snakes engaged in a reptile orgy. The doors parted to reveal Lana, the sweet-faced, well-intentioned child life specialist who’d arranged this hour in hell for Memphis.

She tucked her blond hair behind her ear. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Haines,” she said as he and Tyler exited.

Lana shook their hands and then gestured up the hallway. “We have five teenagers, each in various stages of treatment for different kinds of cancer.” She led them past a nurses’ station decorated with an ocean theme, sea turtles painted on the counter. “Since you were a teen when you were first diagnosed, I thought you could touch on how to deal with going through treatment and still succeed in high school.”

Well…that was the worst idea. Ever.

Him? An academic advisor? Memphis had quit and never finished college, hardly role-model worthy behavior. But explaining exactly why her plan was ten pounds of lame in a five-pound bag probably didn’t mesh with his Hope Heals role.

As Lana babbled on about her thoughts for the meeting, Memphis nodded and tried to listen. He tried to ignore the assessing look that Tyler was sending him as well. They headed up the blue carpet of a hallway that was a continuation of the ocean theme, whales and dolphins and schools of fish painted on the walls.

They entered what appeared to be a playroom, also done in an aquatic theme. And while pains had been taken to make the place welcoming for older kids, a few surfer posters hanging around the room, it was obvious the space had been furnished with smaller children in mind. The tiny chairs and the toys were a dead giveaway.

Along the far side—in chairs suitable for adults, thank fuck—sat Patrick and four other teenagers, staring at Memphis. The feeling of inadequacy hit hard all over again, and Memphis barely heard as Lana introduced each one.

When she sent Memphis a brilliant smile, he reined in his thoughts.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Mr. Haines,” she said.