Page 36 of Single Player

Matthew grinned. “Well, all right, then.” Good different? He’d take it.

---

Silas hadn’t been lying to Matthew; he felt invigorated and refreshed after their lazy couch sex. Sex hormones really were powerful. Of course, he knew all about that from his medical background, but had seldom experienced it himself. His short-lived relationships never made him feel like this, as if he wanted to open up to this other man and share his thoughts and feelings. He didn’t feel that way with anyone, but he liked Matthew, and was starting to enjoy being with him more than being alone. Whatever it meant, it was new and frightening and too much to handle on the emotional roller coaster he’d already faced today.

“You know, you don’t have to leave.” Matthew threw an arm around him affectionately. “You can stick around, we can play some games, and you can sleep here tonight. It’s up to you. I’ve got to work tomorrow, but you’re welcome to stay over.”

Silas was shaking his head before he’d even fully considered Matthew’s offer. “Stay here? No, I can’t do that. I need to be home. I can’t really relax if I’m not home.” He felt the panic rise in him again, and Matthew waved his hands in an “easy, easy” gesture.

“It’s okay. No worries.” Matthew smiled, his smile seeming tentative, and Silas felt bad that he’d had such a knee-jerk negative reaction to a logical offer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.” Silas sighed. He felt like he was watching himself from a distance. When he was with Matthew, he felt better, but that diminished shortly thereafter.

Matthew moved as if to speak, but then hesitated. Finally, he said, “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you should talk to someone. A professional. You’re clearly pretty upset, and I don’t think you should work through something like that on your own. Not that you couldn’t. Just that . . . you shouldn’t have to.”

Silas nodded, having already considered this. “I think I’m going to, yes. It’s not something I ever really looked into, but I don’t want to feel like this any longer.” He let his hands hang limp between his legs, resting forward with his forearms on his thighs. “There are resources through Wayscorp that I’m going to look into.”

“Good.” Matthew nodded encouragingly, patting his back. Coming from Matthew, such a gesture didn’t feel condescending. The attention made him want to stick around a bit longer, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. The emotional connection also had the odd side effect of making him feel even more naked and vulnerable.

Silas started to pull on the rest of his clothing. “I should go.” He got to his feet, finally tugging his socks back on, and looked around for the other things he’d brought. “So, Friday afternoon, then? We’ll go build the wheelchair? Is there anything we’ll need first?”

“Yeah, we’ll need to swing by Home Depot, get all this stuff.” Matthew was watching him get ready to go with undisguised concern in his eyes. “You sure you’re okay? I mean, are you okay to drive?”

Silas considered. He’d drunk a substantial amount of alcohol not very long ago, and while he felt fine, he might not be. He didn’t get inebriated often enough to know. “I’m actually not sure.” He rubbed his jaw. “I think so, but I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t risk it.”

“No, definitely not.” Matthew pulled on a T-shirt and stepped into some sandals. “I can drive you home. Tomorrow, I can pick you up to get your car, or you can take a cab over. Whatever.”

Silas thought about turning down the offer and taking a taxi home instead, but a little more time with Matthew would be nice. “Thanks.”

The drive home was quiet and soothing. Silas watched the lights of the city pass by as Matthew drove him back, thinking of his next steps. He felt calmer, knowing he had a few things to do. Tomorrow, he’d contact a psychiatrist from the Wayscorp employee resources directory, and then he’d look for freelancing jobs on craigslist. He would have to tell Dee what had happened, and maybe she would want to get together as well.

“Take the next right,” he directed, following up on the instructions he’d given Matthew so far. Matthew turned down his street, weaving down the stretch of bungalows visible in the dim light of streetlamps.

Matthew looked around as they drove. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

Silas nodded. “Yes, I really like it here. My place is this one down on the right. The one with the yellow mailbox.” He pointed, and Matthew pulled in the driveway and parked. For a moment, Silas didn’t get out, staring at the dark house. With no lights on, it seemed unbearably lonely, and he didn’t want to be alone. Without thinking it through, he asked, “Do you want to come in?”

Matthew hesitated, and Silas immediately regretted asking. He had been vulnerable enough for one evening. He’d been a drain on Matthew’s time and friendship. The man had responsibilities, and he had to go to work in the morning, whereas Silas had none of those things. “I’d like to, man, but the cat—” Matthew began, but Silas cut him off.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Silas waved his hand. “Never mind. Forget I asked. I’ll come pick up my car tomorrow, and then I’ll see you Friday.” He opened the door and started to climb out, but he was stopped by Matthew’s hand on his arm.

“Hey.” Matthew was looking at him with concern in his eyes. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

The concern seemed genuine, and Silas was afraid to read too much into that, but he liked feeling like someone cared. Maybe he wasn’t a drain on Matthew’s time. Maybe Matthew legitimately enjoyed his company. He wanted to hope so. “All right.”

Matthew leaned in for a kiss, and Silas met him in the middle willingly, returning his kiss, which felt like the dawn of something new and delicate between them. Matthew’s touch calmed him and made him feel like everything was going to be all right. After they said good night and he went into his house, after he watched Matthew drive away through the front window, he could still feel that kiss on his lips, warm and lingering and even somewhat hopeful.

Maybe he really could get through all this.

He was not going to be able to get through all this.

Sitting in front of his computer screen, Silas ran both hands through his hair in frustration. Stupid noncompete clause. He had just been sitting down to search for freelancing work when he remembered the contract he’d signed at Wayscorp five years ago and every year since, the contract that he’d read cover to cover each time since he always read contracts, the contract that said he could not seek alternate employment that used the same skills as his Wayscorp job. This clause applied to the term while he was employed there as well as for six months after he left the position. He had even logged into the employee resource database to scan that contract one last time, but his memory was infallible as usual.

Well, damn. He tried out the mild swear, which wasn’t nearly strong enough to describe his emotions. How was he supposed to find something to do in these few weeks if he wasn’t allowed to freelance in his field? That’s all he knew how to do. He’d been planning to find some sort of CAD-based job, or another small engineering task, which surely someone was looking for. Dismayed, he browsed the craigslist ads for Tampa and looked for something else that he might do for work.

Most of his options involved either teaching English overseas, some questionable scams paying him less than a penny a word to write blog content for an undisclosed website, and photographers looking for “models” that generally required him to take his clothes off. He suspected he wasn’t the target audience for those advertisements. When he closed that tab, the employee resources website from Wayscorp remained on the screen. He opened up the link for “Health Services,” and then, after a pause that surprised him, clicked on the link for “Mental Health Services.”

His own internal resistance to doing so was quite unexpected. He knew therapists were helpful for many people. He knew that anxiety and depression were serious. He also knew that he hadn’t been acting like himself lately—well, for quite a few months now—and that indicated more problems than just “stress.” Objectively, he could see that his parents’ philosophies weren’t healthy and had driven him into some fairly self-destructive habits. Intellectually, he knew he would be better off if he could strike a healthier work-life balance. Emotionally, though, he had a hard time shaking the feeling that he was betraying his parents’ memories. By talking to a therapist, was he basically telling his parents that they’d screwed him up somehow? The guilt swept over him all at once and intensely, leaving him breathless and emotional.