Page 41 of Survival Game

Eric helped Kyle stand. His body shook but it wasn’t from fear alone. He felt ashamed and embarrassed, and was sure Eric would leave him now—because who’d want a man like him?

So indelible, his self-loathing mixed with the current panic, creating a miasma of dark emotions he thought would destroy him.

He let Eric guide him along the busy street, and when they reached his block of flats, it was Eric who led Kyle into the grumbling lift and to the front door of his home. It was Eric who reached into Kyle’s pocket and drew out the keys to unlock the door.

But it was Kyle who turned to Eric when they were safely inside, the door shut and locked, and quietly said, “Thank you for seeing me home. I appreciate it. You don’t have to stay with me. You can leave. I’d understand if you don’t want to come back.” Of course he would mind. He’d scream and cry at his own failure until he was drained and comatose.

Eric stared at him, face grim, eyes haunted. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay. And why the fuck wouldn’t I want to come back?”

The bedroom seemed like the right place to be right now, buried under the covers, so Kyle moved toward it, not answering. I just want to sleep and forget all this for a while. Maybe it’ll take this ache in my chest away.

“Kyle? Talk to me. Please.” Eric sounded wounded. He sighed sadly and turned to face Kyle, who had trouble meeting Eric’s gaze.

“You must think I’m pathetic. How can you not? I see a person that looks like someone from my past and I fall to pieces. What kind of man does that make me?” Eyes stinging, he walked toward his room. “I won’t think any less of you if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

“Kyle.” Eric’s tone was fierce. “I’m having trouble with all this.”

He laughed harshly. “That’s why I said you could leave.”

“No.” Eric appeared at his side but he made no attempt to touch him. “I meant I’m having trouble with you thinking I’m the sort of man who’d kick you to the kerb because you have some sort of PTSD. I thought you knew me better. I’m disappointed you would even consider I’d do something shitty like that.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He strode over to Kyle and gathered him into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. Get used to it. Because you and I—we need to seriously talk about things.”

Kyle stopped and let the fatigue wash over him like a veil. Hope flickered in his chest like a small candle. “Are you sure? I mean—”

Soft lips pressed against his and then lingered over his cheek. “I’m sure. You and I—we’re the same. I know exactly what you’re going through because I’ve been through it myself. But this isn’t about me right now. All I want you to know is that I understand. And I’m not leaving.”

Kyle let himself collapse against Eric’s broad chest as tears fell while he surrendered to Eric’s embrace. Before he knew it, he was undressed, bundled into bed and a duvet was drawn across his body.

“Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning.” Eric kissed Kyle’s forehead then brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I’m going to take the couch so I don’t disturb you. I’ll be around if you need me. I’ll leave some clean clothes on the dresser for you.”

“’Kay,” Kyle muttered, his body warm and languid under the covers. “Thanks, baby. For everything.”

The light went out and he fell into sleepy darkness.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Kyle watched the second hand move around the clock at the side of his bed and groaned softly. He’d been lying awake now for over an hour, summoning up the courage to get up. He thought he might be smiling like an idiot.

He’s still here.

He heard Eric moving around the kitchen and smelt coffee brewing, which was scented heaven. That alone should have him scrambling out of bed ready to face the day. But he needed another few minutes to gather his thoughts and plan what he was going to say when he faced Eric.

The sharp rap on the door made him jump.

“Hi, sleepy-bones. Get your lazy arse out of bed and come get your coffee. I know you’re awake. I heard you sighing like a woman out of some Victorian melodrama.”

Kyle bolted upright indignantly. “I so did not. I was thinking.”

There was a muffled, amused snort outside the door. “Yeah, well, stop thinking and come have some breakfast. I’m making your favourite.”

“You made me French toast?” Kyle swung his legs over the bed, a smile forming.

There was silence. “Oh, French toast is your favourite? I thought it was eggs over easy on rye bread.” Eric sounded a bit put out and Kyle chuckled, feeling better. “Anyway, you’ve got a few minutes to shower—the eggs are going now.”

Kyle showered in record time, slung on some sweatpants and a tee-shirt and left his room feeling decidedly better than when he’d gone in the night before. He found Eric in nothing but jeans, his chest bare, dishing out eggs onto already buttered toast.

God, he looks good enough to eat.

“This, ermm, all looks good.” Kyle waved at the small two-person dining table. The coffee pot was on the table, the mugs already filled. It was the picture of domesticity.