24
Neil spent his days listening to Alain talk, and his evenings listening to Isaac and Alain talk, and the nights listening to his brain.
He was exhausted down to his bones.
Still, it was better than listening to himself twenty-four seven, so he wasn’t going to bitch.
Much.
They sat at the table, and Alain and Isaac were chatting about something—possibly their days or the weather or even baseball. The World Series was either going on or close. He wasn’t paying attention. He was letting the words pour over him.
Isaac picked up his tea. “Maybe the beach. Somewhere warm and private? It’s going to be cold soon.”
“I do like warm weather, me.”
“Thanksgiving in Mexico? Christmas in the Caribbean? What do you think, boy?” Isaac looked at him. “Are you ready to travel?”
Travel? He wasn’t sure he could handle an airport, running for a plane, the pressure on his hip. Dealing with being in another country. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask Mitch.”
“Do that. We could go any time, maybe in a month or two, when you’re feeling like some new scenery. See what he thinks.”
That was oddly normal, talking about a vacation. Nothing was normal right now. He wasn’t sure anything would be normal again, let alone a month from now. He had shit to deal with.
“Oh, Brandon and Peter invited us to dinner. They said over the weekend. What do you think, Alain? You want a night off from cooking?”
“Surely. I love them both dearly. Did they say what all we should bring?”
Oh, excellent. They both could go to supper, and he could doze off early.
“No, but I can’t imagine you’d show up empty-handed.” Isaac turned to him. “Brandon has an elevator he uses for his chair, he said we should park around back and just text and one of them would bring it down to us.”
“I think y’all should go. I’m not feeling social right yet.” And he didn’t want to be all in touch with his feelings and shit.
Isaac didn’t seem to hear him. “You’ll be all right. We don’t have to stay late, but it was a kind invitation, and Brandon has been good to us.”
He rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going. Isaac and Alain would be fine. Fine, dammit.
“You have something to say, boy?” Isaac arched an eyebrow at him.
“Nope.” Neil wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t going. Isaac could go with Alain. He’d make his apologies to Brandon and Peter. Brandon would understand.
Isaac slid his chair back. “Take your T-shirt off.”
“What?” His…what?
“Take it off. Alain, help him if he needs it. I’ll be right back.” Isaac left the room at a good pace, heels clacking on the hardwood floor.
He glanced at Alain, who shrugged. “I don’t know, Chou.”
“Me either, but it’s an easy ask.” And he wasn’t going to fight Isaac for something simple. He stripped off his shirt. “I liked the dirty rice today, Kitten. Thank you.”
“Comfort food.” Alain winked at him.
Isaac strode back in and came right to him. “Breathe.” He pinched a nipple between his fingers and rolled it, giving it a little pull.
Neil frowned, breathed, and shifted in his chair, all at the same time. “Guapo?”
“You’re stuck in your goddamn head again.” With a swift move, Isaac stuck a clamp on his nipple, then rolled his other between warm fingers. “Breathe. These are the light ones. I can get out the big guns if these don’t help.”