Page 60 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

“Zane, you’re having a nightmare,” Robin’s voice says.

I blink, at a loss. “Where am I?”

“On my bed. You fell asleep and you had a bad dream.”

“Damn.” I am indeed on his bed. I sit up and gaze at him with what must be a wild look. “How… how did I get here? Did I walk in my sleep?”

He smiles and turns to the side table, on which is a plate of cheese cubes, chorizo slices, and olives. “No, dummy. I carried you. Are you hungry?”

“Oh, damn. You really are strong.”

“Are you hungry?” he repeats, using a toothpick to pick up an olive.

“No, thanks.”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“From what? My dream, or our days in art school?” I’ve sobered up during my sleep, my thinking clear again.

He gives me a long look full of brotherly warmth.

I nod, images slowly coming back to me. “I dreamed about my kiddo. I saw him in the hospital, tied to machines with doxorubicin slowly dripping into his artery.” I pause to explain. “It’s called that because of its ruby-red color. It’s extremely toxic, it can damage the heart.” A new pause, as the images reappear before my eyes. “I dreamed that the machine started pumping faster and faster so my kid became all inflated and red-faced. I wondered when it would stop, whether he would burst like an overfilled water balloon or something. Then you woke me up.”

Silence.

I check Robin’s reaction. He’s livid, his green gaze wide and blurry. “Oh my God. Are you saying your son is undergoing chemotherapy?”

“He was. He passed.” I suck in a loud breath. Talking about him and reviving the trauma used to hurt like a mother, but the regular consumption of alcohol has helped to control my pain.

Correction. Sometimes, alcohol gives access to the pain, like an evil bastard sending a line down to the darkest enthralls of my soul to locate the most atrocious feelings for me there—raw despair, fear, anger, profound sadness—and then enhancing them to such an extent I scream and cry until I pass out from exhaustion. But most times, the numbing effect of the alcohol helps me stay afloat above the abyss. I know it’s there, the pain lurking right under the surface, but I’m swimming around happily unconscious.

I guess I must have put on some kind of face, for Robin’s eyes fill with tears. “My condolences,” he croaks. “It must’ve been awful.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right. I’ve learned to live with it.” I hate to have hurt him, I need to work on concealing my feelings better. One thing is how I am inside, another entirely is how it affects my surroundings.

A tear rolls down his cheek, tracing a lone wet line on his skin. “Was he Kathryn’s son?”

“Yep. That’s when our relationship went downhill. She couldn’t deal with it all. We ended up divorcing.”

He wipes his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re both in a better place now.” Wishing to change the subject, I ask, “What about you, and your love life?”

“Oh. Well.” He sniffs and studies his hands. “It’s not much to brag about. There was a time when I had the hots for a guy in school, but he was—”

“A guy?” It takes me a second to process the information. Wow, to think he’s into men is downright baffling. My curiosity is piqued to the highest possible level. Gone is the pain, the bad dream.

A nod. “Yeah, but he was busy being a popular rock dude playing the electric guitar and dating the most beautiful cheerleader, so my feelings toward him never led to anything. It was a difficult time for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I was envious of his girlfriend.” He sends me a direct look and seems to wait for a reaction.

“I can understand that,” I blurt out, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Her name was Kathryn.”

“Kathryn?” I blink several times. “What the hell are you telling me?”

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