Page 35 of Fire & Ice

With any luck, though, he’ll be able to at least speak to Tripp once he’s sober again, hopefully before work. Leander makes a mental note for when his brain is less fuzzy to come up with a more condensed version of the speech that he was going to give when he finally found the man in person. Something that will encourage Tripp tonothang up during Leander’s pressured attempt to blurt it out. In his physically and mentally exhausted state, nothing comes to mind, but perhaps with some rest.

Heartbroken and disappointed, Leander climbs into his Uber and returns home. Walking into his apartment, hislastremaining hopes are dashed when Tripp isn’t there, waiting for him inside. Numb, Leander strips to his boxers and climbs into bed, barely remembering to set an alarm before allowing the creeping darkness to pull him under.

***

There’s no answer on Tripp’s phone when Leander tries before heading into work. It rings this time, at least, and that’s an improvement over the “straight-to-voicemail” situation he was getting earlier. Or perhaps it isn’t, since that means Tripp has charged his phone, turned it back on, and is still ignoring Leander’s attempts at contact. If he previously thought that he couldn’t feel worse, he was wrong.

Unfortunately for Leander, his twenty-four-hour EMS shift continues fueling the dark cloud hanging over his head. Call after call after call keeps him busy, and then there’s the charting and the station chores, his Captain’s duties—all of it amounting to very little free time with which to do anything else. The few hours that he does manage to steal for himself are spent sleeping, urinating, or eating, and Leander’s never felt more like human needs are cursed.

At one point, he hears Station Fifteen go enroute to an automatic fire alarm at a warehouse downtown, not in Leander’s local. From the back of his rig (where he’s regretfully sitting and checking I.V. medication expiration dates), Leander cranks the volume dial on the radio and listens in. Gunnar’s unmistakable voice puts the squad responding and on scene, but the crew sent in to clear the building is led by someone else—Tripp.

It’s difficult not to breathe a sigh of relief at being presented with solid evidence that his friend is alive and well, but it also hurts. This is definitive proof that he’s being ignored, and Leander can’t quite figure out what to do with that. The ignited flame of desperation and adrenaline that pushed him to his limits on Saturday and well into Sunday has flickered and been extinguished, but now Leander can’t be entirely sure that forcing Tripp into a confrontation remains the right thing to do.

Surelyif Tripp had been dropping, he would have spun out by now. Since he hasn’t, Leander can only assume that the situation, while regretful, isn’t entirely emergent. While he’s loathe to make anymoreassumptions, he’s not positive what other choice Tripp has left him. Bereft, Leander spends every spare moment of his shift—when he’s not focused on patient care or another task requiring his full attention—wavering between the idea of showing up in person at Tripp’s station,or leaving him alone completely, providing time and space for Tripp to come to him.

That seemingly-impossible decision is made for him when a text message from Tripp arrives at 17:52, eight minutes before they both are set to go off-duty for the night.

Ding.

Tripp:sorry for blowing you off. Just need a little space. I’ll hit you up soon, cool?

ItpainsLeander to accept the neutral note, but at this point, he’s sent countless messages pleading with Tripp to hear him out. He’s asked for a mere five minutes of the man’s time, either on the phone or face-to-face, he’s been clear that he needs to apologize and that he feels he’s made a mistake, but the details beyond that aren’t appropriate to convey via text. The bottom line is that Tripp isn’t currently interested in hearing what he has to say, and it would be invasive and disrespectful to keep pushing.

Leander:My offer and request both stand. Use your key anytime you like or feel up to seeing me, I am always here for you. I care about you very much, Tripp.

It’s the best he can do, for now.

Tripp doesn’t call and he doesn’t use his key. Leander works the next two nights, twelve-hour shifts that stretch fromsix in the evening to six in the morning, and the reversal of his normal routine is jarring and frustrating. Those feelings are multiplied further by both his continuing worry about Tripp, and his own lack of an outlet to process and release them.

While he does honor Tripp’s request to leave him alone, Leander is weak, and he can’t help checking in on the older Truett via his brother, at least once. Beau doesn’t seem even moderately surprised by his message, but he’s evasive. All told, he doesn’t really give Leander a satisfying answer as to how Tripp is doing, which leaves him wishing he hadn’t contacted Beau at all.

Also, the text conversation that follows quickly turns to wedding favor options, which is basically the last thing on earth Leander wants to discuss, and something he doubts he’d have an opinion on, even if it was for his own wedding.

Tiny bottles of alcohol,he suggests, and apparently, that’s the sort of helpful feedback Beau is looking for. All Leander cares about is that it gets him out of any further interaction.

Early on Wednesday, Leander arrives home similarly blearily and burnt out, the same way he has the past three mornings prior.I’m getting too old for this,he tells himself, slumping defeatedly against the mirrored wall on the elevator ride up to his floor. He’s practically half-asleep, allowing his head to loll to the side and his eyes to drift closed for a blissful moment of peace.

Need to see about switching to dayshift permanently, he thinks.

When the elevator dings open, Leander yawns heavily before trudging over to his door. Small comforts, he now has a couple of days off with which to recover and regain his bearings. While he’s still holding out hope that Tripp will appear—even ifit’s only to hang out, get drunk, and watch trashy TV—Leander is so damn tired that a part of him feels relieved to be able to simply pass out for as long as he desires. He’sbone-tired, in every way a person can be worn-out, so much so that his brain is barely online enough to help his hands fit his key into the lock.

Which is why, when he stumbles into his apartment and locks the door behind him, kicking off his boots and wandering sluggishly into the living room, his reaction to the scene that’s awaiting his arrival is perhaps somewhat less than ideal.

There, in the middle of the hardwood floor, wedged between Leander’s wrought iron and glass coffee table and the wide, sliding doors leading out to the balcony, kneels Tripp. He’s naked, save for his collar and a gorgeous pair of matching green panties complete with satin bows and lace side panels that, atanyother time, Leander would be, frankly, unapologetically obsessed with getting to know on an intimate level.

Right now, the sight only brings him heartbreak and a near-blinding sense of exhaustion.

As Leander stands frozen, Tripp smirks down at the ground, his head only bowedjustenough to give the illusion of submission while his fingers twist restlessly into each other at the small of his back. If Leander wasn’t looking for it, he might not have noticed, but heis—he’s been waiting for days to see Tripp in person, to find out if his fears are justified.

They are. Tripp didn’t justdrop,he’s been dropping, he still is. His posture and the way he curls into himself but still leans unconsciously in his Dom’s direction, his fidgeting, his facial expressions—it’s all so obvious and horrifying, because Leanderdid this to him. If Tripp wasn’t someone he already knew inside and out, Leander wouldn’t be as confident in hisassessment of the situation, but this isn’tsome submissive.This isTripp,and Leander is first and foremost Tripp’s best friend.

Emotional drop.Leander has never seen it, never engaged with a sub who was prone to it, or suffered from anything similar during their time together. Emotional drops can last for days, weeks even, and the cure to the fall sure isn’t orange juice and a massage, though those things don’t hurt. Constant contact, strong boundaries and routines, reassurance from a trusted Dom—basically, everything Leander has failed to give and hasn’t been allowed to eventryto make up for these past few days is the solution.

Now, Tripp’s reaching out in the only manner he feels he can, which is surprising in a way that Leander knows it shouldn’t be. Of course, Tripp in a spiral would see his self-worth tied to being a sub. Of course, Tripp would think that the only way he could obtain the affection and validation he’s so desperately craving would be to submit, like this. And to be fair, he probably needs this end of things, too—God knows, Leander does.

Tripp needs something else first, though, and it’s time for Leander to give it to him, whether he likes it or not. Whether Leander has theenergyfor it or not. He owes Tripp so much more than that, but it’s a start.

“Get up,” Leander barks shortly. He strides over and makes it into Tripp’s space just as he’s straightening up, the faint but razor-sharp ghost of whiskey unmistakable on his friend’s breath. “You’ve been drinking,” he says flatly.

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