Page 17 of Poolside

He tried not to panic, tried to keep his voice level. “We good, T?”

The look Tommy gave him made his insides melt. Tommy was a kind man, but it was rare to see his face soften so completely, to see the teasing and humor replaced with unguarded sincerity.

He didn’t know what to call the expression on his friend’s face, but he did know that his worries slipped away. The man who looked at him saw him, understood him, and still cared. That was crystal fucking clear.

Tommy reached out, tugging Chuck toward him and wrapping his arms tightly around him in a crushing hug. He let his head drop down to the spot where Tommy’s neck met his shoulder, taking a deep breath.

Chuck was taller, yeah, but there was a bulk to Tommy that made Chuck feel like he was the smaller one, the one being held and cradled against Tommy’s hard chest.

Tommy’s cologne surrounded him, the scent perfect in its familiarity. The hug lasted longer than Chuck was expecting, but eventually Tommy let him go and stepped back. Chuck’s skin ached, missing the pressure of Tommy’s body pressed against him.

Tommy’s mouth slid up into a grin. “So, dudes, huh?”

Laughter bubbled up from Chuck’s chest, and a surge of emotion had his eyes burning.

He nodded.

“For what it’s worth,” Tommy said quietly. “I’m here for you. Whatever comes up, whenever you need to talk, I’ll be here. I know that I probably won’t always get it, but I want to try.”

“Thanks, T.” Chuck stepped back, needing a little bit of space as the weight of the evening caught up with him. He needed to go home, gather the cats, and snuggle up on the couch.

Tommy must have sensed that Chuck was ready to go, because he gave him a smile and a wave, leaving him with a “Later, Chuck,” before turning away.

* * *

Chuck regretted agreeing to this.

But on the rare occasion when David and Tommy agreed on something, standing in their way was absolutely futile.

The Pride Tide was Chuck’s favorite of the local gay bars—the neon lights on the crowded, loud dance floor, frequent drag shows, and a sense of belonging settled over him every time he walked through the door. It was everything Chuck had needed during his years in the closet.

Chuck had pulled one of his nicer silk shirts from his closet—he knew the sky-blue made his eyes look good. The shirt with cut off denim shorts that hit mid-thigh and his old canvas Chuck Taylors were a pretty typical fit for him when he was going out. He’d painted his nails a deep blue-purple.

Maggie was working that night and Keaton had a case he was prepping for, so it was just David and Sage, Rebecca and Darius, and Tommy who were there with him. Chuck led them all through the high tables that crowded the bar area toward the big circle booth where Wade and Miguel were waiting for them.

Wade looked hot as hell in a tight black t-shirt that left his tattooed arms on display, and Miguel was dressed for a night out in a slinky silk dress with thin straps and what looked like gold glitter dusted across their collarbones and cheeks.

He turned to begin introductions and came face to face with Tommy’s open-mouthed expression of shock and awe. Confused, Chuck followed his gaze to Wade.

“Holy fuck,” Tommy said, still staring. “Holy fucking shit balls.”

Behind him, Chuck heard Wade mutter, “Well, this hasn’t happened for a while.”

“Uh,” Chuck started, glancing between the two men—Tommy still staring and Wade looking a little pink in the cheeks. “Do you guys know each other?”

“That’s Wade Johnson. Wade fucking Johnson.” Tommy looked around at all of them liketheywere the ones missing something obvious. “Forward for the Minnesota Wild? 90 points a season?”

“Minnesota Wild?” Darius asked, scratching at his shaved head. “Isn’t that hockey?”

“Yes!” Tommy extended a hand to Wade. “I’m Tommy. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, man. I was a huge fan.”

Wade returned the handshake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, low voice rumbling. “Can’t say I meet many hockey fans down here.”

“Wait, so were you a big deal kind of pro hockey player?” Miguel was looking over at Wade. “All you said was ‘I used to play pro hockey’ in your grumbly voice.”

Wade sighed. “Ididused to play pro hockey,” he muttered, like that explained it all.

“And you were a first round draft pick and one of the top scorers in the league,” Tommy added. “I still have one of your jerseys.”

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