Looking for Trouble(31)
He rolled off Clay, who stood, then held his hand out. Dylan let Clay pull him to his feet, and they took a few steps, holding hands, until Clay stilled. “You aren’t stupid.” Dylan tried to pull away, but Clay’s grip on his hand tightened. “No, I’m not going to let you walk away from hearing this. You’re not stupid. I know you feel like you are, but you aren’t.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. Why was he doing that? Again, he was being so damn nice to him, saying things to him guys never took the time to say. All they wanted was his ass, and Dylan easily gave it to them. “I failed out of high school. I had to do my senior year twice, and I didn’t go to college.”
“So?” Clay asked. “College isn’t the standard of what makes a person smart or not. Hell, neither is how they did in high school. You’re not stupid, Trouble, even if you do learn differently. And your mom? Her leaving? That’s her loss, not yours. You deserved better.”
He leaned in and kissed Dylan’s forehead. Dylan closed his eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to form there. Goddamn it. Why was he almost crying?
“Come on.” Clay tugged on his hand, still holding it. Again, he took a few steps, but this time, he eventually let go.
Dylan missed the contact the moment he lost it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Clay
It had been a damn week and he still had Trouble’s taste on his tongue. He was sweet as sin. There were all sorts of reasons Clay shouldn’t have kissed him, that he should stop thinking about it—Mike being one of them. It didn’t matter that Mike wasn’t alive anymore. If he were, Clay knew he wouldn’t want him fucking his son. Even if he’d had a change of heart, which considering there was a letter, Clay was assuming he had. However, letting go of the past and being fine with your friend fucking your son were two very different things.
Especially when Clay struggled so hard to let go of the past himself. He still hadn’t let go of Gordon, and look how long it had been.
Dylan deserved better than that; he needed better than a forty-five-year-old guy who lived alone with his dog, didn’t go out much other than work, and who was emotionally distant.
Christ, what had happened to him?
It was me who died, C. Not you.
Clay groaned, frustrated at Gordon’s voice in his head. His dead ex had apparently taken Dylan’s side, wherever he was in the universe.
It didn’t matter what he wanted. Hell, it didn’t matter what the voices in his head told him either. The truth was, Dylan had broken his heart on their hike. He’d reminded Clay he’d had one.
In some ways, Dylan was similar to himself. He’d lost so damn much in his life, just as Clay had. He’d do anything to change how Dylan saw himself, but then he figured there were people who felt the same about him. Clay knew from experience it didn’t work that way.
So he’d tried to ignore the elephant in the room every time they were together—at breakfast and dinner; when they played with Dakota or watched TV at night; and the other day, when Dylan had forced him to play three games of Uno, for Christ’s sake. He hadn’t played that since he was a kid.
The last thing he needed was to cave to what he wanted…and fuck, did he crave a little bit of trouble.
Instead, he took Dylan to the ice-cream parlor they used to go to as kids. Dylan was surprised when Clay told him it was his dad’s first job. He’d told him it had been the grocery store, which was technically his second. The ice-cream parlor had only lasted two weekends, and then Mike skipped out to hang with him and April and got fired.
Dylan had gotten a kick out of that.
He also drove Dylan by the skating rink, which had been where Clay first saw how Mike looked at April and realized how he felt. The stroll down memory lane was both painful and…well, shit, maybe a little cathartic for Clay. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Mike in a long damn time. Even though those memories were twined with heartache—with losing Mike and April—Christ, what it had done to him to lose April—he thought maybe he needed this. If it hadn’t, he knew Dylan did, and that made it worth it.
Damned if a part of him didn’t want to make Dylan feel better, to give him things he lacked, to make him see himself for who he truly was. He wasn’t stupid or irresponsible, like Clay knew he thought he was. He was sweet, scarred, and lonely.
Which again, sounded awful close to himself for comfort—minus the sweet part.
It was probably time he stopped thinking about Dylan, wasn’t it? Especially considering Renée was on her way over with lunch, something they did together once a month. She knew him better than anyone alive did, and she’d hone in on Dylan right away.
Just then he heard the door to his tattoo studio open, his redheaded ex-wife making her way inside. “Wow. You rearranged. It looks great.”
“Thanks.”
She walked over, kissed his cheek, and then went straight to his office, where Clay could watch the door in case anyone came in. “I got pizza. Hope that’s okay.”
“Works for me.” He plucked the bag from her hand and pulled out two boxes with individual-sized pizzas while she took the drinks from the carrier. He washed his hands and joined her.
“So, anything new with you?” she asked.
Yes, yes, there is. I found out my childhood best friend passed away. He wrote me a letter I refuse to read. I almost had sex with his son, invited him to move in with me, kissed him a second time, and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Oh, and that makes me feel guilty not only because of Mike, but also because of Gordon. “Nope. Not really. How about you?”