Professional Distance (Thorne and Dash 1)

Thorne drained his bourbon, tossed some money on the bar, and walked out, alone. Was that how he would live the rest of his life? Alone? Maybe that was what he deserved.

***

Thorne came out to his parents at Thanksgiving, or as his mother saw it, he “ruined” Thanksgiving. From his perspective, it was one of the best family holidays ever.

The next day, Friday, he phoned Sheila and scheduled a companion for the night. He was going to conquer his obsession with Dash.

Lachlan, the dark-haired man who showed up at his door, was beautiful. Thorne invited him in for coffee, and they talked. He found out Lachlan was majoring in business, and they had a lovely discussion about management techniques. Then Thorne paid him, sent him on his way, and jacked off to memories of Dash, once in bed and once in the shower.

***

Two weeks after Thanksgiving, Thorne donned his tux and prepared to attend the Arts Council’s holiday party. Memories of Dash in the tux Thorne had bought assaulted him. He’d been gorgeous, perfect. And yet Thorne had forced him to pretend to be Thorne’s friend, not his lover. If he could do that over, if he could have Dash at his side now…

He slammed the mirrored door of his closet and turned away. He didn’t want to do this. The party was at the art museum, and he’d think of nothing but that final night with Dash. He couldn’t cancel though. Peggy had asked him to say a few words to the other donors. And Kathryn would be there. They’d been spending a lot more time together, and he’d managed to convince her to do some work for the membership committee. She would help him get through the night.

Thorne glanced at the clock. Time to go. When he got to the lobby, he remembered that he hadn’t checked his mail the night before. There was a card in his box. The envelope was red, making him think it was a holiday card, but it had no return address. He was about to stash it in his jacket pocket when something made him change his mind and open it. On the front was a picture of three camels crossing the desert, presumably carrying the three wise men. Inside, there was a holiday message, but he ignored it and read the words written in an angular scrawl. “End his dry spell before Susan or I kill him. He deserves a Merry Christmas.” It was signed Marc.

Thorne’s heart pounded so hard he feared he might keel over. There was no question who “he” was. Holy fuck! Marc was telling Thorne to go after Dash. But it had been less than a month since he’d seen Dash at the club, and Dash had said he couldn’t be around Thorne.

His eyes said something different.

No. Thorne was going to respect what he said. He tore the card and threw it in the trashcan by the lobby doors. The little pieces fluttered, some catching on the rim. Thorne immediately began to reconsider. Dry spell? Did that truly mean Dash hadn’t been with anyone else? He’d assumed Dash had taken someone home from the club the night they saw each other, that he’d been hooking up routinely. If he hadn’t, then was he hurting too? Could they heal each other?

***

Christmas piano music filled the reception hall with its tinkly joy. Smiling, glittering people moved around one another, talking animatedly. But Thorne sat by himself. He’d talked no more that evening than social obligation dictated. More than once he’d been asked if he was feeling okay. After dismissing Peggy’s concerns with a flippant answer about possibly coming down with something, he’d given his speech, hoping it didn’t sound as flat as he felt. Then he’d wandered the room, halfheartedly looking for Kathryn in the crowd. When he couldn’t locate her, he settled on a bench near the spot where he and Dash had stood after he’d punched the shit out of Collins; that had felt so good. The painting Dash had picked out had arrived a few days after he’d left, and it still sat in Thorne’s guest room, wrapped up, waiting.

I want him back.

The thought startled Thorne, not the sentiment—he’d wanted Dash back since the moment he’d walked out the door—but the fact that for the first time, he considered actually fighting for him.

Kathryn found him a few moments later. He patted the space beside him, and she sat. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. If you had to win Derek back, what would you do?”

“Win him back?”

Thorne’s mind was moving too fast to stop for a long explanation. “Just say, God forbid, something happened and you split up.”

“Are you finally ready to fight for Dash?”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“Hmm.” Kathryn pondered the question. “I’d recreate some important memory, like our first date or the trip we took on our tenth anniversary.”