Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

I walked to a bar down the street, idly wondering if I should get a new place. Solace was found at work, not at home. I got pissy as soon as I set foot in the hallway.

On the other hand, where the fuck would I go? Nepotism and the kindest uncle—and aunt—a man could ask for had given me that loft with a reasonable rent. I liked the neighborhood too. I had two or three stops on the Metro between my neighborhood in Arlington and DC on the other side of the river.

I’d have to think of something else.

Maybe I should go ahead and renovate. Just because I wasn’t with Tate anymore didn’t mean I couldn’t do shit on my own.

I entered the bar, already feeling a little bit better, and ordered a beer and two shots of cheap whiskey.

The previous owners had done a hell of a job of fixing up this place. They’d turned it into a British-style pub, which the new owners were working hard to ruin by inviting a New England interior design dump. The rustic wooden booths now had blue-and-white checkered tablecloths, the floorboards had been replaced by a navy carpet, and there were fishnets and fake seagulls on the ceiling.

I was gonna have to find a new bar soon.

Knowing that my orders were gonna keep coming, I planted my ass on a stool at the corner of the big bar, and I hauled out my phone for that extra kick in the teeth. Because going through photos of Tate and me was my latest hobby.

Stalking his new boyfriend just wasn’t enough for me.

Franklin hadn’t been there today, though. I’d waited for him and his daughter by the park, and nada.

The first time had been a fluke. I’d repaired an elevator near where Tate worked, and I’d driven by because I was a jealous, seething, bitter ex-boyfriend, and I’d spotted Tate and Lily in the schoolyard. With Franklin. Then, by accident, I’d followed Franklin and Lily.

I’d wanted to see how he lived. I knew he was loaded. He dressed like a CEO, looked like a CEO, and drove an expensive SUV. And he had a daughter in a private academy in the middle of Georgetown. Of course he was rich.

Instead, I’d followed them to a park with a duck pond.

I threw back a shot and grimaced. This counted as dinner.

The second followed before I settled in to nurse my beer and scroll through photos. All the way back to the beginning.

I wasn’t what one might call a selfie person, and almost every photo of Tate and me together, he had taken and sent to me. It didn’t mean I didn’t like taking pictures and collecting memories; I had hundreds of photos of him. I’d just preferred to take them when he wasn’t aware.

We’d been dating about a month in the first photo I had of us. Our casual hookups were turning into weekend sleepovers at that point, and he’d snapped off a photo of us in bed. He was kissing my cheek, and I barely had my eyes open. But my smile was there. A lazy, satisfied one.

Considering we’d met in a bar at a kink meetup, I’d known of his fetishes from the get. But it’d taken months for me to believe that he could be dominant. He’d been so fucking sweet and playful around me. Affectionate beyond words—to the point where I’d actually been uncomfortable in the beginning. Or unfamiliar was a better word. He’d caught me off guard—that was it. Because I hadn’t pushed him away or anything. The opposite. I remembered thinking back on my few previous relationships, deciding that Tate was definitely different.

He was open and comfortable. I’d been a bit…guarded, maybe.

I took a swig of my beer and scrolled to another couple photos.

Christ, did we really smile that much back then? Or was it just for the photos?

I knew the answer. We’d been so fucking happy. And careless. In retrospect, we should’ve taken our compatibility issues more seriously. Maybe we could’ve prepared each other somehow.

Then again, falling in love was something you did without protection.

It’d been an effortless step off a cliff. Terrifying, but effortless.

Old friends would laugh at me. Everyone had always known me as the temporary guy. A Navy brat who couldn’t commit. What was the point? I’d leave sooner rather than later. Then I’d followed in my pop’s footsteps and joined the Navy too, and it’d just been better to keep to myself and to cut strings before they could get too attached.

Then this goddamn boy had changed everything, and now I wasn’t going anywhere even though we were over. DC was my home. I wasn’t supervising other hydraulic technicians in the Navy anymore; I repaired and installed fucking elevators.

That sounded sour in my head. I liked my job. The money was…well, far better than in the Navy.