Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

Tate hadn’t removed his relationship status that was linked to my account. We were still listed as in a relationship.

“Are you in a relationship?” he asked me, briefly throwing me off. Had he read my mind?

“Uh, no. No, I’m not.” Fuck, that hurt to say. “My boyfriend and I broke up not that long ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were…”

I felt my forehead crease, and I eyed him. How new was he?

“I apologize.” He swallowed, visibly uncomfortable, and loosened his tie. “I’m…very off-kilter today. The world I’m leaving behind is nothing like the one I’m hoping to become part of.”

What, the gay world?

I snorted into my glass and took a generous swallow. My God, that drink was good. I was gonna have to look up the recipe and get the ingredients.

I loved the way alcohol loved me back too. It wrapped me in a warm blanket of indifference and numbness.

“Always easier when you have someone to guide you,” I said.

Franklin laughed softly. “That would’ve been a dream. But I don’t know where to begin.”

How about, go fucking ask Tate? Christ.

Was I missing something?

“Just to be clear,” I said, “what world are you leaving behind, and which one do you wanna join?”

He parted his lips to respond, only to quickly reach for his cocktail. Maybe he needed liquid courage. “I suppose it’s the real world I want to join—because the one I’m walking away from surely can’t feel more fake.”

Surely.

“I don’t want to see the interior of another country club for as long as I live,” he added. “I’m never picking up another goddamn golf club again.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. Poor rich dude had had enough of the elite.

“It feels good to say goddamn,” he muttered into his drink. “I am going to curse more.”

A chuckle escaped me. Who the fuck was this man?

“Can you imagine,” he started, “I’m forty-seven years old and actually blush when I think about certain profanities? Grown men aren’t supposed to be physically able to blush.”

I lifted a brow, and I had to wonder…

No.

I didn’t have to wonder a fucking thing.

The alcohol was clearly loving me a little too hard.

“What are you hoping to find in the real world?” I asked. “Aside from a more adult vocabulary.”

He flashed a quick little smile and adjusted the napkin on the bar top.

I took a swig and watched his fingers.

“Men,” he replied. Very bluntly. “Today was the first time I said out loud that I’m homosexual.” How about that. “The audience didn’t appreciate it,” he tacked on, to which I coughed a laugh. It made him smile. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but it feels okay.”

I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair.

You really like this guy, don’t you, Tate?

Jealousy burned within me, as did grief and hurt, and now…an ounce of understanding that could only come from the drinks. My first impression of Franklin wasn’t making it easy to wanna smash his face in. And Tate…had always had a soft spot for helping people. Franklin screamed help me.

“That feeling doesn’t really go away,” I drawled. “I’ve been out for over twenty-five years, and I’m still fumbling at times.”

His eyes sparked up with interest in the topic. “A friend unknowingly gave me the final nudge I needed to break free. Without him, I’d still be trapped in my own web of lies and denial.”

There was no doubt who he was referring to.

“Those friends are keepers,” I murmured.

He nodded firmly and glanced at his drink. “After four drinks at home, I had the brave idea of how I could repay him for everything he’s done. I was going to go to his former partner’s apartment and explain some misunderstandings that I believe I’ve caused.”

The fuck you say?

“But it was a sobering cab ride, and I didn’t get any farther than this bar,” he muttered.

I blinked. Was he serious? Because it felt like I was being pranked. He had to know who I was, at least.

“What kinds of misunderstandings?”

“That there’s—” He stopped abruptly and stared at me with his brow furrowed. “Am I not boring you?”

I shook my head and flagged down the bartender for new drinks. “No, this is kinda the deal when you meet a stranger in a bar. Either you unload everything that makes you miserable, or you end up screwing in a bathroom.”

“Oh. Either-or?”

Oh-ho!

I chuckled and wondered just how sobering that cab ride had been, because he didn’t strike me as bold enough to make a move.

“I can’t believe I said that.” He widened his eyes and finished his drink. “Please ignore me.”

I couldn’t very well do that now, could I? He was holding the answers to my biggest heartbreak.

We received new cocktails, and maybe to distance himself from his accidental flirt, he went back to the previous topic.

“I fear the partner in question believes there’s been infidelity involved,” he admitted.