Chapter Six

The enlightenment/empowerment/enrichment retreat is not the first one Alex has been on and it's probably not the last, something everlasting about the newspaper wanting a bunch of strangely competitive introverts to bond over trust exercises and health food. Alex will be among the first to admit that it is incredibly relaxing breathing in the cold mountain air, and he makes a mental note to bring Elena up for a day or two once there's snow on the ground, but he's hardly disappointed by the time they're all packing up to head back home. He's had so much time to sit with so many things, three quiet days to reflect on his relationship with Cassidy and on her new relationship with Michael and how his relationship with Elena changes a little more each week, a natural shift encouraged by time and circumstance. And all of that has left him with a closer look at himself, a striking awareness of the man he"s always been, and the question of what he might want after twenty years of not knowing how to want anything that he didn't already have.

When they're gathering up their things in the afternoon, duffel bags stuffed and notebooks closed, his colleagues all confirm plans to meet up that night at a bar a few blocks from their office building. It"s a curious tradition established long ago, when someone decided their general desire for solitude had been overcome long enough to allow for one good night of drinking not permitted at the retreat itself. And as everyone else buzzes about the fun they"ve had in years past, Alex tries not to think too much about how easy it is to tell them he has somewhere else to be, or how badly he wants to be in that other place, away from all of them.

If his goal is really to make more friends, there's no denying he's doing a terrible job of it now.

And maybe it's not all that much of a surprise when Alex's editor, Steven Liao, pulls him aside to call him out as gently as possible. At the newspaper's sporadic charity events or holiday parties, Steven's been the one by Alex's side most often, their wives hitting it off a few years back, and while he and Steven have never really had a reason to spend time together anywhere else, Alex assumes it would go well. Just like he assumes he would've sat near Steven for a beer or two tonight, chatting easily about a dozen different things.

Instead, Steven raises an eyebrow. "Usually when we get blown off with a vague ‘somewhere else to be' excuse, I figure it's a way for you to spend the rest of the night at home alone. Tonight? Maybe not so much."

"Do I bail on you guys that often?"

"Since you and Cassidy separated, mostly," Steven says. "Everyone still doin' okay with that?"

Alex kicks at the side of their firepit. "Yes, but that isn't—I mean, we're not—I'm not blowing you off to see her tonight."

"Nah, wasn't really thinking you were."

"But you don't think I'm gonna be alone either."

"If you're worried that I'm gonna ask you to write about it, you can relax," Steven promises, careful even as he teases Alex. It's why Alex hasn't tried to run away, and why he doesn't look elsewhere when Steven goes on. "I don't need your story at all. But if it has anything to do with why you've been walking around lighter than I've ever seen you, like maybe you found something you didn't know you were missing, ditching us tonight is the right call."

Steven walks away then, like perhaps he wants to prove that Alex doesn't owe him an explanation, and Alex uses the next minute or two to will his heartbeat into something normal. He'd already made the decision about where to go tonight, but now Alex is wrapped in the why he's been trying to ignore for a few weeks, and it's only a car full of people waiting to drive back down the mountain that gets him moving again, daydreams and fears left to wait until he's closer to the beach.

After they've all carpooled back, Alex goes home just long enough to drop off his bag, folders full of scribbled notes, and a book gifted to him by a colleague he barely knows, and then he checks his phone one last time for anything important, everything else swiped away until they're tomorrow's problem. His reflection in the hallway mirror catches his eye, and he wonders if he should change his clothes first, his button up left untucked from his jeans, everything just a little rumpled, but he doesn't want to look like he's trying too hard, no matter how long that's been uncomfortably true. He runs his hands through his hair, for whatever good that does, then he locks up behind himself and makes the drive toward the beach, no rain slowing him down this time.

There are no women thanking him for holding the door this time either, and that can't possibly be a sign of anything, but Alex is relieved anyway, and happy to be alone when he looks up at the bar and then makes his way toward the same table he'd sat at before. Another bartender is working the far side of the room, and Elijah is in the middle of making a drink, but he's good at his job and quick to notice when someone new walks in and his eyes catch up when Alex is only halfway across the floor, his surprise obvious and his smile immediate.

Alex settles onto the stool and plays around with the menu even if he already knows what he wants, careful not to look up again until a beer slides onto the table, a familiar hand slow to leave the glass behind.

"Welcome back," Elijah says. "You smell like a campfire."

"Oh, god, I didn't even think about that. I mean, I swear I'm clean, but it was cold up there and we had lunch outside today and—shit, I should've—"

"Wasn't a complaint, Alex," Elijah interrupts.

"Okay, I—you're sure? I just dropped off my stuff and then came here and I wasn't—"

He trails off and sighs because it feels like small pieces of himself are falling everywhere only for him to trip over them, and maybe he should blame the mountain air for leaving him lightheaded, but he thinks it might have more to do with the man fully amused by him now.

"I'm very sure," Elijah insists, his eyes bright whether or not Alex is imagining the exact shade of blue. "What would you like for dinner?"

Alex takes a deep breath and orders, then lets Elijah get back to work while he distracts himself with aimless people-watching, his shoulder pressed against the dark wall while he drinks his beer and waits. He"s left alone there too long, or maybe it hasn"t been much time at all, but when Elijah returns with a plate in his hand, he studies Alex for a moment and cocks his head.

"Too much enlightenment this week?" he asks. "Or do you think you might find more answers at the bottom of that pint glass?"

Alex hums when he looks down to find half the beer gone already. "Sort of an accidental tradition when we get back. Three days of forced oversharing ends with a bunch of us getting drunk together and dragging ourselves into the office a few hours late the next morning."

He sets the glass down for the first time since picking it up, and he takes a bite of his burger, knowing all too well that Elijah's still a step ahead, two plus two solved before Alex had the equation fully out of his mouth.

"But you didn't go out with them tonight."

Alex swallows and takes another drink instead of making eye contact. "I did not."

"I'm glad," Elijah says, not waiting for a reaction to that before he turns and heads back to the bar.

It's like that for a while, Alex enjoying his dinner while Elijah works, the buzz at the bar steady but not all that busy on a chilly Wednesday night. They're able to talk plenty in between, and though they'd texted a few times over the past week, there's more they can catch up on now. When Alex is all done, everything left empty in front of him, Elijah brings him a second beer, an unspoken invitation to stay, and Alex nods and whispers his thanks before his voice gets a little stronger.

"Have you peeked at the books at all?"

Elijah's eyes narrow a touch, a smirk on his face. "No, why? Have you?"

"No, but I'm not the one who did it last time," Alex says, knocking into Elijah's shin with the toe of his shoe as he takes a sip. "I've been perfectly patient."

"Okay, yes, fine. I was kinda restless at the beginning, when we were trying to figure out what we were even looking at. But now, we—I think I know enough that I"m willing to wait and see."

"You're not curious?"

"I'm incredibly curious," Elijah huffs. "But not in a rush anymore."

"It's not gonna be easy for them—for Peter and E," Alex sighs. "And there's no way to know where it goes from here. I'm curious too, but it's scary—having no control over what happens next. I'm nervous about how much the story might hurt and how abruptly it might end."

"Had enough of that for a while?"

Alex scrapes something bittersweet from his tongue. "I have."

"But you still don't want to walk away from this."

It's not a question, but Alex answers anyway. "I wouldn't begin to know how."

Elijah's quiet for a while, and Alex thinks he'll probably have to go back and check on everyone at the bar soon, but a quick glance shows them both that there's not much to do, and Elijah doesn't seem to be in a hurry to worry about it. His finger draws an invisible line back and forth across the table and Alex gets mesmerized by the predictability of it, silently drinking and unprepared for Elijah to change the subject.

"It's still none of my business, and I know I told you to ignore me, but if you—" Elijah stops his drawing and reaches for Alex's coaster instead, tracing the edge until the continuous motion threatens to leave Alex under another spell. "What did Cassidy say to you when she first wanted to leave? You told me you were best friends all along, and maybe it had started to feel like that's all you were, and that she needed more or deserved more, but was there—" Elijah's gaze flickers higher just in time to meet Alex's there. "I really want to know what she said out loud."

Alex takes a much longer drink, and he's about to respond—he really, really is—but then three people walk in from outside and grab seats at the bar, and Elijah frowns.

"Go," Alex whispers.

It's as much for himself as it is for Elijah, encouraging someone to leave and knowing that this one will come back when he can. Still, Alex's throat is tight with everything he's screwed up so far and everything he might be about to screw up again. He's so fucking confused and the beer isn't helping, the things he wants coming into focus just as the rest of the world begins to blur, but Alex knows he was wrong about his feelings for Cassidy for years and he doesn't want to make that same mistake now.

He's terrified to get this all wrong, too.

Still, Elijah keeps leading him here, into conversations about Alex's past that only help make him sure he wants something different in the future. Simple words that lead to complicated thoughts, any actions wholly unfamiliar to Alex, and breathtaking if he doesn't fight the very idea of them away.

Elijah, whose forearms are pressed to the bar right now as he leans forward with a brilliant smile, one Alex has seen often, even though it's so much wider than the ones usually aimed at him. Less honest, too.

Elijah, who is gone for a while, maybe because of the three people who arrived or the two who are getting ready to leave or the food he runs from the kitchen or the drinks he's still serving, or maybe just because he needs this break too, no matter how willing he's been to bring them this far along.

Elijah, who finally, finally returns to Alex's table to find an empty glass and a silent, dark-eyed plea.

"I'm sorry," Elijah says, and Alex assumes he's referring to the fact that he has to wander off to work every now and then, but he doesn't ask that, unwilling to take too many chances at once.

"Will you pour me a shot?"

"You driving home tonight?"

"I don't have to," Alex tells him, and he pretends neither of them blinks. "Tequila?"

"Cheap shit with salt and a lime, or the good stuff without?"

"Without. The salt and lime are better when someone else is drinking with you."

Elijah chews on his lip, picks up the empty pint glass, and backs away, only turning his back on Alex when he has to. When he returns, he's holding three shots of clear tequila and another beer, the beer landing in the middle of the table, two of the shots set next to it, and the first one held in the air for Alex to pull from Elijah's grip.

"Brought a few just in case. You know, as long as you're not driving," Elijah says, stupidly slow when he licks at whatever must've spilled over the side of his hand.

Doing his best to ignore him, Alex downs the first shot of tequila without flinching and reaches for the next one. "Cheers."

"Careful," Elijah smiles.

Alex throws the second one down just as smoothly and presses the glass back into Elijah's waiting hand. "She told me she loved me, and that she knew I loved her, but that we'd both been lying to ourselves for too long, even if we hadn't meant for it to be that way."

"Lying how?"

"I asked her that," Alex says, pulling the beer closer and taking the longest possible sip while Elijah clings to the two empty shot glasses in his hand. The temptation of the third remains on the table between them. "She said she'd spent the past several years trying to convince herself that having a family with her best friend was enough."

"Mmmm," Elijah hums. "So, what was your lie?"

The question stings even when Alex knew it was coming, and he thinks back to that day Cass had stood in the middle of their bedroom, tears streaming down her face, and so gently accused him of something he hadn't been able to deny and has tried so hard to ignore ever since. And now he could easily keep it going by telling Elijah he'd only convinced himself of the same thing she had, but the look on Elijah's face suggests he already knows better, and Alex doesn't want to keep lying anyway.

"That I had ever loved her as anything more than a friend," he says, his voice threatening to break. "Or that it was possible I ever could have."

Elijah gives Alex time to distract himself with the beer, and he steps back just enough to give Alex some space too, but Alex doesn't want it, not with alcohol and honesty coursing through his veins, so thick and slow. He finishes the last shot instead, then uses his free hand to reach forward and curl a finger through one of Elijah's belt loops, tugging him closer, Elijah perfectly sober and moving easily in response, comfortable where he lands between Alex's legs.

"Careful," Elijah says again.

"Because people might see us?"

"Don't care about them," Elijah murmurs. "And I'm not the one who's still sitting in the dark."

"Just like they did."

"Maybe."

Alex nods, then feels the crease between his brows come and go. "That day at the café, when I said maybe I screwed up with Cassidy, you started to tell me something."

"I remember."

Even from where he's sitting on the high stool, Alex has to look up at Elijah, a flash of dizziness leaving him with a smile. It's funny because Alex has never considered himself to be all that small, at least as broad and tall as most people he knows, but Elijah has him beat and he's grateful for it without understanding why.

"Tell me about it now?"

Elijah's eyes fall closed, like maybe he's trying to heed his own warnings, and Alex thinks he might close his too if he weren't afraid the room could start to spin. Instead, he holds on to the belt loop, nowhere near brave enough to move his hand anywhere else, and he waits to see if Elijah will find somewhere better to be.

He doesn't.

"You said she left you, and that it wouldn't have happened if you'd done everything right."

"I remember," Alex echoes.

"And I guess I was just going to agree with what she had already said to you. The lie you just shared," Elijah sighs. "That maybe your biggest mistake was the one you made at the very beginning. Thinking you were ever going to love her the way you so desperately wanted to."

"Or that I was ever going to want her the way I so desperately would have loved to."

Elijah smiles, impressed. "That was rather poetic for someone a few drinks in."

"I"ve built my entire career around my ability to put words together," Alex says. "Every now and then, I can do it off the clock."

"Duly noted." He's gentle when he pries Alex's finger away and nods toward the beer that had found its way back to the table when neither of them was paying attention. "Finish your beer. I'm gonna go make sure everyone else is still good over there."

"Okay, can you bring me my check when you come back? I'll take care of that and get a ride home."

"No and no," Elijah says. "Dinner's on me, and I don't live far from here. We can come back and pick up your car in the morning before you go to work."

"What about the beer and tequila?"

"Dinner and drinks are on me, and I don't live far from here," he amends. "We can come back and pick up your car in the morning before you go to work."

"Elijah."

"Alex," Elijah bites back, nothing sharp about it. "I'm obviously not going to force you to come home with me, but I have a very comfortable couch and an old dog who will probably keep you company there."

"Oh, well, if Poe will be there—"

"Mmmm, works every time," Elijah quips.

They both grin, the easy happiness almost out of place as Elijah heads back to the bar and Alex picks up the glass again. He has no idea what the hell he's doing, and right now he's finding it very hard to care, watching as the crowd dwindles and a few stragglers laugh. Elijah starts cleaning and restocking while the other bartender takes care of a drink or two, and then he looks to be closing up his register before ducking into the back, Alex's third beer gone by the time Elijah reappears with keys and a hoodie in his hand.

"You can leave already?"

Elijah shrugs and picks up the empty glass. "We close soon anyway, and Tyler said he's got it. I'll probably just stay later tomorrow night."

"Because of me."

He shrugs again and gestures for Alex to head toward the door while he drops the pint glass at the bar and waves goodbye. They have a few blocks to walk, Elijah's truck in a nearby parking garage, but the cold air feels good when Alex is this unsteady, and he watches his breath get lost in the dark as Elijah untucks his shirt and pulls the hoodie over his head. The streets aren't totally empty, but it's late enough on a weeknight that the silence feels right, and neither one of them seems to be in a hurry to change that. The ride to Elijah's condo is as quick as he promised, and Alex follows him inside, Poe there to greet them both, as calmly friendly as he has been since the morning they met.

While Alex shuffles toward the sectional that takes up plenty of the cozy living room, the dog close behind, Elijah goes into the kitchen and brings back a bottle of water, pushing it into Alex's hand.

"Drink that. I'll be back with clothes and blankets and stuff."

Alex does as he's told, and when Elijah comes back with sweatpants, a t-shirt, a pillow, and a couple of blankets, the water gets set aside and his makeshift bed gets made. Poe is comfortably settled on the opposite end of the sofa, already fully adjusted to the new sleeping arrangements, and Alex goes to change in the bathroom, a splash of water on his face and his reflection in the mirror suggesting nothing is all that different—red eyes aside—even when he's afraid everything is.

He"s wrestling with his past and Alex doesn't want to have to fight it at all, doing what he can to make peace with everything when he opens the door just as Elijah comes out from his bedroom, his hoodie gone, and his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants instead. Elijah's untucked shirt is only partially unbuttoned, like maybe he changed his mind about it somewhere along the way, and because the hallway is too small or because they're standing too close, Alex doesn't think before he reaches for the hem, as though there's a chance that one point of contact can make the present important enough that memories of the past won't have to hurt.

"It was never bad—being with her. I didn't hate it or anything," Alex rasps, his eyes trained on where his fingers are curled around soft blue cotton. "I mean, being married to her was good and easy, but the rest—the physical intimacy—I never thought it was bad."

"It probably wasn't. But I think you're being a little unfair to yourself by trying to define any of it in those terms. Sex can be more than one thing at a time."

"It still wasn't enough for her."

"Among other things, no, it probably wasn't. But Alex, you—" Elijah trails off and takes a deep breath. "At some point, you're gonna have to be more honest and ask yourself if it was really enough for you. Whether good and easy and content and comfortable were ever going to be enough when you could let yourself have those things and so much more."

Elijah already has his back to the wall, but while there's nowhere for him to go when Alex slips that much closer, he doesn't push him away either. Alex lets go of Elijah's shirt only to play with one of the buttons instead. He feels a little like Elijah now, so eager to touch.

"Tell me what you think I could have. Tell me about more."

"Probably not a good time for that," Elijah says, his voice devastatingly low, and his mouth a hiccup away from Alex's ear.

"M'not that drunk," Alex argues.

"You're not that sober either."

"Maybe not."

"We can't do more than talk right now."

"I wouldn't know how anyway," he admits, and he finally looks up to meet darkness he didn't expect to find in Elijah's eyes. It's so new, this chance to see his own desire reflected in another man's gaze, and Alex isn't ready to walk away. "So, tell me everything. All the things I don't know."

It only takes a single step for Elijah to press Alex into the opposite wall, his hands out of his pockets now and nearly bruising against Alex's skin, just above where the waistband of Elijah's own sweatpants ride low on Alex's hips, their bodies kept carefully apart while their foreheads fall together.

"You can want to be with someone, not because it's soothing or feels nice, but because it sparks something blazing hot beneath your skin and makes you claw at the other person for relief. You can want to reach for them, not because it's part of a routine you memorized a while ago, but because every goosebump on their skin, every whimper or moan or gasp you pull from the back of their throat, will leave you aching with need."

Alex chokes on at least two of those sounds now, his fingers curling around Elijah's forearms. "Isn't that selfish?"

"You can be selfish sometimes," Elijah whispers. "I'm not worried about you knowing how to give, but I want you to know you're allowed to take, too. You need to learn how to take, Alex."

"From you?"

Elijah's breath is so fucking warm where it ghosts over Alex's mouth. "From me."

"Just not tonight."

"No, not tonight."

"But you—if you know how to do all of that—if you know how to feel all of those things and tell everyone they're allowed to feel them too—" Alex pauses, Elijah's hands searing where they hold him still. "Why have so many of your past relationships failed?"

It takes a long time for Elijah to answer, and for a while, Alex thinks maybe he's not going to. They both stay quiet while he lets go of Alex and backs away, gesturing for Alex to move into the living room and watching with his lip caught between his teeth while Alex gives into the pull of exhaustion, finally settling under the blankets. Elijah glances to where Poe is already asleep at the far end of the sectional, then back to Alex, and he sighs as he turns off the light.

"Because I've never had good and easy and content and comfortable before."