Chapter 14

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Chapter 14: Distance

He didn't call that week. I knew he wouldn't, but it left me gutted anyway. I went through the motions during the week in a daze, my mind only half engaged in what I was doing, the other half churning to thoroughly analyze every aspect of my relationship with H. I didn't stop even when I arrived Thursday afternoon for our weekly tryst. I undressed mechanically and dispassionately noted that we never varied at all from what had become our routine. As usual, H. arrived after me and took me hard and fast as soon as his clothes were off, with barely a "hello." He didn't even notice how detached I was throughout. Afterwards he pulled me to him to kiss and caress me, but it felt more like well-practiced choreography than genuine affection. Never in my life had I felt more like a rent boy he hired for a few hours' entertainment, minus the fee. Disgusted with myself, I rolled away and reached for my clothes, hastily putting them back on.

"Rick, what are you doing?"

I discounted the concern in his voice, presuming it was a reaction to the change in his plans for the afternoon, whatever they were. It wasn't as though he ever consulted me about such plans, or even communicated them to me. In the past he could always count on me to just go along with whatever he wanted, gratefully lapping up whatever bits of time and attention he chose to throw my way. After meeting Emmett, however, and giving him the advice that I had, I managed to scrape up just enough self-respect to refuse to play my part in the weekly H. show.

"You got what you wanted," I said bitterly. "Let's not waste more of your precious time pretending there's anything to these weekly sessions other than what we just did."

"Rick, what are you going on about?" he asked sharply, grabbing my arm to stop me from walking out. "What do you mean I got what I wanted?"

"What do you think I mean? You got to scratch your itch, the one your wife apparently can't reach for you. Now you can go home early and be the paragon husband and father you want everyone to think you are. We don't have to pretend anymore that anything but the sex matters."

"I got to scratch my itch? There were two of us in this bed, Rick, and no one forced you!' He somehow managed to look both angry and outraged at my suggestion.

"I suppose you're right about that, technically. But though you didn't rape me, H., you sure as hell fucked me. You didn't even notice that I hardly said or did anything," I spoke calmly, betraying none of my pent-up pain.

"We don't always talk when we make love," he protested without any hesitation or remorse.

"Correction, H., we don't talk when we fuck. We used to talk when we made love, or at least we talked before and after, but it's been so long you apparently forgot. Or maybe to you there's just no difference. I'd expect nothing else from a man who doesn't understand the importance of an anniversary."

"What, this again?" he grimaced. "Fuck, Rick, can't you just let it go? I already have to put up with one hormonal bitch at home. I don't need my male lover to turn into one too."

It might have hurt less if he had sucker punched me. At least that would have knocked me out or distracted me.

"And that's precisely why your male lover is leaving," I said coldly, trying to shake off his grip.

"You're just going to run, is that it?" he taunted as he held fast. "And make me out to be the bad guy?"

"And what do you consider yourself? A great guy who doesn't even try to understand how much your cancellation last weekend hurt me?" I paused, gathering my thoughts. "I've sacrificed a lot to be with you, and it's not like I get much in return. Anniversaries may be routine for other couples, normal couples who see each other every day, but they mean a lot to me. And you dismissing that, dismissing me, really makes me question if all the sacrifice has been worth it."

He sat on the bed and stared at me with anger in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw.

"That's a bloody cold thing to say," he finally hissed, letting go of my arm.

"Is it?" I sighed. "All my friends are telling me to leave you. They've been telling me to leave you for years. Not one of them understands why we're together. All this time I've been defending you, us, but I'm getting weary. And things between us have only been getting worse."

Wordlessly he turned away from me, so I couldn't see his face to read his expression. He said nothing, so I pressed on, feeling like an actor reciting a soliloquy instead of engaging in dialogue.

"Do you know, Saturday I went out to Molly's with the guys and I was close, really close, to finding a hot guy to take home with me? I came so close to being with another man on our anniversary because, damn it, I deserved to be with someone that night, and you took yourself out of the running. The only thing that stopped me was meeting one of Jasper's friends from America. Emmett was the first man to understand what I was going through, because his Emirati partner might have to go through with an arranged marriage, and then Emmett will be in the same position as I am. He didn't ask for my advice, but I gave him some anyway. Do you know what I said? I told him to run as fast as he could in the other direction. I wouldn't wish this life on my worst enemy."

H. turned back to me, his eyes narrowed in fury.

"You want to fuck other men? Maybe bring back that bloody Yank?" he snapped, obviously deaf to everything else I said. "You go ahead and do that if you never want me to touch you again. I will not share you with another. Do you understand?"

"I understand everything perfectly. It's always do as I say, not as I do, isn't it? What's good for the lord isn't good for the lover," I said bitterly as I turned to go.

"Rick? We're not done. Don't you bloody dare leave! You can't just start this and run away."

I paused in the doorway and turned back, watching him scramble to pull on his trousers. "I'm not the one who started it. I was just going to leave. You're the one that stopped me and asked questions. You shouldn't have done that if you didn't want to hear the answers. But I suppose it's good we did this. Had to happen sooner or later."

I walked out of the house ignoring his shouts of my name. I made my way back to the Tube as quickly as I could, short of breaking into a run. I was pretty sure H. wouldn't follow me, not in his state of undress, but I needed to put as much physical distance between us as I could.

I didn't go home. Like every other time after a confrontation with H., I needed to drink. Molly's was out, since I didn't want to run into anyone I knew, especially Dré, so I settled for the pub where I first met Kinkaid. I walked in with some trepidation, but one glance told me the coast was clear. No former lovers in sight. I drank three pints standing up at the bar, until the alcohol provided enough of a haze to make it safe to go home.

He didn't call or text or make any attempt to communicate that night or the next day, not even an anonymous token gift or note. I wondered what he was thinking, but I was too afraid that if I contacted him I would end up apologizing, something I was determined not to do. I dreaded the upcoming lonely weekend until my mother called on Friday. She and Dad flew back for a summer holiday and invited me to visit them in Bourton on the Water. She may have been surprised when I didn't offer any of my usual protests, but she didn't let on as we made the arrangements and I, for once, was absolutely thrilled to have an excuse to get out of London.

Seeing my parents usually made me feel better, and this was no exception. It was comforting hearing Mum fuss about how tired I looked, preparing my favorite meals and insisting that I go to bed early and sleep in. It was good to have grown up talks with Dad about politics and current events. It helped that the weather was pleasant, allowing us to go for long walks in the countryside and to enjoy a spot of tea on the river-facing patio of the Croft. The only downside was my inability to completely hide my melancholy. Mum and Dad didn't pressure me for details when I told them I was having problems with a man I'd been seeing, but I could tell they were both concerned.

"Will we ever get to meet him?" Mum asked the next time we were alone.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "It's rather complicated."

"You know we wouldn't judge, no matter who he is or what arrangement you have," she said, intuitive as ever.

"Even so, it's not something I can talk about right now," I resisted. It was bad enough all my friends knew about my situation. I didn't want my parents to know as well.

"I won't push you, Son, but I hope you know that all we want is for you to be happy. Of course we'd love for you to find someone to spend your life with, maybe have a family, if that's what's right for you both. But if that's not in the cards, if you prefer not to settle down, that's all right too. We just hate to see you so depressed, especially when we're so far away most of the time."

"Mum, I don't want you to worry about me. I'm all right, really. This past week has been a bit rougher than most, but I'm fine."

She didn't challenge me, but she didn't take me at my word either. I knew because I could see the worried looks passing between her and Dad when they thought I wasn't watching. Knowing that my pain was radiating out and impacting my parents was just another cross for me to bear. I kissed and hugged them good bye at the train station Sunday evening, but when my mother whispered that I needed to give myself permission to be happy, I couldn't meet her eyes.

I went to work Monday morning still without any communication from H. Just like the previous week, he clearly didn't think much of our argument or the fact that I walked out on him. No doubt he expected me to show up on Thursday as usual, pants down and ready for action. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to stay away, but that had always been easier said than done. I had no idea if I was strong enough to give him up.

I met Greg for lunch and he filled me in on what he learned over the weekend about Emmett's trip to the Emirates. Apparently Emmett’s partner's plan to reach an understanding with his arranged bride-to-be went drastically wrong and had the two men fleeing the country for their very lives. When I initially arched my brow at what I thought was Greg's hyperbole, he told me that one of Nasir's father's servants, the man who was driving Nasir's sister back home, was shot to death when the arranged bride's brothers mistook him for the gay groom.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed. "They just shot him? That's-"

"Barbaric, I know. And to add to the casualty count, the driver was actually secretly gay himself and left behind his partner, another family servant. Of course, it being the Emirates, the partner can't even properly mourn, because if anyone found out that he too was gay, they might kill him as well."

"Fuck," I repeated.

"Yeah," Greg agreed. "Makes you glad we're living here, doesn't it? We have our share of arseholes, but on the whole we're very, very lucky we can openly be ourselves, live together, raise families..."

For a while we just chewed our food in silence.

"But Emmett and Nasir are alright?" I confirmed.

"Physically they are, I guess. They're back in the States anyway."

"What about the arranged marriage?"

"Now that the cat's out of the bag about Nasir, the marriage is off. I guess Nasir's father ordered him to go back to the UAE and marry the girl anyway; to pretend that nothing happened and forget Emmett. Nasir refused. He chose Emmett over his family."

"Yeah," I nodded. "That's the right choice."

Neither one of us said it, but I knew we were both thinking it was a choice H. hadn't been willing to make.

The following day I met the guys after work at Molly's. Dré and Vince apparently already heard the story and we all drank a beer to our fallen gay brother who lost his life to protect our friends. Greg then focused on the young gay servant who was now alone in the Emirates, and I listened with astonishment as Viktor suggested we go retrieve him, as if he was a grain of desert sand that wouldn't be missed and could be internationally transported without any effort. But as ridiculous as the concept seemed at first, Viktor's conviction made us all take the idea seriously. Before we knew it, Greg was on the phone with Emmett and Nasir, Dré was committing to securing his father's aid in getting a visa to allow the kid to enter the UK, and I was on the phone with British Airways booking our flights to the United Arab Emirates. On some level I still thought we were crazy, but the anticipation of the adventure sent adrenaline coursing through my veins and snapped me out of my funk for the first time in over a week. As an added benefit, the trip would make it physically impossible for me to be in London on Thursday, which meant I could put off my decision about H. without having to resist the temptation to see him as usual.

Arranging for time off at work proved surprisingly easy, and the following afternoon I met Greg at Paddington Station to catch the Heathrow Express. We settled in and talked about Viktor, who had left that morning with his Arsenal teammates for training camp in Austria. Then Greg asked if H. knew about the trip and I paused momentarily, wondering if I should grab this opening to tell him what I'd been grappling with since I saw H. last. Tempting as it was, I decided to stay silent. It was no mystery that Greg would love for me to leave H., but since I hadn't completely figured out what I wanted to do, I didn't want to get his hopes up needlessly. It was easier to simply answer his question.

"H. has no idea. I'm not supposed to contact him, right, so how could I tell him? He can just wonder where I am, if he'll even notice I'm gone," I surprised myself with the last bit. Until that moment I hadn't even considered the possibility that H. might not show up at Grimmauld house either.

"He'll be furious when you see him next," Greg pointed out, oblivious to my thoughts.

"Fuck him. He made the rules, he can live with them," I said angrily. I knew if H. decided to skip our meeting, he most likely wouldn't let me know in advance. "Besides, I deserve a holiday and it's not like I'll ever take one with him. Hell, I can't even get a night in town with him on our anniversary. At least this way I can openly have a great time somewhere exotic." I shrugged and forced myself to smile.

"You know how sorry I am you can't be open in your relationship, Rick, and I'm very glad you're coming with us. As for H., it would serve him right to be frantic for once, wondering where you are and who you're with," Greg tried to be supportive. Unfortunately, the things he said resonated. After our last argument, I could easily see H. drawing the wrong conclusion from my absence, and no matter how angry I was with him, I didn't want him thinking I was with another man. Resigned, I pulled out my mobile and dialed his number.

"Are you mad, calling me at this hour? Ginny's in the bath, but she easily might have been here!" H. hissed at me angrily, not bothering with any preliminaries. I cringed and very nearly terminated the connection, then remembered the purpose of my call.

"Lovely to hear your voice too, H. You know I don't call without a good reason," I reminded him.

"What is it, then?" he sniped, unrepentant.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm on my way to the airport," I told him.

"The airport? Are you meeting someone?"

"Flying out, actually. Something came up and Greg, Dré, Vince and I have to dash off out of the country. I don't quite know when we'll be back," I gave him the bare minimum of information, enough so that he didn't have to wonder who I was with.

"What do you mean you don't know when you'll be back?" He demanded, his voice rising, though still quiet enough not to be overheard. "I mean to see you this week. I have it all arranged." As if remembering where he was, he lowered his voice again to a whisper. "One of my fake business trips. We'll meet at the house and be together all night. Don't mess this up, Rick."

"Don't mess this up!" I exclaimed. "Who messed it up last time? We were supposed to be together on our anniversary, H.! That really meant something to me. I mean it would have done," I knew I sounded like a broken record, even to my own ears, but I couldn't let it go.

"Oh, God, Rick. Must we go over this again? If I wanted to listen to womanly whining, I would just stay home with Ginny," he barked back. It was more of the same. He was never going to admit he'd been wrong, or even try to pacify me. It was like talking to a brick wall.

"Why don't you just do that, then!" I vented my own anger as I hung up and turned off the phone.

"I'm sorry, Rick," Greg offered his sympathies. I threw my head back and tried to calm down, wondering when I would finally learn my lesson. I looked over at my best friend, a man who'd stood by me through thick and thin, and regret briefly washed over me as I recognized that had we stayed together when we were younger, he would have been just as devoted to me as he was to Viktor. I swallowed the bile of jealousy, wishing I could find someone to connect with the way the two of them did.

"I should have snatched you up when I had the chance," I said wistfully.

"There was a time you easily could have done, mate, but that was a long time ago," he replied with a smile, but we both knew I wasn't serious. Greg was a good bloke, but he wasn't the right man for me any more than I was for him. He'd found his soul mate in Viktor. I wasn't sure I had any soul left, having sold it to the devil for a few illicit afternoons a year with my married lover.

We changed the subject and for the rest of the train ride talked about Viktor, his training camp, and the trip they were going to take with Helena to visit Viktor's family in Bulgaria when his training camp was over. At the airport, we met up with Dré and Victor at the check-in counter. Although there was no doubt he didn't share his father's political ideology, Dré also didn't refuse the advantages his father's position offered or keep quiet about his perceived superiority, instructing us in the advantages of Club class travel as if we were school children leaving London for the first time. It was tedious, but I didn't challenge him much this time, since for once his father's help was absolutely crucial to the success of our mission. I limited myself to some mild verbal sparring, focusing on my enjoyment of the amenities of the Galleries Lounge, where we were able to wait in based on our Club World tickets.

Before long, our flight boarded. I'd assigned our seats to make sure that Greg and I sat together, leaving Vince to humor Dré, as he always did. I'd long ago given up trying to understand why those two were together. Certainly only a man as patient as Vince could put up with Dré's attitude, but it was difficult to guess why he'd want to. At first I suspected he was a typical lower class social climber, sniffing after money and influence, but over time I saw that he only spent time with his lover's family and their social circle when it was absolutely necessary. He also never pretended to be more than he was and maintained his simple tastes in everything from food to clothing. In the end, the source of his affection for Dré would remain as great of a mystery as my friendship with the lanky, blond prat. I was simply forced to acknowledge that we both saw there was more to Dré than met the ear and eye. Vince's insight must simply have been deeper than mine.

The flight was pleasant enough. We ate and drank well and I had fun teasing Greg by pretending to be his partner. Apparently I went a little too far, because our cute flight attendant, Adam, caught on and propositioned me when I got up to go to the loo. For a split second I considered taking him up on his offer, still angry after my earlier argument with H., but then sanity prevailed as I recognized that the momentary pleasure wouldn't be worth the guilt I'd carry with me long after the hook up was over. I made sure to sound appropriately regretful when I turned Adam down and took my turn in the toilet without joining the mile high club.

Dré was his usual annoying self, rudely waking me and Greg prior to our arrival in Dubai. Once awake, however, I was glad for the ample time we had to eat breakfast and freshen up before we landed. At the airport we followed the locals in their native garb, feeling they knew where to go better than we did. We proceeded through passport control and went on to retrieve our checked luggage. Vince and I watched for the bags while Dré made himself predictably scarce and Greg called first Viktor and then Luna. When we had all the bags we breezed through customs and found a uniformed driver from the hotel holding a sign with my last name.

"Mr. Diggory, welcome to Dubai. My name is Jaan. This is all your party?" The driver asked when I approached him and introduced myself.

"This is us," I confirmed, looking back at my three friends.

"Right this way. The car is right at the curb," Jaan said, leading the way. Stepping out of the air conditioned comfort of the terminal was like entering a steel furnace. The heat was so intense it almost hurt to breathe.

"Bloody hell!" Dré exclaimed, shrugging out of his suit jacket.

"This is hot," Greg echoed as we followed Jaan to the parked white Lexus LX470. The driver started the car and turned up the air conditioning, motioning for us to get inside while he loaded the luggage. Dré and Vince climbed into the third row while Greg and I sat behind the driver, all of us squirming with discomfort which was only just easing as cooled air flooded the car interior. Jaan finished loading our luggage and got in behind the wheel. Before he pulled away from the curb, he handed each of us a cold wet towel and a chilled bottle of Evian.

"Wow. Thanks," Greg expressed all our gratitude.

"I'll say. This is service. Well done, Diggory," Dré piped in from the back. I rolled my eyes, but was nevertheless grateful that we were likely to be spared at least a few minutes of Dré's griping.

On the way to the hotel we saw the Burj al Khalifa, which Jaan informed us was the tallest building in the world. It was an architecturally stunning building, all the more so because of its location. I was going to suggest that we find a way to see it while in Dubai before I remembered that this wasn't really a pleasure trip.

In no time we pulled up in front of the hotel. Our reservations were in order and as soon as we checked in we were shown to two adjacent rooms on the top floor. I briefly remembered my earlier wish to have a little separation between ours and Dré's room, but it was too late to do anything about it. I reminded myself that having adjacent rooms would be more convenient and hoped the bloody wanker got all his practical jokes out of his system on the plane and didn't try to interfere with our sleep again.

Tired from a long day with too little rest, I was all too happy to lie down on one of the queen sized beds with the TV remote while Greg took the first turn in the shower. The hotel catered to international travelers and featured several English language channels besides the ubiquitous CNN International, but I found nothing on that captured my attention. I hit the power button and placed the remote on the bed beside me as I closed my eyes and allowed myself to think about why I was on this trip.

It wasn't that rescuing an Indian boy from his miserable situation wasn't a worthy cause, but unlike my parents, I'd never been one to champion worthy causes. I'd just barely met Emmett and never met his partner, and I felt no particular calling to fix a mess they created. As for the boy, there were many young gay lads in England who could have done with a helping hand from our group. It would have been easier and more efficient to have done something for one or more of them. But doing that wouldn't have gotten me out of London. It wouldn't have made it impossible for me to be at H.'s beck and call. It wouldn't have let me hide behind a seemingly noble task, too scared to make the hard decisions that everyone else knew had to be made. It was depressing, but I was in Dubai only because I was a selfish, weak coward.

"Wow, did that ever feel good!" Hearing Greg's voice made me open my eyes and look in the direction of the bathroom, from which he emerged completely nude. Greg and I were comfortable around each other naked, though I remembered well a time when that had not been the case. Given our tortured history, it was a bit of a miracle that after all these years we could be sharing a hotel room together, both of us paired off with other men, without giving it a second thought. At least he wasn't giving it a second thought. I sure as hell was, and a second look, too. Greg wasn't the best looking bloke, or the most fit, and while his cock was as thick as a post he could have done with an extra couple of inches in length, but despite all that I still remembered our time together fondly. Even as a teenager, he'd been a tender, considerate and attentive lover, and also my first. Until H. came along I never thought I'd want anyone else.

Reminiscent of this trip, back then it was just me and Greg and Dré and Vince, four boys united primarily by our sexual preferences. No one outside our group understood why boys who were superficially so different became such good friends, but in a boarding school where students typically formed different groups, no one questioned it either. When H. and I became a couple, the others just accepted him and four became five, with Greg the odd man out. He never complained, never said anything, just stayed my best mate through all my ups and downs with H. Then, after years of not so secretly pining for me he met Viktor, and he hadn't looked at me or any other man since. It stung a little at first, but it was just as well. I loved him enough to recognize that Viktor was the perfect man for him and worshiped him more than I ever would have been able or inclined to. Still, on occasion I played a mental game of "what if," and deep down I knew I'd been a fool to let Greg go. H. loved me, in his own way, but I would never be the most important person in his life the way I once was to Greg, and the way he and Viktor, or Dré and Vince were to each other.

"What are you waiting for, Rick? I'm telling you, the shower will make you feel like a new man. Get on with it so we can head out and find Nasir's family's place," Greg was at once encouraging and commanding, as if he sensed my need for a mental kick in the arse.

"Aye, aye, Captain," I gave him a mock salute as I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. I playfully punched his exposed gut as we passed and he in turn swatted me hard on the shoulder.

"Ouch," I complained, rubbing the injured area as I walked to the bathroom.

"Sorry, mate. Guess I'm too used to Vik. He'd have barely felt that," Greg explained, sounding genuinely contrite.

I turned to give him a dirty look, but then I winked to let him know all was well. He smiled back and the warm expression on his face lifted my spirits. Greg was a good man, and the fact that he was still my friend after all I'd put him through must have meant I had some redeeming value. Clinging to that thought, I turned on the taps and stepped under the cascade of water.

I was done with the shower and toweling off my hair when Greg shouted that he was going to talk to the concierge about rental car arrangements. I finished drying and stepped out into the room to retrieve weather appropriate board shorts and a white, light-weight cotton vest. It was entirely too hot in this country to wear anything more formal. Besides, we were supposed to look like Western tourists as part of our cover.

I made my way to the club level lounge, where Greg was still talking with the concierge while Dré sat at a nearby table, occasionally uttering suggestions that sounded like commands. Vince was at the complimentary snack area so I walked over to him.

"Don't you lot know it's hot here?" I said, noting that they were all wearing short sleeved tee shirts, Dré and Vince in black, no less. "You chaps have your camera?" I asked when my first question was ignored. Vince held up his backpack, into which he was stuffing some of the complimentary bags of pretzels and bottles of water. I took a bag of pretzels for myself and walked back towards Dré as Greg was signing the car rental agreements. Just before he stood up he remembered to arrange for a local pre-paid mobile phone.

"Shall we, men?" he asked when everything was done and he had tipped the concierge for her services. Wordlessly, we made our way to the elevator and out of the hotel.

"Blimey!" Dré exclaimed as we stepped out into the infernal heat. I glanced at my watch and did a quick mental calculation to determine it was not yet noon. As hot as it was now, it was bound to get hotter. I could almost feel all hydration evaporating from my body and quickly decided that this weather wasn't fit for man. My eyes met Vince's and I could tell he wholeheartedly agreed.

Greg gave one of the rental car tickets to the valet and the second to Vince, who would be our second driver. "Let's all go together in one car on this trip, right?" he suggested.

"A little reconnaissance? Get the lay of the land? Good thinking, Goyle," Dré voiced his wholly unnecessary approval.

I said nothing, just watched as a bronze colored Mercedes Benz E 350 stopped in front of us. Greg took the wheel and I sat in the front passenger seat while Dré and Vince took the back. Greg handed me his phone with Nasir's directions and I began to steer us towards the Al Qasimi estate. We retraced our earlier path towards the airport and then drove past it into the Emirate of Sharjah. We drove past some impressive residences and an awful lot of sand, occasionally commenting on an interesting sighting. Finally we reached our turnoff at Al Khan Road. On the corner stood an impressively large and ornate mosque that matched a picture sent over by Nasir.

"Nearly there, then," Greg commented as he made the left turn. My three friends continued talking about the mosque, comparing it to ones in England. I tuned them out, focusing on the next step in the directions.

"Around this corner and it should be just down at the end," I told Greg. Soon we were pulling up to the gates of the estate that matched another photo sent by Nasir.

"Nice place," Greg commented. "I'll go around the block so we don't look quite so suspicious."

I used the camera that hung around my neck to snap a few shots as we drove past, but there really wasn't much to see. It was the same as we drove past the second time, so we decided to go back to the hotel for lunch and take a second shot at surveillance later in the day.

"At least now we know how to get here," Greg reasoned, "so it wasn't a complete waste of time."

"Always the optimist, Goyle," Dré sneered. "I just hope there will be more action when we come back. Otherwise this trip will be as exciting as watching paint dry."

I ignored his complaining and took pictures of the mosque and later of an amusement park we could see from the road. I'd told people at work I was traveling on holiday to the Middle East and I was sure several would ask to see pictures, so I needed to have something to show them besides the front gates of the Al Qasimi estate. I amused myself by contemplating photoshopping H.'s images into some of the pictures. That was as close as I would ever get to having photos of him on holiday with me.

We decided to have lunch at the Fish Market restaurant in our hotel and were seated at a table with pleasant views of the creek.

"I think we should have dinner on the dhow," Dré said, pointing to a ship moored nearby.

"Oh, that would be all right," I said, excited at the prospect.

"I don't see why not," Greg said with a yawn. "Damn. I don't know about you lot, but I could do with forty winks. I'm knackered."

"That does sound good," Dré said suggestively as he and Vince exchanged knowing smiles. I tried very hard not to show how much their display of affection bothered me.

"To sleep, I mean, when I say winks," Greg said, shaking his head. "Now we know the lay of the land, we can take up our surveillance with both cars this afternoon."

We finished eating as we planned out the rest of our day, and then went up to our rooms, with Greg admonishing Vince and Dré to actually get some rest. All these implications served as a reminder that it had been a while since I got any relief, and I wasn't too surprised when I felt a stirring in my shorts. In the room I pulled off my vest and tossed it on the chair. Then I lay on the bed on my back and toed off my sandals, folding my hands behind my head. I glanced over at Greg, who had also stripped much of his clothing off before lying on his bed.

"Why are you bothering with underpants?" I asked curiously.

"I wouldn't do if Vik were here, but it's so bloody hot, my balls are sweating. Free balling, I take it?"

"Always," I untied the drawstring of my shorts and pulled open the Velcro flies. I slipped my hand down and took hold of my still soft cock. It had been a week since I'd last been with H., and I'd been too preoccupied to take care of my needs since then. Now, however, Dré and Vince's talk had me eager for a little self-help. Plus I figured a toss would help me fall asleep faster. "Mind if I have a wank?" I asked Greg, wanting to be courteous.

"Save it 'till later?" he asked, his tone apologetic. I was surprised and a little disappointed by his prudishness, but it wasn't worth a discussion.

"I suppose I can hold off," I conceded, briefly toying with and dismissing the idea of taking care of myself in the bathroom. The bed just fell too comfortable, and it wasn't as if anything was going to shrivel up and fall off for lack of attention. "Say, why is there an arrow on the ceiling?" I asked absently, my eyes already closing with fatigue.

"All hotels in the Middle East have them. It points toward Mecca," Greg's explanation drifted over.

"Ah, right," I managed to say with a slight nod before drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later Greg shook me awake to let me know it was time to get up and do our afternoon surveillance. I quickly dressed and soon the four of us were on our way back to the Emirate of Sharjah. This time we took two cars on the off chance that we got lucky and had someone to follow.

Nothing happened the first few times we drove by the Al Quasimi estate, but then Vince and Dré hit a jackpot and were nearby as an Aston Martin Rapide pulled in through the gates. We waited a while longer but saw no one else and decided to call it a day.

Back at the hotel I grabbed my laptop out of our room and met up with the other guys in the lounge. The concierge had procured a disposable mobile with a local number, so everything was in place. All that remained was to locate and contact our man. So far we hadn't had a lot of luck, but we all hoped the pictures Dré took at the estate would help us change that.

"Let's just see what we have here," I said as I inserted the data card from Dré's camera into my computer and clicked open the file. As usual, Vince scoped out the available cocktail hour refreshments and came back with four beers, which we all accepted gratefully. He immediately left to get some snacks, while Dré, Greg and I gathered around the laptop screen.

"Looks like you got some good shots, Dré," I tried to compliment.

"I do know how to use a camera, Diggory," Dré replied dryly. I should have known it would be a wasted effort to say anything nice to him before I even started.

"Is that car on the list?" Greg inquired, leaning in to look at the picture more closely.

"That's an Aston Martin," I said.

"And no, it's not," Dré completed the reply.

"A visitor?" Greg wondered.

"Dunno," I said as I scanned through the series of photos. "Oh, you got a good one of the driver. And that is a very cute Indian boy," I observed. The driver was indeed young, Indian and very attractive, despite the air of melancholy that you could see even in the photo taken through two car windows.

"Yes, he is rather cute. Wonder if that's him? Well," Greg said, pulling out his phone, "Emmett did say to call anytime. I hope they're up."

The phone rang a few times before we all heard someone answer with a shouted "Hello!" Greg cringed and quickly pulled the phone away from his ear. Only when he was sure that no other sound was forthcoming, did he bring the phone back to his face.

"Nasir, that you?"

This time the response was too muted for Dré and me to understand.

"Not entirely sure, mate," Greg said, tilting his chin at me. "E-mail those off to Emmett and Nasir. Rick is sending along some pictures we took today. I hope we didn't get you up, Nasir."

Obediently, I bent over the laptop and attached the pictures to an e-mail directed to Emmett and Nasir.

"Let me know when you have them so we can see the same thing at the same time," Greg told the man on the other end of the conversation. "We were rather hoping you could tell us," he added after about a minute. "The sixth or seventh picture is a good one of the driver. He fits your description of Ashok."

"That's definitely our boy." Greg relayed the confirmation he received to me and Dré. "Do we have a shot of whoever was in the back?"

"Of course," Dré said as he leaned forward to look at the thumbnails displayed in the screen. "That one," he pointed.

"Tenth one," I said as I opened the file for a larger display.

"Look at the tenth one, Nasir," Greg relayed. Then, after a pause, "Okay, we know for sure who we are looking for and another car to put on the list. We'll keep an eye and try to make contact someplace."

Vince joined us with a plate of snacks as Greg listened to Nasir speaking on the other end of the line. I took a swig of my beer and dipped a piece of bread in some hummus.

"Nasir, we've done one better," Greg said as he handed me a piece of paper with the number for the mobile phone he got from the concierge. "E-mail this off to Nasir too," he instructed as he explained to Nasir what I was sending.

Greg continued his conversation with the exiled Emirati, who not a minute later e-mailed me his mobile number. Shortly thereafter the new mobile in Greg's hand rang.

"That's got it," Greg replied into the new phone after picking up the call, then promptly terminated the connection and slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nasir, hopefully the next time we speak, it will be to tell you to call Ashok," he spoke into his own mobile. "Cheers, Nasir. Big hug to Emmett, right?" he said as he finished his call.

"So everything is ready. Now all we have to do is make contact with the boy," Dré summarized.

"Nasir suggested we follow him when he drives the woman, who, by the way, is Nasir's sister in law. Once he drops her off we should have a little time to get to him as he waits for her to be done with her errand."

"But how do we make sure we see them leave the estate?" Dré questioned. "Even with two cars, we can't very well switch off parking ourselves in front of the gate in that neighborhood."

"Now that we know which car we're looking for, we may not need to stay so close to the compound. Maybe we can park and wait closer to the Mosque? Would that be less suspicious?" Greg wondered.

"We can have one car waiting at the mosque and the other closer to the compound. We'll switch off following them," I summarized. "We'd best get an early start too, so we don't miss them."

Dré grimaced at my suggestion. "I had hoped to have a bit of a lie in tomorrow," he complained.

"You can, if you relish spending more time in this bloody heat. The sooner we make contact with the kid the sooner we can go home," I reminded.

"Rick has a point, Duck," Vince stated between bites. Dré sighed with a roll of his eyes, but stopped complaining.

"We can always take turns napping in the car as we wait," Greg offered, "as long as there's one man awake at all times in each car."

"It's a good thing fuel is so cheap here. We'll need to keep the cars and air conditioning running as we wait," I noted.

"Too right," Dré agreed. "It was easily 40 degrees in the shade today. We would have had to come to the desert in the middle of summer."

"Well," Greg said, "shall we change for dinner? I had the concierge make reservations on the dhow, and I think it sails soon."

"I suppose we need to look slightly more civilized for the evening meal," Dré conceded. "Knock on our door when you're ready to leave."

He and Vince rose and walked down the hall to their room. "You go on," I told Greg. "I'll be right there. I just want to shut down."

Greg nodded and followed Vince and Dré. I began to click closed the myriad of windows I had opened as we were viewing the pictures and talking to Nasir. I paused when I saw the photo of the boy. Despite the sadness in his face, he really was beautiful. He had deep, dark, soulful eyes and a face with young and delicate, almost feminine features. I could see in his expression that he was mourning his partner, but I knew when we brought him to London he'd have his pick of eligible men whenever he was ready to start dating again. In fact, men would probably be all over him even before he was ready. I frowned when I realized that bothered me. No matter how restrictive his environment was right now, it served as protection for him as well. In London, he would no longer be sheltered behind walls of a compound, and he'd be vulnerable to men who thrived on taking advantage of sweet innocents like him. My friends and I would have to make sure he was protected, so that this escape didn't lead to an even worse fate for him abroad.

With a shake of my head I closed the window and shut down the computer. It wasn't often that I felt this kind of protectiveness, and it had never happened before with a complete stranger. Unable to trace the source of my feelings, I chalked it up to a long and emotionally draining day as I made my way back to the room.

The concierge called us at ten to eight to let us know that dinner boarding was about to start. We were done changing so it was a simple matter of leaving our room and picking up Dré and Vince next door on the way to the dock just outside our hotel. Temperatures dropped with the disappearing sun and we chose to sit on the open upper deck of the ship, determined to enjoy the outdoors even though it meant a minor inconvenience of having to go below to fill up our plates at the two available buffets. We tried both the international and Arabic dishes, both with mixed results. Our favorites were the lamb and chicken kebabs, grilled to absolute perfection.

Dinner conversation was pleasant enough, especially after I drowned it in several glasses of beer. Between Greg and Dré spewing forth all their knowledge about Emirati culture and economy, it was almost like we were on some University sponsored cultural exchange trip. Vince and I had little to contribute, so he concentrated on eating and I let my eyes feast on the exotic sights around me, trying as hard as I could to ignore the emptiness I felt at not being able to share any of this with the man I loved.

"Who could have ever thought it would be so pleasant here at night?" Dré noted as we sipped our after dinner cocktails.

"It's very nice now the sun's gone down," I agreed.

"I can't believe how much it's cooled off," Greg added. I knew it would be at least another hour before we arrived back at the dock outside the hotel, and I couldn't take any more small talk about the weather or cultural discussions.

"Hey, there's a shisha lounge in the back. Who wants to go smoke a hookah with me?" I asked. Just like all the other kids at school, we'd all smoked when we were younger. Eventually, though, the thrill of sneaking a fag between classes wore off, even before we graduated. Since then I'd smoked a whole total of three, maybe four cigarettes. A hookah, however, was a whole other experience, one I was eager to try at least once, and what better time than whilst on holiday with my best mates?

"Jesus, Diggory, no wonder you're alone," Dré's sharp comment wiped the smile from my face. I knew he didn't mean for that to come across as cruel as it did, and on a different day I probably would have been better able to ignore him, but this time the barb struck the bull's eye. It wasn't as if I ever forgot that H. wasn't with me. Was it not enough that I had to constantly watch how happy he and Vince were together? Did Dré really have to take every opportunity to rub salt into my wounds? Even as the questions formed in my mind, I knew the answer. It was Dré, and that was reason enough for everything he did. Without bothering to respond verbally, I simply got up and walked back to the lounge alone.

There were a couple of groups I could have joined for a smoke when I walked into the lounge, but I was too upset to be sociable so I signaled to the attendant to set me up with my own water pipe. If the hookah worked anything like regular cigarettes, the smoking would at least mellow me out. Almost as soon as I sat down, however, Greg walked in and took the seat beside me.

"Fancy a smoke?" I asked.

"No, mate" Greg padded my thigh. "Never cared for the stuff. I just prefer the company in here."

I snorted, knowing that my mood would make me particularly lousy company, but Greg just sat back and watched as I took the mouthpiece from the attendant and inhaled so deeply it took all my muscle control not to break into a coughing fit.

"It's been a while," I expressed as I let out the single cough I couldn't hold back. "It's good, though. Different. You sure you won't try it?"

"Quite," Greg wrinkled his nose.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged and inhaled again. We looked over as a couple entered the lounge. They were both young and good looking and were clearly having a good time.

"Mind if we join you?" the woman asked as she approached our area.

"Please do," I said, trying to be friendly even though I might have preferred being left alone.

"This is so much fun, isn't it?" she said, tugging the man towards our seating area. "An exotic dinner on this curious ship and now this! We don't have anything like this in Columbus. That's where we're from: Columbus, Ohio. How about you two?" she bubbled happily.

"We're from London," Greg replied with a smile.

"London? How nice. Isn't that nice, Bill? I just love your accent! I'm Abby and this is my husband, Bill." The way she giggled when she said husband made me think that the wedding band on her finger matching the impressive engagement ring was still very new.

"We're here on our honeymoon," Abby confirmed as though she read my mind. "I told Bill I wanted to go somewhere none of our other friends have been, and this is what he came up with. Isn't he clever?" She looked up at her new husband adoringly as he bent his head to kiss her.

"Very clever," I agreed. Her effervescence was infectious, and I found myself smiling against all odds. "I'm Rick, and this is Greg. We're here on holiday with a couple of other friends."

"Oh, thank you," She told the attendant who had brought over mouth pieces for them. “What holiday?" she asked with a puzzled expression.

"I think he means a vacation, Honey," Bill supplied, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"Of course," Abby nodded as if she should have known. "So how do you do this, Rick?" she asked.

"Not much to it," I said and demonstrated. She tried to copy my actions but immediately began to cough.

"Oh, no," she laughed, placing a hand in front of her face. "This is just like the one time I tried smoking. I should have known I couldn't do this. It's a curious flavor though, isn't it? Not really like cigarettes. Go on, Bill, you try it."

Bill tried with greater success, and then Abby tried again, giggling. None of us could persuade Greg to smoke, but the four of us had plenty of laughs and by the time we were ready to disembark I felt almost back to normal. I'd let go of most of my resentment, but I still had nothing to say to Dré as Greg and I bid farewell to our new American friends and joined Dré and Vince for the walk back to the hotel. For his part, Dré looked fairly contrite and kept quiet as well.

Instead of going straight up to our rooms, we decided to stop in for a nightcap at the lobby bar. Greg and Dré sat at a table, while Vince and I went to get drinks. As the barman was pouring our beers, Vince squeezed my shoulder.

"Rick, we all love you and want you to be happy. Dré has a hard time expressing that sometimes," he said. I knew this was his way of keeping the peace. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd apologized for his partner, who never thought about others before he spoke his mind. It would have been easy, and maybe even somewhat satisfying, to shrug him off and stay pissed, but I would have been directing my anger at the wrong man.

"Forget it, Vince, mate," I said as I patted him on the back. It wasn't as though Dré was alone in his opinion. He was just the only one insensitive to actually voice it in front of me.

We brought the beers back to the table and drank in relative quiet. None of us had the energy for another round, especially with an early morning looming ahead of us, so when we finished our drinks we went upstairs. Once in our room, Greg and I stripped and brushed our teeth in the well-appointed bathroom before getting into our respective beds.

"I suppose you could have that wank now," Greg commented.

"Don't feel like it now," I said, pulling the sheet up to my waist before lifting and folding my arms under my head. After what happened on the dhow, wanking seemed too lonely and pathetic to contemplate. "Dré's tongue is sharp as ever."

"He didn't mean it the way it came out. You know how he is," Greg made excuses for our friend, just like Vincent did at the bar. No matter how much I wanted to, I didn't resent it. It was a pattern we'd all established years earlier. Dré said what was on his mind regardless of the consequences, and the rest of us either lived with the bruises or soothed the one who got bruised in the process.

"Thing is, he's right though," I mused. "I am pretty pathetic, if you think about it. Really, I'm envious as all hell. I so want what you have with Viktor, Greg. What Dré and Vince have."

It wasn't all that difficult to admit. They all knew it already.

"You can have, mate. Just not with H."

I could tell he hated telling me that, though it was the truth. But knowing the truth and accepting it were two different things.

"I want that with him," my voice caught and my eyes filled with tears. "I love him."

I sounded pitiful and I knew it. It was pointless to hope that H. would wake up one day to suddenly discover that I was his only reason for living, the way it sometimes seemed he was mine, and that he could not spend another day living the charade that was his life, throwing it all away in order to spend every available moment with me. It was pointless and pathetic and I wished more than anything I could stop, but he had ensnared me in his web and I had been powerless to do anything but wait with bated breath for the few hours he could spare me each week.

"I know you do," Greg spoke, his voice sounding as if he was off at a great distance even though he was just in the next bed. "And you very much deserve to be happy. But Rick, H. will never give you what you need. He just won't. It makes me very sad to say it, and even sadder to see it, and I am very, very sorry."

I knew he was sincere and I that he was right, but it was no use. He wasn't telling me anything I haven't told myself a thousand times. And yet as long as I had a part of H., no matter how small, I feared I wouldn't be able to ever let him go. He'd gotten a hold of my heart from our very first kiss, and I didn't know if I'd ever be free of him until he let me go.

"I know you all think I'm an idiot for being with him and putting up with all his crap, and you're probably right. No man in his right mind who has a shred of self-respect would do what I've done for the past four years. But as miserable as I am most of the time, I'd be even more miserable if I didn't have him at all. Maybe if I had known when we first met how it would all turn out, I could have walked away from him then. But it wasn't always like this, remember?"

"Rick, that was a lifetime ago. We were just boys. Everything seems better when you're young and you have no real responsibilities. And even then, it's not like the two of you were out and able to be together everywhere," Greg reminded.

"I know, but none of us were out then. We were all just trying to figure things out. Back then he was so sweet and loving. We'd spend hours talking about what it would be like at uni, when we could live together, come out and be ourselves, openly love each other the way we wanted to."

"Actions speak louder than words," Greg's tone was bitter. "The rest of us did exactly that, and yeah, it wasn't all champagne and roses, but we stuck together and we got through it and look at us now. Whilst he..."

I sighed. We'd had this discussion several times before and it was always the same. Greg didn't so much accuse as lay out the facts, while I defended H.'s actions even though I knew that they were indefensible. This time, though, something was different. I felt more restless and dissatisfied than I ever had before. I didn't know if it was being in this foreign country, or Dré's comment, or maybe the argument with H. on the way to the airport? Whatever the reason, my arguments, never particularly strong to begin with, were truly weak. I simply had no energy or inclination to justify H.'s behavior. And though usually it was Dré who moved in for the kill, this time Greg pushed further than he ever had before.

"What I don't understand, Rick, and why this is so hard for me and the other guys to accept, is that you tell us you love him and that he loves you back, and yet every time I hear him interacting with you he's civil at best, when he's not a complete arsehole. I see the way you are after you talk to him and how it eats you up. It's hard to watch, I tell you. A lot of things come to my mind when he does that, but love isn't one of them."

I flipped onto my side to face his bed. "I know he can be a real wanker sometimes, but it's not like Dré's any different and we put up with his shit, because we know underneath he is a good friend. It's the same with H. When we're alone, in bed, he usually goes back to the way he used to be, before Ginny and all that other crap, you know? It's just the two of us and he's tender and loving and everything else just disappears," I said wistfully, recalling different times H. held me in his arms or let me hold him. There weren't enough of those moments, especially lately, but I'd long ago built up a bank of memories that I could retreat into whenever I needed to remember why I devoted my life to loving a man who could only give me snippets of his time.

Greg turned to face me as well. "Yeah mate, all right. I believe you. I mean, I've never seen it, obviously, but I can see how he'd be all tender and loving in bed. Thing is, though, that's easy, isn't it? It's easy to be that way when you've just come and you don't have to think about anything serious and you know that all you have is maybe an hour at most and then you both go back to your regular lives. But is that love? That's romance, and I dunno, maybe that's some kind of love, but that's not what I'm talking about when I think of two men loving each other. Vik says he loves me and he acts like it, all the time. He always treats me well. And I do the same for him. Sometimes we argue, but even then he's never spoken to me the way I've heard H. speak to you. And for an even better example, take Vince and Dré. You're right, Dré can be a real bastard without even trying, but I don't remember him ever being like that with Vince. In fact, Vince is the only one I know who can put a stop to Dré's tirades with a look or a touch, because what he thinks matters to Dré. But H. ... All these years I've tried to stay out of it and not say anything because I know how much he means to you, but most of the time all we see is him hurting you. And I don't know about the others, but it hurts me to see him do that to you. And what hurts even more is how you change when he does it. You either curl up inside yourself or you lash out, not just at him, at everyone."

I closed my eyes, as if that would help me not to see the image of me Greg was painting with his words. I knew everything he said was accurate, but I wasn't able to face it.

"You don't understand," I said weakly, shaking my head.

"Too right. I don't understand. I tried, and I can't, so I need you to explain it to me. I mean, I get why you two can't be affectionate in public, why maybe he can't even be seen with you out in public. I might even be able to understand why he can't say anything sweet to you or compliment you where he might be overheard. But what I don't understand is why he can't be nice? Why does he have to be so mean? If he can't act like your lover, why can't he at least act like a good friend?"

I squeezed my eyes tighter and swallowed past the growing lump in my throat. I could hear the edge of anger in Greg's voice, and I was grateful for that. Anger was easier to tolerate than pity. The worst part was that I'd asked myself those questions time and time again over the years, but I was always too much of a coward to ask H. I didn't know what I would do if he ever told me I didn't deserve to be treated any better.

"I think he acts that way because he's angry. He's frustrated because he sees all of us living our lives openly, the way we always said we would, and I think he feels he can't do that. He has his family and job and all the responsibilities of his title, and he feels stuck. The only time he can really be himself is those few hours a week he's with me. The rest of the time he's a prisoner of his position and family and money. He can't risk coming out because of the scandal it would cause and of the blemish it would put on his family name, not to mention what it would do to Ginny and the kids. And sometimes he takes some of that anger out on me. I'm not saying it's right, but I love him, and if that's what he needs..."

"Bollocks!" Greg interrupted me. "I know H. thinks very highly of himself, but he's not freaking royalty. And hell, even the royals have faced scandals and gotten through them. If he's in a prison, it's a prison of his own making. He could have come out right along with the rest of us when we were younger. He could have taken his lumps just like we did for a while. You know as well as I do it wasn't so bad. I mean hell, look at Dré. His father's in politics. Dré's coming out might have really hurt his dad's career, and yet he did it anyway."

"I'm pretty sure Dré was trying to hurt his dad's career," I pointed out wryly.

"Okay, maybe, but his mother had to handle the bad press too. Dré still had the balls to do it, and to stay with Vince on top of it. You know his father must have been furious. I wouldn't be surprised if he threatened to disinherit Dré, and yet Dré did the right thing. And in the end, whatever else you want to say about his father, he did the right thing and stood by his son."

Greg was exaggerating. Dré's father didn't so much stand by his son as refused to condemn him. The two of them hardly exchanged a word for several months. Still, when the press realized that the story wasn't nearly as juicy as they expected it to be and the furor died down, Dré's dad put Vince in charge of maintenance of one of his multi-flat buildings on the Thames, and gave Dré and Vince the nicest flat to live in, rent free. It was a decent thing to do, even if Dré gave all the credit for it to his mother.

"My point is that no matter what version of reality H. has in his head, his coming out wouldn't have been nearly as big of a deal as he wants to make it. Maybe there would have been some bad press, but he still would have the money and the title. And if he came out now he'd even have a son to pass the title to. No, I don't buy this reason for his anger for a minute. You want to know why I think he's angry? I think he can't stand himself because he realizes he's a bloody coward. He can't handle the thought that someone will think he's anything less than the second coming. He knows he's a git and the anger he feels at himself he transfers onto you. And I'm sorry for saying this, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you the way he does, but H. doesn't love you. H. only ever loved one person and that's himself. In all the time you've been together, from the very beginning, I've watched him manipulate you and take advantage of you and over time it's only gotten worse and worse."

"Greg stop! You don't know what you're talking about. He's not like us. It's different for people in his station. He's had to carry that title around since his parents died in that crash when he was a baby. He's had so much expectation heaped onto him, it's a wonder he can stand upright. He has all these pressures . . ."

"Pressures? H. has pressures?" Greg was really angry now. "I'll tell you who has pressures. Any gay man living here, in the Emirates, where being gay is punishable with death. Look at Nasir. Shit, even if he was straight, just look at his life, being forced to marry some woman in a political or business arrangement without even being allowed to meet her. He never had a choice or a say in his life at all. And then he made a mistake of acknowledging that he is who he is, and meeting his soul mate, and the both of them nearly died trying to somehow shoehorn in their love for each other into the requirements of this crazy culture. And Pankaj did die. Did you forget why we're here? A man was murdered in cold blood because he was mistaken for another gay man. It's just a miracle that our friend isn't dead. And now we have to rescue the lover of the murdered man, because he can't even mourn properly, never mind ever think of finding someone else to share his life with. And H. has the balls to belly ache because his picture might be in the papers if someone were to find out he's gay? Please! With all the money he has he can afford to stay inside that Belgravia house of his and never give the paparazzi a chance to take his picture until they get bored and move on to some other hot story. No, sorry, mate. I can't sympathize with H. on this. The situation didn't make him a bastard. He just is one, and has always been. He's just using the situation as an excuse and it's worn clear through for me. The emperor has no clothes, Rick. Open your eyes and believe what you see instead of seeing what you're told to believe."

As Greg spoke, my eyes again filled with tears. I wanted to be angry with him, but everything he was saying was all too true. Nothing the British press could do to H. rivaled what could happen to a gay man here. And H. had resources to deal with the bad press. He'd lose nothing by coming out to be with me, except his family, which he claimed he wanted nothing to do with anyway. But saving face had always been more important to him than I had been. Greg had described the man I'd chosen to give my heart to perfectly. Yet, even forced to confront stark reality, I didn't want to imagine a life without him in it. The knowledge that I was a spineless glutton for punishment made my tears fall.

"Rick?" Greg sounded concerned. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, my voice thick with tears. I flipped over to the other side and pressed my face into the pillow to stem the tears.

"Fuck! Are you crying? I didn't mean to upset you this much. It's just I've been keeping mum on this for so long it all came rushing out, and being here, the reason why we're here, only made it worse."

I heard him stir and moments later felt him get in bed beside me, spooning up behind me to pull me into his arms, nearly climbing on top of me because of the way I was laying half on my stomach to hide my face in the pillow. If the situation had been anything other than what it was, I would have teased him mercilessly about how the moment I got him away from Viktor he was trying to get on my ass, but as it was I didn't even feel like talking, much less joking. Besides, Greg must have realized the awkwardness of our position because he rolled off me, pulling me up so I lay on my side again and he could fully pull me into his chest.

"Rick, it's all right. Come on, now. I'm sorry I was such a dick. I didn't mean to make you cry. Don't listen to me. I'm just tired, right? Shit, maybe it's heat stroke and I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. I'm sorry!"

He brought his hand up to my face and wiped my tears away with his thumb. Feeling the comfort of his arms around me, I finally managed to stop crying.

"I need to blow my nose," I said through my congestion.

"I think I saw tissues in the bathroom. Hold on."

He released me to go look for the tissues, returning a few moments later with the whole box. "Here you are, mate. And I brought you some water too," he explained, placing the box and glass on the night stand. He pulled out a tissue and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "Sorry for this." I blew my nose, and then reached for another tissue, which Greg had ready to go. I wiped at my eyes and blew my nose again.

"Didn't know you'd be sharing a room with a girl when you signed up for this, did you?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, but Vik will be happy to hear it," Greg quipped, and then knelt down by my bedside so we were eye to eye. "Seriously, Rick, I didn't mean to... Look, you're my best friend and I care about you, you know that. And I will support you, always, no matter what. It's just that when I look at you I this great guy: sexy, good looking, smart, with a great sense of humor. I see all that and I know there are so many men out there who would be thrilled to be with you, who would jump at the opportunity to be kind and loving to you. It kills me to watch you giving all that away to the one man who can't or won't appreciate it, and certainly will never love you the way you deserve. We're nearly 30, Rick, and not getting any younger. The thought of you spending the next few decades hoping for a few hours with H. every week just kills me, when you could have so much more with someone else. A full life, a family."

"Yeah," I admitted, reluctantly, and then took a swallow of water before I spoke again. "Thing is, though, I don't want anyone else. I tried that before, remember?"

Greg sighed. "We all had such hopes . . ."

"No need to tell me. Jasper was everything a sane man could ever want." Greg remained silent, not even prompting me for what we both knew I was going to say next. "But I'm not a sane man and he wasn't H."

"And Kinkaid?"

"His business was his first love, and you know it. I suppose that's different than H., but I don't think I can get past the way he lied to me and then chose his business over me. Vince and Vik would never do that to you or Dré, nor would you or Dré do that to them. I'm sick of being second priority, Greg, regardless if the first priority is work, reputation or someone else. But if my destiny is to be the second priority, then I'd rather be H.'s second priority," I said morosely.

"I do not for a moment believe that is your destiny, Rick," Greg objected.

"I wish I didn't believe it, but you know my track record. It's not like I haven't tried," I defended.

My best friend nodded and closed his eyes. Apparently giving up for the night, he stood.

"Will you be all right sleeping by yourself tonight? It'd be cozy, but if you need me I could..."

"Oh, yeah, Vik would love that! He'd rip my nuts off before I could get a word out to explain."

"He'd be all right," Greg said, though hesitantly enough for me to know he was only making the offer reluctantly.

"And so will I be, really. Besides, we never could sleep well together. You'd just keep me up all night with your fidgeting."

"I don't fidget," Greg said, offended, but then he laughed. "I may shift around a little, but suit yourself. You can always let me know if you change your mind." He leaned over me and pressed his lips to the corner of mine as he wrapped his arm around me in a hug. "I love you, Rick. I always have and I always will. Not the same way I used to, of course, but know that I only want the best for you and I'll always be here for you."

"I do know that, Greg. And the same goes for me. Thanks for this. I know you've kept quiet for a long time and you only told me what I already knew. You've given me a lot to think about."

He squeezed my shoulder and returned to his bed.

"Try to get some sleep, all right, mate? It may be a long day tomorrow. Good night."

"Good point," I acknowledged. "Good night. Do me a favor and keep that sheet over you in case you start dreaming about Viktor. I don't need a cum shower tonight."

"Shut up, wanker."

"Make me, tosser."

We both laughed and then the room got silent. Within a few minutes Greg's soft snores told me he was sleeping. I was not so lucky. My churning thoughts would not let me rest. For years I had been making the same excuses for my lover's behavior. For years my friends responded with eyerolls, refusals to look me in the eye, exasperated sighs or, in Dré's case, pointed insults. In all that time, however, no one ever outlined the flaws in my reasoning the way Greg just had. Maybe they felt it all went without saying, and they were probably right. I always knew my defense of H.'s behavior was thin. Yet hearing all my lover's flaws so starkly summarized, especially by my best friend, was unprecedented and shocking. The house of cards that was my love life had been hit by a tornado it could not withstand.

There was no denying that for years H. treated me like shit outside of bed. That was bad enough. The fact that everyone knew it was worse. And now even the bed wasn't sacred. I wouldn't and didn't let anyone else get away with treating me that way, yet when it came to H., I had about as much spine as a jellyfish. He knew it and used that knowledge to his full advantage. Even if I managed to stand up to him in the moment, he knew I'd always come back. He crooked his finger and I went running, like a fucking stray dog.

Over the years I had started believing the many excuses I'd made for him, but Greg forced me to see that the excuses were unacceptable. Why couldn't H. treat me decently, as he would another human being, a stranger? We had been school chums. Everyone knew it, even Ginny. Why couldn't a friend call him in the evening out of the blue or ask him out for a pint? Why couldn't he go to a friend's house for a card game or to watch a cricket match? Not every day or even every week, but surely once a month or so wouldn't raise anyone's suspicions. And even if we did have to keep up the ruse, why couldn't he be pleasant when we talked? Why did he always have to be so condescending and acerbic, his tongue sharper than any razor, cutting me to the bone?

I thought back to the last time I saw him. He hadn't even tried to contact me since then. If Greg hadn't said anything on our way to airport, H. wouldn't even know I was out of the country. He practically ripped me a new one for telling him, and then lambasted me for ruining plans he didn't bother to share with me, just assuming that I would be available. Why did he have to treat me like that? And why did I have so little self-respect that I just took it, again and again?

Through the wall I could clearly hear Vince and Dré making love. It was hard not to resent the fact that a prat like Dré had a devoted partner, while I only seemed to attract men who wanted someone to fuck when it was convenient for them. What I wanted, more than anything, was someone who looked at me the way Vince looked at Dré. Maybe if someone actually thought I was his sun, moon and stars I'd finally be able to overcome my obsession with H. Of course, I had no idea how to find that perfect man, if he even existed. But I surely would never find him as long as I was tethered to H.

Dawn came and I still hadn't slept a wink, my head filled with a beginning of a plan. Upon my return to London I was determined to confront H. about the way he treated me and demand that things change. I needed more that I was getting from him, and I was no longer willing to accept his unilateral dictates. I realized giving him an ultimatum might mean losing him again and I was terrified, but it was a risk I had to take.

If he called my bluff and left me, I'd be devastated, again. But it was better to live with that loss and devastation than to be the doormat he wanted. If I was meant to spend my life alone or drifting from one meaningless fuck to another, so be it. At least I'd be doing it on my terms.