Page 10 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Sorry to drop in like this. I wanted to call first, but I’m kind of shit at making phone calls, so I just made myself come here and wait instead,” Dean said, his hands clasped in front of him.

Dean looked as though he might deny it and then shrugged. “Dreams.”

Dean gave another shrug. “And other ones.”

Once again, Sloane wanted to ask what was in those dreams and what had caused them. However, he knew it wasn’t the right time, especially since Dean looked so vulnerable. The last thing Sloane wanted was to push Dean into another corner, forcing an emotional outburst Dean wasn’t ready for.

Again.

Sloane had never been very good at expressing himself, not with words anyway.

Whenever he tried, he stumbled over his words, sometimes making the situation even worse.

He’d never had that trouble with Dean, though.

No matter what, Sloane had always known what to say or do when it came to Dean.

To feel at an utter loss the way he did now, looking into Dean’s wary, aching expression, was new and awful.

Dean cleared his throat. “Look, I know...a lot of things were said the last time I was here. And if I could take it back, I would.”

Did Sloane want him to, though? Sloane wished Dean hadn’t kept everything to himself, hadn’t kept his hurt locked away where Sloane would never be able to help even the slightest. Wasn’t it better that Sloane knew now, even if the knowledge sat strangely in Sloane’s head?

It was so odd to think about it. Dean had wanted him. Dean had been in love with him.

Strange and a little intriguing.

“Dean,” Sloane began, not quite sure what he was going to say.

Dean shook his head. “Sloane, I’m sorry I dumped that on you, and I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“You had every right. I shouldn’t have pushed you and…” Sloane stopped, again at a loss.

Dean looked up, making a brave attempt at a smile. “See? I’m not sure what to do about this either. I want it to be better, but I don’t know how.”

They’d never had to deal with this sort of thing before.

Dean was no doubt aching over having spilled his secret the way he had, but Sloane could see it was more than that.

Neither of them had fought with the other.

Sure, there had been bickering, and they weren’t afraid to give each other hell, but they’d never outright fought.

But he couldn’t stand to see the pain on Dean’s face anymore and decided to go with the truth.

“I want my friend back,” Sloane said.

Dean looked up, nervous but nodding. “That’s what I want too.”

Sloane snorted softly. “Then be my friend again, Dean. If you’ve got the time, you could hang out here.

We can bullshit, watch shitty movies, and eat junk food.

Hell, I just got a fifth of some pretty good vodka.

We don’t have to talk about this shit, not until we’re ready.

But until then, let’s...just be friends again. ”

He wouldn’t have blamed Dean if the man had insisted on talking things out and settling things right away.

But Sloane wasn’t surprised to see relief spread over Dean’s face, and his shoulders lost some of their tension.

Dean had been prepared for anything Sloane was ready to throw at him, but he was also more than happy to take Sloane’s offer.

Dean looked up, smiling a little. “Vodka?”

“What? I like vodka.”

“You like beer and whiskey. I’m the one who likes vodka.”

Sloane shrugged. “Maybe I also bought a few things to go with it.”

Dean looked over at Sloane. “Did you buy stuff for my poor man’s peach martinis?”

Sloane sighed. “It sounded good, okay?”

“God, I’ve turned you onto fruity drinks? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t start. I’m allowed to enjoy a bit of fruit in my drinks,” Sloane growled.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. You swore up and down you’d never understand why I liked the damn things.”

“Until you cheated and gave me those things.”

Damn him. Dean knew how much Sloane obsessed over peach flavor.

Dean grinned. “And now you’ve been converted.”

“You want some or not?” Sloane asked with a snort.

“Fine, but I’m not doing it on an empty stomach. Since you got the booze, I’ll order some food, burgers?”

“Of fucking course.”

Dean grinned, pulling out his phone. “Then burgers it is.”

Sloane hesitated at the door. “I’m not getting any say in the movie, though, am I?”

Dean chuckled. “Not a chance.”

Sloane let out a pitiful sigh but walked away as though accepting his fate.

He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, glancing back one more time as Dean waited for the burger place to pick up.

After days of not having him around, it was a relief beyond anything Sloane had known to see Dean standing in his living room again.

He just wished Dean didn’t look so miserable when he thought Sloane wasn’t looking.

“I seriously get to pick the movie next time,” Sloane complained.

Dean snickered from his cocoon of blankets. “Hell no, this movie is great.”

“I can’t tell if this movie is about vampires or if it’s supposed to be sci-fi. What I do know is the acting is terrible.”

“The fight scenes, though.”

“Cheesy and over the top.”

“They’re amazing, right?”

Sloane knew he wasn’t going to win. When it came to horrible action movies, Dean would never be dissuaded.

His love of horror movies, gritty thrillers, and dark musicals was an odd combination.

Sloane was perfectly content to curl up and watch anything, a product of years of dealing with whatever his mother or sisters threw on the screen.

But if he were given a choice, he would have happily settled in with a nice crime drama or, hell, maybe even a cute animal film.

Dean took another drink, humming happily. “I’ve seen this movie so many times, and I still love it.”

Sloane’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen it?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve pretty much gone through every action movie with a badass bitch in existence.”

Sloane eyed the drink in Dean’s hand. “Badass bitch, huh? How many have you had?”

“As many as you’ve had,” Dean said, his half-lidded eyes triumphant.

If it was anyone else, Sloane might have had a smart comment, but not with Dean.

Although Dean couldn’t exactly keep up with Sloane when it came to drinking, he could put away a great deal of alcohol before he became well and truly drunk.

Then again, if Sloane was feeling the alcohol buzzing away heavily in his head, he knew Dean had to be even more gone.

“Did we finish it off yet?” Sloane asked, looking down at his empty glass.

“We did, but there’s beer,” Dean proclaimed happily, tipping the glass from side to side with each syllable.

Sloane chuckled. “Yeah, you’re drunk.”

Dean beamed, downing the rest of his drink. “And happy to be.”

Sloane wasn’t going to complain. The shadow that had hung around Dean’s face was long gone, replaced by a pleasant glow.

The alcohol had definitely helped, as Dean was always a happy drunk.

The night had been perfect. Neither of them had addressed the elephant in the room, content to ignore it while they spent time together as they always did.

Sloane pushed himself up, one hand coming out as he felt the room tilt slightly.

Chuckling, he made his way into the kitchen, humming as he opened the fridge and dug out a beer.

He contemplated grabbing one for Dean, but if Sloane was wobbling as he walked, he suspected Dean didn’t need anymore.

The thing was, if Dean had a drink in his hand, the man would keep drinking, but if he got drunk enough, he would forget about drinking so long as he wasn’t given any.

Maybe it was a bit of trickery, but Sloane thought it was the good kind that kept Dean from ending up with one hell of a hangover the next day.

When he entered the living room, Dean had flopped on his side, spread out along the couch. Sloane snorted, stopping at the end where he’d been sitting, now occupied by Dean’s head.

“Really?” Sloane asked.

Dean looked up, wide-eyed. “I’m comfy.”

Sloane rolled his eyes. “Lift your head, you lazy shit.”

Dean did as he was told, and Sloane returned to his spot.

Sloane watched as Dean laid his head on Sloane’s thigh, placing his hand above Sloane’s knee as he made himself comfortable.

He thought it was telling that Dean didn’t hesitate in the slightest at cuddling up close despite having told Sloane his secret.

The thought rippled through him, and Sloane took a deep drink of his beer.

He wondered just how much Dean had struggled at moments like this when he was curled up against Sloane, comfortable and affectionate.

Had Dean not given too much thought to his feelings in those moments, somehow separating what he felt from the happiness?

Or had he struggled the whole way through, wishing it was something more while knowing he would get nothing else?

Sloane frowned, struggling to make sense of the idea that Dean had been suffering the entire time they’d been friends.

Would Sloane have been able to do the same?

While he certainly respected boundaries and wasn’t exactly loose, he’d never been one to deny himself.

If there was someone he wanted, Sloane wasn’t shy about pursuing them, perfectly willing to accept the possibility of being shot down.

Would he have been able to do the same if he were in Dean’s shoes?

“You have to admire the choreography,” Dean said, eyes riveted on the screen.

Sloane snorted. “I admire the fact that you can say choreography without slurring like an idiot.”

Dean’s fingers squeezed his leg as he laughed. “Ass.”