Page 102 of Something Like Hail

Noah laughed. “Do whatever makes you happy,and if you’re with the right person, he’ll be happy that you’rehappy.”

“Got it,” Felix said. “Areyou sure you don’t want to come inside? That would make mehappy.”

“I bet it would! Get somesleep. We’ll have time for happy things another night.”

He stayed longer anyway, asking aboutFelix’s day and able to describe most of his own, for once. Noahwas tempted to invite him to the fundraiser, knowing it would befun to have him around, but he didn’t want Felix getting mixed upin that world. Instead he kissed him goodbye and returned home,thoughts of Harold now distant enough that Noah fell asleep withoutthinking of him. Much.

Chapter Fourteen

Noah kept a careful eye on everyone in theballroom, and not just because it was part of his job. He hadalready unloaded two tray’s worth of champagne and was working on athird, stopping along the way to flirt or catch up with familiarfaces. Now he was especially glad he hadn’t brought Felix along.Many of the people here were clients of his. Not all, or even most,but enough that an awkward conversation might have ensued. He hadalready lost track of how many times people found excuses to touchhim. Probably more often than he realized, because his attentionwas often elsewhere, checking each face in the vicinity just toavoid one person.

So far he’d had three close encounters withHarold, near misses where he still managed to escape into thecrowd. He checked again, since he was currently pinned down by aguy who loved to talk politics, but thankfully, the area was clear.Then he did a double take. The person he had spotted wasn’t Harold,but he was equally as handsome. Maybe even more so. Familiar too,since Noah had seen photos, but they didn’t do him justice. TimWyman was striking, especially his eyes, which were a gray paleenough to appear silver. The dark hair only helped further thisillusion. As for his body, Tim filled out his tuxedo so nicely thatNoah could imagine the outfit was enjoying itself.

Most people would probably look at Tim withlust, but deep down, Noah still considered him the competition. Alltoo often he had listened to Ryan rave about how amazing Tim hadbeen, placing him on an impossibly high pedestal, although suchconversations usually ended with Ryan knocking him back downagain.

“I hopeyouregistered to vote,” said hisconversation partner.

“Of course,” Noah said,giving his best smile and hoping it was suggestive enough to changethe subject. It didn’t.

“Good. When you go to thepolling place, remember that more than one position is at stakehere. Choose your president, but also make sure the local seats arefilled by reputable candidates.”

Fine, great, but right now he was busyavoiding one person while trying to figure out what to do with theother. He had read the most recent batch of Ryan’s letters.Desperate was the best way of describing them. Ryan had guessed atthe reason why Noah no longer visited.

I swear I won’t mention Tim again. I wasbeing self-centered. As usual. I know I need to work on that, andwhile I still don’t think I’ll be able to move on until I’ve had achance to talk to him, I recognize that isn’t your burden to bear.Just come see me. We’ll talk about us instead.

That final plea was repeated in laterletters too.

Since I saw you last, I’ve only had onevisitor. My little sister, Felicia. My parents were with her, butthey waited in the car. I wasn’t surprised. It stung anyway.Felicia was writing a paper for school about prisons and thought Icould help. Later she admitted that she just wanted to visitbecause she doesn’t have many memories of me. Do you remember howmuch younger she is? I don’t know what she was expecting, but shewas terrified. Felicia was trembling when we first sat downtogether. That’s when I realized how she must see me. To her I’mjust a junkie and an attempted murderer. You know there’s more tome than that, right? I hope so because I need someone who has seenmy good side and who knows I’m capable of love. I hate to put thatburden on you, but there’s no one else. Please visit me again. Whenall people do is treat you like a criminal, you start to seeyourself that way. Please. Just one more visit.

Noah wasn’t heartless. He felt plenty guiltyabout turning his back on Ryan, and if not for his promise toMarcello, he would have gone. That would have meant a tedious driveand a trying conversation with his ex, but at least he still hadhis freedom. Noah could comfort himself with cookies or alcohol. Hecould go to a movie, see a comedy, and cheer himself up. Ryan couldonly sit in his cell and regret the past.

He was wrong too. Noah wasn’t his only hope.Another person knew that Ryan was capable of love. Tim had alsodated him, and like most romantic relationships, it must have begunwell. Ryan had certainly described it that way on manyoccasions.

He searched the crowds tofind Tim again. A shorter guy with brown hair was standing directlyin front of him and reaching for his face. Tim recoiled, but whenthe other man put on a patient expression—one that said he mightsoonlosepatience—Tim uncrossed his arms and gave in. The other guytouched his face, wiping away food or scratching at a flake ofskin, Noah didn’t know, but the display was cute. As was the wayTim ruffled the other guy’s hair, laughing when this got him introuble. He seemed nice. Nice enough to forgive the person who hadshot him? Noah wasn’t sure anyone was that kind.

“Ladies and gentlemen,”boomed Marcello’s voice from the front of the ballroom. “Seeing ashow we’re about to begin our charity auction, I’d like to ask myvolunteers to please join me here on stage.”

“I’m afraid that’s me,”Noah said, eager to excuse himself. He didn’t have anything againstpolitics, but his arm was killing him. He noticed a waiter slackingoff, handed him the tray, and went to the front of the room. Noahwas climbing the steps to the stage when he noticed who was infront of him. Harold. Of course! They were both in this auction,but at least they wouldn’t be able to speak. Once on the stage,Noah held back anyway, letting two other guys go ahead of him. Onlythen did he join the line, standing shoulder to shoulder whilefacing the audience.

“Now then,” Marcello wassaying. He stood behind a podium, auctioneer’s gavel in hand. “Dokeep in mind that this is for a good cause. Forget for a momentyour age, gender, or even your marital status. Neither rank norprofession matter here. Any of these beautiful men are yours forthe taking. Why stop at one? Have two or three! The highest bidderis guaranteed an evening of exquisite company, but first, a fewground rules for the bidding process. If you plan on participating,please step forward so—”

“Hey.”

The person to his left moved, trading placeswith someone else. He could already tell from the cologne who itwas because maybe, just maybe, Noah had gone shopping for it afterthey had parted ways, spraying it on his pillow for a few weeksbefore he decided to stop torturing himself. He had thrown away thecologne, but the scent and the memories associated with it hadnever faded from his mind.

“Hey yourself,” he replied,trying to sound casual and cool. He kept his attention forward,which was difficult because he knew Harold was only wearing abowtie from the waist up. Exactly like himself. He felt bare skintouch his, a shoulder pressing against his own, whether by accidentor design.

“How have you been?” Haroldasked.

“Great,” he repliedstiffly.

“I was hoping to run intoyou tonight. We should talk. I don’t like the way things endedbetween us.”

Noah didn’t respond. He tried to focus onwhat Marcello was saying. The first guy was up for grabs. Andgropes and fondles, more likely than not.

Harold didn’t seem to notice. “You’re stillmad. I get it. Can we talk anyway? At least let me explain.”

“You already did,” Noahsaid, “and I understood. There’s nothing left todiscuss.”