When Her "Death" Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel)

"Got a minute?" Darren asked, a thin thread of tension woven beneath the casual words.

"Plenty of minutes," Nathaniel answered, shrugging, though his friend could not see it.

"Then share a drink with me now," Darren said, half-plea, half-command.

Nathaniel glanced around the dormant house. Sitting alone promised nothing but more static thoughts, so he agreed without a second of negotiation.

He slid behind the wheel and guided the car toward Royale Club, tires whispering over empty morning streets.

Darren had already secured a velvet-walled private room.

Daylight usually left Royale Club hollow and echoing, a palace waiting for its nightly court.

When Nathaniel pushed through the carved doors, only Darren occupied the cavernous lounge.

Crystal bottles crowded the table before him like trophies from forgotten empires.

"Nathaniel, over here." Darren lifted a hand in welcome, the other already curled around a glass.

Nathaniel crossed the plush carpet, settled opposite, poured a tumbler full, and emptied it in one clean motion. The liquor scorched a path to his chest like a ball of welcome heat against the morning chill.

"So, what sudden wind blew you to my door with all this firewater?" he asked, lowering the glass.

"Bad mood," Darren admitted, lips twisting into a helpless grin. He refilled both glasses and added, "Year-end chaos should have you drowning in work. How did you carve out time to babysit me?"

Nathaniel tipped the second drink back, slower this time, tasting oak and smoke.

you called. My mood's in the gutter too." The honesty came out softer than

wasn't actually jealous

He wasn't that twisted.

since Cecilia and he patched things up, a sliver of distance had lingered, slippery and unnamed. Nathaniel couldn't shake the feeling that

managed to annoy you?" Darren ventured,

the amber bar-light painted bronze across his cheekbones. "Since when did you start fishing for gossip?" he asked, voice low yet

his whiskey, the question snagging halfway up his throat because that was the exact

no one on earth could spoil his mood the way

a fellow

mart

quiet counsel. "You're

you have a child

every argument rot inet

head."

gave a hard nod.

his chest was,

holidays approaching, she had started thinking

sharp exchanges, she finally

and told him to

her face.

.net

his own home by his own wife stung worse than the liquor now

men were strangers to

a handful of

surrendered to the simpler language of

at least his mouth would fill the dead air." Darren