Noah turned to find Beckett Smith staring at him in concern.
Before he could say anything or approach the man, though, The Slippery Slope’s door opened again and Jasper Werther came storming back into the place.
“You!” Werther growled, marching across the club to stand toe-to-toe with Noah. “You have no business coming here. What did you think you were doing, man?” he demanded.
Noah’s back went up immediately, giving him back the energy that had drained out of him. “I have come here to reclaim my man,” he said, glaring at Werther. “You cannot steal him from me with your wily ways. He is mine. We two are one. We were meant to be together.”
“You’re a madman who nearly drove him to the brink of madness himself,” Werther threw at him. “You caused a scene and threw plates at him when he left you.”
The echoes of plates shattering and shouting and tears filled Noah’s mind as the bundled-up memory came back at him. He’d deliberately forgotten all those things, forgotten the way he and Marcus used to argue, and the tears and wailing he’d been subject to whenever Marcus had tried to break things off.
“Misunderstandings,” he said, shaking his head. “All will be well. Things can be repaired.”
“Not this,” Werther said. “You shattered Marcus once and I will not let you shatter him again. I won’t have it. We are together now and he is happy. If you have any humanity in you at all, you will respect that and let him live his life.”
“I….” Noah couldn’t think of anything to say. Werther was so fierce and so determined.
There didn’t seem to be anything for it but to retreat for the time being. Without another word for Werther, or even a look, Noah turned away. He headed toward Beckett, the only man in all of New York so far who had seemed sympathetic to his cause. After their conversation the night before, in which Beckett had confessed that he, too, was in the throes of attempting to convince a recalcitrant man that they were meant to be together, Noah felt a kinship with Beckett that couldn’t be denied.
He was only partially aware of Werther hissing something and shaking his head before heading back to the doorway and disappearing into the back hall.
“That was…something else,” Beckett said as Noah reached him.
“I’ve embarrassed myself,” Noah said, feeling horrifically low. “That was not the way things were meant to turn out.”
“Hard luck, then,” Beckett said, clapping a hand on Noah’s shoulder.
Noah glanced up, seeming to see Beckett for the first time since the confrontation had started. The man’s handsome, refined face was a mask of sympathy and understanding. And kindness. So few people had ever shown Noah kindness in his life. He was too much for most people. He was too unpredictable and shiftless. Even his sister had to send him away sometimes.
But Beckett didn’t push him away. The man smiled, as though the two of them shared a sad secret.
“I’ll tell you what,” Beckett went on, glancing briefly to Ravenswood—who had watched the entire, sad encounter and now glared at Noah with narrowed eyes. “Why don’t I take you out for a good, hearty breakfast? There’s a place right around the corner that serves flapjacks to die for. They’re exactly what you need after a muddle like that.”
“Do you…do you think so?” Noah asked, hope flooding him as he blinked away tears.
God, he was crying, and in public. What was wrong with him?
This was not the way his glorious reunion was supposed to unfold.
Beckett’s smile softened and widened, and he slipped off his barstool to thump Noah’s back. “I absolutely think so,” he said. “Flapjacks, perhaps bacon and eggs as well, some truly excellent coffee, and a few moments to sit and breathe and tell me all about it is exactly what you need.”
Noah let out a breath as Beckett led him to the door. “Thank you,” he said, relieved beyond measure that someone was there to fight in his corner. “You’ve no idea how much this means to me.”
“Believe me,” Beckett said. “I think I do.”
Noah smiled. He believed him. Beckett did know.
ChapterTwo
Watching Noah’s confrontation with Marcus set Beckett’s teeth on edge, but likely not for the same reasons that the rest of the men of The Slippery Slope had for their winces and horrified looks during the scene. Beckett had felt terrible for Noah—and for Marcus and Jasper, if he were being honest—but not because of the discomfort Noah’s outburst caused.
No, Beckett felt a deep sense of sympathy for Noah Cheevers, because as he’d watched everything fall apart for the friend he’d made the night before, all he could think was, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
Once they reached the relatively fresh air of Bleeker Street, Beckett took a deep breath and said, “There. That’s better.”
“No, it isn’t,” Noah lamented, scrubbing both hands through his hair at once. “Nothing is happening the way I’d planned.”
All Beckett could do was hum in sympathy and lead Noah east on Bleeker Street. East because he could still see Marcus walking toward Bowery in the distance, and at the moment, another encounter with Marcus was the last thing they needed.