“I love you, my darling,” Beckett said groggily as sleep started to claim him. “I always will.”
He waited to see if Noah would say the same, but Noah was silent. All Beckett could hear were his heavy breaths, so he assumed Noah had fallen asleep.
Only as Beckett faded into sleep himself did it dawn on him that Noah was weeping silently in his arms.
ChapterSeventeen
Noah didn’t want it to be over, he just knew that it had to be. He couldn’t put Beckett through the same sort of misery he lived with day in and day out. He loved the man too much.
He loved Beckett. The feeling wasn’t at all what he’d always believed love should be. It wasn’t a matter of angels singing and trumpets sounding. It wasn’t great bursts of excitement and fervor that poets should write about. It was the beat of his heart in concert with Beckett’s. It was the warmth he felt as their sated bodies snuggled together. It was the way he wanted every good thing for Beckett, wanted his beloved to be happy always and to keep his kind, sunny disposition. He was so proud of Beckett for being the good man that he was in a world that was often cruel.
Which was why he couldn’t stay with him. Hecouldn’tstay.
He waited until he was certain Beckett was deeply asleep. He kissed his lover’s shoulder and when there was no reaction, Noah sat slowly. He waited a little longer, studying Beckett’s outline in the dim light of the city that filtered through the window. It was just enough to make out the curve of Beckett’s shoulder, the shape of his face, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
When he was certain Beckett wouldn’t wake, he slipped out of bed, turning to tuck Beckett in behind him. For a long while, Noah stood there, tears rolling silently down his face as he watched Beckett sleep. If things had been different, if he had been different, they could have had the most wonderful life together. They’d gotten on from the very start, when he was still feeling like himself. They’d had fun, and they could have had so much more fun, but not now.
He leaned over, smoothing a hand through Beckett’s soft hair, then carefully kissing his forehead. Even in sleep, Beckett smiled at the tender touch. That only made Noah weep harder. He had to pull away quickly and wipe a hand across his cheek to stop himself from dripping on Beckett and waking him.
As he stepped back, then set about finding his clothes and dressing again, that kind voice in his head whispered that this didn’t have to be the end. If Beckett was, indeed, suffering, he had taken that pain on willingly. And things weren’t always this bad. He’d been through black spells before, and they always lifted eventually.
He fought the voice off with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, as if batting away a fly. Yes, he’d been through black spells before. He’d also been through manic fits, where he could barely be controlled, where he spent all his money, fucked complete strangers because they looked exciting, and where he sold all of his belongings and traveled across the ocean to chase a man who was with someone else. It wasn’t fair to ask Beckett to manage him during those times either.
When he was dressed enough to be decent, he tip-toed out of the bedroom and down the hall to the washroom to finish setting himself to right. He washed his face to get rid of as much of the evidence of his tears as he could, then donned the rest of his clothes and shoes. When he was as satisfied with his grim appearance as he thought he could be, which wasn’t much, he quietly headed downstairs.
The clock in the front parlor showed that it was near eleven o’clock. If Gardener or Miss Taylor were still awake, they had taken themselves off to another part of the house. Noah found his coat and hat and put them on, then rushed out into the cold November night.
He hadn’t thought to take money with him, but he had a stroke of luck that there were a few coins in the pocket of his coat. They were enough for him to travel by streetcar from the quiet, decadent neighborhood uptown to the loud, roiling buzz of The Bowery. Downtown was as lively and vibrant late in the night as it was during the brightest daylight hours. Revelers were out enjoying the clubs and the restaurants, and as it was Saturday, even the locals were up enjoying themselves.
Noah’s heart still felt black as he alighted from the streetcar and made his way down Bleeker Street toward The Slippery Slope. With his hands thrust in the pockets of his jacket and his collar turned up to block out the cold, he looked far different from the brightly colored revelers stumbling out of the clubs. He was mildly surprised to see so many queens with their painted faces and finery out in the open, where anyone could have sounded the alarm and brought the law down on them, but there seemed to be an understanding among the people of The Bowery that this was their territory, and they could do what they wanted in it.
Noah felt like a shadow passing through Paradise. He imagined that he left a wake of darkness in his path, that he was invisible to men and women who could only see excitement and fun. He was certain he would never feel any of those things again.
The Slippery Slope was alive with music and laughter, warmth and cheer as Noah slipped through the door. He stood just inside the club for a moment, glancing around at everything it had to offer those who were of the right mind to accept it. It was a busy night, and most of the tables were packed to capacity. Noah spotted a few of Beckett’s friends entertaining a group of burly men who looked like laborers fresh from their jobs. Lawrence Cowper was dressed in frills and had his face painted, as did Kelsey Jamison, though Kelsey was all but tethered to his lover, Robert.
At another table, the men who called themselves The Five seemed to be giving some sort of sales pitch to a group of men in suits. It was completely anomalous, as Elliott Dennison and Duncan and Brendan Redford looked like they were in a boardroom, presenting to shareholders. The fact that one of the suited men had a brightly dressed queen sitting on his knee, playing with his hair, made the look even more surreal.
“Noah? What are you doing here? Where’s Beckett?”
Noah dragged his gaze away from the action of the club to face Ricky DeMarco. The nice young man approached him with a cautious and confused smile.
Noah forced himself to smile. Ricky was one of the few regulars from The Slope who had always been kind to him, even in the early days, when most of Beckett’s friends had been suspicious of him.
“Where’s Beckett?” Ricky repeated. He touched the small of Noah’s back to prompt him to step away from the door, where he was blocking new patrons from entering the club.
“He’s…he’s asleep.” Noah had to clear his throat when his words started to come out choked. Beckett would sleep like a baby. He wouldn’t know what happened to him. He might never know, depending on how Noah did it. There might not be any evidence.
“Oh.” Ricky blinked, then increased the pressure on his back. “Well, come in and have a drink, then. You look like you could use one.”
“Do I?” Noah asked, allowing Ricky to lead him over to the bar.
Ricky gave him a sheepish look. “Well, you look a bit dazed. Let’s just say that.”
“I’m sorry,” Noah said. Those words reminded him of the reason he’d come down to the club and all the things he had to say.
Ricky laughed as he sat Noah on one of the stools at the far end of the bar, then walked around to pour him a glass of whiskey himself, even though it appeared that both Ravenswood and Russo were tending bar that evening. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Ricky said. “We’re a club. Serving drinks is part of the description.”
Noah nodded, then waited, trembling slightly, as Ricky poured him a modest-sized whiskey and put it on the bar in front of him. Noah snatched it up and drank it quickly. He would need it for the road ahead, so to speak.