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Aidan Byrne, blind. Zane tried to get his mind around the concept as he drove toward Aidan’s new neighborhood. He’d thought about Aidan a lot while he’d been in Europe. He’d even considered calling but had never managed to pull it off. He preferred to connect with people in real time—to reappear in their lives when they least expected it.

The last time they’d been together Aidan had quietly asked what they were doing. Zane had pretended not to understand. He knew Aidan was in love with him, knew he wanted more than Zane had felt, at the time, able to give. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Aidan—he’d always loved Aidan. It was a resistance to the conventional, to “settling down” with any one person. He had laughed, reminding Aidan of his gypsy blood just before he slipped away.

The past year, though, something had seemed to shift inside him. The glittering attraction of a new man in every port, of adventure with no strings, had begun to tarnish. At twenty-eight, Zane sometimes found himself questioning his gypsy lifestyle. Sometimes, especially over the last few months, he’d begun to yearn for something more permanent in his life. Naturally his thoughts had turned to Aidan. Deep down he’d always known he’d return to Aidan one day. It honestly hadn't occurred to him Aidan might not be there.

He pulled up in front of Aidan’s house and walked to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and stepped back to wait. In a moment the door opened and there Aidan stood, his auburn hair longer than when Zane had last seen him, curling down the back of his neck. He looked thinner—his clothing hanging loosely on his frame, his wrists bony. Zane was glad for an instant Aidan couldn’t see his reaction as he studied his face. Shock gripped him as he noted the drawn look in his expression that bespoke of a long-gnawing pain or sorrow. He looked into Aidan’s eyes, for a moment afraid what he would see there. They were the same frosty, sparkling blue, the color of a lake beneath a winter sky, but the focus seemed blurred somehow, off-kilter.

The pale line of a thin white scar ran in a diagonal from the outer corner of his left eye to his mouth. Tears sprang to Zane’s eyes at the thought of what Aidan must have gone through. He wanted to touch the scar—to trace the line with his finger, but he sensed such a touch would not be welcome. He noted the resolute set of Aidan’s mouth, the rigid pride in his bearing.

“Aidan. It’s me, Zane.”

“I know,” Aidan said, a small smile flitting over his face. “Come in.” He stepped back, adding, “Welcome to my humble abode.” His voice was stiff, almost formal. Zane sensed Aidan needed to keep this distance between them, at least for now. He resisted his urge to wrap Aidan into his arms.

Instead he lightly touched Aidan’s forearm. “What a great place! Is it yours?”

Aidan stepped away from his touch. “Bought and paid for, courtesy of the drunk driver who plowed into my car.” Aidan tried to grin but didn’t quite succeed.

“Aidan, I’m so sor—“ Zane began.

Aidan cut him off. “Can I get you a drink? I have beer and soda or I could make some coffee.” Without waiting for a response, he made his way confidently through the room, veering left toward the kitchen. Zane noticed the slight limp in his left leg.

“A beer sounds good,” Zane said, following him into the kitchen. As Aidan moved toward the refrigerator, Zane offered, “I’m impressed with the way you get around. You must have the whole place memorized in your head.”

“I do, I guess. It’s easier living alone, I suppose. Nobody else to move things or leave something out of place to throw me off. At the rehab center sometimes they’d put obstacles in your way for just that reason—to get you used to the real world.” He held out a beer, waiting for Zane to take it. Their fingers touched and Zane felt the familiar kinetic energy zinging between them before Aidan pulled his hand away.

“Aidan,” Zane said. “It’s me. I know you, remember? You don’t have to put on this stoic act. Put down your beer. Let me hold you.” Gently he took the beer from Aidan’s hand and set both cans down on the counter. Taking Aidan into his arms, he pulled him close, gently pushing the shorter man’s head down to his shoulder. Aidan stood stiffly with his arms at his side, allowing himself to be embraced for a moment before attempting to pull away.

Zane held him tighter and whispered, “I’m sorry this has happened to you. I’m sorry I was gone so long this time, but I’m here now. Don’t shut me out.”

Slowly Aidan brought his arms around Zane, leaning his weight into him. Zane stroked his hair, relieved. After a moment Aidan’s shoulders began to shake, his breath coming in small, snuffling gasps. Zane realized he was crying. He held him tighter, crooning, “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe in my arms.” 

After several minutes Aidan pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Zane looked around for a box of tissues. Not seeing any, he lifted his T-shirt, using it wipe Aidan’s tearstained cheeks.

“I guess the tear ducts still work,” Aidan said, his tone at once bitter and amused. He reached out, his fingers making contact with Zane’s chest. “Let’s go sit down, okay?”

“Yeah,” Zane agreed, snagging their beer cans as they passed the counter. Once settled on the living room couch, he handed Aidan his beer and took a long drink of his own.

“I haven’t cried like that for a long time,” Aidan said, cradling the can in his hands. He was hunched forward, his body turned away from Zane’s.

Zane put his hand on Aidan’s knee and said softly, “Sometimes it’s good to cry. It seems to me you’ve been holding in a lot, huh? Do you have friends? A support network? A…” he hesitated, suddenly afraid to hear the answer, “lover?”

“A lover!” Aidan spat. “Like anyone would want me now.”

“Are you kidding me? You may have lost your sight but not your looks.” Zane waited for a smile but it didn’t appear. He plowed on. “How do you get around? Who shops for you? Who takes you to doctor appointments and for a haircut?”

“My parents help out. And there’s a woman from the rehab facility—she comes by twice a week to take me shopping and to run errands.  I don’t,” he paused and blew out a breath before continuing, “I don’t really have any friends. Not anymore.”

“You’ve pushed them away,” Zane said, certain he was right. “Good thing I came back when I did. Here you are, barely twenty-seven, deciding to live like a hermit just because of some stupid accident.”

“Zane, you can’t just come waltzing back into my life and fix everything with your big sunny smile and your charm.”

“I can try,” Zane said, laughing.

 “Let me touch your face,” Aidan said suddenly.

“What?”

“I want to touch you. To see you with my fingers.”

Intrigued, Zane twisted toward Aidan, who reached out, the tips of his fingers making contact on either side of Zane’s face. He stroked Zane’s cheekbones and slid a thumb over the bridge of his nose. He followed the line of his jaw upward to his eyelids. Aidan’s face was a mask of concentration, as if he were painting Zane’s features in his mind’s eye. His touch was delicate yet incredibly sensual.

His lips were parted, his eyes glittering as he caressed Zane’s skin. Zane sat still as Aidan moved his hands over his head, curling his fingers into Zane’s hair, the gesture achingly intimate. Zane shivered, his body awakened by Aidan’s touch. Aidan’s fingers slid along his throat, moving down to press flat against his chest. He felt his nipples harden beneath Aidan’s palms. His cock was rigid, straining upward for attention.

Unable to remain passive any longer, he pulled Aidan’s face toward his, intent on kissing those full red lips. Aidan’s eyes, which had been open, fluttered shut. He was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed beneath the auburn stubble of a few day’s growth.

“Zane,” he whispered, pulling free. “Don’t do this. Don’t waste your time on me. I’m damaged goods.”

Zane’s heart lurched with compassion, even as his cock ached with desire. “We’re all damaged in some way, Aidan. It’s part of being human. Don’t define yourself by the accident. Don’t shut me out. I’ve come home for you, Aidan.”

“Zane,” Aidan whispered. “Kiss me before I wake up from this dream.”