Love In Slow Motion (Love Beyond Measure #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,1
way Ilan did, but Fredric supposed that maybe it was the kind of love which didn’t need romance.
“I’ve been better,” he finally managed to get out, and he heard Ilan sigh.
“This sounds like a scotch kind of conversation.” The sofa let out a small groan as Ilan hefted his bulk from the seat, and Fredric held up a hand to stay him.
“I don’t think there’s anything here except wine, and even that might be gone.”
Ilan scoffed, and Fredric heard the distinct sound of a zipper and then rustling cloth. “Come on, Papa, you always underestimate me.” He was back, his warmth against Fredric’s side, and then something cold pressed against the back of his hand. “Take this glass. I came prepared.”
Fredric felt a real, genuine smile spread across his face as the sound of liquid sloshing from a bottle filled the room. The scotch in his hand was aged and expensive, the spice tickling at his senses, and he was suddenly eager to let the burn of alcohol eclipse the quiet frustration of the week.
“Have you been by to see Julian?” Fredric asked as he lifted the glass to his lips. The scotch went down easy, and he smiled against the rim.
Ilan made a soft noise in the back of his throat, and Fredric recognized it instantly. It was his single tell—like his body preparing for a lie. “No. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Fredric’s brows rose, and he turned more fully to the other man. “And what are you keeping from me?”
Ilan cleared his throat but said nothing.
“You forget, I know you better than you know yourself. I don’t care how grown you are…”
“Almost as old as you,” Ilan shot back, and Fredric could hear the laughter in his voice, but the moment quickly sobered. He liked the man Julian had brought to the wedding, but since Bryce, Fredric had done nothing but worry for his son’s heart.
“Just tell me he’s not in trouble. Tell me that he’s made the right decision,” Fredric begged after a moment.
Ilan breathed out, then Fredric felt a touch of fingers against his knee before Ilan’s large palm engulfed it. “I think Julian is falling in love faster and deeper than he expected to. And I don’t think he’s letting himself see a future beyond this week. But I think…I think this man will change his mind.”
“Have you met him? This new boyfriend.” Fredric asked softly.
“No. But I heard Julian’s voice and it’s…” He chuckled, his baritone rumbling and hitting Fredric like a physical thing. “It’s nothing like I’ve ever heard before.”
“I know what you mean,” Fredric admitted. He thought about him—the man who had swept his son off his feet. The quiet tone of his voice, the rich passion, the fact that he’d given something to Fredric that no one ever had before.
Fredric had come to terms with permanent blindness not long after he’d woken up from his stroke and realized he couldn’t see. But his life wasn’t over. In fact, he woke up grateful that he could wake up at all. The first time his children fell into his arms and he smelled the dirt and cookie crumbs, felt their tiny hands cling to him, he knew that his survival had been a gift. So, he worked his ass off to heal, and he’d quietly mourned what he lost, knowing that there was an entire lifetime of things to discover with touch, with taste, with scent, and sound.
He’d said goodbye to stargazing, and then Archer, who vowed to love his son, had come along and had given him a recording. And at first, it sounded like nothing. It was just noise. And then he’d let himself experience it—fully and completely. He let the sounds form shapes that his mind could explore, that could take form in new ways, and suddenly the stars had become his again.
He’d done his best to hold back his emotions at the time, though he could hear it in Julian’s voice that he hadn’t perfected his ability to keep himself together. And even Corinne had held his arm just a little tighter as she walked with him back to the cottage. But she didn’t linger, and when he was alone, with his fingers in Bastian’s fur, he let himself cry.
It wasn’t gut-wrenching sobs, and he didn’t allow himself regret for what he’d lost. But gratitude for what he’d been given made him want to fight until his knuckles bled to make this relationship between that man and his son work.