He makes it to the men’s room right as the last of the air leaves his lungs and he crumples into a heap against the basins. The hole in Edmund’s chest makes him want to cry out in torturous agony, but the sound sticks in his throat, his lungs refusing to inflate to power the sound.

Aidan.

His Aidan.

His beautiful, wonderful, sweet, exquisite Aidan.

In Edmund’s mind, the graceful upward curve of Aidan’s arms is reminiscent of the ...