Accidentally Yours: A Friends-to-Lovers Gay Romance (Superbia Springs Book 3)

by Rachel Kane

  He could almost predict what Alex was going to say next. In fact, he said it for him. "Here's the part where you say I'm the naive one, because this is the first relationship I've ever been in. Go ahead, Alex, tell me I don't understand human beings because I'm just a geek who never slept with anyone before you."

  "Judah, I didn't say that."

  "Then you think that I have a perfectly mature view of things, and that we're having a really rational talk right now?"

  "I just think you don't understand how it works between me and Ian."

  "I understand he's your ex, and he's bad for you, and if he's dangling a gift in front of you, then there's some kind of weird manipulation behind it, what else is there to understand?"

  "I need a way out of here!" yelled Alex. "I can't do it anymore! Okay? Nobody comes into my damned shop! It's true! I sell a couple of mysteries a week, I sell baby books for the moms who come by, and I'm barely keeping my head above water! Hire a lawyer? I'm barely able to pay the electric bill at this point! So yes, I know Ian has something up his sleeve, I know going into business with him is a bad idea, but what's the alternative? Violet shutting me down doesn't mean I start fresh somewhere else in Superbia. It means I either get out of town, or go work at the dollar store. I don't have anything else, Judah. Stop worrying so fucking much about Ian, and worry about me."

  "If you—"

  "I swear to god, if you're about to give me business advice, I will walk away from here right now."

  Judah's face flushed with anger. "What I was going to say was, if you think Ian is a solution, knowing everything else you do about him, then you're going to wind up hurt. That's all. I wasn't going to fix a fucking thing for you, because I know how everyone in the fucking world hates having their problems fixed, especially if I'm the one who does it. Overbearing control freak ex-boyfriends are really the only ones who should ever fix problems, don't you think?"

  "I don't know where all this bitterness is coming from," Alex said. "Are you jealous? There is nothing between Ian and me."

  "Jealous? Of your rich, gorgeous ex coming back to town and stealing you away? Damn, Alex, why would I be jealous of that, especially considering how the minute you give it some thought, you're like we must slow down. God, why would I be jealous?"

  Alex's face fell. "You are jealous."

  "Of course I'm fucking jealous! He's everything I'm not! It's the same as everything in my life, Alex!"

  His words crowded his throat, elbowing each other to get out, but unable to move, there were so many of them. He didn't have the language for it, didn't have the oxygen. How could he explain what it had been like, living in Liam's shadow all his life? Having his big brother call the shots? Even now, in a house he loved, it was more Liam's than his own. And now, when he had the chance for a boyfriend--someone who belonged to him, heart and soul--it was being snatched away by someone else. His heart was breaking and he couldn't breathe and there was no way to explain this to Alex, instead, all that kept coming out was anger and rage. It was getting in the way of him putting words to his pain, and even now, gasping, he couldn't figure out how to say what he needed to say.

  "I'm going to give you a little time," said Alex. "Let you sort things out."

  "Alex, no."

  "You're furious at me for something that isn't my fault. That's not fair. It's manipulative."

  "Alex—" How could he explain? Every time he tried, the words jumbled in his windpipe again. I'm hurting, you're hurting, please don't go.

  "I'm not saying you're naive," Alex said calmly. "But when I'm coming to you with the biggest crisis of my life, and your response is to be jealous of Ian, then... Then I guess we're not at the point I thought we were at. I like you, Judah. I like you so much. But I'm never having anyone control my life. Ever again."

  If you go with Ian, he's going to try to control you, don't you see that?

  "You can stay," he gasped, his mouth dry. "Please, Alex. I'm sorry."

  "I'm sorry too. I thought we had something really good between us. Slowing down wasn't because I didn't like you, Judah. Slowing down was because I like you so much that I didn't want to ruin anything."

  "Are you—? Are you—?" The question would not let itself be asked.

  Alex did not turn and walk away immediately. He held still for one long moment, staring into Judah's eyes, and Judah would have given anything to be able to speak, but he understood in that moment that simple words could not undo the damage he'd already done. Then all his thoughts fell away, as he simply stared into Alex's glistening eyes, the beginnings of tears rimming them, those tears angrily blinked away as though Alex were afraid of showing any emotion in front of him.

  Only then, after that last long look, did Alex turn away, and begin his slow, slow walk out of the garden.

  29

  Alex

  The most humiliating thing about walking away from someone was when you had to move very, very slowly. It felt like a walk of shame, the stupid crutches getting caught between paving stones, Alex having to jerk them out, painfully aware that Judah was back there staring at him. It felt like it took hours to reach his room on the second floor, hours where everyone would be looking at him, wondering what he had done.

  What I did was stand up for myself. The thought felt weak, like he knew there was something wrong with it. Like maybe his fight hadn't been warranted. Like maybe he was taking out his fears and frustrations on Judah, instead of on the people who actually caused him problems, like Violet.

  Like Ian.

  The thing that sucked was, much of what he'd said to Judah was absolutely true. If he had to hire a lawyer to fight Violet, he might as well pack it in. There was no money for it. The bookstore had been operating on a shoestring budget this whole time. He'd told himself it would just take a while to get established, to get people used to coming in... But what good was it? Who needed a bookstore down here, where nobody read? Ian was promising him the world. He could take some time, think about where to relocate.

  And all it'll cost you is your soul.

  And Judah.

  Because it was clear there was a choice to make there. But it wasn't his fault, he wasn't the one who had posed the choice, was he? No. It was all a series of stupid accidents that had led him to this choice, and now, if it was between dire poverty and possibly being manipulated by Ian, surely any normal person would choose to wrangle with Ian?

  He shoved his clothes in a bag. He couldn't stay here any longer, that was for sure. Things between him and Judah would be too tense now, too strained; he'd find himself avoiding Judah the way he was avoiding Ian, and how the hell would he find his way around this house if he was keeping away from them both? He'd have to sneak through the attic, wriggle through the vents.

  No. It was time for him to get his life together, to figure things out on his own. Nobody was going to help him with this choice. Nobody could. It was his decision.

  It was also his decision to swipe a few soaps, shampoos, and other items from his bathroom. Consider this the cost of our fight, he thought bitterly, zipping the toiletries bag closed. They really were nice soaps. It was going to suck going back to the apartment. His bed was so tiny and uncomfortable compared to this luxurious mattress.

  The mattress where you stole Judah's virginity.

  Yes, that one. And yes, they'd also done things there on the floor, and over by the window, and on that bench; he'd been bent over that dresser, and of course there was the tub and the bathroom sink, though never the shower, thanks to the cast.

  He felt like he owed the room a special debt of gratitude, because sleeping with Judah had, in fact, gotten him through a rough patch. Had reminded him that he deserved better than Ian.

  So basically you manipulated Judah, and then, when he wanted more, you accused him of manipulating you? Smooth, Alex, real smooth.

  It wasn't like that at all, but he knew better than to question his own mind, the depths of guilt and shame he felt over what just happened out there in the
garden. Judah was a big boy, he'd come to see this as just another episode in a long life full of them. Hearts don't really break, they just bruise a little and then the pain goes away.

  He hoped. Because right now it felt like he might have done the most stupid thing he'd ever done in his life.

  The suitcase was all zipped up. He took one last look around the room.

  There, on the nightstand, was one of Judah's books. Space ships flashing across a deep violet sky, firing at some silvery sphere rising from the bottom of the cover.

  Sometimes, when Alex was reading Henry James' later books--when the master author had fallen in love with his own grammatical complexity, and doubled it, tripled it--his eyes would pass over paragraphs and realize he hadn't actually read the words at all. That he could make nothing of them, could vaguely understand what function each word had in each sentence, and yet the overall meaning was lost to him. It was like a game, trying to tease out that meaning he knew must be there.

  Yet when he looked at Judah's book, when he flipped through it, he wondered what it was really worth, putting all that effort into a story whose meaning remained frustratingly opaque. People had spent a century studying James, writing essays about him, becoming professors teaching him, but what did it all matter, if you couldn't understand what he was saying? What was the difference between a book like that, and a book you'd never read? One was open, the other closed, and neither spoke to you at all.

  Meanwhile, you could flip through Judah's book and know instantly what was happening at any moment. Morals were clearly defined; actions were described with simplicity.

  He remembered how Judah had been defensive in some of their conversations over books, as though to read an easy book was to read a bad book.

  Don't we deserve to have some easy things in our lives? Alex thought, setting the book back on the nightstand. Can't anything ever be easy?

  He knew Judah or one of the housekeepers would find the book. Quickly, he took a pen out of his pocket, flipped to the back of the book, there at the very end—past the story, to the few pages of advertisements that decorated the final pages—and wrote, in small letters, I'm sorry.

  Then he fled. Slowly.

  "Ow. Ow. Ow, fuck!" These narrow steps up to his apartment had not become any easier to climb, and having the bag with him just made it that much harder. He'd halfway thought about sleeping downstairs in the store, just so he wouldn't have to make the trek back and forth, but there was something pathetic about that idea that he couldn't stomach.

  So instead he'd get back to normal. The way things had been before Judah had come into his life.

  He glanced around the apartment. It wasn't hard to take in at a glance, it was so small. Nothing like his room back at Superbia Springs. The walls seemed very close together, and somehow he had not remembered having quite this many books threatening to topple onto him. He made his way as carefully as he could to the little kitchenette. Nothing in the fridge but spoiled milk and a potato that was making an effort to sprout leaves.

  Okay, no problem, I can...walk to the store...and walk back here...up the stairs...

  He groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was ask for help.

  "You're joking," said Toby, when Alex called him. "You know I'm working, right? The bar is packed. I can't come down there now."

  "Not now," Alex said. "Just...maybe tomorrow?"

  "I don't understand, though, why are you back at your apartment? Wait, hold on a sec. Actually, I'll call you back."

  The phone went silent. Busy night at the bar meant Toby probably couldn't talk.

  Or maybe he could, if Alex went down there.

  The idea of walking to the bar was too daunting to be considered...his foot had noticed the upstairs trek, and was angry about it. It felt like the edges of the fracture were grinding against one another.

  And, of course, there was no ibuprofen, and the aspirin was downstairs, and all he had up here was the prescription the ER had given him.

  There was an idea. He could just take a pill and go to sleep. The pain had been getting worse and worse, and tomorrow was going to be hell, going back down those stairs. Maybe he needed the relief. At least no one was around to hear him say stupid, loopy things.

  He trudged back to his bed, found the little translucent bottle they'd sent him home with. Peering at the warnings, it seemed like he'd be fine, he wasn't going to drive or operate heavy machinery tonight. He wasn't going to do a fucking thing but lie in bed and feel lonely.

  Damn it, Judah! Why'd you have to make things difficult? Why couldn't you have just listened?

  Yet he found his self-righteousness was in short supply tonight. The sorrowful look Judah had given him as he hobbled out of the garden suggested that maybe Alex had done something wrong. Not that he knew what that was, because clearly he was hemmed in, with only two options, and—

  And he was going to keep going in circles all night, if he didn't do something. He shook one of the fat pills into his palm, and dry-swallowed. Naturally, it got stuck, and that required more hobbling, over to the sink where he drank directly from the faucet.

  Yes, living the life of luxury again, how nice.

  "Fuck," he said to the empty room. There was nothing for him to do now but wait for the drug to kick in. He'd find a book to read. His copy of The Bostonians was still downstairs, and no way could he make it back down there tonight. So what should he read? There was a wide selection here, all the books he didn't have room for down in the store. Books on economics, on history, obscure works of literature...

  Nothing easy. And that's what he wanted, for once in his life, for something to be easy. For a story that just grabbed him and didn't require him to do a lot of thinking.

  Judah would know what to recommend. But Judah wasn't here.

  After that conversation, Judah might never be here again. Had they broken up? Was that what that was? Alex didn't know. He'd thought, at the time, he was just pushing the pause button on things, but maybe it was more serious than that. Maybe he'd just pushed Judah away forever.

  Stop thinking. Find something to read.

  That's when his eye alighted on one of Ian's books, an Inspector Kestrel mystery, one that hadn't made its way downstairs. A picture of the dapper detective was on the front, one foot planted firmly on an alligator's head. Inspector Kestrel Solves The Bayou:

  Kestrel considered himself a man for all seasons, but there were some degrees of heat and humidity which were simply inhuman, and that was the weather he found himself in, as his driver steered the Dusenberg past a row of high-pillared houses, the roads lined with trees shrouded in Spanish moss. Some climates would drive a man to murder.

  There were no lasers or robots, but it was the closest thing he had up here to something Judah might have liked to read, and as he sank into the hard, lumpy bed, the pill slowly working its way through his nervous system, he tried to imagine Judah here with him, and if he tried hard enough, he could practically feel Judah's weight next to him, skin touching skin, and it was that feeling that made him set the book down and shove his face into the pillow with a sense of hopelessness and defeat.

  I think I did something really stupid, and I don't even know what else I could have done.

  Dreams eventually overtook his consciousness, but not before a dark cloud covered him, a sense of despair he hadn't felt since Ian had left him years ago. But it was worse than that. At least with Ian, he knew he'd been in the right.

  He couldn't help feeling he'd done something very wrong to Judah, something undeserved. And he thought he understood what it was, or at least, he thought he was close to understanding it, and if he just reached out a little further, he would be able to grasp it, a glimmering light between his palms, and the light would explain everything to him, it would describe in detail how he could get Judah back, and save his store, and make everything the way it should be...

  The pill knocked him out cold.

  30

  Judah

  They d
idn’t notice anything was wrong until the next day. Judah had spent the night holed up in his room, not speaking to anyone, and nobody had asked about him. It reminded him way too much of his childhood, especially when he found himself sulking that nobody ever noticed when he was feeling bad. God, you’ve got to snap out of this, he told himself. There’s no reason to feel sorry for yourself!

  Nothing seemed to touch just how lonely he felt, though. How wrong it felt. That whole conversation with Alex, he’d felt divided in two, while Old Habitual Judah did all the talking, while Internal Feelings Judah stood there aghast, unable to get a word in.

  They certainly noticed though at their breakfast meeting, the time when Liam usually parceled out the tasks for the day.

  “Who ran over your dog?” Noah asked.

  Judah scowled at him. “I’m fine.”

  “Good, I’m glad you’re fine, because we have a lot to do,” said Liam. “The catering for Ian’s book-signing party has gotten a little complicated. I’ll need you to run down to Alex’s today to straighten out a few details.”

  “No thanks,” said Judah. “Give me something else. Noah’s better at parties and stuff, he can handle it.”

  Noah nodded. “It’s true.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “I figured you’d jump at the chance, considering it involves books and stuff.”

  Judah shook his head. “Just let me deliver fucking towels or something.”

  They all must have heard the tone in his voice, because suddenly things got very serious.

  “Look, if you don’t want to do it, that’s fine,” said Liam, “but you don’t have to be harsh about it.”

  “I’m not being harsh, it’s handled, all right? Noah is your social guy, he can do all the catering stuff, and you can do all the business stuff, and Mason can do all the repair stuff, and I’ll just sit in my fucking room on the computer and fix anything that needs fixing, and if you need a warm body to tote something from here to there, I can do that too. Okay? Are we clear?”