by Ann Grech
“You never talk to me,” he murmured. “You never open up. I wish you would.”
“I can’t.”
Angelo ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Can’t or won’t? You’re fine speaking to a counselor. A stranger. But not me.”
I wanted to reach out for him, to comfort him like he’d done so often to me. I wasn’t sure whether it was the liquor loosening my inhibitions, or that inner part of me attempting a jailbreak, but I was powerless to stop myself from wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and dragging him into my arms. I held him close and he nuzzled his face into my throat. Longing, yearning, and love flittered around in my chest like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, lighting me up inside with all the colors of the rainbow.
I voiced my deepest fears to him, slicing myself open and laying it all out there—another product of too much tequila. “My therapist’s opinion doesn’t mean anything. Yours does. It means everything. I can’t lose you, and that’s what would happen if I told you.”
He pulled back just enough that he could look into my eyes. “You underestimate me. I’d always choose you.” My heart thudded in my chest and those butterflies took flight again.
My gaze roamed over his face, and I marveled at how handsome he was. His eyes, the brown and green flecks in his irises contrasting against the rich whiskey. His almost black hair, which was ordinarily brushed back in a perfect coif, was messy. It was as if he’d run his hands through it until the style he meticulously applied had completely disappeared, the fine strands falling to the side of his face, kissing his cheekbone. His straight nose and smooth jawline framed his perfectly pouty lips, tinged with pink. I sucked in a breath when his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and he kept them parted as his breathing became heavier. He trembled in my arms, and I held him tighter, splaying one hand low on his back as I rubbed my thumb along his nape. Soft skin and silky hair met my touch, and I leaned in closer, wanting to taste those lips, needing to sip from them like a man dying of thirst. A puff of his breath echoed along my cheek and he pressed his fingers into the curve of my spine, this time making me shiver. My gaze snapped back to his as I swayed closer still. His pupils were blown, his eyes darkened with what looked a lot like desire. Knowing it was me that he wanted in that moment was enough to make me soar among the eagles.
But the whisper of long-ago words danced in my head and doused the desire playing through my body, tossing me back to earth like a limp rag doll. “No boy of mine is a good-for-nothing faggot.” I pulled back from Angelo, putting some distance between us, the spell we were under broken. He blinked and turned away, but I didn’t miss the flush that colored his cheeks. He picked up his coat and slung it over his shoulder, walking away from me without another word. I tried to call him back. I tried to reach for him. But I was paralyzed. Rendered mute by the horror of what I’d nearly done. How could I expose Angelo to that? To me?
It was late when the most recent email from Ford popped up on my screen. He’d been gone for months, leaving Queenstown just after the night from hell at the club. He and Reef had come out to Angelo and Rick, and I’d flaked out, unable to be near them. He was due back soon, having worked another winter in Santa Caterina di Valfurva, but I hadn’t spoken to him since I’d first seen him and Reef together.
I hadn’t been able to swing time off work to travel there for Christmas too. Rick had gone home, but Angelo insisted on staying with me. It was nice, just the two of us waking up in the morning and having a quiet breakfast together before we hit the soup kitchen. We didn’t serve food this year, instead giving out the care packs we’d spent days putting together. This year we’d included the kids, giving the older ones coloring pencils, books, and notepads while the younger ones got teddy bears.
I closed my email program down without looking at the one from Ford. I’d read it when I could focus. I’d been distracted all day—not surprising given the date. April 18. It was my mom’s birthday. I missed her, even more so on this day every year. I wished I could bridge the gap between us, contact her and let her know I still thought about her, but too much water had passed under the bridge. I wanted it more than ever, but I’d hurt them too much for them to ever want me back. I’d waited too long, too insecure and scared of my godfather to even seek out my parents. I wondered, not for the first time, whether Mom and Dad had entered the age of technology and signed up for social media. I hadn’t. I kept off it, never wanting my image to be tagged and someone from my old life to recognize me. Probably a stupid precaution, especially because no one could forcibly send me to see Ryan, but old habits died hard.
Angelo’s iPad was on the coffee table where he’d left it, and I sneaked a peek at Facebook. I hadn’t used it before but quickly found the search bar. I didn’t know if I could just randomly find someone, but figured I’d try. I typed in Mom’s name and within seconds, I was staring at a profile that was unmistakably hers. The picture that was her avatar was of me as a teenager—my school photo taken only a few weeks before I ran away. I pressed the link with shaking hands, and a profile loaded that seemed to be locked down. I couldn’t see anything except a post from that day:
Missing. Lost. Vanished without a trace.
Leaving behind broken hearts and love eternal.
Wherever you might be, our son, know our love is with you.
When the dawn breaks, we think of you.
As the moon and stars light the sky at night, and every moment in between.
We wished just to see your face once more, but silence has met our prayers.
Another year passes for us, so many more days without you.
Now we hope that your soul flies free, our boy,
Until one day we meet again.
The picture they’d posted was one of the rare ones without Ryan. Just the three of us there, grinning at the camera. I was flashing a peace symbol, and Dad had me in a headlock, laughing. The picture went blurry and I swiped at the tears welling in my eyes and trailing down my cheeks. Pain lanced through my chest, piercing my heart. They thought I was dead. They’d grieved for me and given up any hope. I imagined them burying an empty coffin and had a glimpse of the gaping wound that my parents would have suffered through not knowing—never knowing—what happened. I was worse than worthless. I was callous. Heartless and selfish. I’d put them through hell because I was scared. Afraid that I’d get punished again for something I’d realized pretty quickly I’d been mistaken about. I couldn’t deny the attraction I had to men, but it didn’t mean I ever needed to act on it. I’d learned that lesson with a one-time fuck. As soon as I’d figured it out, I should have gone home. Not waited for fifteen years. Now, at least, they had some closure. They believed me gone. It really was too late. Going back would just reopen their wounds and make them hurt all over again.
But that knowledge broke me. Deep down, I’d always held out some hope I could return. That one day I’d be able to see them again. But it was an impossible dream.
My therapist, working with what little information I could force myself to give to her, told me that writing down my feelings, penning an old-fashioned letter with what I wanted to say, would help me deal. So I did. I dug out a notepad and a pen and wrote. The words didn’t flow easily. I’d spent so many years bottling up my feelings that expressing myself was harder than I ever imagined. But I kept going. I pushed myself to share more than I ever had before. I told them about those early nights in the hotel—how I turned my nose up at the stucco falling off the walls but that it was five-star luxury compared to some of the places I’d laid my head. Then about the job washing dishes and how it was supposed to give me an opportunity, but instead they’d just been using me. They’d ripped me off, never paying me a dime for the work I’d done. I told them about the paramedic who’d given me a shot at a better life after Edith was raped. But I couldn’t share my friend’s story. It was too personal. Too close to my own. I told them what I was doing now, how I’d found family with Angelo. How I loved him for saving me
, for being protective and loyal. And even though my apology would never be enough, I said sorry for putting my parents through hell. For making them believe I’d died somewhere, somehow, and was gone. I begged them to forgive me for never being brave enough to go home and in turn making them wait so many years to never really get closure. I couldn’t bring myself to explain why I’d left, only that it wasn’t their fault. They had never done anything but love me. They were the innocent victims caught in the crosshairs. It sounded stupid when I put it on paper, but I’d tried to save them from getting hurt, only to have hurt them worse in the process.
I signed the name they’d given me—Keir—instead of my middle name, the one I’d been using since I left. I’d grown into Trenton over the years, so the other name felt foreign on my tongue and at the end of my pen stroke now. But that’s how Mom and Dad knew me. I tore off the sheets and folded them up, ready to stuff in a drawer somewhere never to see the light of day again, when Angelo surprised me. He opened his door, and like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I hid what was in mine, stuffing the pages down between the sofa cushions as he staggered out into the light. His hair was mussed, a sleepy, sexy bed head, and he was dressed only in loose boxer shorts that hung low on his hips. I could see the top of the dark curls that framed his shaft and the beginnings of the sexy V that framed his groin. I swallowed. Hard. Damn, his hip bones, his long, lean body, and that hair were sexy as fuck.
Wincing from even the soft glow of the lamp, he looked at me, confused, and rubbed his eyes.
“You’re still awake? Why?” he croaked.
“Just checking emails, but I was about to head to bed. You need something?”
“Water,” he mumbled, still standing there looking a little lost.
I made my way over to the kitchen and smiled at him. “I’ll get it. Go back to bed. I’ll bring it in.” Angelo yawned and nodded as he turned and stumbled back into his darkened room. He left the door open and looked like he’d already passed out again on his bed when I took the glass in and set it on his nightstand. As I was leaving, he grasped my arm.
“I’m lonely, Trent. Can you stay with me?” His quiet mumble shocked me still, and I sucked in a breath, wanting desperately to say yes, but at the same time having everything in me screaming no. I was lonely too. It’d been a long, hard night, and I wanted for a moment to just forget who I was. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stripped off my shirt and unbuttoned my jeans. Letting them fall to the floor, I stepped out of them and tugged off my socks. The cool fall air had a bite to it, and I shivered before Angelo lifted the covers next to him and I slid in. He didn’t give me much time to get settled, pushing my arm up and resting his head on my shoulder as soon as I was prone. His legs tangled with mine, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. With anyone else, I wouldn’t have been able to lie there, and admittedly, it did take me a moment to adjust to having him so close. But I breathed deep and held it, trying to stop the fear and self-loathing from taking over, actively talking myself out of instinctively pushing him away. Then his warmth seeped through me. It comforted me as much as I filled the ache of loneliness for him.
“Why don’t you date, Ang?” I asked once he was settled. “You deserve to be happy.”
“I’m waiting for The One,” he mumbled, nuzzling closer. His fingertips traced the line of my boxers near my hip, and I bit back a moan. It was an innocent touch. Something someone did when they weren’t thinking, just feeling. But it left pinpricks of awareness piercing the armor I’d fortified myself with.
When his words sank in, I scoffed at him. “You’ll never find her unless you look though.”
“I already have.” He sighed, and my brain went numb. By the time I regathered myself, I knew he’d fallen asleep. His breathing was deep and his arm a solid weight on my belly. I touched him then, bringing my arm around him and pulling him closer. Feeling the smooth skin of his back against my palm. I kissed his forehead and closed my eyes, wishing that whomever he was in love with would wake up. Would see what I saw in him. The love that he gave so freely. His loyalty. His friendship. She would be his entire world, and he’d go to his grave loving her. The lady who received the gift of his heart would be the luckiest woman on the planet. I just hoped that she realized it too, because he deserved nothing less than being the center of this woman’s universe. Angelo was one of a kind. Truly a beautiful soul.
I ran my fingers through his hair and ghosted them along his cheek before trailing them down along his arm stretched out across my middle. I wanted to hold his hand. To touch him and kiss him properly. I wanted to make love to him. For the second time in as many moments, my body tingled with an awareness that it hadn’t understood before. I opened my eyes to the darkness, and my heart slammed into my ribs. Time stood still and sped up all at the same time. I was light-headed and giddy and impossibly alone all at the same time. He was my home. He was my best friend and always would be. But in that moment, something clicked. Like a doorway to a secret chamber had been opened, I realized that it was so much more. I loved him. I love him. I think I always had.
But he loved someone else.
He’d already found The One.
I wished he’d fallen for me. I wished I could be the one to deserve him. The one to love him. Even if he was into men, I’d never be good enough. I’d never be free enough of my hang-ups, of my past that still haunted me.
10
Angelo
I woke with the heat of a body pressed against me and vaguely remembered staggering out of my bedroom in the middle of the night. Alone. I should have been alarmed that there was another person in my bed, but fragments of my conversation with Trent were coming back to me anyway. My cell had dinged with an incoming message and I’d woken. Too thirsty to go back to sleep, I’d gone to get a drink. He’d brought me water, and I’d asked him to stay. It was the first time I’d had anyone in my bed since our first Christmas together years ago, and being held in another’s arms was far too comforting and rare for me to give it up. Even if he’d reacted badly the last time it happened. Christmas three years earlier was a night that held bittersweet memories for me. I’d hoped, after Trent admitting he’d thought about me at the club, that he’d be open to testing the waters of a new relationship. But it’d backfired spectacularly. I’d waited years to hold him again, and the next time it was when his world was falling apart. Ford had danced around the issue, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Trent had lost his shit when he’d found out Ford was dating Reef.
Any hope of Trent one day accepting my sexuality had been dashed years ago, but the final plunge of the knife was seeing his reaction that night with Ford. Then, when he’d agreed to speak with a therapist rather than opening up to me, he’d shattered the remaining pieces of my heart. All I wanted was to be there for him, but in our years of friendship, he’d rarely let me. It was hopeless. I’d never get past the friend zone. Deep down, I’d always known that, but when we were alone and he let his guard down I thought maybe things between us could change. But they never would.
Trent moved behind me, beginning to wake up, and I tried to put a bit of distance between us. I didn’t want him to freak out on me this morning. But he wouldn’t let me. He hummed low in his throat and pulled me closer, mumbling, “Mornin’,” as he nuzzled the nape of my neck.
“Buongiorno,” I replied in a voice still scratchy with sleep.
“You remember asking me to stay?” he asked, a little hesitation in his words.
“I do. Thanks for being here.”
“Always.” He sighed but made no move to get up. After a moment, he added, “Your bed is comfy.”
“So stay in it,” I teased.
I didn’t think for a moment he’d say yes, but he shocked me with his response. “Think I might.” He rolled over onto his back and I followed, mirroring his position and moving over to my own side of the queen bed. When he stretched his arms above his head and arched his back, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Dark
hair under his arms was matched by shorter curls covering his pecs. A happy trail ran from his navel, disappearing below his dark gray boxer shorts, the same ones I remembered fingering the material of the night before. They were the fitted type, and they were silky and warmed from his skin. The way they snugly wrapped around his package made me want to reach for him. But I never would. I’d never cross that line, no matter how much I wanted it.
“What’s on the cards for today?” His words snapped my attention back to his face.
I could feel my cheeks heat under his scrutiny and let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you know how I mentioned last week that I had a new client and she wanted me to do a photo shoot for a book cover? That was supposed to be today, but the model canceled last night. That’s what woke me up. I was hoping maybe you could do it instead?”
“You want me to model for you?” he asked, obviously wary of what I was asking.
“It’s torso shots only. I won’t take your face, so no one will know it’s you. And I’ll pay you for it.”
“I don’t want your money, Angelo.” He shrugged. “No one would want me on their book. I’m not exactly model material.”
I outright laughed at that. He was beautiful. Mysterious dark eyes that were fathoms deep. His short hair was perfectly messy all the time; even his bed head was sexy. Stubble that looked as if he’d spent hours shaping it, when in truth it simply grew naturally like that. But it wasn’t only his facial features that made him gorgeous. His body was a work of art. Broad shoulders with thick biceps and a narrow waist. He didn’t work out much, but it was enough to be toned. He wasn’t a bodybuilder by any stretch of the imagination, and he didn’t have a perfect six-pack, but he was still extraordinary. “Let me photograph you, Trent. You’ll surprise yourself at how sexy they turn out.” I cocked my head to the side, framing the picture in my imagination. “Actually, stay exactly like that. I want that shot.”
