The Drum Major’s Passion

by Charlie Richards

  When a man discovers a second chance to connect with the one who haunts his dreams, he’ll do everything he can to capitalize on it.

  In college, Drew Menard was deep in the closet, too afraid to step out. That meant he missed his chance to follow up on the most amazing kiss of his life. He’s always remembered who’d given it to him, though—Will Hanson. Drew had secretly watched Will at many a track meet and band performance. His biggest regret was never gathering enough courage to be himself and do something about it.

  Almost seven years later, Drew no longer thinks of himself as in the closet, although he wouldn’t consider himself out and proud, either. His friends know his orientation, even if his father doesn’t. Why rock the boat when he has zero interest in anyone beyond one night?

  All that changes when none other than Will walks through the door of the clinic where Drew works, and he discovers his desire for him hasn’t waned one bit. While Will is accompanying a student in need of physical therapy, he can barely concentrate enough to do his job. Can Drew convince Will he’s changed enough to give him a chance?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Drum Major’s Passion

  Copyright © 2020 Charlie Richards

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-3135-8

  Cover art by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  The Drum Major’s Passion

  Carry Me: Book Eleven

  By

  Charlie Richards

  Dedication

  Christmas magic is silent. You don’t hear it—you feel it, you know it, you believe it.

  ~Kevin Alan Milne

  Chapter One

  “Slow your reps,” Drew Menard ordered levelly. “Focus on your form. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

  Drew’s client, Ned Lucre, glared straight ahead, but he obeyed. “I want my leg back to normal,” he grumbled as a drop of sweat dripped down his temple. “Damn car accident.”

  Even having heard it all before, Drew nodded anyway. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He stated the platitude as he always did. Then Drew followed that up by reminding, “But according to your doctor, you’ll make a full recovery as long as you put in the work.” Seeing that Ned had begun speeding up his movements once more, he rested his palm on Ned’s shoulder. “Ned, if you do the work wrong, you’re going to re-injure yourself and set yourself back.”

  Resting his foot on the floor, Ned growled under his breath for an instant. He tipped his head back and heaved a deep sigh as he closed his eyes. “I know you’re right,” Ned grumbled. Refocusing on Drew, he nodded slowly. “Okay. So go slow with the bungee-band flexing.”

  “Exactly,” Drew confirmed, straightening again. “We’re strengthening your thigh muscles that were damaged by the breaking window glass.”

  As Ned’s physical therapist, Drew knew the ins and outs of his injuries. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to guide him through his rehab.

  For the next twenty minutes, Drew led Ned through a couple of other exercises to help the man strengthen the muscles that had been repaired by the doctor.

  “Well done, Ned,” Drew congratulated as a sweaty Ned moved his feet off the bicycle pedals to the floor. “Let’s get you moved to the hot tub to soak your leg.”

  Ned nodded as he rubbed his sleeve over his forehead. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want your crutches, or should I wheel you in the chair?” Drew asked, knowing after the work-out, the man might need it.

  Ned groaned as he pressed the back of his head into the cushion of the reclining bicycle. Turning his head, he squinted up at Drew. “Wheelchair.”

  Drew nodded, offering the man an understanding smile. “Probably a smart choice,” he assured. “We’ll get your leg rested so you’ll be able to crutch on out of here.” Drew finished teasing him with a rakish smile.

  A low, rough chuckle escaped Ned. “Right.”

  Taking that, Drew headed to the wall and fetched the wheelchair. He returned to Ned’s side. Bending, he slid his arm under his client’s knees as the man slung his arm over Drew’s shoulders.

  As Drew moved the six-foot-two, well-muscled frame, he appreciated his own six-foot-four build. He’d played as a linebacker in college for several years, and he kept his powerful body in well-defined shape. Still, as Drew helped the guy move, Drew’s muscles strained.

  Plus, considering Ned was actually a damn fine specimen, Drew found himself struggling to control his prick.

  Admitting to being gay had been a long road for Drew, but at least he no longer lied—to anyone—when they asked. As he straightened and stepped away from Ned, Drew was grateful his father would never think to ask that. He figured the man wouldn’t understand. Drew knew his dad already didn’t understand his job choice. His father thought Drew should have tried to pursue a future as a football player. That had never been Drew’s dream, regardless of how good his dad thought he was.

  Besides, not like I’ve ever met a man that would tempt me to enter a relationship.

  One-night stands worked just fine for him.

  Leaving Ned in the hot tub, Drew headed to the front desk. He spotted Jillian Parsons behind the counter and almost turned around. The woman worked part-time, splitting the receptionist position with another lady—Katie—and made a habit of asking him out at least once a week, and Drew was running out of excuses to give her.

  It caused his working environment to be more than a little uncomfortable. He’d made a passing comment about it once to his boss—Rafe Litman—and the older man had chuckled. Then he’d made a comment about how great it would be to be young and desired.

  Drew wondered what would happen if he told her he was feeling sexually harassed.

  Just as Drew saw Jillian begin to turn in his direction, as if she had some Drew Radar, the bell over the lobby door dinged, drawing her attention. Relief filled him, but he figured that might not get him out of talking with her. At least with a client there, she would be a little professional.

  Right? Hope so.

  Closing the distance to the front desk, Drew watched Jillian sweep her gaze over whoever was entering. He took advantage and slipped Ned’s file into her in-box. Then Drew turned and strode back down the hall again.

  Drew had ten minutes before he needed to help Ned out of the hot tub. After that, he was done for the day.

  “Hey, Drew,” Jillian called. “Got a sec?”

  Fighting back a cringed, Drew turned and pasted a smile on his lips. “Sure. What can I help you with?” he asked, keeping his voice level and professional as he watched Jillian hurry to his side.

  “It looks like there was a mix-up in scheduling,” Jillia
n stated, nibbling her bottom lip. “There’s a young man here that was supposed to see Mister Mindrid today, but he’s not in.” Her brows were furrowed, yet still she lifted her hand to her chest, teasing her fingertips along the neckline of her shirt.

  Drew figured she meant to be provocative, but it was completely lost on him.

  “Mister Litman is already with a client,” Jillian continued, her lips curving into a fake-concerned moue. “I know you’re supposed to be off after Mister Lucre leaves, but do you have time for a consultation?”

  Even if Drew had had plans, he would never leave a client hanging because someone—probably Jillian—had messed up the scheduling.

  “Certainly,” Drew replied. “I’ll need to finish with Mister Lucre first. Can they wait?” Another thought struck him. “Are they okay with seeing a different physical therapist?”

  Jillian glanced back toward the lobby, hesitating.

  Drew clenched his jaw for a second before taking a calming breath. Except, his lungs were then filled with a cloying floral scent.

  Ugh. Too much perfume again.

  “I’ll be back out shortly, Jillian,” Drew told her, taking a step away. “If they’re okay with a different therapist and are willing to wait, I’ll pick them up then.”

  Then Drew pivoted and headed into the break room. He grabbed a bottle of water and swigged several gulps. After a glance at his watch, he saw he had a couple more minutes before returning to Ned.

  Drew settled on a chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. Tipping his head, he rested it on the cushion. He focused on his breathing and relaxing the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

  After a few minutes, Drew felt better. “Good thing tomorrow is Saturday,” he muttered as he rose back to his feet. “Barbeque tonight at Jake’s, and I know he’ll let me crash there. Then a run with him in the morning.”

  Smiling, Drew headed back to Ned. “Feeling better?” he asked with a grin as he grabbed a towel.

  “Getting better all the time,” Ned replied, taking the towel.

  To Drew’s relief, his client sounded it, too.

  After helping Ned from the hot tub and into the wheelchair, Drew took him to the changing room. “Don’t forget to set up an appointment with Jillian for Monday,” he reminded. After receiving confirmation from Ned, he left the man to it.

  Drew returned to the front. Pausing at the opening, he swept his gaze around the area. His focus landed on the two waiting in the chairs there.

  From the fact that the young man—a teenager around the age of fifteen—sported a large walking cast, Drew figured he was the client. He guessed the black-haired man with him would be his father. Then the adult turned his attention from the teenager and met his gaze.

  Sucking in a shocked gasp, Drew peered into vibrant green eyes that had haunted his dreams for over six years.

  “Will.”

  Will Hanson had given Drew his first kiss from a guy. While he indulged in one-night stands, he didn’t kiss them—not anymore. Every time he’d kissed a trick, he’d been turned off. The memory of Will’s soft lips pressed against his own slammed into Drew, causing his gut to clench and his mouth to tingle with sensory recall.

  Rising to his feet, Will narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze over Drew. His expression said it all. He was trying to place him.

  Damn. He doesn’t remember me.

  Drew sure as hell remembered Will. His thick black hair was longer than it had been in college, but he’d retained his lean runner’s build. Back then, Will had worn black-rimmed glasses, but he wasn’t wearing them now, making his green eyes seem even more vibrant.

  Then Will’s eyes widened a little, and his lips parted. “Drew?” he questioned softly. “Drew Menard?”

  Unable to help himself, Drew grinned broadly. “Hey.” He closed the distance between them, needing to get closer. “It’s been years.” Wanting to touch, Drew held out his hand. “How are you?”

  Will hesitated an instant, then took Drew’s hand. “Um, good. I’m good.”

  Drew felt Will’s warm palm slide against his own, and he tightened his grip just a little. He wanted to hold onto the man. The urge to cradle Will’s hand with his second one filled him, so he did it.

  “Glad to hear it, Will. Really glad.” Unable to help himself, Drew added, “We need to meet for coffee. Catch up.”

  Drew knew he needed to rein in his excitement at seeing his college crush again—and so out of the blue. His cock was already thickening in his slacks, and his pants weren’t going to hide his excitement for long.

  “Mister Hanson,” a young masculine voice murmured.

  Will pulled his hand from Drew’s as he half-turned in the teenager’s direction. “Pete, this is Mister Menard.” With a glance Drew’s way, he offered with a half-smile, “Sorry I didn’t make the connection when the receptionist said you were available to talk to us.” Before Drew could reassure the man, Will continued, “This is Pete Skarner.”

  Using his big head, Drew focused on Pete. “Hey, buddy.” He gave the young man an encouraging smile. “Looks like you got yourself into a little trouble, huh?”

  Pete scowled at Drew as he rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t my fault.”

  “It never is,” Drew countered, shoving his hands into his pockets. If his hands were out of the way, maybe he could control his urge to touch Will again. “So, let’s head back to my office to talk.” Realizing he needed a bit more information, he turned and peered at Jillian. “Do you have Pete’s file?”

  Jillian nodded as she held up a file. “Right here.” As she spoke, she rested one arm on her desk and leaned forward, using the move to push her boobs forward.

  Drew kept his focus squarely on Jillian’s face as he plucked the file from her fingers. “Thank you.” Then he moved his attention back to Will and Pete. Drew saw Will helping Pete to his feet and offered, “I can get you a wheelchair if you need a break from those crutches.”

  Pete scowled at him. “I got it.”

  Great. Due to some error, I get to handle a belligerent teenager. Swell.

  At least Pete’s attitude caused Drew’s arousal to ease.

  Forcing himself to keep a professional smile on his face, Drew nodded. “Of course. Standard procedure to offer.” He started walking. “If you’ll both join me.”

  Drew led the way deeper into the clinic. When he passed Ned crutching his way to the front, he clapped him lightly on the upper arm. “See you Monday, Ned.”

  “Yep. Thanks, Drew.”

  Pointing his finger at Ned, Drew reminded him, “And don’t forget what we discussed.” That was all he could say in front of other clients.

  Ned fixed him with a wry grin. “Yeah. Yeah.”

  Laughing lightly, Drew opened the door a few feet away. He led the way inside and indicated the chairs opposite his desk. Once they’d entered and headed that way, Drew closed the door and rounded his desk.

  As Drew placed the file before him, he settled in his own chair. Glancing between Will and Pete, he realized he needed a little more information before he could get started. After all, he didn’t know the relationship between the pair.

  Can Will be involved in a confidential conversation?

  “Uh, we didn’t really know each other well in college,” Drew began slowly, meeting Will’s gaze. “And you have different last names.” He opened the file and tapped it. “Will I find documentation in here telling me that I can discuss Pete’s treatment in front of you, Will? Or do I need to ask you to leave?”

  That was the last thing Drew wanted to do. He wanted to keep Will in view until he figured out a way to ask for the man’s phone number. Still, he would do it for patient confidentiality reasons.

  Please say you can stay.

  Chapter Two

  Will Hanson still felt completely blown away—not only by the fact that he was sitting across from Drew Menard in a physical therapy office, but also by the way the man had greeted him... as if they were old friends.

 
Why would he do that?

  They hadn’t spoken or even been within fifty feet of each other since Will had kissed Drew. He still remembered the impulsive moment as if it were yesterday instead of almost seven years before.

  In college, Will had been a year ahead of Drew. He would have been considered a band geek if he hadn’t also had a lean runner’s build and had been on the track team. Will had excelled at both the sprinting events and the middle distance races—easily able to pace himself up to thirty-two-hundred meters at speed.

  Will had enjoyed practicing at night, running on the track after the football team had finished their practice. Most of the time, he managed to make certain he arrived after all the players had left the locker room. As an openly gay student who was part of the gay pride alliance, Will was aware he could be a target for testosterone-fueled jocks.

  Occasionally, Will arrived too early—or some of the guys took longer than normal in the locker room—and they’d jeered him as he’d run. As with any group of bullies, Will had ignored them. Fortunately, with his head focused on the burn of his muscles and the movement of his limbs, Will had always found it easy to lose himself in running.

  One evening, one of the jocks had decided he’d had enough with being ignored. He’d stepped into Will’s path. Will’s memories took him as he recalled what happened next.

  Will barely managed to avoid ramming into the jock’s muscular, taller frame. Instead, Will clipped him on the arm as he’d swerved.

  “Don’t you touch me, faggot,” the jock roared, shoving Will, even though it had been his own fault. “I don’t want your taint.”

  Will planned to turn and keep running. Hell, he could outdistance the guy and the pair flanking him on his worst day. Before he could move, the jock grabbed his upper arm.