by Cara Dee
“How is that a valid reason in today’s day and age?” he laughed, confused. “There’s adoption, there’s surrogacy. Most of my gay friends today have kids.”
I knew that. It was hard to explain. “I think it’s a bigger-picture thing. His way of clinging to structure is to go the traditional route.”
“Structure,” he repeated. “Hmm.”
Yeah. Structure.
I shivered as an icy wind blew past.
The heater could work better.
“What kind of structure do you have in your relationship?” he asked, patting his pockets. He retrieved his smokes and lighter. “And spare me the details.”
I chuckled.
I had to think back a little. Gideon and I had established a handful of routines during our short relationship, and they had evolved into something different over time. Usually when he grew bolder and opened up more.
“He’s been consistently dominant in the bedroom,” I answered. It was the easiest one to start with. “I kinda wanna believe that I’m more dominant the rest of the time, though. I love taking care of him and making sure he eats and sleeps properly. He’s my papito.”
Anthony hummed and lit up a smoke. “I’m not surprised. You’re a natural caregiver.”
“And he needs it, I think,” I said. “It isn’t a matter of what he’s capable of—the man has taken care of himself all this life. It’s just…with me, the leash isn’t as short.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like how he’s closed himself in,” I answered. “He created this box—to use his words—where everything was safe and running on a perfect schedule. He didn’t give himself any room to push boundaries and try new things.”
“Okay, I’m with you.” Anthony nodded. “You’re more like a doting mother, but you’re not afraid to shove the fears outta someone.”
“I’m not like a mother.” I slapped his arm.
He chuckled. “You fucking are, bambino. I know because I’m the same. I saw you fuss over him tonight. It’s cute.”
Fine, he had me there.
“That’s why I think you should put yourself out there,” he told me. “Tell him you want more. Fight for him. Lead the way like you’ve led the way so far. Maybe he needs it.” He tapped his temple. “Think about it. If he’s unsure, he could get stuck. Breaking patterns is hard on most of us, and we don’t gotta worry about anxiety.”
He had a point.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek.
“Tell him what a life with you could be like,” he finished.
What could a life with me be like?
“I gotta say, he brings out the best in you, little brother.”
I had to agree. Gideon centered me too. He calmed me down a little, and I liked it.
“Tonight, you were…” Anthony let out a whistle. “You reached a new level. Same with the recital.”
I smirked and drained my first beer. Yeah, tonight had been good.
“I can’t wait for Nashville,” I said. “It’ll be mad.”
“Mm.” He nodded slowly and took a swig. “I’ll be heading down a week before the festival, by the way.”
“Huh?” I looked to him, puzzled. We were gonna charter a bus and go all of us together.
For some reason, Anthony appeared uncomfortable. Not in a serious way, more like he was embarrassed by something.
“Don’t give me shit,” he warned me. “There’s a food festival I wanna go to, and I haven’t taken a vacation in years.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why would I give you shit for that?”
Hell, I was all for him taking some time off.
He cleared his throat. “I remember last time I took a cooking class…”
I started snickering. I couldn’t fucking help it. Leave it to my brother to fail at boiling spaghetti. He was a lousy Italian.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” he grated. “Fuck you.”
I cracked up and reached for another beer.
Man, I needed that laugh.
“Okay, what, so there’re cooking classes at this festival?” I chuckled.
He nodded curtly. “I won a ticket from this chef I follow on Instagram.”
Sweet baby Jesus, I was so fucking torn. Part of me wanted to laugh my ass off, but the bigger part of me just found him adorable. It was Anthony in a nutshell. He followed old students on Insta to give them praise and encouragement, and I could picture him fawning over some chef too. In his own way. He wasn’t exactly fanboy material—he was too rough around the edges for that—but if he liked someone, in any way, he wanted to let them know. He always showed appreciation. It was sweet as hell.
I suppressed my amusement and tried to be less of a dick. “How did you win it?”
He shrugged, acting indifferent and bitchy. “There was a giveaway. He asked his followers to write in a comment the last thing we’d made for dinner. So I wrote ‘Oatmeal, because it’s the one thing I can’t mess up.’”
Le-fucking-git. Coincidentally, the times he’d tried to make pasta, it ended up looking like oatmeal.
“Here.” He trapped his beer between his knees and pulled out his phone. A few clicks later, and he was showing me the profile of this chef. “That’s him.”
And he had a Pride flag emoji in his bio; were we not gonna mention that?
“My hope is to leave Nashville with the ability to cook at least one good dinner,” he said.
“Hon, are you sure that’s your only hope?” I grabbed the phone and squinted at the profile photo. That Southern gentleman was easy on the eyes, so to speak. Charming smile, fair bit of gray in his hair, dimples, flannel, arms folded over his chest, and solid forearm game.
“Quit it.” Anthony ripped the phone from me and pocketed it. “He’s happily married to another chef. I follow him too. He’s funny. Drops more curses than ingredients in his tutorials.”
I chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m glad you’re going, though. You need a vacation. And if you happen to learn how to cook pasta…that’s just an awesome bonus.”
He let out a laugh and finished his beer.
I chugged a little too.
Since we were already on the Nashville topic, I mentioned our set list and that we had to sit down soon and hammer out the details. Marco, our regular bass player, had already backed out, so we’d asked Chris to join us, and he was all for it. He needed a break from work too. And frankly, I was relieved. Marco was great for smaller gigs and especially if the church was involved, but we were hoping to push for more rock n’ roll at this festival, and that was where Chris was better.
Anthony told me that he’d go through our recordings too. That way, we’d be able to sell a demo or two at the event, along with some merch. By using a few songs we’d already recorded, we wouldn’t have to waste a bunch of dough recording new material. It would be a while before our new studio at the academy was ready, so we’d like to rent as little studio time elsewhere as possible.
Then my brother insisted on steering the conversation back to Gideon by suggesting that maybe he’d come with us to Nashville.
“That’s a big maybe,” I muttered against the bottle. Fuck, empty. Peering at the six-pack I’d brought, I wondered how there were only two bottles left. Three left in Anthony’s.
“You’ll get your answer tomorrow,” he replied firmly. “In fact, I’ll drive you up there myself.”
I threw him a frown and reached for one more beer.
“Ruby and I already talked about it.” He shrugged.
“Ay, get your own model queen best friend—Ruby’s mine.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious. Why’re youse talking?”
“We made a pact years ago,” he said with a dismissive wave. “If either of us think you’re struggling with something, we talk behind your back to come up with a strategy to get you outta your funk.”
“Wow.” I stared at him, and I tried to wrap my brain around what he’d said, but the beers had slowed
down the machinery. “Just wow, Anthony.”
He laughed.
I shook my head. “Tomorrow, I’m texting all your buddies. I want a pact too.”
He found that hilarious for some reason.
“So, what exactly did you agree on?” I asked.
Another chuckle slipped out before he sighed contentedly and reached for his smokes. “That I’ll drive you to Gideon’s, and she’ll be on standby with backup plans in case you get bad news and need to get hammered.”
Ouch. Well, at least they were being realistic about it.
“We don’t want you to throw yourself into the nearest nightclub to forget your troubles, bambino,” he explained more soberly. “That’s all. Judging by what you’ve told us—and what I’ve seen of this man—you two have something worth building on.”
I knew we did. Even Gideon knew it. The question was whether or not it trumped the original alternative.
A rock the size of Mount Everest tumbled down into my stomach, and I blew out a breath and set the beer on the table. I didn’t wanna drink no more.
“Hey.” He nudged me with his elbow. “That face won’t sell shit tomorrow, Nicky. You can only fight for him if you believe it’s worth it.”
He was right, but he was kinda ruining the beginning of my pity party.
“I can’t feel a little sorry for myself?” I asked.
He smiled and shook his head. “Nope. But we can change the subject if you want. Next week, I want to sit down and make us official partners in the Initiative. Fifty-fifty on everything.”
He knew just how to derail my thoughts and brighten my mood.
Chapter 11
“Ay, calm yourself, bambino!”
“I’m sorry!” I released a harsh breath and scrubbed my hands over my face, then groaned and cursed and—fuck. I had to get my shit together. Deep breaths, deep breaths. I chewed on my thumbnail and put all my focus on not tapping my feet restlessly or drumming my fingers against the armrest.
Anthony maneuvered his truck through the Manhattan traffic like a pro, but I wished he’d slow down. He was driving me toward my fate way too quickly.
I hadn’t been able to eat breakfast this morning. I’d fried up some eggs and bacon for my brother, and I’d almost hurled at the smell. That was how nervous I was. ’Cause I fucking loved bacon, otherwise.
This wasn’t gonna go well. I could feel it.
All signs pointed to disaster.
Starting with the fact that today would be the absolute first time I saw Gideon in broad daylight. It felt so weird to even think about seeing him when the sun was out. Anthony had looked at me like I was crazy when I’d said this was a bad omen, but it was the little things, right? Gideon and I had never done anything normal. No dates, no lazy mornings in bed, no going out for coffee, no meeting up for lunch during our workdays, none of that. We’d been creatures of the night and of secrecy.
How was that a solid foundation to build a relationship on?
Madonn’.
And then…and then, I didn’t know his address! I didn’t know where he lived! We’d had to spend a solid hour going through Gideon’s Instagram for clues. He’d started the account in an attempt to get more information on me, yet he’d already posted 176 pictures of Chester. Three of them thankfully with a view of Central Park. In short, we’d managed to narrow down Gideon’s address to two buildings, and he’d told me the night we went to that place with the delicious fries that he lived two streets away, so we were starting with that.
While my brother had gotten stuck on Gideon actually having a view of Central Park in his Upper East Side condo, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was ready to sign my life away to a man whose home I’d never visited.
And I fucking was. I was ready to spend the rest of my days with him. I loved him so much that it hurt.
I missed him, and I’d seen him last night. It was bonkers.
“Sometime today!” Anthony honked at the Civic ahead of us that was missing that the light had turned green, and when that didn’t work, my brother rolled down the window and yelled. “Are you driving today, sunshine?” He honked some more. “Oi! Get off the fucking road!”
The asshole in front of us gestured for us to go around, so I guessed he was just gonna sit there on the corner and watch the day go by.
Anthony muttered a string of curses and drove around the fucker.
“I’m surprised you didn’t flip him off too,” I said in amusement.
“I’m not from Jersey. There are limits.”
I let out a laugh, though it was short-lived. We were almost at the park.
“Let’s see.” He leaned forward and squinted at the street signs. “We should come up here…” He turned left, and I saw the trees straight ahead. Park Avenue was right up there, and if our guess was correct, the building to my right was Gideon’s. “You got this, little brother.”
I swallowed hard as he slowed down. There was no place to park.
I opened the door and stepped out into the cold Sunday morning.
He gave me a reassuring smile. “No matter what, we’ve got your back. I’ll stay close until you call or text.”
I nodded. “Grazie.” After closing the door, I took a deep breath and snuck between two parked cars and stepped onto the sidewalk. There was no strategy; I would just ask the doorman, or if there was a lobby, or…fuck if I knew. I’d been with clients in the past where it was like checking in to a hotel, and I’d been with clients where you went straight up.
As I rounded the building, I saw there was a doorman, at least.
At the sound of a dog barking, I threw a glance across the avenue, and I came to an abrupt stop. Maybe my heart thudded to a halt for a beat too. Gideon was coming out of the park with a floppy little fur ball, and he picked up Chester once they reached the crosswalk.
November was putting a rosy tint in Gideon’s cheeks. His hair was windblown, and he’d replaced his suit and coat with jeans and a shorter parka.
It was amazing to see him like this, carefree and smiling at his dog, but it also felt like I was intruding. Like this wasn’t our time to see each other. This was his domain, at a time of day that had never belonged to us.
Gideon crossed the street with Chester in his arms, and I forced my legs to carry me forward.
I cleared my throat.
My pulse skyrocketed.
“Gideon,” I managed to get out.
He whipped his head my way and could not look more surprised.
Fuck, I knew he didn’t like surprises.
I had to make this quick without imposing. Maybe he had plans. He definitely had his routines.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I asked, approaching him carefully.
He furrowed his brow and set down Chester. “I apologize. I didn’t expect…”
“I know you didn’t.” I gestured for us to stand closer to the building. The sidewalks up here didn’t get very crowded, but he wasn’t the only one out with his dog this morning. “I just had to talk to you. Sorry about the ambush.”
He fidgeted with the end of the leash. “Is something wrong?”
You tell me.
I leaned my shoulder against the wall and cracked my knuckles absently. “I wouldn’t say wrong… I just wanna get something off my chest before our time runs out.” Jesus Christ, my nerves were shot. No time like the present, right? Here goes everything. “Pick me, Gideon.”
His gaze snapped up and met mine, and I swallowed against the onslaught of emotions that resurfaced without warning.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Choose me. Not her,” I said. “I don’t think we can fit into each other’s worlds, but I think we can create something that’s just ours. And…maybe I can’t promise you a life of perfect stability—I know I can’t—but I promise to always pay attention to what you need. I promise to be there.” I had to swallow again, not to mention blink past the sting in my eyes. “That house and those family traditions could be ours—with kids we adop
t or whatever. Or surrogacy? I don’t know. All I know is that I want a future with you. I want us to be real. And I want there to be a seat for you at the table when we have Sunday dinners at Nonna’s. Hell, Pop already invited you.”
My bravery was fading fast, mostly because I couldn’t read Gideon’s expression for shit.
Was it too much? Fuck. I’d ambushed him and then overwhelmed him. Great start of something he had no reason to believe I could handle.
“I shoulda called before.” I rubbed my forefinger and thumb over my eyes and cursed myself.
“It’s almost ten thirty,” he mumbled. “Ten thirty…ten thirty.” His jaw ticked, and he screwed his eyes shut for a moment. “I need a pause button. I need to stay calm and proceed according to my plan.”
His… His plan.
I felt the color drain from my face, and it was as if someone had just kicked me in the stomach.
“Please be at the apartment tonight,” he told me. “I want to explain—”
“Gideon!”
No. No, fuck that noise. I looked over my shoulder and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That had to be Claire.
She was coming out of a taxi, all blond hair and crystal-blue eyes and designer clothes.
As I faced Gideon again and felt nausea creeping up my throat, he took a small step closer, and the panic was clear in his eyes. They were pleading with me.
The sheer desperation made me toss my own pain out the window, and I said, “You don’t have to explain anything, but I’ll be there tonight.” There was no erasing the dullness from my voice, though.
The clicking of heels approached and wrapped up my minute. Time to take a hike.
He was gonna proceed with his plan.
He was choosing her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, right before Claire reached us.
She eyed me curiously. “Hello.”
Fuck my life. I dropped my stare to the catalogues in her arms and saw at least one bridal magazine.
I grinned and shook my head. It was the only thing I could do if I didn’t wanna flip my shit right here on the sidewalk. But my heart fucking broke.
“Who’s this, Gideon?”
