A Beautiful Disaster

by Marguerite Labbe

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  More from Marguerite Labbe

  Readers love the Geek Life series by Marguerite Labbe

  About the Author

  By Marguerite Labbe

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  A Beautiful Disaster

  By Marguerite Labbe

  Geek Life: Book Three

  When best friends Brenden and Dakota launch the biggest comics and pop-culture convention of their careers, they finally realize what everyone around them already knows: they’ve been in love for years.

  Now what are they going to do about it?

  Meticulously organized Brenden Wade and easygoing Dakota Nye turned their love of geek culture into a business, running conventions all over the Chesapeake Bay area. Now the weight of their pasts is threatening not only their friendship but their dream. Brenden fears losing his foster family when his secrets come out, and though the last thing Dakota wants is to hurt his plus one, he doesn’t know if he’s capable of settling down.

  One night of passion challenges both men’s preconceptions and forces them to evaluate what they want from the future. They’re both scared, and though they’ve always been able to figure out anything together, hearts are on the line. Will taking a chance on romance lead to a beautiful disaster, or just a disaster?

  For my roleplaying buddies, the group from Role with Us, Nicole, Chris, Adam, Brian, Rebecca, Quinn, and Cheryl. And the D Team, Ben, Amy, Meaghan, Ashley, and Matt. For my favorite event planner and the sister of my soul Andi. And always, my husband (Keir), son (Christian), and nephew (Noah) and the many years of games we’ve had around the kitchen table. Love you all.

  Author’s Note

  WHILE I was finalizing the draft of A Beautiful Disaster last year, Geppi’s Entertainment Museum announced that it was closing. I debated whether or not I wanted to keep it in and decided I had to. Geppi’s has been such a part of my husband’s life as a comic book artist. The one time I went I was captivated. Baseball and comics right next to one another, what wasn’t there to love.

  Chapter One

  BRENDEN WADE made his way through the mess in his once pristine living room. Boxes stacked haphazardly threatened to topple onto the floor. Clothes spilled out of hampers that had served for moving boxes. A replica of the lamp from A Christmas Story listed on the couch, and piles of Dakota’s record collection littered every available surface. How many video game systems could he own?

  This was Brenden’s life. Chaos and mayhem. All generated by one man. A man who managed to be both the bane of Brenden’s existence and his much-needed other half. Brenden didn’t want to contemplate life without him, even if he exasperated him.

  He restacked the boxes, then scooped the clothes off the floor, refolding them neatly before carrying a stack to Dakota’s bedroom. A quick, light knock yielded a grunt. Brenden shook his head. Dakota was not an early riser if he had a choice. Brenden could hardly expect him to change at this stage of his life. Another way they were polar opposites. Brenden had been up for several hours already, tackling his to-do list until it was time to take a break from his desk.

  He’d stick Dakota’s clothes in his dresser and get back to work. He had phone calls with agents lined up and another call later with the hotel to nail down details for the convention in September. Annapolis didn’t have the meeting space that Baltimore and DC did, but those cities already had big cons. Richmond was cool, but Brenden wanted to stick with the Chesapeake Bay area. They were Chessie Con after all. Annapolis was the best choice.

  However, making the jump to a bigger convention of his own didn’t mean he could give up his other promoting work. Managing conventions paid the bills, even if some of the topics were dead boring. Like the one he had later on this week. And if he received one more email from the disorganized nitwit who headed this con, he would put a terror in him that would have him shaking until the doors closed on the event. No more last-minute changes.

  Brenden nudged the bedroom door open and averted his eyes. Dakota lay facedown on the bed buck-assed naked with the covers kicked off to the side. The man refused to wear pajamas. Hell, even boxers would be a balm to Brenden’s sanity. Dakota had a moral vendetta against modesty. He had to be freezing.

  His gaze slid back over to the bed as he opened Dakota’s top drawer. Dakota had the build of an athlete. He’d played enough sports in high school, even went to college on a baseball scholarship for a couple of years before screwing up his knee in a play gone bad. The memory of Dakota’s disappointment still made Brenden ache for him. He’d loved the game. He’d had dreams of making it to the majors. That had all come crashing down after a long series of surgeries. He hadn’t been able to get his speed and flexibility back.

  But he hadn’t let it hold him down for long. Dakota was adaptable, and he’d refocused his energies, diving headlong into new passions. Brenden admired the hell out of him. He wasn’t sure he’d be so resilient if faced with having to give up his dreams.

  Brenden set down the stack of clothes and pulled a blanket off the end of the bed. It was March, not July. Dakota would make himself sick sleeping like that. Brenden gently set the blanket over him, stealing another glance as he did. Stocky and muscular from shoulders to calves, Dakota knew how he looked, how he drew eyes. Shaking his head, Brenden turned back to his task. One day into this new living arrangement and he had already ogled Dakota inappropriately. What was wrong with him?

  He shut the drawer with unnecessary force, and Dakota rolled onto his side to face him with a groan and kicked the damned blanket off. “Brenden? Lay off, man. You don’t need to do that for me. It’s too early to clean.”

  Brenden examined a point on the wall and noted the room could do with a repaint. He should’ve thought of that before Dakota moved in. “I figured I’d help you before I got back to work. When did you get in last night?”

  “I’m not sure. Three maybe. What time is it?” Dakota flopped onto his back and fumbled for his phone with a groan. “Tell me that clock is an evil, dirty liar.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” Brenden said with an amused shake of his head. “If you have to go running around, I’ll brew you a cup of coffee.”

  “I love you.” Dakota sat up and ran a hand through his hair, already mussed from cowlicks.

  “How many times have I heard that?” Brenden shot Dakota a sardonic glance. “Especially when you want something.”

  As he made his way back through the disorder in the living room, Dakota’s voice foll
owed him. “Doesn’t change my eternal devotion to you.” At the sound of Dakota’s bare footfalls behind him, Brenden pointed an imperious finger back in his direction. “Do not come into my kitchen naked. There are clean boxers on top of the clothes hamper by the couch.”

  “Jeez you’re a prude,” Dakota replied with familiar exasperation. “You’ve seen my junk before. It doesn’t bite.”

  Brenden rubbed his forehead. He would not dignify that with a response. Dakota always had some smart-assed comeback. He added grounds to a filter, flipped the coffee maker on, and peered in the refrigerator to check if he remembered to pick up Dakota’s favorite creamer.

  “You recording your podcast today?” he asked as Dakota came into the kitchen. He had found the boxers and a tank top, which was marginally better than all that naked skin. The image had etched its way into Brenden’s brain and would remain there for the rest of the day.

  “Nah, I took a couple of days off to get settled. I have enough audio sessions saved that I’m ahead of the game. I need to get a couple hours of editing in before I head out. I do, however, have a temp gig in DC this afternoon.” Dakota scratched his stomach as he peered into the refrigerator. “Hey, can I take over the workshop in the backyard for my studio again?”

  “It’s all ready for you. I cleaned it out after you said you were coming back. I don’t think I’d gone in there once since you left, and the dust was an inch thick.” It had taken Brenden a couple of hours to get it to his satisfaction, but cleaning was good for not thinking. It was satisfying to make his environment nice, neat, and orderly, especially since he couldn’t get his emotions to behave.

  “Thanks, man. The acoustics are the best there, and it’s easier to have all my stuff in one place. Then if I have guests, we won’t be in your way.” Dakota closed the door with his hip, juggling a couple of hard-boiled eggs and an orange in a deft circle.

  Dakota usually found entertaining guests for his podcast, but Brenden appreciated the courtesy. If Dakota brought someone over to their house, Brenden would feel duty bound to play host. The old-world manners his mother had drilled into him lingered even all these years after her passing. If Dakota and his guests went straight back to the workshop, he’d be off the hook and wouldn’t be obliged to entertain or cater to them.

  His phone dinged and Brenden glanced at it. “Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath.

  Dakota lifted an inquiring brow and added a muffin to his trick. “Let me guess, convention snag. For the one later this week?”

  “People are arriving Thursday. Three damn days from now. And this imbecile keeps adding registrations. We already have over a thousand people coming. The window to register late should’ve ended weeks ago for a damn reason.” Brenden pressed his lips together as he punched in the man’s number. “Excuse me a moment. Sorry, I have to handle this.”

  “Go for the jugular, Bren.” Dakota gave him a thumbs-up and a wicked grin. He always did encourage Brenden’s baser instincts, and right now, blood was what he wanted.

  Brenden shook his head as the phone rang and went straight to voicemail. Coward. He probably took one look at Brenden’s number and hid. Brenden paced as he left a message, laying out the issues with the banquet and lack of rooms at the hotel and the dozen other details that were screwed by adding a large number of attendees at this stage. He ended the call with a sharp reminder that he wanted the convention to be memorable, but not because of ill planning.

  Brenden attempted to moderate the ice in his voice by the end of his message, but he doubted the man would hear it. He understood. The guy was excited. His specialty was in his chosen field, not logistics, but why the fuck hire an expert if he didn’t plan on listening?

  “I love it when you get all growly, especially when I’m not the target.” Dakota snickered as Brenden set his phone down again. “What else is on your agenda today?”

  Brenden closed his eyes, getting his equilibrium back as he went over his mental checklist. “Conference calls. Lunch meeting. Then I need to go shopping to get a gift for Morris and Theo’s wedding shower. That’ll be here before we know it.”

  Dakota peeled the eggs, tossing the shells into the trash, then moved on to his orange. “I can’t believe he’s really doing it, and Felipe’s going to be right behind him once he and Trask get the house all fixed up. I’m going to be the only unattached one left in our gaming group. Well, except for Jackie, though I have my suspicions about who she’s been banging.”

  “You’re right about Felipe and Trask.” Brenden pointed toward a neat stack of mail on the corner of the counter. “You received a save-the-date card. Felipe plans on an August wedding.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Dakota snatched up the mail and examined the card. It was a cute picture of Trask and Felipe with their dogs, all the details laid out in a funky script. “Felipe had to have come up with this idea.”

  “The cards or the wedding?” Brenden couldn’t picture Trask making cards. He was more likely to send out an email blast telling everyone when to show up. Felipe never let go of an opportunity to get creative.

  “Both.” Dakota set aside the card with an exaggerated expression of relief. “Wow. Felipe is set on his fairy tale. I’m so glad I saw the signs and dodged that bullet. I’m going to be a bachelor for life.”

  Dakota’s views on settling down were well known, but if he had any instinct for self-preservation, he wouldn’t say that around Felipe. Brenden grabbed a couple of mugs and poured coffee for them both. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you. We’ll be single old men together.”

  Dakota slung a heavy arm around Brenden’s shoulders and gave him a casual kiss on his cheek. Those unconscious, affectionate gestures had always been Brenden’s undoing. Unrequited lust he could deal with. This tug on his heart was something else. That wasn’t so easily dismissed, no matter how hard he tried.

  “Nope, not you. Someone who’s not an idiot and sees the real you is going to sweep you off your feet and dazzle you with his awesomeness and I’m going to be all by myself.” Dakota snagged the coffee cup and headed toward his room, gnawing on one of the eggs. “And I’ll hate him, so be prepared, because nobody’s good enough for you. Don’t forget, you’re cooking dinner tonight. Please make it worthy of the prodigal son returning to his roost.”

  Brenden shook his head and took a fortifying sip of his coffee. At this rate, he was going to start spiking his caffeine with whiskey just to face the day. Dakota was under the same roof again, a situation Brenden had both longed for and viewed with terror. “Does that mean you’ll be home before midnight?” he called after Dakota, his gaze dropping to Dakota’s muscled ass before he disappeared. He must’ve been a real asshole in a past life for karma to target him like this.

  “If you’re cooking, yes.”

  “Just so we understand each other, I’m not cooking every night.” Though, for Dakota’s first night here, Brenden would have to do something special. He was a born sucker for the man.

  Dakota flapped a hand back in his direction as he pawed through another stack of clothes for a shirt and pants. “If you pick up stuff for tacos, I’ll cook tomorrow night before I head out.”

  Tacos. Brenden never knew there were so many ways to eat a taco. Somehow Dakota kept them from being boring. At least Dakota’s tendency to flit from one social event to another would keep him away from home. And when he was here, he would hole up in his studio for hours on end. When he started working, he often forgot to stop, even to eat. Which was a tendency they shared. At least when they were together, they thought of feeding each other if not themselves.

  “You do realize you’re getting older, right?” Brenden called after him, smiling because he anticipated Dakota’s likely response. Dakota deserved the dig after messing up Brenden’s neat pile of clothes. “Maybe partying every night is getting beyond your capabilities.”

  “That’s evil talk. Don’t make me brain you,” came the tart reply, and Brenden chuckled.

  Dakota
would never change, and that was one constant Brenden relied on. He took his coffee to the office by the living room and half closed the door on the chaos. It was bad enough knowing it was a mess. He didn’t need to see it too. A wide desk faced the window and the view of the front yard. Spring came grudgingly to the area. The daffodils peeked up through the remaining snow clinging under the trees from the freak storm that came through the other day. Tomorrow it was supposed to be in the high seventies. Brenden shook his head. The spring weather in Maryland was contradictory.

  He set his mug down on a coaster and opened his day planner. His desk was completely free of clutter except for the array of family photographs, the pictures of him and Dakota, which reminded him of reality. Dakota was his foster brother, and as his foster family had taken pains to point out when he was sixteen, that meant he was off-limits. He took a moment to drill that fact into his head, listing all the reasons why, starting with the family that had taken them both in when their worlds had fallen apart. A family who had remained a vital part of their lives in all the years since they’d left. Sometimes he needed a reminder, and this morning was a good time to do so.

  Brenden turned his attention to his computer and pulled up his appointments and checklist of items for discussion. He’d been living with Dakota in close proximity for half his life. He could deal and go on as he always had. Soon they would be back to aggravating the hell out of each other, which oddly enough had its own charm and made it easier to ignore certain tugs. Besides, Dakota was his best friend, and Brenden had sorely missed having him close.

  First call on his list, the mycology convention in Chicago later this week. There really was a conference for everything under the sun. Well, dealing with fungi lovers was not the worst. Brenden could handle three days of that. Maybe by the time he finished sweet-talking the hotel into the extra guests for the banquet and checked for room availability in neighboring hotels, the twit would have called him back and they could discuss the details. He was not about to make reservations for anyone, but he could at least offer options.