The Veranda (Lavender Shores Book 3)

by Rosalind Abel

  About the transformation God had worked in my life.

  And then, Erica had introduced me to her older brother. And in that instant, I knew the prayers hadn’t been answered. At least not fully. Maybe not even close, considering the desire that rocketed through me as I’d looked into Donovan Carlisle’s eyes. To this day, I’m not sure how I made it through that night. How I laughed when her family made jokes, smiled when I was congratulated again and again and again, how I kissed her and held her through the night. All of it was a blur, and all I felt was devastation. I wasn’t sure if God had betrayed me or if I had betrayed him. But something, somewhere, somehow was broken. Donovan was proof of that.

  I scooted across the swing and bent closer, resting my arms on my knees, and put my hand on top of Donovan’s. Just for a moment, long enough for his gaze to lift to mine, but not long enough for it to look suspicious to anyone passing by. “You know, Donovan, for all of our years together and for how well we know each other, there’s so much you don’t know.” I let go of his hand. “Do you remember my parents are preachers?”

  He nodded. “Yes, in some megachurch in your hometown in Oregon, right?”

  “Yeah.” Maybe if I’d told him this years ago things would have gone differently. Although, I wasn’t sure if differently meant things would’ve built between us sooner, or not at all. I guess it was pointless to wonder. Things happened as they happened. Choices had been made. And I was making different choices now. “I spent over a decade in reparative therapy, you know, the kind that’s supposed to turn you straight.”

  Donovan’s brown eyes grew large, the shock and horror easy to see.

  “It wasn’t one of those camps where they beat you or starve you or anything like that. It was just therapy. It was something my dad forced me to do, but I wanted it to work just as much as he and Mom.” For a second I thought my emotions were going to get the best of me. I cleared my throat and reined them in. Even so, my voice wavered a little. “When I got engaged to Erica, I truly believed it worked. That I was straight. The night I met you, I realized that wasn’t true. But it was too late. We were engaged. She was already pregnant with Emma. It was too late.”

  Donovan let out a long breath and sat back in his chair. We were silent for several minutes. His gaze flicked here and there, settling on me every so often, obviously trying to take in this new information, maybe rewriting things that he’d taken for granted over the last decade. I couldn’t read his thoughts. Couldn’t tell if he was disgusted, if he felt betrayed, if he wanted me to just leave.

  When he finally whispered, it was with a shake of his head and a guarded expression. “So, I really wasn’t making up those times over the years where I felt something between us?”

  “No. You weren’t making that up at all. Though I was doing everything in my power to keep you from feeling it.”

  “You did a pretty good job.” He let out a dark laugh, then straightened, a new thought hitting him. “Wait, does Erica know any of this?”

  “Yeah, she does.” I didn’t want to admit the rest. The truth sounded so stupid, so blind and ignorant. “She knew about me before our first kiss.”

  He flinched.

  “Please don’t hate me.” I hadn’t meant to say that part out loud, but I meant it. No matter what happened, I needed him to know the truth. Even if we’d already experienced everything we would together. I needed Donovan to know me, after all this time I just needed him to truly know me. I felt a tear run down my cheek, and I wiped it away, promising there wouldn’t be another. “I came to Lavender Shores when I’d given up. I’d left reparative therapy, and left the church, and left God. I considered going to San Francisco, but I’d heard of Lavender Shores, and for some reason it sounded less scary. I was going to come here, find a man, and finally give in to any and every gay desire I’d ever had.” I couldn’t hold back another dark laugh. “I ran into Erica within an hour of coming to town. We were both at the bar. She was so gorgeous and flirtatious. You know how Erica is.” I didn’t pause for a reaction. “She asked what I was doing in town, so I told her. It was one of the scariest things I’d ever said in my life, openly admit to someone outside of my parents and therapist that I was gay. Bigger than that, that I was going to do something gay that night for the first time. She asked if I’d ever been with a woman. I told her no, because I hadn’t. She said I should at least try it before I gave it up forever.” I couldn’t meet Donovan’s eyes at this point. This was his sister I was talking about. Instead I looked down at my shoes. Noticed how they scuffed over the lines in the wood planks as I began to rock the swing back and forth again. “So I did. And it worked. I didn’t even think I could sleep with a woman. But I did. And it wasn’t hard to do. I fell in love with her then and there.” I looked up quickly. “I really did, Donovan. I need you to know that. I truly did love Erica. Even after I met you, I still loved her. At least did my best to.”

  I might have wiped a tear from my eye and refused to let any more fall, but Donovan’s cheeks were streaked with them. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m so very, very sorry.”

  I nodded. I wondered what he was sorry for. That I had been in reparative therapy? That I’d longed for him for so many years? That he’d allowed himself to be sexual with me? I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

  “Oh shit.” Donovan’s expression shifted and guilt slashed over his features. And I could hear the apology in his tone. “I told Lamont what happened at the masquerade. I was freaking out and I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. But he won’t tell anyone. You know Lamont. And… my mom knows.”

  I couldn’t control my reaction to that. “You talked to your mom about it?”

  “No, not in so many words, at least not explicitly. But she figured it out last night when she saw the look between us.” He paused, then rushed ahead again. “She won’t say anything either.”

  A spike of panic ripped through me at the realization that other people knew. Other people besides my parents, my old therapist, and Erica. Strangely, it subsided into a semblance of relief. Even if Lamont or Donovan’s mom didn’t tell anyone, somehow it eased the strain a touch knowing that two more people shared the secret. “It’s okay. You needed to talk to someone.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  The care in his voice was so evident, and so very Donovan. “You, I’m talking to you.”

  Donovan wiped his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know if I’m the right one for you to talk to, Spencer. Obviously I can’t stay objective.”

  This time I grabbed his hand and didn’t let go. “Do you think I want you to be objective? You think I’m talking to you as a therapist? I don’t want you to counsel me. I want you to want me.”

  There was a flash of heat, desire, behind his eyes, but it vanished. I couldn’t tell whether he walled it off or whether disgust over what he’d learned took it away. “Spencer, this is new. To you. To both of us. Maybe we should go slow, even though I don’t want to.”

  “I’m not a kid, Donovan. I’m thirty-nine, a damn good lawyer, a father of two, and I know what I want. I’ve known what I’ve wanted for a long, long time. Just because I didn’t allow myself to have it or act on it doesn’t mean I wasn’t certain of it.”

  “I’m glad of that. I really am, Spencer. I’m glad you’ve come to terms with being gay, or that you want to be with men.”

  “That isn’t what I meant. And I think you know it. I’m not saying I want to be with other men. I’m saying I want to be with you. I want you, Donovan Carlisle. I have from the moment I met you. And everything I’ve seen from you since has only made me want you more. If there’s ever been anything I’ve been sure of in my life, it’s the love I have for you and the love I have for my children. Everything else is up for grabs, but those two things I’m certain of.”

  He jerked a little, and I suddenly realized that I’d kind of told him I loved him. Part of me didn’t care. I did love Donovan. He was the most decent man I’d ever met in my life. But I glazed over
that.

  “I want you, Donovan. My only question is, do you want me?”

  He let out a loud exhale of air mixed with a sardonic laugh. “Hell, yes I want you. Obviously. I want you.” He leaned forward, like he was going to reach for me, take me right then and there, but he froze in place. After a second, he sat back. “Can we slow down? Just for a bit? Make sure you really want to make this leap? After all the years in reparative therapy, after the divorce, after….”

  Donovan’s words trailed off. He didn’t need to finish the thought, though. It was obvious. And I couldn’t blame him. I had to look like a mess to him. My past, all the drama after the affair. I probably seemed like a poster child for a midlife crisis. I couldn’t blame him for needing to protect himself. Hell, knowing Donovan, he probably thought he was protecting me as well.

  Part of me wanted to push the issue. To beg or lay out my case before him. Like I would before a jury. But I didn’t want to win Donovan through logic or my ability to convince.

  “I do want you, Donovan. But I don’t blame you for being hesitant.” I stood. If I gave myself any more time, I’d lose my resolve. I’d pressure him. Or I’d tempt him into getting naked again. He deserved better. “I have no doubt that I want you. And not just for some fun in the shower. Let me know if you have more questions or if you need to talk to figure things out.” I started to say more. Tell him that I knew he wanted me. That I’d felt it for years as well. That I knew how this would end up. I stuffed the inclination, but repeated myself, just to make sure I was perfectly, perfectly clear. “I want you. You know how to get a hold of me.”

  I felt his gaze follow me as I walked across the porch and down his walk. He didn’t call out. I didn’t turn back and run to him in one of those slow-motion crashing-together scenes from the movies. Instead, I got in my car, drove home, and swore to myself that I was going to wait. I’d waited this long. If he needed more time to be sure, I’d give him that.

  Nine

  Donovan

  I literally had to hold on to the porch railing to stop myself from rushing after Spencer. The man I’d longed for over the past decade was within my reach, and not just for fun in the shower, as he had said. The confirmation that those few moments between us throughout the years weren’t my imagination or projecting my desire onto him was akin to winning the lottery. And there I was, not rushing to cash the multimillion dollar slip of paper in, but staring at it, refusing to believe it was real.

  Spencer had pretty much said that he loved me. Words I never thought I’d hear from him, barely dared to hope I could ever hear from him. Yet he’d sat in front of me, confessing how he’d felt all these years. And in so doing, revealed that there was so much of his soul I didn’t know. I never would have imagined the years of reparative therapy, the implications of his ultra-religious parents, all the internal conflict he’d faced day after day.

  I’d wanted to sweep him into my arms, both to comfort him, to try and ease the angst of all he had been through, and simply just to hold him. Finally have him in my embrace.

  But I loved him. Not just the idea of him, not just the thought of us being together, but him. I loved Spencer, the man. In looking at how the past couple of weeks had affected him after the party, I knew I needed to move carefully. To put his needs first.

  We needed to move slowly. If at all.

  Once his car was gone, I threw back on workout clothes and ran like the devil was chasing me. I didn’t bother with audiobooks or music. Just let my speeding thoughts try to keep track with my pounding feet.

  I knew what reparative therapy could do to a person. I’d had many clients over the years who moved to Lavender Shores after walking away from their fantasies of changing their orientation. It was an agonizing experience for them, as well as for me: watching people deal with their first same-sex relationships in their thirties, forties, and even older. They battled the guilt and shame of giving in to their desire, of making relationship mistakes that the rest of the world had learned in junior high. They often fell head over heels in love with someone, only to freak out within a few weeks, and burn it all down.

  Despite the coolness of the evening, I was sweating so much it burned my eyes, but I didn’t stop. I tried to wipe it away with the back of my forearm and kept running. That was it; if I was being honest, I was as worried about me as I was for him. I couldn’t risk being Spencer’s first relationship. Being the one he was happy with for a day or two and then the cause of his guilt. The one who was left behind because he couldn’t face who he really was. I couldn’t watch him go through that. And I couldn’t be the fiery mess left behind.

  I ran and ran. Through the town, the woods, over the beaches. Relief didn’t come, no other clarity offered itself outside of me not wanting to hurt him any further than he had already been hurt, and not wanting to set myself up to be devastated. I couldn’t finally have him after all these years only to have him crumble and run away from me.

  It wasn’t lost on me that I was the one running. Literally.

  Sleep took a long time coming, that night, but was thankfully dreamless and deep. Of course all the same worries and fears were there when I woke up.

  Once again, though I did my best, I was a lackluster therapist. Thoughts of Spencer tried to crowd in, distracting me from the concerns of my clients. I kept shoving him away.

  After my second session I gave in, allowing him to take over. Replaying bits of the conversation on the porch the night before. Reliving scattered moments throughout the years. Flash after flash reminded me of exactly why I hadn’t been able to shake free my desire for him. Because he was Spencer. And even if I didn’t know the hurts and struggles of his past, I knew the man he was. He had been worth loving from afar for so long. He’d been worth waiting on, even though I hadn’t known that was what I was doing.

  He was Spencer Epstein. Intelligent, kind, brave.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe I was forgetting that I truly didn’t know who he was. And if Spencer had said he wanted me all these years, if he’d pretty much said that he loved me, then it was true. And he was offering me everything I longed for, and here I was finding reasons to turn my back. Even if those reasons were to protect him, I was still turning my back. I knew the kind of man Spencer was. I needed to quit pretending I didn’t.

  I needed to leap. Leap to the man I’d wanted for so very long. Leap and trust that we might stumble but that how we felt for each other for so long, confessed or not, would be enough to see us through whatever might come. I was going to do this. We’d have to take it slow, see how things went. But I was going to do this. I’d be a fool to do anything else. I might have already played the part of a fool by taking this long.

  I knew what I wanted. Spencer had made it clear what he wanted. I didn’t know where the road would lead, or the twists and turns it would take, but I had to find out. If I didn’t take that leap in that very instant, I would spend the next therapy session unable to truly focus on my client, which wasn’t fair.

  I texted Spencer.

  I know you have the kids tonight, but I’d love to see you. I want you. There’s nothing else I need to know.

  When my four o’clock showed up at three fifty, I turned off my phone and shoved it in the drawer so I wouldn’t be tempted to look. And surprising myself, I pulled on my big-boy pants and acted like the therapist I was.

  When I powered the phone back on after the session, there were two texts waiting.

  You just made me yell in the office. I want you too. Hold on, I’ll make sure I don’t have the kids tonight.

  Then.

  I told Erica something came up, so she’ll watch the kids. I’ll stop by your house as soon as I get into town. Give me two hours.

  By the time Spencer knocked on my door, I’d made sure the house was clean, that I was clean, and I had rehearsed what I was going to say at least a dozen times.

  All words flitted away as I opened the door and saw him standing there, hair parted in the same way it had been
for over a decade, crisp black suit, expensive shoes, blue shirt, deep purple paisley tie. It was a look I’d seen, and lusted over, countless times. But his eyes? Filled with desire and hope that took every word from my lips.

  Spencer walked in and shut the door, flicking the lock. He looked at me expectantly, and then his handsome smile turned devilish. “I believe you said you wanted me?”

  I nearly laughed. And he was right. He’d done more than his share of making it perfectly clear he wanted me. Now, it was my turn. I grabbed his tie and pulled him to me, crushing his lips with mine.

  There was only a moment’s hesitation before his large hands clasped around my waist and he began to explore over my clothes.

  Determined to make it perfectly clear that I was the one choosing him this time, keeping hold of his tie, I pressed into him, forcing him back against the door. I deepened the kiss, filling his mouth with my tongue, and thrust my erection against his hip.

  Spencer groaned, his breath filling my mouth. He tasted of spearmint. Probably mouthwash in the car. I had no idea why, but I loved the idea of him preparing for me.

  Desire mingled with relief. We were finally here. After all this time, we were kissing and there were no questions, no mystery as to what was going on, what each of us wanted. It seemed too good to be real. I ran my free hand over his body, feeling the planes of his chest below the fabric of his shirt, and the ridges of his abs as I worked my way down. Then I cupped his bulging cock behind the fly of his pants. He pushed against the pressure.

  I pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss, and met his gaze. “I….” I almost said I love you. But it was too soon. Even if I had no doubt about the truth of those words. I’d loved him for years. And I trusted that he had loved me for years, secretly or not. Instead I repeated what had already become our mantra. “I want you.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”