Dare to Hope

by Caitlin Ricci

  Sure, it had only been about twelve hours since he’d arrived in New Zealand, but he’d had this idea, this wonderful, fantastic fantasy, of how Samuel would see him, pick him up, and take him straight to bed, and for once Chris had been sure that he would just stop hurting and be able to deal for a little while. Of course that hadn’t happened, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope either.

  Freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, Chris tried to fix his hair in the usual way his stylist had showed him made him look the best, but his hair, which had grown a lot longer since she’d fixed it for him, refused to go up where it was supposed to. After fifteen minutes of playing around with it, he called it quits and went downstairs. He’d told Samuel he might go back to sleep, but by the time he was done getting ready, the sun was already up and he felt newly energized as he looked out over the green pastures, lying there as if waiting to be explored by him.

  Chris left a quick note to Samuel on the kitchen island, letting him know he would be back soon and had gone for a walk. He doubted Samuel would be back before him, but just in case he was and didn’t think to use his phone to call him, Chris didn’t want him worrying. He got the feeling Samuel was worrying about him enough already, and he didn’t need to be. Sure, Chris had gone to a pretty dark place and done something stupid, but that wasn’t normal for him. And he was in New Zealand now, taking a breather and getting his head back on straight before he had to go back home.

  He left the house and started wandering aimlessly, though he did keep in mind the stories Bran told him of the bull he’d nearly been killed by in Montana. To avoid that happening to him, Chris only went through smaller gates and walked along fences that would have been much too low to keep a bull in, at least in his mind. He knew exactly nothing about cows, other than how he liked his steak cooked and what toppings he wanted on his cheeseburgers, so everything about their care was simply a guess.

  “Hi,” he said, seeing a man mending a fence as he walked through what might have been his sixth gate but might have also been his tenth. He’d lost track wandering around the farm, which was far larger than the Wilson Dairy Farm had been back in Montana. This man was nearly as dark as Samuel, and from the look of him, he was Maori too, but he wasn’t quite as big. His Samuel could still take him in a fight. Chris was sure of it. Not that he expected them to go at it or anything like that. It was simply a wayward thought that made him smile.

  “Good morning. Ummm, are you lost, by any chance?” he asked as he rose up from his crouched position at the base of a post.

  “Actually…. Yeah. Kind of. Mind pointing me back in the direction of Samuel’s house? Assuming you know who he is. I thought I was going the right way, but all of these pastures look the same to me.”

  “I’m Daniel. You’re a friend of Samuel’s?”

  “Little more than that, actually,” Chris said with a wink. With the sun warm on the back of his neck, he was fairly certain he’d been walking for at least an hour, if not two, and getting back was starting to be important. He’d promised Samuel breakfast, after all. He could have checked his phone, if he’d thought to bring it with him on his walk. Unfortunately it was still plugged in beside his bed, where he’d left it that morning. “So, directions to get back?”

  Daniel lifted his hand and pointed Chris south. “Four pastures down. Stay on the cow track or race and out of the pastures, though, or you may get even more lost.”

  That made sense to Chris, and he remembered what a cow track was from talking to Bran. Apparently it was also called a race, from what the man had just said. Different words, but it was the same thing as a trail, only this one was far more permanent since it was built into the ground almost like a road for the cows to use while going from the pastures to the milking sheds, and it was easy to spot.

  “Thanks. See you.”

  “Wait, what’s your name?” Daniel asked, stopping him.

  Answering truthfully wasn’t going to be an option, since he was pretty sure Daniel would know Kaden and therefore Bran, since he worked on the farm. Chris went with a shortened version of his middle name instead of the truth. He wouldn’t answer to the different name, but it was something to give Daniel.

  “Eddie.” Short for Eadric.

  “Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

  Chris gave him a nod and let himself out of the nearby gate. “You too.” He shuffled off in the direction of the closest cow track, made of dirt and stone, that he saw cutting through the middle of the pastures. He hadn’t come this way, instead choosing to cut through the pastures in the hopes of not seeing anyone, and he was glad of his choice as soon as he came up to a small group of buildings. They weren’t milking sheds, he knew that much from the few days he’d spent with them all in Montana, but he figured buildings might mean people, and he really didn’t want to see Bran, or even Kaden. He was nice enough, but Chris knew Kaden wouldn’t hide him being there from Bran. And Chris wouldn’t have asked him to either. That would have been unfair of him.

  He stayed low as he made his way past the buildings. He didn’t hear anyone in them, but that didn’t mean no one was about. He moved as silently as he could, just as Misha had taught him the time he’d taken him out to a paintball field. He’d been shot within minutes, by the guy he’d been screwing at the time no less, but he’d learned a bit from Misha that day too. He’d also learned that assholes that will shoot a guy with a paintball gun in the gut can get really whiny when sex is withheld from them. But that wasn’t a lesson that mattered right then. Staying low and being quiet was.

  Unfortunately for Chris, though, the goat that came around the side of the shed had different ideas as it butted its head up against Chris’s shoulder, then as he stood up, against his hip.

  “Go away,” Chris hissed, pushing against its head. “Shoo. Go.” The stubborn thing kept beating him with its short, nubby horns, though. “Fucking annoying little goat. Go. I swear to God I will eat a nice goat stew in your honor the minute I’m back in New York if you don’t—”

  “Chris?”

  Busted! He bit back a groan as he turned to see Trent smiling at him as he leaned against the side of the shed Chris had been trying to hide behind. “Hi. So. Your goat I take it?”

  Trent smacked his hand against his hip, and the goat, the little shit, trotted right over to him to take a treat out of Trent’s hand. “Something like that. More like he’s a friend. Surprised to see you here. Bran know you get in yet? I just saw Kaden, and he didn’t say anything, so I bet he’s planning some kind of a party. I can’t wait to see Samuel’s face when he sees you, though. He’s been missing you.”

  Chris needed to fix this situation, and fast. “Here’s the deal,” he began with what he hoped was his sexiest grin. “I’m spending a few days with just Samuel before Bran finds out I’m here. Bran’s been wanting us to get together for so long, and I knew if I had just a bit of alone time with him, I’d get Samuel for good. It’s going to be a surprise to Bran, since he loves playing matchmaker.” Really, Bran just wanted him to be happy, and if Samuel did it for him, then Chris knew Bran would have been fine. But by Trent’s smile, Chris was pretty sure he didn’t know that about Bran yet. “Which means that you can’t say anything about me being here to Bran. At all.”

  “You do know keeping something from Bran is the worst idea you could possibly have, though. Don’t you?” Trent asked him. “It’s disastrous.”

  As far as bad ideas went, it was up there. But it was hardly his worst. That was all stupid crap he’d done in the past, though, and none of it was something Chris felt like sharing with Trent in that moment. “Pretty sure I do know that. But if you tell Bran I’m here before I tell him myself, then I find out your worst secret from Samuel and I tell it to Misha. Got it?”

  Trent took a few seconds to respond, because his kind face went pale and his ever-ready smile dropped away.

  Chris hated to threaten Trent like that, especially when he gave Chris an outraged look, as if he couldn’t believe Chris
had just gone there. But keeping Bran happy and not knowing how much of a fucking mess he was right then was worth any kind of issue Trent had with him, as far as Chris was concerned.

  “Sure. I won’t tell him.”

  Grinning, Chris put his arm through Trent’s. “Great. Now, are you done working for the morning? I promised Samuel I’d make him breakfast, and you’re invited too. Not your goat, though. I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

  Trent chuckled and led the way back to Samuel’s house. “He doesn’t. He just thinks everyone has treats in their pockets, like I do.” Trent fed him another treat, as if proving his point, but Chris wasn’t convinced in the least.

  The walk back was much more direct, and therefore a lot shorter, than the path Chris had taken, and they stepped into Samuel’s house less than half an hour later. “Hey,” Chris said as soon as he’d kicked off his shoes. Samuel was watching TV in the living room, and Chris went right over to him and kissed him on his cheek. “Look who I found. And a goat.” He glanced back at Trent to see him standing in the doorway. “He won’t tell either,” Chris whispered to Samuel before giving him another kiss on his cheek.

  “How did you manage that?” Samuel asked him.

  Chris wasn’t about to tell Samuel about his deal with Trent with the other man standing right there, though. “Breakfast time!” he declared, clapping his hands together before he headed into the kitchen to see what was available. Cereal… eggs…. He shook his head. Some smoked salmon that looked promising, but there wasn’t enough left in the package for three people. There was, however, some fresh fruit he could cut up, enough cheese for some good scrambled eggs the way he liked them, and of course a stack of eggs, since there was a chicken coop not more than a hundred feet from the house.

  Within minutes he had the eggs cooking, bread in the toaster, and some water simmering for tea. He would have preferred coffee but had yet to find any in Samuel’s house, which was a bit disappointing. Next time he came to visit Samuel in New Zealand he would have to remember to bring some.

  Samuel and Trent came into the kitchen a few minutes later and readied dishes for their breakfast, and Chris saw Trent open a small cupboard to one side to reveal a fancy stainless steel coffee machine. Trent pressed a few buttons, and the aroma of delicious coffee permeated the air.

  “So, you do have coffee!” Chris said excitedly.

  Samuel laughed. “Of course I do. I can’t go without my daily caffeine intake.”

  Chris finished slicing up the fruit—a mixture of melon, peaches, pear, and some grapes—and placed the serving tray in the middle of the table before sharing the scrambled eggs between them. Samuel added the buttered toast, Trent wandered over with their coffees, and they all sat down and dug in.

  The smell, then the taste, of the coffee was exactly what Chris had needed to feel more like himself. “Do me a favor, please,” he said, looking up at Samuel with the coffee mug still held between his hands. He hadn’t even started eating his breakfast yet.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t ever give me tea again. Not when you’ve got the good stuff here.” Chris gave him a little smile over the rim of his mug and kept drinking. Breakfast food could wait. His coffee was more important to him.

  Chris caught Trent looking between himself and Samuel with a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” Chris asked him, putting the mug down but not letting it go far.

  “Aren’t you worried about what Bran will say when he finds out? He’s been missing you for eight months, talks about you constantly. And now you’re a twenty-minute drive away and you won’t go tell him? He should be here. They both should. And Misha should be eating breakfast with us too.”

  Trent finished speaking with a shake of his head, and Chris tightened his mouth into a hard line as he turned to stare down at his food for several seconds while he tried to think of something to say, aside from the truth.

  He couldn’t come up with anything reasonable, so he just said the first thing that came to him. “I plan on telling Bran as soon as Samuel lets me into his bed. Then Bran and I can go out drinking to celebrate the end of my dry spell.” It sounded ridiculous, even to himself, but it seemed like exactly the kind of thing Trent would expect him to say. “If you want Bran knowing sooner, you could always help me convince Samuel how much fun it would be to have me naked under him. Or on top. That’s up to him.”

  Trent coughed, and Chris grinned, glad he was still able to make Trent uncomfortable. It was a talent as much as anything else he was good at.

  “Mate, I don’t know if you’re being so clever this time, because I’m telling you—I’ve seen Bran pissed as hell, and things don’t look good for any of us if he finds out we’ve all been part of this. And Kaden is my friend too. Keeping stuff from each other is not our way. But I guess you’re a grown man who can do what you want. How’s Misha, by the way?”

  Chris was infinitely glad for the change of subject. “Misha is fine. He’s back home. He’s probably eating pizza and watching a football game right now. American football. Not soccer or rugby or whatever else you have here. He—” Samuel stopped him by clearing his throat, and Chris frowned as he put down his fork. Fine. If Samuel thought Trent needed the truth and that he could handle it, then Chris would tell him.

  With a sigh and a drag of his fingers through his hair, he turned back to Trent, who was now watching him intently. “Actually, the truth is that Misha hasn’t been in the States for a little over four months. He got bored with retirement and took up with an ex-military unit that does contract jobs. It’s hardcore stuff, and he’s not allowed to tell me where he is or what he’s doing, but I get a text every Saturday letting me know that he’s okay. He’s fine. I’m sure he’s happy being active and shooting at people again. He’s in the Middle East right now. That’s all I know. And that’s another thing Bran can’t be told.”

  Trent put down his knife and fork and stared out the kitchen window. “Fuck, this is so damn hard,” he mumbled almost to himself, already seeming deep in thought.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” Samuel asked, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

  Trent’s green eyes shone brightly as he looked at them. “No, I’m not. I haven’t seen or spoken to the asshole for more than eight months, despite him having my number and e-mail address. The few e-mails I shot off came back undelivered and the text messages unanswered. Now I hear he’s probably being shot at or sidestepping landmines, for all I know.”

  Chris nodded. He was worried about that too. “If it helps at all, he’s been shot before.”

  Trent looked even worse, and Chris realized that was definitely the wrong thing to say to him.

  “But he is an ass for not answering your text messages. He doesn’t answer mine either, but him being my half brother and him being into you are two completely different scenarios.”

  Trent shook his shaggy head. “I think he’s having far too much fun and excitement without me, so it makes sense. Why would he bother with me if he’s living life on the edge? I can understand why he would easily forget about my existence. We live continents apart, so it’s too much hard work, but that’s okay. I can deal with that. Actually, I should be fucking used to shit like this by now.”

  If Chris hadn’t seen it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed the jovial, softhearted Trent could get angry. He watched in amazement as Trent pushed his chair back and dumped the rest of his breakfast in the rubbish bin. He downed his coffee in two swallows, rinsed the cup, and put it out to dry on the rack.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Chris. I’ll see you two later.” Trent left via the back door, which softly clicked closed behind his retreating back.

  By the looks of things, Samuel had lost his appetite too. He rubbed both his palms over his face and short hair before looking at Chris.

  “It wasn’t a good idea for me to come here, was it?”

  As Chris moved to get up, Samuel clamped a hand over his arm, keeping him seated.

  “It’
s not you…,” Samuel began.

  “It is me! I stayed away from you all because Bran and I caused so much drama in Montana, and I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone anymore. It sucks when people see you in that way. I want to be strong, independent, and healthy. So I come here to try to get better, and look now! I’m lying to my best friend and pulling you and Trent into this. And Trent is right. When Bran finds out, it’s going to be like fireworks from hell! He’s gonna be so mad, I find it hard to predict what he’s gonna do. And he won’t just be mad at me—he’ll be furious at you and Trent too. Because of me!” Chris ended in an almost shout, his heart pounding a hundred miles a minute in his chest.

  Samuel watched his meltdown in silence, and when Chris ran out of steam, Samuel came around the table and picked him up out of his chair. The next moment Chris felt the soft fabric of the couch touch his back as Samuel lay him down before stretching out his big body beside him. Chris hid his face in Samuel’s neck and let the tears of frustration and disappointment in himself overflow.

  Chapter Five

  IN HIS arms, Chris’s frame shook as the sobs ripped through his chest and out his throat. Samuel held him close as the storm broke, the tears of heartbreak wetting his skin as they flowed down his neck.

  The pain gripping Chris wasn’t only about the lies to Bran. Chris’s whole life had been taken away from him by two people who should’ve been declared unfit to have kids to start with. Like Samuel’s own biological parents. Disillusionment and distrust in those whom you were supposed to trust the most were not foreign to him at all. In so many ways, he had so much in common with Chris, but the younger man didn’t know that.

  Samuel let Chris cry and purge some of his pent-up emotions. Chris’s father had probably conditioned his son to never cry or reveal any softer emotions. Asking for help with counseling apparently didn’t carry the man’s approval and was seen as a weakness. So why would he and his wife care if their son felt unwanted, abnormal, inadequate, and unloved?