by Kelly Jensen
Once in the car and belted in, he turned to Donny. “Okay, spill.” They only had a mile to travel and probably ten miles of conversation to get through.
Donny didn’t talk until he’d turned onto Speedwell. “I asked if I could have this time with you.”
“Damn it, Donny. You know Brian’s going to be there this afternoon. At the bar.”
Uncharacteristically, Donny flushed.
“Stop the car,” Mal ordered.
“What? No.”
“We’ll watch the game at home.”
“Why?”
Mal touched the door handle. “Donny, I’m serious. You stop this car or I’m going to roll out and screw up my legs.”
Donny slowed, indicated, and turned onto a side street before pulling to the curb. “What?”
“You know what.”
Sighing, Donny held up his hands. “Just hear me out, bro. You’ve been with him every night for the past week.”
“Not true. Not even close.” Though, given the chance . . .
“He’s not who you think he is.”
“What do you have against Brian? So he recommended a crap contractor. He’s already made an effort to fix that situation, though he wasn’t obligated to.”
“And I appreciate it, but you’re not a contract situation. You’re my brother. And you’re in a shitty place right now. You’re vulnerable. And there’s something about him I can’t quite make work. It’s like he has a secret.”
Mal briefly recalled Brian’s sometimes haunted look, then just as quickly brushed the memory aside. Everyone had secrets and not all of them were fit for sharing. “You need to stop.”
Donny gripped the wheel. “That’s the thing. I can’t.” Shoulders bunched up tight, eyes squeezed shut, he made as if to shake the wheel. “I . . .”
“What is it?” Twin connection or not, Mal could feel Donny’s distress. Heck, it was visible. Anyone would feel it. He put a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “What’s going on? Is something up with you and Rachel?”
“No.” Donny glanced over at him, eyes brimming. “It’s you, Mal. Fuck, man. The night you got hit.” He gave the wheel another shake. “I felt you die in surgery, okay? I felt you go. And I never want to feel anything like that ever again.”
Mal swallowed over the lump forming in his throat. “How is preventing me from seeing a man I really, really like going to accomplish that?”
“He’s not from here. He’s not a hometown boy. No one knows where he grew up.”
“You could say that about half of everyone in Morristown.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt.” Donny turned to face him fully. “Both of us had rough ends to our last relationships.” The end of Donny’s first marriage had been a lot messier than the end of Mal’s only long-term relationship, but Donny always acted as though Mal’s split with Noah had somehow been worse.
Maybe because no one had expected him to be with someone like Noah, and at first glance, Noah and Brian were similar—but not in the respect that mattered to Mal. Yes, Brian shone with confidence. He was outgoing. But he’d yet to put Mal down. In fact, he went out of his way to be positive and encouraging.
Mal gripped his brother’s shoulder. “You can’t spend your whole life looking out for me.”
“Watch me.”
Shaking his head, Mal squeezed harder, digging his fingers into Donny’s triceps. “No. I want you to watch me. Watch me live, Donny. Watch me learn to walk again. Learn to love again. I’m not going to say I needed my legs broken, but look at what’s come my way since. This new club at school and a chance to make a difference with these kids, and a man I might never have tried anything with if I hadn’t been brooding alone at the bar on Christmas Eve. And Brian isn’t Noah, isn’t like him at all. He isn’t a condescending prick for a start.”
“God, Noah was a bastard.”
“No, he wasn’t. He—” Mal closed his mouth. Why was he trying to think of an excuse for a man who’d left him feeling as though he had even less worth than he had when they met? He’d always had a problem with self-esteem and wasn’t sure why. Maybe because Donny seemed more solid somehow. He was definitely louder and more assertive. Donny had been the one to stand up to their bullies in school, and Donny had been the one who made him feel safe in his sexuality.
When Noah’s dismissive attitude had become less an occasional poke and more a habit, though, Donny had been the one to notice—and Mal had ignored his brother’s advice. He’d assumed Donny’s bitter suspicion came from his divorce, but . . .
Mal sighed. All of that was in the past. They’d both learned something from the experience, hadn’t they? “Listen, I know you’ve all been worried about me, but I’m coming back, okay? I’m getting out there and trying new things. Don’t stand in the way of that.”
Donny held his gaze for a long minute before nodding. “Okay.”
“I am the older brother.” Mal offered a quick smile.
Conflict played across Donny’s face as he obviously wrestled with his need to assert himself. Then he sighed and nodded. “Order doesn’t matter. Never has. We watch out for each other, right?”
Mal squeezed Donny’s shoulder. “Always. So can you do that today while being nice?”
Donny managed a half smile. “Probably.”
“Then let’s go. Game’s starting soon.”
Brian was already at the bar when they arrived, seated at a table with two other men, his back to the door. A sense of awkwardness and elation gripped Mal’s lungs as he limped through the entryway. His chest wanted to expand and contract at the same time. He’d been looking forward to seeing Brian and meeting his friends, but he’d also hoped to have some time to settle in first.
“Want your usual?” Donny asked, nodding toward the bar.
“Sure.”
Mal gazed longingly at the stool in the corner he’d claimed as his own. There’d be no bar propping today. He’d have to sit at a table with people and be sociable. He started toward Brian’s group.
The two men opposite Brian were obviously a couple. It was evident in the way they sat with their shoulders almost touching, an invisible thread of connection between. When they glanced toward each other, they communicated with intimate smiles. A pang of jealousy poked Mal in the sternum before ending up as a burn somewhere near his navel. Had he ever had that close a relationship with a person who hadn’t shared a womb with him for nearly nine months?
The taller of the two, dark haired with impossibly blue eyes, looked up as Mal approached. Brian turned around and smiled. His eyes brightened. His entire countenance lit with pleasure as he pushed his chair back and stood.
“Hey!” He stepped around the other table between them. “You’re here.”
“Game’s about to start, so . . . yeah.” Mal sought a grin he hoped wasn’t too odd. “How are you?” Was that a stupid question? It’d only been about thirty hours since they’d last seen each other. Since he’d had Brian’s cock in his mouth.
God, he was bad at this flirting, dating thing. Dating thing? Jesus. What if Brian didn’t think they were dating?
“I’m glad you’re here, that’s how I am,” Brian said more quietly, his words clearly meant not only for Mal’s ears alone, but to settle and soothe, judging by the tone.
“Did I forget to mention, at some point, how awkward I can be?” Mal asked.
“You might have, but you demonstrate it pretty regularly, so I’m all up to speed.”
“Stop grinning like that.”
“You’re kind of adorable. Also, yay, no crutch. How’s the knee?” Brian’s eyebrows lifted. “No particular complaints?”
Mal felt the blush sweep in.
Donny also chose that moment to reappear at his side, holding two glasses of beer. He offered Brian a stiff nod. “Hey.”
“My partner in crime.” Brian gave him a rogue grin.
Donny returned a not-too-cool smile. “So, where are we sitting?”
They spent a minute nudg
ing another table closer and rearranging chairs so that Mal had enough room to extend his leg or lift it onto a seat if he needed to. At the same time, Brian introduced his friends. “Mal, this is Simon and Charlie.”
Simon was the tall, dark, even-more-handsome-up-close guy, and Charlie had friendly brown eyes. Mal shook hands with them both. “Nice to meet you.” They murmured nice things in return and everyone sat down.
And stared at each other.
Well, Simon and Brian and Mal did. Charlie and Donny were already discussing the upcoming match.
Simon broke the silence with a smile. “Brian says you teach history at Morristown High. What period?”
Okay. Good. Mal could do this. “Early modern, so the latter part of what we call the Middle Ages.”
Simon’s expression brightened. “The Renaissance and the Age of Discovery, right? So much to cover. And you fit all of that into a year of study for high school students?”
“Not hardly.” Mal allowed a slight smirk. “I get two years to cover the highlights.”
Simon was nodding. “How do you choose what to highlight?”
“Between board-mandated curriculum and standardized testing, I generally don’t.” This conversation was going to die fairly quickly if he didn’t say something more positive. “But I slip in extra material when I can. Luckily, most of my students find the period as fascinating as I do,” Mal finished with a smile. “What about you?”
“Simon’s an architect,” Brian answered. “He oversaw the restoration of the Kinney Building on South Park.”
“Oh, cool. That was a nice job. I can see why Brian wanted you to visit the Colonial.”
Simon glanced around at the gloomy interior of the pub. “Yes.” He didn’t sound enthused. “It would be an interesting project. Saving the entire row from demolition would be a good first step.”
“Exactly,” Brian said. “We should talk to Leo. He was supposed to chat with his father, get what information he could.” Brian produced a short stack of cards from his pocket. “And I’ve been talking to the other business owners in the strip. I have their numbers here.”
Simon glanced at the cards. “You could have emailed this information to me.”
Brian’s jaw tightened. “I could have, but I know you like paper.” He nudged the cards across the table. “So here’s your stack of paper.”
Donny interrupted the odd moment of tension between the two “friends” by turning around to tug Mal’s sleeve. “Guess who this is!” he said, pointing to Charlie.
Mal studied Charlie’s friendly face. “Um . . .”
“C.R. King.”
“Who?” The letters fell into place, and Mal opened his mouth again, only to manage no words at all. He gaped for a minute before finding, “Holy crap. Really?”
Charlie showed a perfectly self-effacing grin. “Really. You’re a fan?”
“He has all your books,” Donny said, with the authority of a proud father.
Mal did. All six volumes of Kaze Rider, kicking ass and taking names, in space. He loved the series and not only because the lead character was queer.
Mal turned in his seat, ignoring the pull against his knee. “I do. Wow. Um, sorry, is this weird?” It was weird, right?
Charlie chuckled. “Not at all.”
Brian and Simon and historical restoration completely forgotten, Mal got up and repositioned his chair, not caring how awkward it was. He was sitting next to C.R. King! “So, the Norma Device.”
Charlie rolled his eyes dramatically. “If I had a dollar for every person who asked about the Norma Device, I’d never have to write another book.”
“But you could! About the Carina Fleet. Any plans for a spin-off series?”
“Maybe. I do have a sort of outline for how it could work, but I always liked leaving that end loose, you know? So people could imagine their own outcome to it.”
“I get that, definitely. Like the end of book six. I really liked how you left things with Kaze and Jory. And the plot was all wrapped up, but there was still the question of— Oh man, is this, I dunno, annoying? Do you hate talking about your books?”
“I love talking about my books. Seriously. I don’t get time to do more than nod and smile at cons and signings and so on.”
The theme music announcing the beginning of the actual game floated through the bar. Mal glanced at the screen. “Thank God it’s only the Pro Bowl. If this was the Super Bowl, I’d have to pay attention—though my money’s on the Steelers over the Eagles.” He then noted Charlie’s distinctive green jersey. “Crap. You’re an Eagles fan.”
“Born and raised.”
“Think they can win another one?”
Charlie raised his glass. “No doubt.” After taking a healthy swig of beer, he glanced at the man next to him, smile softening.
Simon raised his glass. “What are we drinking to? It’s the green team, right?” Mischief merried his eyes.
“Next week, yes.” Laughing, Charlie clinked glasses with his partner.
Mal noted Brian’s expression and didn’t like what he saw. He understood the jealousy—he felt it himself. But there was something mournful about the downward curve of Brian’s lips. Something lost in his gaze. He glanced at Mal and made an attempt to smile. A mostly successful attempt. Then the game started and Mal turned to watch the kickoff—more out of habit than anything else, but also because he didn’t want to see what he thought he’d seen. Didn’t want to wonder whether it was Simon or Charlie who was making Brian look so sad.
After a few minutes—not being able to leave well enough alone—he asked Charlie, “How long have you and Simon been together?”
“Just over a year. He’s not as serious as he seems, by the way. Except when he is.”
Donny chuckled. “Sounds like Mal.”
Mal rolled his eyes.
“He’s not much of a football fan, either,” Charlie continued. “And he totally sucks at Assassin’s Creed, which I thought he’d rock. But he has other charms.”
“You play Assassin’s Creed? Which one?”
The next hour passed in a comfortable blur of football and gaming talk. Mal remembered to check in with Brian on occasion, but Brian always seemed involved with Simon, touching his arm, making sure his glass was full. They were obviously close . . . but how close? Presumably, they moved in the same circles—both being involved with building and architecture, both being stupidly handsome, and the whole gay thing. Had they ever been involved? Mal distracted himself for a good twenty minutes deciding they had, and suffered a near debilitating burn of envy over it. Of course, they weren’t together now, and Simon and Charlie exchanged glances often enough to ensure everyone in the bar knew they were tightly coupled.
So what was Brian’s deal?
It wasn’t until the game was nearly done that Mal realized he and Brian hadn’t actually exchanged more than a few words throughout the course of the afternoon. Feeling Donny’s curious gaze, Mal turned back to the game and the sporadic conversation he and Charlie were having about Bujold’s Vorkosigan Saga. He was having a good time. A great time. And he really needed to take a leak.
Levering to his feet, Mal pushed back his chair. He managed the walk to the men’s room without too much hassle. His physical therapist said he needed to bend his knee more—get used to walking without a limp—but without overdoing it. As always, the contradictory instructions proved frustrating. He was grateful to be on his feet, though.
He stopped at the bar on his way back. “Hey, Leo.”
Leo offered a brusque nod. Frowning, Mal glanced at the closest TV screen and back down. The NFC were holding on to their seven-point lead. “Do you have money on this game?”
“What? No.” His gaze narrowed on the table where Brian and Simon sat.
“What?” Mal asked. “Are you going to warn me off Brian as well? Has Donny been talking to you? You know, I only broke my legs. Not my head. Or my dick.”
Leo’s mouth worked a little, as if he were fightin
g between a smile and a grimace. “It’s not that, it’s . . . Simon, Brian’s ex? He was a good friend of mine.”
So they had been together.
“You didn’t know?” Leo asked.
“About Brian and Simon? I sort of assumed.” They were a matched set, after all. Dark and Light. As compatible as salt and pepper.
“Twelve years. And Brian didn’t treat him well.”
Twelve . . . “Did you say twelve years?”
“I did.”
“They were together for over a decade?”
“On and off.”
“On and off?”
“You should ask Brian about it. No, better ask Simon. He’s more likely to tell you the truth.”
Brian glanced up then, meeting Mal’s gaze, and even from a distance, he seemed to read whatever expression Mal had managed—though Mal had no idea what he currently looked like. He was too surprised. And so was Brian, if Mal was interpreting the shape of his mouth correctly. Mal was no lip-reader, but he could practically hear Brian’s “Oh shit” from across the bar.
Ducking back into the hallway leading to the men’s room was a cowardly move, but Mal needed a minute to work on his reaction. To put away the surprise and find some logic. Brian was forty-eight years old. Of course he had exes. Probably a dozen of them, on top of his dozen years with one particularly good-looking man.
A shadow darkened the top end of the hallway. One familiar enough that Mal’s heart rate picked up.
“What lies was Leo telling you about me?” Brian asked.
“He actually suggested you’d be the one with the lies.” Wait, that sounded bad. “I mean . . .” A pulse of anger pushed through the confusion twisting Mal’s tongue. “Twelve years, Brian? You couldn’t have said something?”
“How is my past relationship with Simon in any way relevant?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve hardly left his side all afternoon.”
“We’ve had business to discuss.”
“Right, business. I guess that’s the excuse you used during the on-and-off phases too.”
Brian rocked back. “I see.”
Mal sucked in a breath . . . and let it go with an apology. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I’ve just got Leo and Donny all up in mine and— Jesus, Brian. Why didn’t you tell me you guys had been together? This is awkward, and I don’t know how to react.”
