by Willa Okati
Kind of hard not to start thinking of uneasy answers to his questions.
The shrill peal of his phone split the air. Nathaniel yelped and jumped nearly out of his nest of duvet and sheets. He tripped his way out of the tangle and only barely snagged his phone before the call went to voicemail.
Some small, kindly god did him a favor, then. He looked at the readout before he answered. Otherwise he’d have asked “Abram?” instead of “hello?” and oh, he would never have lived that down—especially not with this caller.
Nathaniel depressed the Talk key and knuckled his forehead. “Cade,” he said. “What are you calling me for?”
* * * *
Of all the things…
Cade waited for Nathaniel right where he’d said he would, perched on the hood of his car—which he’d locked his keys inside. Sucking soda through a straw, eating a sausage biscuit and scattering crumbs everywhere. Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The bus driver had given him the strangest look for asking to be let off at a rough truck stop, and Nathaniel couldn’t blame him. Wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before, probably still smelling like sex—there wasn’t much about him that didn’t shout ‘rent boy’.
Well, except for his soulmark, now as dark as India ink on his pale, smooth skin, but he wasn’t about to show that off to a stranger. Some things were more important than pride.
“I hope you bought enough to share,” Nathaniel said, once he’d trudged close enough to be heard without shouting.
“’Course I did.” Cade lobbed a roundish thing wrapped in wax paper at Nathaniel. It smelled of bacon and butter, which was the only reason Nathaniel didn’t pitch it straight back at him.
Nathaniel tucked the biscuit in his knapsack and dug for the multi-purpose tool he carried. Cade had one somewhere too, though his was likely buried under rubbish in his back seat. They’d gotten them at Robbie’s insistence. He’d dealt with too many people locked out of their cars to have any patience with them. Nathaniel wondered if Robbie had used something similar to break into cars and jack rides when he was younger, but he’d never asked. Neither of them would have liked the answer.
Things had changed since then. Even if he’d been and gone, back then, Ivan had made all the difference to Robbie’s life. Made him a new man. Half of a whole.
Nathaniel tamped down the urge to stroke his soulmark.
“What are you doing back in town, anyway?” he asked, as he sorted fruitlessly through the tumble of pens and bookmarks that never failed to gather in any duffel of his. “I thought you were going to be in Folly’s Bow for at least a week.”
Cade raised one shoulder and—maddeningly, for a man who normally wouldn’t shut up—said nothing.
At first. He waited for Nathaniel to lay hands on the multi-tool before he wadded up his biscuit wrapper with a loud crinkle and said, “Wrinkled clothes. Bedhead. You know what that says to me?”
“Oh God. Please don’t,” Nathaniel begged.
Of course Cade took that as an invitation. His face cracked open in a broad, shit-eating grin. “You look like you just got laid. A lot.”
“Cade, I will murder you.”
Cade shrugged off the threat with enviable aplomb. Probably with just cause, as Nathaniel set to work on jimmying the car window open instead of using the multi-tool on Cade’s head. He sighed. Sometimes he liked having two brothers on his side, but other times…
Cade leaned across the hood to take a juicy-sounding sniff of Nathaniel’s hair. “Oh yeah,” he said, cackling. “Not a trace of shampoo. A hell of a lot of traces of other things. You had a good night, didn’t you?”
Nathaniel growled under his breath and carried on working at the stubborn window. He could see Cade’s own multi-tool lying on the backseat. Damn Cade for reminding him he hadn’t taken the time to shower before leaving Abram’s. He hated getting dirty, and though he didn’t mind getting sweaty for a good cause, it made his skin itch like absolute hell afterward. His arms in particular. They tingled and twitched where his shirtsleeves scraped across the skin.
“At least I’m not the one who got himself stranded in a truck stop parking lot,” he snapped. “Are the biscuits really that good, or were you meeting a friend?”
“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” said Cade, who wouldn’t be so easily deterred. His grin widened. “Were you with your soulmate? Don’t lie, baby brother. I know you. You were, weren’t you? Is he good in bed? From the looks of you, I’m betting he is. And hmm, he’s a big son of a bitch, isn’t he? Tall, I mean. And big in the other way too.”
Nathaniel popped the window, dropped the multi-tool, and dug his fingers into his hair. “Cade, stop it. What do you know about soulmates, anyway?”
“More than you think I do.” Cade’s grin slowly faded as he watched Nathaniel. “You okay? You look like you’ve gotten ants in your pants now and soulmate or not, if whoever this is gave you crabs, then he and I are going to have a serious talk.”
“He didn’t—oh, damn it.” Nathaniel couldn’t help himself. His arms itched so, and on his shoulder, his soulmark in particular needled at him. Maybe something to do with Abram’s laundry detergent or the bond they hadn’t fully finalized with a bite…? “Don’t look,” he ordered, knowing Cade wouldn’t listen, before he gave in and slid his hand up his sleeve for a good scratch. Oh God, that was better. He sighed with ragged relief.
“Maybe I don’t know a whole fuck of a lot about soulmates,” Cade said slowly. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown that mixed equal parts concern and disapproval. And wasn’t that just rich? “But I know marks aren’t supposed to bug you like that once they’ve come in.”
Nathaniel shook his head and said nothing. Cade might be stubborn, but Nathaniel knew he could outlast his brother.
Finally, Cade sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. “Because if you don’t, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
He wasn’t wrong. Nathaniel had to admit that, if nothing else. He winced as he—still turned away from Cade’s prying eyes—pushed his collar down to take a look at the mark. Probably nothing more than a mild irritation from not showering or from the strange bedding or—
Something about the way he stilled, utterly and completely, must have put Cade on high alert.
“Whoa. Are you all right?” Cade asked, sliding off the hood of the car and hitting the sidewalk with a double-thump. “Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel held up one hand with the palm out. “I’m fine,” he said, throat dry. “I’m…fine. It’s all right.”
Cade’s snort was ripe with disbelief, but he let that one go.
Of all the things and at all the times. Nathaniel covered the mark back up. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense, and…
* * * *
“Abram, if you’ve got a few minutes we need to go over the—” Ivan stopped with one foot in and one foot outside Abram’s office, his loosely-curled fist held in the air instead of following through with a knock to the doorjamb. “Not again.”
Abram cast a brief glance up at his friend from amidst the disassembled wreckage of his DVD player. “Again? More like still.”
“Huh.” Ivan visibly digested that, looking more dubious by the moment. He sloped into Abram’s office and dropped into the seat before the desk, tapping one finger against his knee. “Not that I’m trying to tell you how to live your life, but at some point you’ve either got to buy a new one or take it to someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“I’ll get there in the end,” Abram said. He wiped a tickling smudge off his cheek—no idea how it’d gotten there. Electronics weren’t generally that messy—though, all things considered, he expected that any time now black would become white and up would become down, and they’d all go flying into the sun.
Ivan whistled quietly. “Okay. Suit yourself. I thought you had today off, though?”
“Changed my mind.” Abram shrugged, irritated. “Couldn’t settle at home. You
know how that is. Speaking of, everything going all right with Robbie?”
“Fine.” Ivan kept watching him. “Which you know. You’d have heard if it wasn’t, but it is. We’re working out the fine details. Cade and Nathaniel are old enough to rent and maintain Robbie’s house on their own, unless they find soulmates between now and then—”
Abram winced. Only slightly. Far more than any detective worth his salt needed to pounce upon.
“Ah.” Ivan leaned back in the chair, studying Abram openly now. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Abram propped his chin on his hand and flicked a stray scrap of wire at Ivan. “What happened to not telling me how to live my life, again?”
“I’m not,” Ivan said, deflecting the bit of copper wire and batting it into a trashcan. “This is me being concerned, as friends tend to be. My best guess would be it’s something to do with Callum’s family. Is it?”
“It’s not—” Abram stopped himself. Good God, he’d nearly blurted it out. And of course Ivan—who didn’t know any better—would think of Callum first and only. He crossed his arms, not so coincidentally clapping his palm across his reviving soulmark. “Not exactly, but for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re closer to the truth than that.”
Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Okay. I’ll bite. And?”
And. Wasn’t that a loaded question? Abram moved his fingers slowly, stroking over his soulmark. He imagined he could feel the differences and changes even with the cotton in his way—which wasn’t possible, but never mind that. Lots of things weren’t supposed to be possible, weren’t they?
His mark had changed. For years it’d been pale and flat, like old scars. Now the color had come back, and the lines were raised again, almost embossed against the bare skin. He’d heard a hell of a lot of stories about soulmarks in his day, but never one like this.
What if Nathaniel was right? If they were soulmates? What the hell would that mean? He tightened his fist around the screwdriver he’d meant to start tacking the wretched DVD player back together with.
Item the first—while Nathaniel didn’t seem bothered now, how long would he truly be happy with a mate almost twenty-five years older than him? He might be more mature than most young men his age, but even so…
Item the second—twenty-five years difference in their ages didn’t only mean Abram would go soft and wrinkly long before Nathaniel did. Unless technology took a running jump start, he had maybe twenty-five more years to go in his allotted lifespan. Possibly less, given his occupation. This wasn’t exactly New York, but it sure as hell wasn’t Mayberry. He could be killed in the line of duty. He knew that. He’d accepted it long ago. But the chance of leaving Nathaniel as a widower—God, no, that didn’t bear thinking about.
Item the third—hell. Abram sighed from the core of his chest and sat back, copying Ivan’s pose. “Tell me something,” he said.
Ivan, who’d waited patiently, nodded without speaking and made a ‘bring it’ gesture. His face was crinkled with concern, but he didn’t push.
There goes a good friend, ladies and gentlemen.
Abram decided to push his luck. “If you had a chance to go back and start fresh with Robbie, would you? I don’t mean meeting him again. I mean, meeting him for the first time. At your age, with as much life experience as you have. Would you?”
Ivan blinked, but that was the only hint he gave to his surprise—and he considered the question seriously, lacing his hands together and pressing the tips of his forefingers to his chin. “Yes,” he said at last. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I found him again. My life would be emptier than I can say without him. I didn’t know how empty. But if the choice was between getting it wrong for ten years, and getting it right immediately, I would choose to have lived without him until we both had our heads on straight.” He cracked a rueful smile. “Living without him was hell, but if I didn’t know what I’d been missing? It’s not even a choice. He’d probably punch me in the head for saying that. And I’d deserve it.”
Abram let the last syllable fall into silence. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. You can’t miss what you don’t have. They hadn’t completed a bond. It’d take his teeth in Nathaniel’s slim neck for that, and Nathaniel’s bite on his skin.
It’d be torment turning back now, but wouldn’t it be for the better in the end?
Ivan shifted, either restless or worried or both. “Do you want to tell me what this is about?” he asked, right before the silence became unbearable.
Nathaniel would hate him, but so be it. He could live with that, as long as Nathaniel could live freely—maybe even take other lovers. Have a long and happy life among his beloved books and teapots, with his brothers to watch his back.
“No,” Abram said, making up his mind. He rubbed absently at his soulmark to soothe the itch as his single-word reply fell with a final sort of dull thud. “I don’t.”
* * * *
Nathaniel managed to hold off until halfway through Dennis’ eclipse party before he tried sneaking his phone out again. It served Cade right, getting whacked over the head with the discovery of his soulmate, though he might wince on poor Dennis’ behalf. At least it should— should —keep him occupied long enough to let Nathaniel send a text.
Well, another text—one of several. He’d started off sweetly enough, he thought, though maybe he hadn’t. He’d had a hard enough time just keeping Cade’s mitts off his phone.
As the evening went on, though, he’d lost some of his cool.
With one eye on the bedroom door through which Cade had disappeared, Dennis in tow, Nathaniel typed a message as fast as he could, and hit Send before he could change his mind.
Abram, where are you? We need to talk. Please text back? — Nathaniel
He pocketed the phone and reached for his collar. Still keeping a careful eye out for any signs of the bedroom door opening, he snuck another peek at his soulmark.
It’d looked like an iris before. An iris on the verge of blooming, hadn’t he said? Talk about being careful what he wished for. It didn’t make sense, but—
Nathaniel traced the fainter lines to either side of his mark. Lines that were growing darker by the moment, and spreading outward in angles and rays. Geometric curves and elegant swoops.
And nothing at all like Abram’s, now.
Nathaniel pressed his hands to his eyes. He needed to get out of here, soon. Needed to see Abram, and—and—
His train of thought juddered to a stop there. And what? he asked himself.
Tell him I was wrong?
Chapter Six
Abram sat slumped over his dining room table, blinking tired red eyes. Sleep and he had never been the best of friends. Sometimes, he’d have been hard put to describe them as ‘passing acquaintances’. Part of a more-or-less chronic insomnia was down to the job. He was self-aware enough to be sure of that. But as to the rest of it… Well, who knew? Unlike first Callum then Nathaniel. One orgasm, and goodnight Vienna.
He leaned back in his chair, tipping its front legs off the floor then coming back down with a thump. His tired mind caught hold of a thread and tugged at it, curious to see where it’d lead. Callum would have loved Nathaniel, for all their differences and most of their similarities. Though Nathaniel was quiet as a mouse and Callum had been all bash, crash, and shout, both of them wore their hearts on their sleeves.
Maybe there was something to that.
A hushed ticking from the den pricked up Abram’s ears. He could just see the television stand and DVD player from where he’d situated himself at his rarely-used dining table, meaning to keep an eye on one hopefully-finished task while he gathered up the balls to deal with another.
The DVD player’s digital clock showed an accurate 8:15. Good. He’d spent an hour or so the night before watching home videos, and it hadn’t broken down again yet. See? I do know what I’m doing.
Sort of.
Abram rubbed his too-dry eyes with the rough palms of
both hands. Ending it now only made sense. Nathaniel wouldn’t like it, but he was young. He’d live.
“Hell with it,” he muttered behind the safe barrier of his hands. “How’d I get into this mess, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” a quiet little voice replied, as a brush lighter than a hummingbird’s wing grazed his shoulder and scared the ever-living bejeezus out of him. He jumped, almost knocking his chair over, and thumped a fist against his chest.
Nathaniel stood three feet away, hands raised in the classic ‘I surrender’ pose, eyes wide. “Sorry. I was trying to surprise you.”
“You sure as death and taxes succeeded,” Abram said, still trying to tuck his heart back down from its current position lodged in his throat. “How did you even get in? Christ. If I still had any growing to do, you’d have shocked three inches off of me.”
The corners of Nathaniel’s mouth curved up. “Sorry,” he said again, as demure as he was mischievous. “I won’t do it again. I found a key under the flowerpot at the front door. Cops never seem to know better—at least the cops I’ve met. Are you okay?”
Abram gave him a dose of dubious side-eye. “Sure, you’ll never do it again. I know your type. You’re planning when and where and how, and whether you should sell tickets or plant video cameras.”
By the time he’d finished the whole of that speech, Nathaniel had a hand pressed to his mouth, with giggles bubbling up behind it. His cheeks were pink with mirth. “Am I that transparent?”
“Nope. I’m just a quick study, and you made something of an impression on me,” Abram said.
Nathaniel looked pleased by that. Abram? He kept his wince internal. Great job, well done. Fine way to start off a breakup. He shoved back the urge to reach for Nathaniel’s hand and pull the amber-eyed minx onto his lap for a kiss. If he started, he would never stop, and he wasn’t the kind of bastard who would give with one hand while taking away with the other.
Or at least he tried not to be, even if the sense memory of Nathaniel in his arms was strong enough to make his cock stir. Instead he set his jaw, frowning at Nathaniel. “You look exhausted.” Faint lilac circles under his eyes, hair in disarray, and a not-so-faint whiff of both smoke and iced beer. “Rough night?”
