Accepting the Fall

by Meg Harding

  Why couldn’t Cole feel the same about Patrick? Patrick loved him, and he was good for Cole. He didn’t make him cry or argue with him till the point where Cole thought his head would explode. When Cole said, “I love you,” Patrick said it back. It was nice, and goddamn Zander for showing up and rubbing Cole’s failings in his face. Patrick might be good for Cole, but Cole was uncomfortably aware Patrick deserved someone who didn’t forget his existence the minute a man they hadn’t seen in seventeen years walked into the picture.

  “I love Patrick,” he said, but he could hear the lack of defensiveness in his tone. He wasn’t lying. He was, however, starting to expect that he didn’t love him enough. He took a bite of French fry, and he didn’t taste it at all. His mouth was dry, his throat too tight. It hurt to swallow. “You’re married.”

  “I am.” Jenn didn’t look so amused anymore, her features had settled into an expression he’d seen directed at upset children many a time.

  “Do you ever….” Cole coughed, the words literally stuck. “Do you ever look at anyone else?”

  Her fingers were cool as she rested them over his. “Honey, everyone does. It only becomes a problem when you let it. And you, you have the appearance of a man who’s letting it get to him.”

  “I’m being stupid.” He glared at his plate to avoid her knowing gaze. “I want something I shouldn’t, and it’s going to ruin what I already have.”

  She pinched him until he made eye contact. “If what you already have is what you really, truly want, then you won’t let it.”

  Cole’s gaze flicked to Zander. His dark brown skin rippled over the cut of his muscles—his arms bare and elbows braced on the table. He wasn’t smiling at the man he talked to, but he was leaning forward, engaged. When Zander turned his head, meeting his stare, Cole stopped breathing. His heart skipped. His insides felt jumbled.

  Why did Zander turn him inside out?

  It was late when Cole got home, nearly nine at night. Patrick’s car was there, parked in the drive, and the lights in the living room shone through the blinds. Patrick would have come over after work, feeding the babies for Cole and then showering. He’d have changed from his suit into sweats and a loose tee. He’d probably made dinner, with leftovers for Cole tucked in the fridge, and he was no doubt watching TV at the moment.

  Cole hovered his finger over the button for the garage door. The logical next step would be to push it, pull his car in, and get over himself. Instead he dropped his hand to the steering wheel, squeezing his fingers tight around it. He rested his head between his hands, rolling his forehead against the wheel. A low-grade headache throbbed in his temples, and his skin felt taut with the beginnings of a sunburn. A day spent surrounded by screaming, over-excited children, and avoiding Zander as thoroughly as he could, had left him exhausted. Mentally and physically.

  Coming home was supposed to be relaxing.

  Mustering his will, he opened the garage and parked.

  His dogs greeted him enthusiastically when he entered the house, and his cats hung back, radiating their disdain at the overt display of excitement. Patrick called a greeting from the direction of the couch, following it with a, “Dinner’s in the green-topped container.”

  Cole found the container and the perfectly made eggplant parmesan inside. It was a favorite of his, a meal he often saved for particularly stressful days. He took his time readying a plate, letting the food heat and delaying facing Patrick by debating over whether he should drink a beer or a glass of water.

  “You get lost in there?” Patrick’s voice was layered over what sounded like The Bachelor.

  It was time to stop dawdling. Cole grabbed his plate and chose the beer. Patrick was, as expected, sprawled on the couch. One of Cole’s many throws was tucked around him, and he had a glass of wine and an empty plate sitting on the coffee table. He smiled at Cole, lifting his legs to make room for Cole beside him. When Cole was settled, he dug his toes under Cole’s thigh. He looked sleepy and content. “How was the fieldtrip?”

  An unmitigated emotional disaster was not an appropriate answer, or one Cole wanted to explain. He rolled his neck and wasn’t at all surprised by the resulting crack. “Long,” he said, knowing Patrick wouldn’t think to question for more detail. He took a bite of his dinner, and it was cooked to perfection. Was Zander good in the kitchen? They’d eaten out or done microwave meals as teens, and the brownies had apparently taken multiple attempts. If he tried to make Cole’s favorite dishes, he’d probably burn them. Cole shushed the unsettling suspicion he’d eat them anyway, just because Zander had made them.

  “We should do a spa weekend.”

  Cole blinked. He needed to stop zoning out. On screen, a blonde woman harshly criticized her nemesis. To his right, Patrick stared expectantly. “A spa weekend?” repeated Cole.

  Patrick rested the sole of his foot on Cole’s thigh, toes curling. “Yeah. Couples face masks and massages. The works. You’ve been so tense the last few weeks. And I mean, I know you’ve been busy and the car accident set you back, but can you remember the last time we went on a date? ‘Cause I can’t. It’d be nice to get out of the house.”

  Hammer meet nail. Patrick had struck the issue on the head. His words were an eerie echo of Cole’s earlier thoughts. “I….” Cole spent all his time out of the house it felt like. He’d really rather stay home. And a spa weekend meant other people would be touching him. Sure, Patrick and he would be together, but it wouldn’t be intimate. I’m making excuses. He set his plate down, desperation for Patrick to be what was right surging through him.

  Pushing the blanket out of his way, he climbed into Patrick’s lap, straddling his waist and propping his hands on either side of Patrick’s head. Cole’s smile felt forced, and his heart was beating fast with something he feared wasn’t arousal. “How about we give each other massages right now?” He didn’t miss the quick glance Patrick shot at the TV. Cole bit back frustration. What was so fascinating about the fucking Bachelor anyway? Cole rolled his hips languidly. Cole wasn’t hard yet, but he could feel the twitch of Patrick’s cock as it started to show interest. That’s right. Attention back on me. “How ‘bout it?”

  Patrick swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. Let’s move this to the bedroom.”

  It took several minutes of kissing, sprawled on the bed and naked bodies aligned, before Cole started to harden. And Patrick noticed. “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

  Cole cursed internally. “I’m fine.” He pushed at Patrick’s shoulders from his position beneath him. “Lay on your stomach, and I’ll work your back.”

  “We’re actually doing massages?”

  Cole had certainly intended to. He shrugged his shoulders against the sheets, chewing on his bottom lip. “It’s supposed to be sensual. It’s something new to try.” Hopefully it would introduce a spark of excitement that Cole was definitely starting to notice the lack of.

  Patrick obligingly moved to lie on his belly, his head pillowed on his folded arms. Cole straddled his waist, resting his weight on the swell of Patrick’s butt. He didn’t actually know what he was doing, but he figured a massage couldn’t be too difficult. He started at Patrick’s shoulders, digging in with the pads of his fingers, working out tension he hadn’t noticed until then. The longer Cole worked, the more relaxed Patrick became. He began to release low sighs, and he wiggled his hips underneath Cole. The sighs turned to moans as Cole moved along his spine and toward his lower back. Clearly this was doing it for Patrick. Too bad Cole felt about as much interest as he did when looking at a GQ spread.

  What was wrong with him?

  Disgusted with himself, Cole stopped and urged Patrick to turn over. He’d finish what he started, and then he’d claim he was too tired for the favor to be returned.

  He wasn’t a complete jackass. He wouldn’t end things with Patrick like this. He’d do it in the morning, and when he explained how it wasn’t Patrick, it was him, it would be with complete honesty.

&
nbsp; Fuck.

  Zander watched the Whitaker’s load their suitcases into the trunk of a cab. Cole’s shaggy chestnut hair whipped in the wind, and he kept shoving it from his face, tucking it behind his ears. He was helping his father wedge a case in beside another.

  The burn curling in Zander’s chest should have been satisfaction. After all, exactly what he’d predicted had come to pass. He’d done the right thing to protect himself. Cole was always going to leave—that was inevitably how life as a military brat went. No one stayed around long. Nothing was permanent. Yet the burn felt like something closer to regret. Bitterness. Zander rubbed at his chest, as if he could smother the feeling. The whole point of ending things with Cole had been to avoid such feelings. Zander had been there, done that. He didn’t get attached. His mom, any friends he’d made over the years… they were gone. Zander should have learned his lesson by now.

  He should never have let Cole get so close.

  The boy in question turned, and Zander quickly ducked behind the corner of the building he was watching from. He didn’t need Cole spotting him. For the last two months and change, they’d avoided one another like the plague. If Cole saw Zander, he went the other way. If Zander saw Cole, he dead-eyed his expression and pretended Cole wasn’t there. It wasn’t him being cruel. The sooner Cole realized what they had wasn’t real, the sooner he would feel better and move on.

  Zander was helping Cole to cut ties, really.

  If Zander found himself thinking about Cole late at night, about the way they’d scrambled together random cards to make a big enough deck to play War or the way Cole purposely let Zander win at pool because he knew Zander was competitive, well…. Zander had no excuse. He’d let himself cultivate memories—and those were certainly the least of them— and now he had to live with that. He only had himself to blame for the way it felt like a part of him was being ripped out as he watched the cab leave.

  Between one moment and the next, Cole was gone.

  Zander came awake, reaching for someone who wasn’t there with a choked gasp. Someone he’d only had for the blink of an eye, but who had somehow managed to leave an enduring imprint.

  He was sweaty, his legs tangled in the sheets which he’d kicked down to around his knees. The steady whirr of the ceiling fan did nothing to cool his overheated torso. Resting his hand on his chest, he felt the pounding of his heart within his ribcage. Around him the house was silent, save for the whisper of the AC. It was pitch black in his room, no light leaking through the blinds. He rolled to his side, swiping his phone from the nightstand. Three in the morning. It was far too early to be up. He let it drop, turning to bury his face in the pillow. He’d had a long, harrowing day watching hellions. He deserved a long, restful sleep for his patience.

  When he closed his eyes, he was back on the school bus with Cole. Cole was leaning into Zander’s space, his long, dark lashes shading the vibrant blue of his irises. He licked his lips, and Zander tracked the movement, hunger tugging at him. The slightest shift forward brought them nose to nose, their breaths mixing. A tilt of Zander’s head, and they were kissing. Cole was soft beneath Zander, his mouth all heat and wetness. Cole made a low, eager noise against Zander, and he swallowed it, stroking his tongue over Cole’s.

  Gone was the bus and the world outside. There was nothing other than the two of them and the need building like a wildfire between them. Between one moment and the next, Cole was in his lap. They were flush, sternum to sternum and Cole’s legs squeezing his hips on either side. The seat disappeared, and they were tumbling onto a bed, Zander sinking into the mattress and Cole blanketing him. They rocked together, fast and frantic, their clothes nowhere to be found. Skin to skin, they grasped at flexing muscles and sweat dampened flesh. Zander was lost in it, the pleasure building in a rush, threatening to send him tumbling over a steep edge. Cole pressed their lips together, breathed out, “Zander,” on a throaty sigh.

  Zander’s orgasm had him twisting, his body curling inward. His lashes fluttered up, and he was once more alone in bed. The evidence of his dream coated his lower stomach and the sheets. Pleasure turned to an aching emptiness.

  Fuck’s sake.

  Growling his irritation, Zander shuffled from the bed to his bathroom. A shower would prevent further sleep, but he was beginning to believe that might be preferable. He glared at his reflection in the mirror while the water warmed, eyes squinted against the harsh light. He was a mess, his release sticking to the dark curly hair above his cock and the scruff of his happy trail. He was, frankly, appalled at the betrayal of his body.

  His shower was perfunctory. The steam cleared the fog of leftover lust from his mind, and the heated spray cleaned his body. His cock was sensitive to the touch, and it had the nerve to twitch with interest when he made the mistake of thinking about Cole while washing it. Zander turned his back to the water, let it pound along his spine as he dropped his head to the tiled wall.

  Maybe… maybe Zander needed to sleep with Cole to remove him from his system. Whatever was stirring between them—and Cole’s avoidance of him throughout the fieldtrip had left no question as to if he’d felt it too—needed to be addressed. It was rooted in the past. In memories that probably wouldn’t live up to the present. They were different people now. If he could prove everything before had been teenage lust mistaken for something more, that it was only for that moment in time, he could move on.

  This called for a plan.

  Chapter 8

  Hooking up was easy. Go out, drink a little, smile in just the right way, and success was there for the taking. Zander had a feeling such methods wouldn’t work on Cole. He was going to have to put work into this. Real effort.

  He didn’t know where to start.

  Round and round he went on the subject. Asking Cole outright to sleep with him would no doubt end with Cole attempting to punch him. Too much effort would make it appear as if Zander was looking for something serious. He didn’t want to lead Cole on again. This wasn’t about breaking hearts. Then again, if he was right about this, the sex would speak for itself and Cole would realize the same thing as Zander. They no longer fit together.

  But what if Cole didn’t come to the same conclusion?

  Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

  He slammed the skillet on the stove a little harder than necessary. The eggs and sausages bounced. Zander didn’t take to indecision well. He’d always been a doer, able to pick a path and follow it. Except for when it came to Cole. It was insanely frustrating to find that nearly twenty years apart hadn’t changed that.

  He had to fix this. He’d be doing them both a favor.

  Calmed by the firm decision—he wouldn’t talk himself out of it again—he tipped breakfast onto two separate plates. He needed to be at the station in a little less than an hour. He’d quietly ask some of the more discreet men there for advice. Until then he’d enjoy a meal with his morning grouchy daughter.

  “Savanah,” he called. “Food’s ready.”

  She stomped from the living room to the kitchen, the sound of her heels hitting the floorboards pronounced. She heaved herself into a chair with a heavy sigh and yep, that was his glare reflected at him from her feminine features. Good to know he’d passed that on to her. Hopefully it would scare people away when she got to dating age.

  He set Savanah’s plate in front of her, ignoring the look. “Good morning. You excited to spend the day with Kelly and Jackson?” Maria had mentioned taking the kids to the beach for a picnic. Kelly was two years older than Savanah, and Jackson was only three. She was probably hoping the sun and activity combined would knock them out.

  The sausage was speared with excessive force, the tins of the fork pinging off the plate. “No.”

  Savanah wasn’t normally a ray of sunshine in the mornings, but he suspected this was something more than reluctance to start the day. “Did you and Kelly get in a fight?” If it came down to it, he’d venture next door and commandeer Daphne.

  Around a mouthful
of egg, Savanah crankily said, “No.”

  “Is that the only word you know?” He tried to cover his frustration with a teasing tone, hoping to earn a giggle or at least a smile.

  “No.”

  Zander sighed. “I can’t fix whatever’s wrong if you don’t tell me.” She’d been like this back at the beginning. She’d one-worded him, or straight out ignored him. Common phrases screamed at him were “mommy didn’t do it like that,” or “mommy let me do this.” She’d been a blazing ball of rage running amok. The past few months had seen a decline in her more aggressive behavior, an easing into accepting Zander. What had happened to change that?

  She shoved her plate away. “M’not hungry.”

  He pushed it back. “You need to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  She picked up a flake of scrambled egg and dropped it to the floor. Zander looked to his ceiling, breathing deeply. Patience. At first when she’d acted like this, Zander had called her mother. The woman never picked up, and shortly thereafter, she changed her number. He’d considered contacting her via social media but had ultimately decided not to. Zander had left the technicalities in the hands of his lawyers and hers and figured he’d do the rest on his own.

  He’d thought he’d been doing better at being there for Savanah lately.

  “You love the beach,” he said, trying a different approach. He leaned his forearms on the table when she remained stubbornly silent. “Savanah, if you’re having problems with Kelly, you can tell me.”

  Her little cheeks scrunched up with displeasure. “You’re always working. You never do anything with me.”