Nash

by Lynn Hagen

  * * * *

  The wake went off without a hitch. Aunt Beatrice had been cremated and was on the mantel in a fancy urn. The day had been sunny and the guests polite, but in truth, Nash was glad it was over. He wasn’t the social type, and smiling at people he didn’t know, acquaintances he hadn’t seen in over a decade, and his high school buddies, who were stiff and now formal, had given him a solid headache.

  Most of the guests had already left. Nash had hidden in the kitchen the last half-hour, nursing a bottled beer and watching Layne, who was discreetly cleaning up the discarded paper plates and plastic cups in the backyard.

  Nash hadn’t gone to the restaurant yesterday to change a damn thing. He’d been the one who’d written everything down. He knew they’d already ordered the beans and potato salad.

  He’d gone there to see Layne. He couldn’t seem to stay away now that he’d remembered the human existed. It wasn’t the birthmark. That was what Nash kept telling himself. His attraction to Layne had nothing to do with that. Honestly.

  Now he was just fascinated at how well Layne picked up trash. The sight of the guy’s ass in those slacks. Mmm. Nash sucked on the rim of his beer bottle, wishing it were Layne’s cock. He’d even jacked off last night with images of Layne standing in front of the raw chicken, helping Nash out of a tight bind.

  Sue him. Nash didn’t have the best imagination. He wanted the real thing, and there Layne was, smiling at some guy, making Nash want to go out there and strangle the stranger and bury the body.

  Nash’s mood turned so dark that he crushed the bottle in his hand, spilling what was left of the beer all over his shirt as the glass sliced his palm. “Fuck.”

  Now his hand was dripping with blood. When he went to the sink to run water over it, he heard the back door open. “Oh my god! Is that blood on the floor?”

  Layne. Nash kept his back to him, trying to stop his cock from turning into a divining rod and going after the short shit. “I’m fine. It’s just a little accident.”

  “Is that beer I smell?” Layne sniffed the air then crinkled his nose. “Did you drink it or use it as cologne?”

  He joined Nash at the sink. Nash was a head taller than Layne, and he had decided in that second that he liked that fact. Even his panther was purring up a storm, though Nash kept the sound trapped in his throat.

  Quinn walked in and looked between them. There was a knowing look in his eyes as he grinned at Nash. “Lawyer should be here soon,” he said. “Might want to change out of your beer clothes. I don’t think that’s appropriate for this kind of meeting.”

  “Let me see how bad it is.” Layne jerked Nash’s hand from under the water and looked at the angry cut, which still bled. “You might need stitches. This looks pretty nasty.”

  “I’ve suffered worse.” Which was true. Nash’s unit had been in a convoy, scouting an area in Afghanistan, when an explosion had rocked his world. Out of the five, only two of them had survived. But Layne was talking about physical wounds. Nash had been thinking more about the emotional ones he’d buried in his skull, the ones he tried real hard not to think about. Ever.

  “Be that as it may, you still need to have this looked at.” Layne was still holding Nash’s hand, his tender fingers grazing over the cut like he was telling Nash’s fortune.

  “That does look nasty,” Quinn said. “I agree with Dain.”

  “Layne,” Layne and Nash corrected at the same time.

  “Let Payne take you to the hospital.” Quinn was being an ass, getting great joy out of fucking up Layne’s name. Nash saw the spark of humor in his brother’s eyes while Quinn tried to hide his grin. “But do it after the reading of the will, or do you need to go to get your boo-boo looked at?”

  “You’re an ass.” Nash grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around his injured hand. “Remind me to smother you in your sleep later.”

  “As much as I’m enjoying your banter, I have to get back out there.” Layne stopped long enough to clean up the broken glass off the floor.

  Nash’s gaze was glued to Layne’s ass the entire time. He was fixated on that part of the guy’s anatomy. Nash couldn’t help it. Layne’s ass was round, firm, and filled out those unflattering slacks like nobody’s business.

  Quinn shoved at Nash’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes. He pointed to his mouth. Nash touched his own lips and realized his canines had descended. That only happened when…

  They were staring rather hard at Layne, and then Quinn looked wide-eyed at Nash.

  That only happened when a panther found his mate. But why hadn’t that happened in the grocery store or at the restaurant? Why now? Why at all?

  Sure, Nash could make his canines descend anytime he wanted to, and they did so mostly when his emotions ran high. But they’d punched through his gums without his permission, and again, that only happened when a panther found his mate.

  Nash hadn’t been looking for a mate. Not now. Not when his life was a complete mess. Even if Layne hadn’t been his mate, Nash still could’ve gotten him pregnant. Any panther could. But his canines appearing told him that Layne was his.

  “He got the birthmark?” Quinn whispered as Layne swept over the spot again, clueless to their discussion. His butt just kept wiggling as he moved the broom across the linoleum floor.

  Nash was turned on by a guy sweeping. What the hell?

  He nodded.

  As if reading his mind, Quinn said, “You know that shit happens whenever and wherever.”

  He was talking about Nash’s canines descending. Just because he’d been around Layne a few times now, it was this moment that fate chose to tell him Layne was his.

  “You better jump on that before someone else does.” Quinn was studying Layne a little too hard. Nash bared his sharp teeth at his brother in warning to back the fuck off.

  “Town’s full of panthers. Someone is bound to catch on to what Layne is since he clearly isn’t giving off any pheromones yet.” Quinn rubbed his jaw. “I’m surprised he’s not already pregnant.”

  So was Nash. But a person carrying that mark couldn’t conceive until their twenty-fifth birthday. Since Layne was around Nash’s age, he guessed the human wasn’t too far from getting knocked up. He highly doubted Layne was a virgin and would have abstained from having sex.

  Nash would just have to play bodyguard in case some slick panther who cared nothing for Layne tried to get him in bed.

  Not that Nash was ready for a relationship and fatherhood. Far from it. But his panther was going apeshit to get to Layne, which told him that he’d kill any guy dumb enough to get near his mate.

  Crap. He’d just referred to Layne as his mate. Nash needed to get out of there. He took off upstairs to his old bedroom and shut himself in.

  Now what the fuck was he going to do?

  Chapter Three

  Layne felt Nash’s gaze all afternoon. He wasn’t sure why the guy had a sudden interest in him. Not that Layne was complaining, but knowing that Nash was watching him turned Layne into a klutz. He tripped over his own feet, spilled a plate of baked beans on some woman’s blouse, and backed into some guy, making the stranger slosh his beer down his shirtfront.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Stevie asked before popping a cocktail wiener into his mouth. “Nash isn’t even out here, and you’re acting like he just asked to suck your dick.” Stevie gasped, nearly choking on the wiener. “Did he ask to suck your dick?”

  “Layne would have a heart attack if he did,” Horace said as he joined them. The guy’s eye twitched as he looked at the discarded plates and cups lying around. Layne’s friend had OCD on steroids. Horace probably wanted to clean the backyard, cut the ankle-length grass, paint the faded fence, and plant flowers just for an added touch.

  “I would not have a heart attack,” Layne argued. “I’m not a virgin. I have had sex before.”

  “But not since your birthday,” Stanton reminded him as he walked up on their conversation. “You’ve been endlessly complaining about how dry your
well is.”

  Layne snapped his head around. “Will you keep your voice down? I don’t need that advertised. Besides, my birthday was only a few days ago. I haven’t been complaining that long.”

  Stevie gave Layne the stink eye, as if warning him not to say anything about their conversation at the market. The one where Stevie was just as sex deprived at Layne was.

  “Maybe you do need it advertised,” Stevie said before he popped another cocktail wiener into his mouth. The guy was always snacking, yet he couldn’t weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds. “They’re a lot of hot guys here.”

  “You want me to pick up some guy at a wake?” Layne gaped at Stevie. “This isn’t that type of social setting, moron.”

  And Layne had eyes for only one guy, who may or may not stick around after the reading of the will this evening. He needed to get over Nash, and fast. Layne didn’t want to nurse another wounded heart when the guy left town.

  That was what he kept telling himself, but his damn heart wouldn’t listen. Or his dick.

  Most of the people had left already, anyway. Layne looked around but didn’t see the hot guys Stevie was talking about. Most of the remaining people were gathered around the food tables like they’d never had a decent meal in their lives.

  Then again, his parents’ cooking was fabulous.

  Layne’s brows shot up when he spotted Hartley. The guy was shoving a hotdog into his mouth while he looked directly at Layne. Oh hell. Layne dropped the black trash bag and moved to stand behind Stevie, who was an inch shorter than him.

  “What?” Stanton looked around. His gaze landed on Hartley, whose cheeks were puffed out from shoving too much of his hot dog into his mouth. “Oh, him.”

  “What’s so wrong with Hartley?” Horace asked. “Besides his unrefined eating habits? He’s good-looking and has been after you for years. Why won’t you go out with him?”

  Stanton gave Horace a quick hug. “Oh, honey. You need to learn how to distinguish a good guy from a creep. And dating a guy who still lives at home with his mom, doesn’t have a job, and thinks having sex with his socks on is not okay.”

  Layne furrowed his brows. “How do you know Hartley keeps his socks on during sex?”

  Stanton gave a nervous laugh. “He just looks the type.”

  Layne was so over today. He spun and headed for the house but stopped in his tracks when he noticed not only Nash standing by the back door but the rest of his siblings, too. They were all staring Layne’s way with peculiar looks on their faces.

  The four O’Briens standing shoulder to shoulder was a breathtaking sight. Nomad had finally made it, and he looked deadlier than he had in high school.

  Layne went back to his friends. “You guys get out of here. I need to finish my work, and ya’ll are complete distractions.”

  His roommates/best friends took off, and Layne noticed how Nash’s gaze was glued to him. That breathless, freefalling feeling swamped him again. Layne wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to go inside because all four men were by the door. He didn’t want to keep cleaning because Hartley was still standing by one of the tables watching him.

  Relief flooded Layne when his parents showed up to gather the tables and chairs and the rest of the things they’d used from the restaurant to cater the wake.

  The O’Brien men disappeared inside. Layne’s dad played defense when he saw Hartley was there. Every time the snake tried to get near Layne, his dad inserted himself and asked Hartley a bunch of questions.

  Hartley clearly gave up because he stormed to his rusted red truck and took off, a loud bang from his tailpipe scaring the crap out of Layne as though Hartley was doing a drive-by instead of speeding off.

  When Layne looked toward the back door, he saw Nash standing there, his hand wrapped in gauze, and still watching him.

  He worked side by side with his mom and dad to clean things up, but his gaze kept wandering right back to Nash. Maybe the guy wasn’t really looking at him. Nash was probably staring at the backyard as he thought about his aunt.

  That thought depressed the hell out of Layne. Not that Beatrice didn’t deserve her nephew’s mourning, but Layne had been hoping Nash was interested in him.

  He wasn’t back then, and he’s not now. Get your head out of the clouds and get back to work.

  His parents had been loading the last of the equipment into their van when Nash approached. He shook Sheila’s and Gilbert’s hands and thanked them for saving his ass.

  “No problem at all,” Layne’s mom said. “Beatrice was well loved, and dropping everything to help out was our pleasure.”

  “You take care of yourself, son.” Layne’s dad slapped Nash on his muscled arm. “We’ll be seeing you around. Sorry about your loss.”

  Layne stood there like an idiot and tucked his hands into his slacks. He rocked on his heels, looking around, as if the backyard could give him answers to life’s hardest questions.

  “I’d like to meet up with you later,” Nash said. “Are you free around seven?”

  Layne’s tongue was tied in huge knots. He couldn’t get any words past his lips. Was Nash asking him out? Why on earth did he want to see Layne again?

  When he didn’t answer, his mom called from the driveway, “He’s free. He’ll be back here at seven.”

  Talk about mortified. Layne felt his face heat to nuclear levels as Nash chuckled. The guy leaned in, his soft lips grazing Layne’s ear. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  Layne swayed, lightheaded as Nash walked inside. His mom had to come rescue him because Layne’s feet wouldn’t move. She coaxed him to his car.

  “Do I need to drive?” she asked.

  Layne snapped out of his stunned state. “No, I got it.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Go home and shower. You need to look your best when you meet up with Nash.”

  “Ugh.” Layne rolled his eyes, refusing to allow his mom to give him dating tips, although he doubted this would be a date. He knew Nash and his brothers were going through Beatrice’s things, and he probably wanted to give Layne some stuff or ask him to drop off the donations at the local church.

  He forced himself to start his car and then pulled away from the curb. Nope, not gonna go there. Layne wasn’t going to fantasize about being with Nash. He’d done that too many times over the years, and it always left him feeling empty. He would put his big-boy pants on and endure Nash’s visit to town then go back to his ho-hum life once Nash went back to the life he’d been leading without Layne in it.

  * * * *

  Now that the backyard was cleared away and the normal patio chairs had been brought back out, Nash sat there with his hands dangling between his legs, staring at the grass. Quinn was seated next to him, and the other two O’Brien men were in the house.

  They’d had a small service after the wake, just the four of them saying their farewell to the aunt they’d deeply loved. The woman who had raised them into the men they were today after their parents had died in a tragic plane crash when Nash and his brothers were still very young.

  Nash still felt guilty as hell that he hadn’t come back home more often to visit her. Beatrice had been a caring and loving woman who had doted on them.

  “Shit’s unreal,” Quinn said.

  Nash wasn’t sure if Quinn was talking about the will or the fact that Layne was Nash’s mate.

  “Who knew Beatrice had that kind of money?” Nash commented. All four men had inherited a substantial amount from their late aunt. Nash’s money problems were over, but he didn’t like the fact that Beatrice had passed away in order for that to happen.

  He still needed to figure out what to do with his life, what to do about Layne, and how to invest his windfall.

  “I knew Beatrice never wanted for anything,” Quinn said. “She’d lived a modest life, but damn. Two million? I don’t feel right taking the money.”

  “Me, either, Nash said. “But it’s not like we can give it back. Besides, she really wanted us to have it.”
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  They each received half a million dollars. Nash was still blown away by that and it seemed unreal enough that he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact.

  He tapped Quinn’s leg when he spotted Layne’s car pulling into the driveway. “Scram.”

  The chair squeaked as Quinn got up. “Good luck.”

  Layne smiled at Quinn as he rounded the house and disappeared. His mate—god, Nash was still reeling by that word—walked over and sat in Quinn’s vacated chair.

  “I’m here.” He pressed his hands between his knees. “What did you want to see me about?”

  How had Nash never noticed Layne in high school? He’d known the human existed, but as he stared at Layne’s gorgeous face, something in Nash’s chest shifted.

  He wasn’t ready to explain the whole panthera thing to Layne. Not yet. Not until he got his life together. Nash had just wanted to see Layne again.

  A thought struck him. “I wanted to bounce some ideas off you.”

  Was that disappointment in Layne’s eyes?

  “What kind of ideas?” Layne pulled one leg up, resting his foot on the edge of his seat as he curled his arms around it.

  “I’m trying to decide what to do with the money my aunt left me. Got any savvy ideas?” Nash crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits so he wouldn’t reach out and pull Layne into his lap. He wanted the man so badly that his body ached.

  “Do you want to own a business?” Layne asked. “Depending on what you want to do, that could turn a nice profit. My parents’ restaurant does nicely, though they work hard at it.”

  Owning a business? He’d never thought of doing that before. He’d never had the money to start anything.

  “What’re you good at?” Layne seemed excited by the idea. “Can you bake, or maybe you could open a tavern? The one in town is up for sale. Mr. Creegy has gotten up there in age and wants to retire. I’ve got it! Turn it into an Irish pub! Doesn’t that sound fantastic?”

  A pub? Did Nash want to set down roots in Kendall? He was so used to traveling, not staying in one place for too long. Did he want to get back out on the road knowing he would be leaving his mate behind?