Nash

by Lynn Hagen

  He licked the wound and rested his head next to Layne’s. Layne lay there gasping, staring up at the ceiling, so damn content with his life.

  Layne would let reality sink back in later. Right now he gloried in their little bubble, their stolen moment in time.

  Chapter Ten

  The paperwork was finally complete. Nash and Layne were the proud owners of this dated bar. Nash wanted to keep costs down, and Layne agreed, but damn if Layne didn’t want to gut the place and start over.

  His brothers were there, too. Quinn and Hayward. Keller had already gone back to California. Truthfully, Layne missed him already. There was just something about the O’Brien men that made a guy feel safe and a part of their family.

  Except Nomad.

  He didn’t say much and was always studying people with a quiet intensity. If Layne had found out Nomad was a serial killer it wouldn’t have surprised him.

  “What do you think?” Nash asked his brothers.

  “Has potential.” Quinn nodded. “I’d get rid of the dark, smoky interior and go with something more modern and sleek.” He rapped his knuckles on the counter. “I’m not saying high end. This is Kendall, after all. But large windows would be nice instead of feeling closed off.”

  “Smoky windows,” Layne said. “Enough to let the light in but not enough that people can gawk at you from the sidewalk while you’re drinking.”

  Quinn winked at him. “I like how you think.”

  “And maybe an area with a long couch and some chairs, for a more intimate feeling,” Layne added.

  “I’ll need to hire someone who can do the work.” Nash rubbed his stubbled jaw.

  Quinn scoffed. “I worked as a carpenter for years. You don’t need to hire outside help. Promise me free drinks for life and I’ll do the restoration for free.”

  “Then it’s not free,” Nash pointed out.

  He noticed how quiet Nomad was. When Layne looked in the guy’s direction, he was staring at a wall filled with framed pictures. His arms were crossed, and his features were masked by the darkness of the interior. The bar seriously did need some lighting.

  If Layne was going to be in this family, he needed to break the ice, and not just as they had that night Nomad had protected him from his brothers. He started toward Nomad, but Nash grabbed Layne’s hand, shaking his head.

  “Mr. Creegy always kept pictures of the folks in town on his walls,” Quinn said from beside him. “Our folks are on it.”

  Sadness leaked into Layne’s heart. He knew the O’Brien men had been raised by their aunt. Everyone knew that. But no one had a clue what had happened to Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien.

  Layne was too polite to ask.

  Maybe later when he was alone with Nash he’d ask. Right now he wanted to throw himself into this work and give Nomad the space he clearly needed.

  Nash and Layne walked through the space, visualizing. All of Mr. Creegy’s personal items had been removed, but there was still a lot of junk they needed to go through. Most would be thrown out. Layne stood by the bar and put his hand on one of the stools, noticing how badly it wobbled, and wondered if anyone had fallen off of it.

  This place was a throwback to the past, and Layne couldn’t wait to breathe some new life into it. People thought of bars, and drunken men came to mind. Layne wanted everyone in town to think of O’Brien’s Pub as a friendly place to meet and unwind.

  His brows shot up. “O’Brien’s Pub.”

  It was a little cliché, but it fit.

  Nash grinned and nodded. “I love it.”

  “Me, too,” Quinn said. “It speaks to our Irish heritage and, at the same time, sounds friendly and fun.”

  They might’ve been Irish, but none had the signature red hair or Irish brogue. Layne had to admit a brogue might’ve been sexy as hell, but the brothers spoke perfect English, telling everyone they’d been born and raised here.

  Nomad finally joined them. He had a reserved expression as he nodded. “Good strong name for the pub.”

  If Nomad was approving, Layne had hit the nail on the head. He beamed at them, so dang proud of himself. Nash gave him a quick kiss seconds before the front door opened.

  All three men turned, their expressions dark, as if ready to go to war if it was Rawlings entering. Layne was ready to wet himself if it was him. The bastard had already shot him, and Layne wasn’t looking for a repeat performance.

  It wasn’t Rawlings.

  Stevie, who had a small bag of chips in his hand, sauntered in and looked around. He was munching on them as his eyes landed on the men standing by the bar.

  “Oh, hi!” He wiped at his mouth. “Layne told me he’d be here today, and I wanted to stop by. Maybe I could be of use. I’m not allergic to hard work, and I love being bossed around by big, strong men. Just give me a hammer and show me where to start.”

  Layne rolled his eyes and doubted Stevie even knew how to use a hammer. He’d known the twink his entire life and never once had Layne seen him do manual labor. Stevie was a hairdresser for crying out loud. Layne wouldn’t doubt he could give everyone an amazing haircut, but hauling wooden tables to a dumpster wasn’t going to happen.

  “Bret, right?” Quinn asked. “I remember you from around here way back when.”

  “Stevie,” he corrected. “And it hasn’t been that long. You’re trying to make me sound like an old person, which I’m clearly not.”

  Stevie’s twenty-fifth birthday was coming up soon, and he was fighting the aging process every step of the way. He still told people that he was twenty-one.

  Stevie tossed a few chips into his mouth and chewed like he had seconds to swallow. “And you’re Quinn, right? I sometimes get you and your brothers confused. You’re all just eye candy to me.”

  “You a good laborer?” Quinn asked with a wide grin.

  Stevie licked his fingers one by one, never breaking eye contact with Quinn. “Honey, I can be good at anything you want me to be.”

  Nash coughed, but Layne suspected his mate was masking a laugh. Quinn didn’t hide his chuckle. Nomad wandered into the back and disappeared into the office.

  “Then you’re hired,” Quinn said.

  “Hey, wait.” Nash turned to his brother. “You offered the labor for free.”

  “Stop being such a tightwad,” Quinn argued. “You got the money, and Stevie is willing to be good for me.”

  Layne palmed his face. Stevie could charm the pants off anyone, but now was not the time. This was Layne’s pub, too, and he wanted the work to get done, not have the two ogling and flirting the entire time.

  “Okay.” Layne grabbed Stevie’s shoulders and spun him toward the door, coaxing him forward. “We’ll let you know when you’re needed.”

  “He’s smoking hot,” Stevie whispered to him. “Since no work is being done today, can’t I just stick around and drool over him?” When Layne kept moving forward, Stevie jerked from under his hands and turned to face him. “Stop being a cockblocker. You got your man. Give me a chance to fall in lust with one of them.”

  What was the harm? Stevie was right. They weren’t working today. They were visualizing, and Nash and Layne could do that on their own. Besides, Nash had given him free rein as far as decorating, and Layne already had an idea in mind.

  “Flirt away, slut.” Layne grinned and stepped aside.

  “That’s Mr. Slut to you.” Stevie sniffed and walked back over to where Nash and Quinn stood.

  Nash crossed the room and joined Layne by the door. “I might not have seen Quinn for some time, but he’s always been a flirt. We just might have to turn a firehose on them if we want any work done.”

  Layne agreed, but Stevie deserved happiness. He’d come from a broken home where his parents drank and completely ignored him, unless they were asking their son for money. Stevie had always been a sensitive person, and although he was bright and cheery on the outside, Layne knew that was just a mask to hide his insecurities.

  Layne’s parents might’ve had just one chi
ld, but they’d pretty much adopted Stevie, Horace, and Stanton. His best friends had always been around growing up, hanging out at the restaurant and helping out any way they could. Horace, Layne’s OCD roommate and friend, had been living on the streets when he was a teenager, kicked out by his father.

  Layne’s parents had taken him in and given him not only a place to live but all the love Horace had been missing out on. Stanton’s parents were loaded but were never around, always traveling and leaving Stanton with one of their house staff members.

  All four of them were from different walks of life, but somehow they’d formed an everlasting bond, and Layne was proud to call all three of them his brothers.

  * * * *

  Layne’s parents called that Saturday and wanted to know if he could help at the restaurant. Layne knew it was a ploy to get him there, but he’d agreed. As soon as he walked in, his dad “needed” Nash to taste a new dish he’d been working on, whisking Nash off to the kitchen.

  Layne saw right through their guise. They weren’t fooling anyone. His mom just wanted to get Layne alone so she could interrogate him.

  “I’m so happy you and Nash are opening your very own pub.” She looked at him with a shine of pride in her eyes. “If you need any business advice, just give me a call.”

  He didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble and remind her that he was a financial whiz. He’d been the one who’d done the books for the restaurant and didn’t plan on handing that over once the pub was up and running. Layne could handle the financial aspects of both places in his sleep.

  Let her have her moment.

  “Thanks, Mom.” He gave her a quick hug.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him to a booth. The place was busy, and Layne saw she’d called in Stanton and Horace to help out. They kept eyeing Layne, like they wanted to talk, but they were too busy to pull him aside.

  Since Layne no longer lived with his friends, he had no idea where Stevie was. Maybe he had to work or maybe he was chasing behind Quinn.

  “So,” she said in a whisper, “how’re you doing with the pregnancy? Crackers and apples for the morning sickness, my dear.”

  A smile erupted on his face. “Nash is already on that.”

  She patted her chest as tears misted in her eyes. “A grandmother! I’m so excited I could burst. How’re things with Nash?”

  Layne’s shoulder chose that moment to throb. As close as he was with his mother, he wasn’t going to tell her about Rawlings, though he wanted to. He was pretty open with them, from coming out to his day-to-day life. They were a close-knit family, but there were some things they didn’t need to know about.

  “Adjusting,” he admitted. “Nash and his brothers are keeping their aunt’s house. They want to set down roots.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “But don’t you and Nash want some privacy? All four brothers under one roof? Won’t that get crowded?”

  “Three brothers. Keller went back to California, and no, it won’t get crowded.” Aunt Beatrice had a huge home, with five bedrooms and six baths. She’d needed that big a place to raise her nephews. “And I like that his brothers live with us.”

  Layne didn’t want to tell her that he felt safer with them there. Besides, he was used to living with a crowd of people. He’d had three roommates before moving in with Nash.

  “Have you two decided on names yet?” She looked eagerly at him, as if she were dying to give him a list.

  “I haven’t really thought about that.” If names hadn’t even entered his mind, Layne was going to be the worst parent. What if he forgot the baby in the car or in the grocery store?

  She reached across the table and patted his hand. “You’ll do just fine, dear,” his mom said as if she could read his mind. “Children don’t come with a handbook, but most parents get it right.”

  Most parents.

  “And I’ll be around to help, so no worries.” She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “And if you need any relationship advice, I’m here for you. I’ve been married to your father for three decades. It isn’t perfect, but it’s close enough.”

  Layne felt his cheeks heat to nuclear levels. “I need to go to the men’s room.”

  That conversation would never happen. Layne imagined his mom using the word penis, and he had to get out of that booth. He hurried across the dining area and shot into the bathroom.

  “Jeez.” Layne splashed some water on his heated face, hoping his blush disappeared. When he blindly reached for a paper towel, someone handed him one. “Thanks.”

  Layne turned and groaned. Hartley. He hadn’t seen the guy enter the restaurant. Layne wished he had because he would’ve avoided the jerk.

  “You’re quite welcome.” He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms in front of him. Layne held back the scowl digging at his lips as he tossed the used paper towel into the trash.

  When he turned to leave, Hartley said, “Can’t we have one decent conversation without you brushing me off? It doesn’t cost anything to be nice to someone.”

  “Nice?” Layne turned his glare on him. “You’ve been a royal pain in my ass over the past few years, always wanting me to cater to you when you come in. You have the biggest ego, and your personality sucks.” He felt bad when he saw the hurt in Hartley’s eyes. “Plus you’ve yet to apologize for coming at me that day.”

  Hartley threw his arms out. “I already told you that wasn’t my fault.”

  The guy was never gonna change. He could’ve just said sorry, but it seemed he wasn’t the type to take blame on himself. It was always someone else’s fault. Or in this case, his panther’s fault. Layne was done with him.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m with someone now, so you can fix your interests on another guy.”

  “How’s that fair?” Hartley pushed away from the counter. “I’ve spent years letting you know I wanted you, and Nash fucking O’Brien returns to town and you’re all over him like some horny slut.”

  Layne gasped. “See, this is why you can’t find a boyfriend. You need to learn how to censor your words better.”

  “Answer me,” Hartley demanded. “What’s so wrong with me that you couldn’t date me?”

  Layne had just told him what was wrong with him, but yet again, Hartley wanted to deflect his faults onto someone else. He didn’t like having his flaws in the light.

  “We’re done talking.” Layne turned and tried to open the bathroom door, but Hartley slammed his hand against the wood.

  “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

  Layne heard the rumble in the guy’s chest, the sound that reminded him that Hartley was a panther. He also saw the tips of Hartley’s canines past his top lip. Layne’s gut twisted, and his limbs became shaky. Hartley was a big guy and could hurt Layne if he wanted to.

  “Remove your hand.” Layne might’ve been afraid, but he wasn’t going to give Hartley the satisfaction of knowing.

  “I don’t care if you’re carrying his kid,” Hartley snarled. “I’ll raise it as my own. We were meant to be together, not you and Nash. Me and you. I didn’t just waste the past few years.”

  It didn’t happen often, but Layne was at a loss for words. Nothing he said would make Hartley see that he didn’t stand a chance in hell with him. Layne loved Nash, had for a very long time. Nash was the one who held his heart, not Hartley. It would never be Hartley.

  Someone shoved at the door, as if they were trying to come in. Hartley kept his palm planted against it. Layne knew panthers were stronger than humans, so if the guy on the other side was human, he didn’t stand a chance of getting in.

  “And what do you expect me to do?” Layne squared his shoulders and glared at Hartley. “Dump Nash? That will never happen.”

  Hartley’s eyes became tiny slits. “It’ll happen if I say it happens.”

  The door shoved open this time, nearly knocking Layne on his ass. The wood bumped his shoulder and swung him right into Hartley’s chest. The bastard
curled an arm around Layne as he gave him an evil smile.

  “What the hell?”

  Fuck me.

  Nash looked as though he was ready to tear both of them apart. Layne was in Hartley’s embrace. Fuck, this looked incriminating as hell.

  Layne shoved at Hartley and kicked him in his shin. The guy snarled and raised his hand, but Nash gripped Hartley’s wrist.

  “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Nash snarled.

  “The door shoved me into him,” Layne said. “I swear I wasn’t in his arms on purpose.”

  Nash let go of Hartley’s wrist. “And did the door curl his arm around you?”

  “Seriously!” Layne wanted to smack them both. “Hartley was harassing me, telling me how he was gonna raise your child after I left you. He’s delusional as hell.”

  Layne wasn’t about to let anything get confusing or hold out on telling Nash the truth. There wouldn’t be an argument between them because Nash thought Layne wanted Hartley.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Nash turned his scowl to Hartley. Layne stood by the sink, ready to leave, but Nash cocked his arm back and slammed his fist into Hartley’s face. He grabbed Hartley by his shirtfront and rammed him against the wall.

  Layne was smart enough to stay out of the way.

  “He’s my mate, you fucking moron. I already warned you once to stay away from him. Do you have a death wish?”

  When Nash cocked his arm back again, Layne grabbed it and pulled with all his might. “Don’t you dare destroy my parents’ restaurant.”

  Hartley needed to be put in his place, but not if that meant tearing up the bathroom. Layne had been the one to decorate it, and he wasn’t about to see it demolished.

  The two should’ve been fighting in the pub’s bathroom. That entire room needed gutted.

  Nash bared his canines as he backed away. “Go near Layne again and no one will be able to stop me.”