by Amy Lane
Brandon didn’t get a chance to see Taylor much during his first day solo—just a lot of him herding kids out of the house, then leaving to go get them all again. Nica had mercifully scheduled back-to-back activities for everybody. Even though it was the first day of summer vacation, nobody was getting a break, and given the chaos of turning a house into a construction site, Brandon figured Taylor was probably relieved.
But that didn’t mean Brandon wasn’t disappointed.
The look on Taylor’s face after that first kiss—wounded and hungry and half-afraid… it hadn’t been what Brandon had expected at all. He’d expected the angry, baiting kiss at the beginning. He’d been hoping for it, hoping Taylor would take over, take what Brandon was offering, grab his hand and haul him to some bolt-hole out of time and place, and put searing hands all over Brandon’s body, branding him for life.
So help him, Brandon had read a lot of his mother’s romances as a child. She’d used them to escape the realities of being married to Brandon’s father, and Brandon had always been good at picking stuff up by watching.
And he’d watched Taylor. Watched him shy away from touch, watched him shudder and react to Brandon’s touch. Brandon might have been a frustrated virgin, but Taylor was actually much worse off.
The need that rolled off him in waves—between that and the fierce independence and prickly demeanor, Brandon’s entire body was on high alert.
He took care of people. It was what he admired about Jacob—the way he took care of his family. It was why he’d crushed so badly on Tino—he’d been the family caretaker.
And here was a man who was doing his best to take care of Brandon’s family—and he was desperate to be cared for himself.
Brandon’s furious desire to care for Taylor surprised him, but it also invigorated him. He’d been waiting all his adult life to have a prince come sweep him off his feet.
Imagine his shock to find that he was the prince, and he had a job to do.
Unfortunately his actual bill-paying, get-Brandon-through-school job was currently getting in the way of that other one.
“Grayson!”
Brandon pulled his brooding attention from the house, where Taylor and Conroy were currently occupied, probably trying to get Conroy settled down for his postlunch nap, to the job scene at hand.
“Sorry, Gus. We about ready to take a break?”
Gus grimaced and scratched his shining bald head—and then under his shining bald volleyball stomach. He was one of those guys who’d seen the death knell of his high school locks at twenty-five. At thirty-five, he had a few strands of gray in his beard and a perfectly round head to match a heavily concentrated bowling ball that had gathered from a two-beer-a-day habit. But he was quick and good-natured, and most importantly, he didn’t mind working for Brandon even though Brandon was younger and gay.
In fact, those last two items were pretty much the criteria Brandon had used for picking his entire team—and it worked. Luis, Ray, Carl, Rufus, and Gus worked well together. They used their heads, took Brandon’s direction, and didn’t cut corners.
But as decent as all the guys working for Brandon were, and as much as Brandon appreciated them, the eleven forty-five break was something they just were not getting.
“Brandon!” Luis whined, taking off his hat and slicking back his glossy black hair. “It gets hot out here, man! Do we really have to—?” He made random gestures with his hands.
“Yeah, I know,” Brandon admitted. “It’s a pain in the ass, and we’re not ready to rest yet. But guys, he’s a little kid. If we can tone it down for just fifteen minutes, he’s going to be out for an entire hour and a half. I mean, you have kids, Luis. What would your wife give to know they were going down for a nap?”
Luis’s eyes grew dreamy. “Fried ice cream and a blow job.”
Brandon stared at him, but Rufus nodded, his graying ponytail bobbing. “Dude, my wife totally put out for me when I could get the kids down for a nap.” His smile grew dreamy too. “Think it’s how we ended up with three.”
Gus grunted. “Wife didn’t care. Kid was stuck in his room whether he was sleeping or not.”
Brandon grimaced at him, but Gus rolled his eyes. “He’s going to college and isn’t homicidal, but fine. I’ll give this kid a fifteen-minute head start on a nap. Anyone needs me, I’ll be in my truck, finishing my coffee and sneaking a smoke.”
Ray and Carl, college students like Brandon, blond surfer boys who were sleeping off perpetual hangovers, shrugged and headed for their cars, probably to cop a nap of their own.
“Back by 12:05!” Brandon called. He nodded at Rufus and Luis, who were going for the ice chest of water and Gatorade before finding a place in the shade. “I’m going to go check on Taylor. We were making a helluva racket just then—want to make sure the baby isn’t too freaked-out.”
Rufus frowned. “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to be wearing two hats at this one?”
Aw hell. “Yeah, but… he’s the baby, guys, right?”
He expected another ration of crap, but to his surprise, both of them nodded, suddenly serious. The baby was as sacrosanct as the nap. Good to know.
Careful not to make too much noise, Brandon stomped his boots free of dirt on the mat outside the garage door and took off his tool belt and hard hat, leaving them by the mat before he slid inside.
Breakfast dishes were halfway finished, but Taylor hadn’t yet gotten to the rest of the kitchen. There was a giant stain on the floor by the sink that could be anything—mustard, syrup and pancake mix, mustard poop… so many bad, bad options in that direction.
Taylor’s job—Brandon had to remind himself of that. Of course, he knew Taylor would probably cut off his good arm before letting Brandon help him anyway.
Brandon was just stepping over a sippy cup—thankfully empty—when he heard Taylor’s voice in full-on panic mode.
“Conroy? Jesus, kid. Where’d you go?”
Oh shit! Brandon crashed through the kitchen toward the hallway, heading for the boys’ room where Conroy’s crib was kept.
“Conroy!” Taylor yelled. “Dammit, kid, you were right in your crib!” The distinctive sound of the flat of a hand hitting a wall reverberated through the house, as did the startled cry of a two-year-old.
“Oh.” Brandon’s steps slowed as he heard the anticlimax in Taylor’s voice. “Oh hell. Kid. I’m so sorry. You were right in your crib. Oh man. Baby, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you, ’kay?”
“’Kay, Taylor.”
“God, you’re sweet. Okay, Uncle Taylor’s gonna rub your back and you’re gonna fall asleep again, deal?”
“Mm….”
Brandon crept to the doorway and looked in. Conroy was lying under a deep-blue nap blanket, wearing a deep-blue onesie, with deep-blue sheets.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.
Brandon stayed until Conroy fell back asleep—with this kid, it took about a minute and a half—and was waiting when Taylor emerged from the darkened room, closed the door gently, and fell back against the hall.
“Jesus frickin’ Christ,” he breathed. Brandon could see the sweat stains under his arms and the shiny gloss of his face—poor man had been terrified.
“Couldn’t see him, huh?” He made sure to keep his voice casual and sympathetic. He could not imagine how terrifying it would be to think he’d lost the kid.
“Not even a little,” Taylor rasped. “I thought that kid had jimmy-rigged the window or something.” He smacked his eye patch lightly with his palm. “Crap on toast, that sucked.”
“Not your fault,” Brandon told him. Taylor swiveled his head, and Brandon nodded because he meant it. “I might have thought he was lost too. He pulls the blanket over his head all the time.”
“Disappeared right off the grid.” Taylor closed his eye, swallowed, and shuddered. “That was…. God.”
Brandon stepped closer to him, rubbing a tentative circle on his bicep. “You’re doing
fine, you know.”
“Have you even seen the kitchen?” Taylor asked bitterly.
Brandon had to laugh. “Well, yeah. And I think I tracked juice through the hallway, so you’re welcome. But, Taylor, he was fine. You didn’t break anything looking for him. You hadn’t called the cops yet, so there wasn’t too much panic. Kids’ll do that. Two years ago, when Conroy was a baby? It was Melly. She hid under the coffee table playing hide-and-seek—but she never told anybody else we were playing the game. Nica was running for the pool to see if the fence had been left open and Jacob was picking up the phone to call the cops when she popped out and said, ‘Surprise!’ I swear, I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”
Taylor swallowed and nodded and leaned his head back against the wall like he was still trying to get it under control.
Brandon took advantage of the moment.
He kissed him.
For a fierce, free second, Taylor opened his mouth and responded. Brandon fell into the kiss like falling down the rabbit hole. When Taylor wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close, Brandon went, and they were chest to chest, equal to equal, Brandon sweeping his tongue through Taylor’s mouth and tasting and tasting. Pancakes, juice box, panic, desire—it was all there for the taking, and Brandon took.
Taylor broke it off after a moment and pushed away. “Comfort’s over,” he said gruffly. “Gotta go pick up the kitchen. And hell, you really did step through the juice puddle and track it down the hall, didn’t you?”
Perfect waffle-stomper prints in purple were seeping into the beige carpeting as they watched.
“Sorry. I’ll get that. You get the kitchen.”
“Don’t you have a job to do?” Taylor glared at him, and Brandon remembered his crew, who would be getting antsy in about five seconds.
“Okay, fine. You can clean up my mess. But I need a favor.”
“You need a favor for me cleaning up your—”
“Stay,” Brandon said quickly. This was Thursday. For four days, Taylor had managed to pick up and bail right when Jacob and Nica got home. Brandon was sick of it—he was pretty sure Taylor was going to the gym, maybe, and then to his own apartment to brood or hang upside down like a bat or whatever. Brandon wanted a chance and was not above begging.
“I’m sorry?”
“You should be. They ask you for dinner every night, and you bail.”
“They don’t need me hanging around every night while they try to have a—”
“Stay,” Brandon insisted. “Stay tonight. Stay and have dinner with us.”
Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “Kid—”
“Brandon. And stay. Please. Do you think you’re the only one with pride?”
Taylor dropped his chin to his chest and massaged the back of his neck. “Fine. Tonight I’ll stay.”
Brandon let out a sigh of relief and followed him down the hall. When they hit the kitchen, Brandon allowed himself the luxury of trailing a hand from between Taylor’s shoulder blades to the small of his back, stopping for a moment to caress his ass through his jeans. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Taylor shuddered and kept his face turned away. “You are scary persuasive,” he mumbled.
Brandon smacked him on the ass and laughed, then walked outside to tell the troops that Conroy was settled and they could start working again.
TAYLOR ate quietly, smiling at Jacob and Nica, teasing the children gently but not getting in the way of their parents’ nightly ritual.
Brandon took the opportunity to watch him, noting the almost hungry look in his eyes as Nica and Jacob took care of their family.
Tino said he’d been beaten.
The thought popped into Brandon’s head unbidden. Taylor had been abused as a child, probably for being gay.
A tough man—a soldier—who had fought his way through rehab and was working to get out and finish his degree. So much determination to do something good with his life, so many strikes against him, and what he seemed to want—seemed to crave—was right here in this room.
And he had to be pressed into staying.
Brandon needed to know why.
“Dustin….” Nica’s warning voice pulled Brandon away from his study of the man to his right, and all eyes landed on the boy, who was squirming in his seat.
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Your swim teacher called me today. She said you were going to drown.”
Jacob spit up rice pilaf. “Seriously?”
“Oh yes,” Nica told them all grimly. “Apparently Dustin has been faking the dying dog paddle all week.” Melly and Belinda snickered, and Dustin sent them a killing look. “Now why would you be doing that? We all know you can swim very well! Why are you faking it?”
“’Cause he’s bored shitless,” Taylor said casually before stuffing another bite of rice pilaf into his mouth.
All eyes turned to him, including Brandon’s. It was the most he’d said since they’d sat down, including “Pass the milk.”
“Taylor!” Nica hissed. “Language!”
Taylor wrinkled his nose. “Okay. He was bored spitless. Or witless. Or brainless. He was so bored that peeing in his pants felt like a good idea, because it was at least something to do.”
“Eww!” the little girls said in tandem, but Brandon got a good look at Dustin’s face.
Dustin had the wide cheekbones and little pointed chin of Nica’s family, but he had Jacob’s flush-easy skin tone. Right now his cheekbones sported bright rosy spots of color, and he was biting his lower lip to keep from cackling.
Oh yeah—sure as hell’s afire, the little snot had been peeing in the pool.
“Why would he be bored?” Nica asked, and Taylor swallowed the bite of rice and wiped his mouth carefully before answering.
“Because the teacher is sort of geared up for people Melly’s age. But Belinda’s a little old for her already. And the kids are already crack swimmers. I mean, if you want to give them a challenge, maybe sign them up for a water safety class. They’ve got junior lifeguard classes at the same place just half an hour later. Melly and Belinda could go to the swim lessons, and Dustin could go to junior lifeguard, and we could do our half hour at the library after story hour and not before, and then I can drop them off at ABC Club without the extra half hour to spare beforehand.”
Nica scrubbed at her face. “But what about Conroy’s nap?”
“Why would that affect Conroy’s nap?” Taylor frowned, obviously trying to use his brain for a spreadsheet. “Besides, I need to take Conroy on an extended ride home afterward, so he can sleep in the car or something. Brandon’s got the guys closing down shop while Conroy goes down, and that won’t get the place done any quicker.”
Now everybody was staring at Brandon. Or rather Nica was staring and Jacob was smirking.
“You got the crew to shut down construction so the kid could nap?”
Brandon smacked Taylor’s arm, and he didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, Jakey—so what? It’s a nightmare trying to keep everybody on schedule when he’s cranky. Fifteen minutes at naptime and he’s pure gold.”
“But it’s damned early for six grown men to be taking their break,” Jacob returned. “Maybe Taylor has a point. Not about driving around. But if maybe we reschedule ABC Club for the session half an hour later, he could drop the kids off and get Conroy here in time for a real lunch for the construction crew.”
Taylor grunted.
“What?” Brandon asked, sensing his disapproval.
“I was really hoping to avoid the half hour before ABC Club,” he muttered. “But never mind—”
“The ladies are really rude,” Dustin said, nodding sympathetically at Taylor.
And suddenly everybody was looking at Dustin again. “Clarify ‘rude,’” Nica said, sounding dangerous.
Dustin’s jaw had the exact same clench his mother’s did. “They just offer him all this advice and tell him that he’ll be all happy when he doesn’t have to do this anymore and say, ‘Oh, I’m sor
ry you can’t get a real job—’”
“That’s not what she said,” Taylor grunted, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but the table. “And it’s fine. Dustin, the schedule’s complicated enough as it is. I can deal with all those chicken coop women. It’s no big deal.”
“What…,” Nica said slowly. “What exactly did the woman say?”
Taylor clenched his jaw and shook his head, looking anywhere but at the people at the table. “Leave it alone, Nica. I’m—”
“Oh no. No, no, no, no. Who was it, and what exactly did the woman say?”
Brandon hated the ferocious helplessness that radiated off Taylor’s body.
“She said being wounded was no excuse for doing a woman’s job. And I have no idea who it was—her kid’s name was Kelsey, but there’s about six Kelseys in their session, so there you go. We all know who was being mean to Taylor, and I’m a big boy and can take it, and that’s not the point.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Nica said furiously.
“No, the point is, Dustin needs a different swim class, and we need to stop keeping Brandon from doing his job. The rest of it is my bullshit—”
“You’re our bullshit!” Nica snarled. “We’re not throwing you to the wolves again—”
“This isn’t the same thing at all,” Taylor maintained, slamming his fork down.
The whole family stared at him, and he swore quietly to himself. “Look, Nica—please, no. I can deal with stupid people, okay? Let’s just get the kids in a decent class. That woman teaching their swim class has the smallest, most annoying bird brain in the world. She’s going to make them hate swimming, and they’re part fish. Let’s just stick to that.”
“N—”
“Sure.” Jacob was apparently taking both balls in his hand to override his wife. “We will stick to that.”
“Jakey!”
Jacob looked at her, his face a sunny mask of dude-bro slacker that might have fooled people when he was younger. But after the past ten years of watching Jacob raise a family and keep his businesses running and be an amazing husband and father, Brandon was not particularly fooled.
