Manny Get Your Guy (Dreamspun Desires Book 37)

by Amy Lane

  “How were we supposed to get?” his mom asked him, puzzled. “Is there a manual?”

  “Yes,” Taylor said, irritated. “It says he’s the same kid who didn’t wipe his shoes when he was twelve. Brandon, were you born in a barn?”

  Brandon’s sheepish glare was heartening. Taylor had been feeling remarkably young in this relationship, and it was good to be on top, if only for a moment.

  “No, nor was I raised in one,” he said with dignity, stepping back outside to knock some of the mud off his boots. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “I’m just so happy you’re here. Who’s your friend, sweetheart?”

  Brandon shut the door, moved forward, and put his hand firmly in the small of Taylor’s back—and Taylor returned the glare, but with no sheepishness at all. “This is Taylor Cochran. He’s a friend of Nica and Jakey’s.”

  Oh good—no “here’s my boyfriend” crap.

  “And we’re seeing each other.”

  Taylor kicked his shin in passing, but the idiot didn’t have the decency to shut up.

  “Stop it, Taylor. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, and you shouldn’t be either.”

  “I am not happy-parent material,” he hissed. “You are trying to make a good impression here.”

  “I’m happy to meet you. I’m Ann-Marie, since Brandon really doesn’t have any manners.”

  Taylor stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ann-Marie. He’s young. He’ll train up.”

  “You don’t look that old yourself, Taylor.” She smiled, warm but uncertain, and Taylor remembered the social niceties that used to get him laid.

  “I’m thirty in October,” he said, shrugging. “I’m told the eye patch adds ten years.”

  Brandon’s inelegant snort actually gave him a warm little glow in his chest. Couldn’t fight that off, nope.

  “Apparently not,” he said dryly. Brandon had the nerve to grin at him. Taylor just wasn’t going to shake this, was he? That threat to continue where their kiss left off… for the first time since that morning, Taylor realized it could be a real thing. That threat was credible.

  It was almost a promise.

  “You look too young to have scars like those,” Ann-Marie said, pulling him away from the heat washing over him in the wake of that promise. “The service?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, uncomfortable with what came next.

  “Thank you for your service.”

  Yup. Some guys loved hearing that. He wasn’t one of them. “You’re welcome, ma’am. That’s kind. Brandon, did you need to speak to your father?”

  “How about food first? Did you boys eat lunch?” Ann-Marie smiled too brightly, and Taylor kept his sigh to himself.

  “No, Mom.” Brandon smiled wistfully. “But we wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  Taylor manfully refrained from saying “Oh hell you wouldn’t!” because any mom in the world would have heard that yearning and said—

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  Watching Brandon’s disappointment hurt. She sounded relieved, and Taylor got it.

  They weren’t bad people, but they weren’t comfortable. The offer that probably would have rolled off her tongue with her other sons wobbled and tripped here.

  Brandon was right. This was a crapshoot. It was solid ground one moment, a wobbly tightrope in a windstorm the next.

  But he couldn’t hate Ann-Marie, and he was willing to bet he couldn’t hate Brandon’s dad. Which was why it was going to suck.

  No offer of lunch forthcoming, they ventured into the living room. A throwback to the nineties, the room boasted gold-striped wallpaper with floral arrangement motifs, and overstuffed leather furniture.

  Brandon’s father sprawled in the middle of a club chair, looking less like a human and more like a mushroom with a flop sweat.

  Taylor grimaced and looked to see what Brandon thought.

  Judging by the tightness of his jaw and around his eyes, he thought the situation was not good—not good at all.

  “Mitch? Mitch, look who came to visit.”

  Brandon’s father took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, turning to look at them as they came in. “Bran… don? What are you doing here?”

  His breathing was so awful, Taylor couldn’t tell if he was happy or not. The man’s lips and nail beds were tinged blue.

  Brandon looked at his father for a stricken moment. He was a big man and probably meant to be built like a human powerhouse, like his son. He had his son’s broad cheekbones, and graying hair that might have once been brown. He looked deconditioned now, but Taylor knew enough about heart disease to know that feeling like crap had probably preceded the lack of energy, rather than the other way around.

  “Taylor?” Brandon asked, his voice wobbly. “Uh….”

  Ann-Marie probably hadn’t seen it happening. Taylor could envision the progression, clear as day. “Mitchell, are you okay?” “Fine, hon. Just tired.” “Mitchell, do you want to go for a walk?” “Not today. I’ll be fine….” It could have happened in a matter of months.

  “Hi, Mr. Grayson,” Taylor said cordially. “Brandon and I are here to take you to the doctor’s.”

  “I’m not… going.”

  Taylor took out his phone and grimaced. Weak service. “Brandon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’s the landline?”

  Brandon pointed wordlessly to the kitchen.

  “Go get your father’s insurance information. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  He didn’t stay for the shock, the outrage, or the inevitable discussion. Whether it was a heart attack today or a heart attack next week, the thing was coming, and Brandon had asked him for help. Taylor couldn’t make peace between Brandon and his family, and he couldn’t fix awkward, but he could do this.

  The mail on the counter was a lucky break. He punched 911 without hesitation, gave the address, and told the woman that an adult male was having breathing distress, enough to hinder movement and speech.

  They could hear the ambulance from town as Taylor hung up the phone.

  THEY followed the ambulance to Tahoe Forest and sat in the waiting room while Brandon’s mother went into the exam room. Brandon’s father had complained—or tried to complain—during the entire process of getting him loaded into the ambulance, but it was hard to make a case when you could hardly breathe.

  “I expected to be home tonight.” Brandon sighed. “I didn’t expect this.”

  “Well, neither did your father, if that helps,” Taylor said, and although Brandon’s chuckle sounded strained, it was still a laugh.

  Brandon’s hand on his knee was not unwelcome. “I’m so grateful to you. You… you just swept in. Like Superman. Said, ‘This! This is the thing we must do!’ Dad may never forgive you, but that’s fine.”

  He was on Taylor’s good side, but Taylor couldn’t make himself look at his expression. He covered Brandon’s hand instead. “That’s fine?”

  “Yeah.” Brandon squeezed. “At the end of the day—or whenever, you know, we get back to your place—it’s going to be you and me and not Mom and Dad. So that’s fine if they’re not comfortable with us.”

  Taylor squeezed back. “You deserve better,” he said softly, meaning it. “You… you deserve, like, Tino’s family.”

  Brandon laughed, and this time it was as natural and as full as Taylor could ever ask for. “Everyone deserves Tino and Nica’s family. The lucky thing about people like that is that they share.”

  “Share?” Taylor knew what he meant, but he liked the earnestness, the optimism in Brandon’s words.

  “Share all that acceptance. They adopt everyone. Jakey’s family is nice, but they’re sort of quiet and reserved, you know? But the Robbinses—they just welcome people in. They share.”

  “Yeah. They share.”

  Two men crowded into the waiting room, and Brandon stood, tugging gently at Taylor’s hand so he’d stand too.

  “C’mon, let’s meet my brothers.”


  Brandon’s brothers were just as big as Brandon. Taylor stood taller, but for sheer mass, these guys would make two great defensive ends.

  They also made two great offensive asses.

  “Garrett—good to see you.” Brandon smiled that winning, bluff smile Taylor had begun to treasure because he knew the kid’s scowl just as intimately. Garrett—shorter, beefier, Taylor’s age, maybe, in a polo shirt that showed a thicker middle and the neck of a show bull—narrowed his eyes and ignored Brandon’s outstretched hand.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Cliff?”

  Cliff favored their mother, which made his nose and chin a little weak for his broad cheekbones, and he reluctantly took Brandon’s hand. “Good to see you, little brother. But what are you doing here?”

  “Gar was here a couple of weeks ago. Said Dad wasn’t looking great and I might want to talk some sense into him.”

  Garrett snorted. “Mom’s been nagging him forever. What made him finally decide to come in?”

  “Taylor called 911,” Brandon said bluntly. “Because he could barely say my name.”

  “Who in the hell is Taylor?” Garrett glared at Taylor, so he probably had a pretty good idea. “And why does he get a say in what happens with Dad?”

  “This is Taylor. He’s my—”

  “Boyfriend,” Taylor said bluntly, because even if it wasn’t true, he didn’t like the sneer in Garrett’s voice—or in his eyes. “And I obviously get a say because I said. And if he couldn’t stand up and tell the paramedics to go away, he was obviously weak enough to need them.”

  “So you don’t know my family from Adam and you just waltz into my parents’ house and—”

  “I know Brandon. I’m here for him. He didn’t want to fight with your dad, so I called 911. Hate me all you want. Like you said, you don’t know me from Adam.”

  Brandon made a suspicious sound, and Taylor focused on him.

  “Don’t look at me like that!” Brandon protested. “You’re doing fine on your own.”

  Taylor shook his head and wished heartily for both eyes so his utter disgust could be made known. “You owe me lunch,” he muttered.

  “I do,” Brandon said, grabbing his hand. “And the hospital cafeteria won’t count.”

  Oh geez. He couldn’t let go of Brandon’s hand now. He’d just claimed they were together. “Steak,” he insisted, mostly for show. “I want steak.”

  “Deal.”

  And for a moment, like magic, they were alone. The hospital ceased to exist. Brandon’s discomfort with his family—even the two men glaring at them—all of it just went away.

  Taylor swallowed painfully. Boyfriends, hookups, guys he was banging—never, in all those supposed intimate situations, had he ever felt so actually intimate with a man.

  He nodded and forced himself to look away, but Brandon squeezed his hand and he knew he fooled nobody. Whatever the future might hold for the two of them, he’d committed himself to the now. They were together, in whatever capacity Brandon wanted, because Taylor was incapable of spitting in the face of that raw optimism, that boundless hope.

  In that moment, in that bubble, he gave up wanting to try.

  “I still don’t get it,” Cliff said, penetrating their bubble but not their intimacy. Brandon’s hand in Taylor’s made sure of that. “What right did you have—?”

  “He saved your father’s life.”

  They all turned toward Ann-Marie, who had walked in unnoticed.

  “Mom?” Garrett asked, voice lowered respectfully. “How’s Dad?”

  “They’re going to stabilize him tonight, and he’ll go into surgery tomorrow.” She took a deep breath. “They said he needs a triple bypass, and if Taylor hadn’t come in and taken charge, he might have just… just toppled over. Because he was so damned stubborn.” She half laughed and walked up to Brandon, then took him into a truly warm hug. “Thank you, son—for not giving up on us.”

  Taylor let go of Brandon’s hand so he could hug his mother and then retreated to the far corner of the room with his phone and a video game so he could ignore the happy family reunion. It wasn’t meant for him anyway.

  Brandon flopped down next to him a few minutes later. “If you want to come meet them now, I promise they won’t bite.”

  Taylor shrugged. “Wouldn’t blame them if they did. But that’s okay. Let me be the enigmatic stranger who rode into town, did the good deed, and rode out.” He gestured to his face. “I even have a scar.”

  Brandon scowled. “No, pardner, you don’t get to do that. Let them thank you—and then we’ll go.”

  “I thought you were going to stay for the surgery. I was going to call Nica and ask if she could feed my mangy cat.”

  Brandon shook his head. “Mom asked Garrett and Cliff if they wanted to stay at the house. She loves me, Taylor—she’s even grateful to you. But it’s not all sweetness and light.”

  “We can stay in a hotel,” Taylor offered, surprising himself. “I saw a couple. When’s he going in?”

  “Early,” Brandon admitted. “But—”

  Taylor did the unthinkable then—he grabbed Brandon’s hand all on his own. “What’s going to happen will happen, Brand. I… I won’t fight it. The day our convoy got hit, I didn’t feel a tingle, I didn’t have a premonition. There were no strange birds or omens. I don’t believe in signs. Fate, maybe. But if you still want me, I’m not going to stop you.”

  He thought that would make Brandon happy, but he looked at their clasped hands with trouble in his eyes. “But you’re not going to fight for me either,” he said, as though this just occurred to him.

  Taylor blew out a breath and stood. “I’ll bring you back a sandwich. I really am starving.”

  And just like that, Brandon’s optimism returned. “No—no. I promised you steak, and it’s late enough for dinner. You’re right. You can call Nica on the way. I’ll find a hotel. We can leave after he comes through surgery tomorrow.”

  Taylor smiled at him, relief making his smile wobbly. “Okay. I’ll… I mean, I can talk to your family for a minute, if you want.”

  Ah, that smile. Oughtta be a law.

  “Okay—super quick. The restaurants all close at eight, and seriously, I’ll have to eat the furniture or something.”

  “Still growing,” Taylor teased gently.

  “You too,” Brandon replied with a hint of defiance. “Everyone grows. Now come on!”

  GARRETT and Cliff still hadn’t warmed to him by the time he and Brandon left, but the overt hostility had faded. Brandon’s mother hugged her son one last time, and Taylor looked meaningfully at her, hoping he’d get the hint.

  He did. “Are you sure you don’t want me and Taylor to stay with you?” Brandon asked, glaring at Taylor over her shoulder.

  “No, honey. Your brothers are here. And….” She swallowed and looked over her shoulder at Taylor with sincere apology. “I should have made you lunch. You two go out and get some food. If you want, you can stay the night in your old room—”

  “A hotel is fine,” Brandon said quickly, and Taylor laughed quietly to himself.

  Transparent. Transparent as glass. But glass could be broken, and Taylor wasn’t going to do the breaking.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow at six.” One more hug and they were out.

  Once the sun sank below the tree line, the mountains got amazingly cold, and Taylor felt like an idiot for shivering as they got into the truck. He pulled out his phone to talk to Nica, relieved that he seemed to have reception in town. It rang and went to voicemail, so he called Jacob instead—and it did the same.

  “That’s weird,” he mumbled. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”

  “Call Tino,” Brandon told him. “Here—stay in the car. I’ll be right back.” He stopped in front of one of those grocery stores that looked like it sold everything from chewing tobacco to milk, and Taylor nodded.

  “Toothbrushes?” he asked, because yeah. Necessary.

  “Course. Don’t worry,
I’ll take care of you.” He waved reassuringly, and Taylor pulled up Tino’s number and dialed.

  Finally someone answered the phone. “Taylor? What’s up? Did Jacob call you?”

  Tino—serene, unflappable Tino—sounded rattled. And surrounded by children. Taylor heard Dustin’s voice distinctly in the background saying, “I did not hit her! She ran into the wall!”

  “No. Is anything wrong?” And suddenly, panic. Because Taylor, in his rotting little apartment, hadn’t fathomed how very much he depended on Nica and Jacob to make his life normal.

  “Well, sort of. Nica had some bleeding this afternoon. Sammy and I are here with the kids while the doctors keep her overnight. And, of course, Jacob’s not leaving her side.”

  Well, yeah. Because Nica and Jacob, they were true love. Taylor hadn’t ever doubted that, even when Jacob wasn’t talking to him.

  “So she’s going to be okay, right?”

  “Yes,” Tino said and then calmed down almost immediately, like he didn’t like to get caught freaking out about his little sister. “Yes. Jacob says it’s looking like she’ll need to come home to bed rest, though. Possibly for the whole pregnancy, but at least until the fifth month. So.” Tino tried to sound bright now—Taylor ached for him. “You’re definitely in for job security. Nica won’t want anybody in the house but you.”

  All the air whooshed out of Taylor’s lungs. He was needed. He was really, really needed. Oh God. Oh hell. This family needed him. And all his fears about not being enough—all his self-deprecation for the mistakes of the past—that needed to get chucked out the window.

  He was the one who would be keeping track of Melly’s shoes and finding Conroy’s woobie and telling Dustin to knock it off and making sure Belinda had time to boss her dolls around. For months, he was going to be in charge. And he could either tell Tino to find someone else or…

  Or he could earn that spot at the family table he’d been so afraid of just two days ago.

  “Course,” he said now, voice faraway to his own ears. Somebody else. He was somebody else. Somebody who had never lied to Nica, somebody who had never screwed around on a score of guys in high school and junior college, somebody who couldn’t make a relationship work in the military, even stateside. He was a guy like Brandon. Someone these people he loved could depend on. “I… yeah. Not a problem. Brandon and I are out of town this weekend, though—Brandon had some family shit to clean up, and I’m along for the ride.”