by E M Lindsey
“I just…I know I pushed him. I went over his head to get him that stupid internship at the Gazette which he hates,” she said with a sigh, then tipped back the rest of her beer before leaning forward toward the fire. “I’m always up his ass about school and grades and…”
“And everything a parent should be up their kid’s ass about?” Fitz offered. “This isn’t your fault.”
She rubbed at her left eye, then dropped her hands between her thighs. “Maybe. Just…I keep thinking back, trying to figure out when everything changed. I talked to his boss last week and he said that Owen was doing fine, but…”
Fitz’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know Archie that well. He’d moved to Cherry Creek a few years prior, and everyone who knew him seemed to like him. He was a single guy who didn’t bother people for the most part. All Fitz really knew was that he was a decent journalist and never seemed to stir up trouble.
He had agreed when Gwen was pushing for Owen to take the internship at the paper that it would be a good fit. “Did he say the paper was a problem?” Fitz wondered.
“He complains about it a lot. Kept wanting to quit. And I know I laid the guilt on kind of thick,” Gwen admitted, staring at the fire. “I gave him this big lecture about follow through and trust and…I mean. It was stupid of me. I should have just let him choose the fucking job he wanted.”
“It was a good opportunity,” Fitz reminded her.
“Yeah, but he was miserable. I asked Archie, because I figured if he was acting out at home, he was acting out there. But he said Owen was fine. Everyone has said Owen was fine. I believed them until…”
Until Antoine had almost drowned.
“Have you called Antoine?” Fitz asked softly.
Gwen let out a tense laugh and shot him an incredulous look. “No? Jesus, what the fuck am I going to say to him? Sorry my kid almost drowned you in the lake, do you want to go get some coffee?”
Fitz almost laughed, but just managed to hold it in. “He might actually appreciate that, you know. I mean, he was adamant that Owen be given a second chance. He did the same thing to Dmitri.”
Gwen pursed her lips. “Dmitri’s thing was an accident. What Owen did…” She trailed off and leaned back, tipping her face up toward the sky. “I feel like I’ve lost control of everything.”
“It’s one bad incident,” Fitz said.
Gwen swallowed thickly. “It’s not. I mean with Owen, yeah. I guess. Though god knows what else is going to happen after this. But work is…” She licked her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. “There’s this land developer who wants to buy those properties by the cabins.”
Fitz felt something twist in his gut. “What kind of land developer?”
“Shopping centers. Condos. Whatever shit land developers do.” Her voice dropped, and he could hear the pain in it. “I’m on a contract right now to sell the land. I don’t know what to do. They’re sending some guy in to assess the area and…” She blew out a puff of air.
“Gwen,” Fitz said, and he heard the growl in his tone. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of it. Parts of the forest were protected. The government owned it, and Ronan took care of it. They couldn’t build roads, they couldn’t destroy what was there, but not everything was part of the preserve. If the land around the lake sold to a developer, everything would change.
“I don’t have control over it,” Gwen snapped, and Fitz backed off because he knew that was true. “If I don’t sell to them, someone will. Garcia, probably. He’s been chomping at the bit to swoop up whatever property around here is left.”
Fitz knew that. At least, he knew what Gwen told him months ago when they sat in her living room, binged reality TV, and drank through a couple bottles of Beaujolais. But he felt a surge of guilt because apart from that, he’d been caught up in his own life. He’d been caught up in the rift between him and Ronan, and in his own loneliness, and Chance leaving. His sister, meanwhile, had been drowning.
“Gwen,” he told her, softer this time. “I’m sorry. And if you have to sell—do it. It’ll help, right?”
“Money always helps, but I don’t want to lose Cherry Creek,” she told him. “I was thinking maybe you could…shit. I don’t know, maybe you can ask Ronan to get the National Park Service to bid on it or something?”
Fitz didn’t laugh, but he wanted to. Not because the idea was absurd, but because he knew it was a last-ditch effort that would yield nothing. And Ronan wasn’t a fighter, not anymore. But, knowing what could happen to the lake and to the town, it might be motivation enough for him to try.
“I’ll talk to him,” Fitz said.
Gwen deflated a little in relief. “Thanks. And you…”
“Please don’t,” Fitz begged.
She turned in her seat. “Why haven’t you talked to him?”
Fitz closed his eyes against the pain. “Because he’s leaving, Gwen.”
“Just like that?”
Fitz curled his hands into fists, getting really fucking sick and tired of that phrase and the pain that always almost came with it. “What do you want me to do? He doesn’t live here. His life, his job, his home—that’s all in California. And this town straight up tried to murder him.”
“You’ve saved him every time,” Gwen pointed out. “Fitz, every time he was in danger, you were there.”
Fitz closed his eyes and tried not to picture the pain he saw on Antoine’s face when the other man realized what he was about to do. Holding him in bed like that, taking that last moment, he knew what he was doing. Their borrowed time was up, and he had to let Antoine go.
“He likes you. Jesus, he’s probably in love with you,” Gwen went on as though every single one of her words weren’t a stab straight into Fitz’s heart. “The fact that he’s not here…”
“He didn’t fight for me either,” Fitz said. His temper was rising, but he didn’t have the strength for follow-through. “He walked away, and he didn’t look back.”
“You said the same thing about Chance,” Gwen told him, and Fitz didn’t bother to hide his wince. “I didn’t say anything then because Chance was a dick, and no one liked him. But Antoine is different.”
“How?” Fitz asked. He pushed himself up to stand, then wavered a little before he found his equilibrium. “Aside from the fact that this took a lot less time to burn out, how is this different?”
“Because you’re actually falling for him,” Gwen said. “You’re not complacent for orgasms.”
Fitz took a step away and tried not to hear what she was saying, but it was impossible. He couldn’t deny he had actual feelings for Antoine. He’d admitted more than that to himself since the man stumbled into his path. He couldn’t deny that everything he felt was different from what he had with Chance, either. But the fact that everyone else realized it…
“I need to go.”
“You’re drunk,” Gwen pointed out.
He swiped another beer from the cooler and took down half before leaving the bottle at the edge of the fire pit. “I’m not going to drive. I just…I need to walk.”
He heard her calling after him, but Fitz ignored her and moved through the house. He stumbled a bit out the front door, but he made it down the path that would lead him to the center of town without falling on his face. He was drunk, but not belligerent, and getting into the open air made him feel like he could breathe again.
The Farmer’s Market was winding down, the clock ticking toward ten. Half the booths had closed up shop, though he could see Birdie’s stall open and the man himself packing up what was left into his big bins. He took a step toward him, his foot catching on the ground, and he almost tumbled into the table, but the other man managed to catch him in time.
“Jesus, boss. You smell like a keg.”
Fitz pushed him off and righted himself. “I’m not that drunk.”
Birdie snorted. “Right.”
“I’m not. I…” He grunted and dragged his hand through his hair, forgetting it was tied back. He untang
led his fingers, then pulled the tie out and refastened his bun. “Where’s everyone?”
“What, like, the people?” Birdie asked. “It’s late, man.”
“No, my people. Ronan. Where’s Ronan?”
Birdie sighed and gestured toward Fitz’s usual stall. “Over there, buddy. But did you really mean him?”
Fitz wanted to hold his tongue, but that last half beer seemed to have pushed him over the edge. “Where is he?” His voice was small, a little broken, and he hated the way Birdie looked so sad.
“He came by to tell everyone goodbye.”
Fitz felt his heart clench. “He…I…he didn’t. It’s only July.”
Birdie shook his head. “He said he was done and there was no point in sticking around.”
Fitz felt like something physical inside him was cracking. Even though he knew this was coming, knowing Antoine wasn’t going to fight—it was too much. “I need to…I should…” He had to go before he totally embarrassed himself in front of his second in command.
He bobbed and weaved around the people who were left, and he felt a huge gut-punch of relief when he saw Ronan and Parker shoving what was left of his hats and scarves into a plastic bin. Parker noticed him first, dropping the scarf he was holding, and he smacked Ronan with the back of his hand.
Ronan looked down at the offending hit, then up, and his eyes narrowed into a glare at the sight of Fitz. “What the hell?”
“I need,” Fitz said helplessly.
“He’s wasted. I know this look,” Parker said. He handed the lid to the plastic bin over to Ronan, then came around the table and looped his arm around Fitz’s waist. “Oh, you dumb bastard. Come on, you need to go home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Fitz said miserably. Antoine had never been to his home, had never left his mark there, but it didn’t matter. Home meant alone. Home was by himself without hope, and he couldn’t handle that.
“You can come with me and Ronan,” Parker said.
Fitz wrinkled his nose. “No. God, I’ve already walked in on you two once…”
“We can refrain from touching dicks until we get you to stop crying,” Parker said in a soothing tone.
“I’m not,” Fitz started, then realized, holy shit, he was. He swiped off his wet cheeks, but the tears kept coming.
He said nothing as Parker hustled him over the courtyard and to the station where he’d parked his car. Fitz holed up in the back, then waited with his head pressed to the window for Ronan to bring the bin over. They packed up quickly, and Fitz barely noticed the drive out to their little house.
It was a small cottage on the fringes of town, with a large wrap-around porch and a pool. Parker rarely indulged in the money he made as a doctor, but a lot of the upgrades were for Ronan’s rehab exercises. It hadn’t surprised him, the way Parker had adjusted his entire life to fit what Ronan needed. He was a doctor, for one, and although Fitz didn’t realize it until they came home married, Parker had also loved Ronan since they were kids. It was nice to see physical evidence of it sometimes, even if it made him ache with envy over the kind of love he didn’t think he’d ever get.
He managed to get himself out of the car and into the house, collapsing on the couch while his friends busied themselves in the kitchen. They came out a little while later, and Parker was holding a mug of coffee and Ronan trailed behind, leaning on his cane.
“Drink this,” Parker ordered.
Fitz wrinkled his nose, but obeyed. “I’m going to be up all night.”
“I very much doubt that. You look dead on your feet,” Ronan said. He eased himself down next to Fitz and stared at him. “Have you been sleeping?”
Fitz dragged a hand down his face, then set the coffee on the table. “Yes. Well…no. I mean, I had a lot of overnights at the station.”
“Voluntary?” Parker asked as he sank into a chair and propped his feet up on the table. He rolled up his sleeve to expose his short stump, and he scratched under it, letting out a groan. His skin was red and irritated from the prosthetic, but he didn’t take his attention from Fitz’s face.
“Yes. It’s easier for me.”
“And you were hiding,” Ronan said. “Don’t fucking argue, either. I know what that’s like.”
Fitz snorted. “Yeah, you’ve only been doing that what? Twenty years?”
Ronan winced, but he turned his face away.
“We’re not doing this now,” Parker interrupted. “Why the fuck are you drunk at the Farmer’s Market and crying into your coffee?”
“I stopped crying in the car,” Fitz grumbled. He swiped at his eyes, though, just to make sure. “I just want to sleep.”
“Fine.” Parker gave him a look, but eventually stood and beckoned Ronan to follow him.
It hurt, to be left alone like that, but it was what he asked for. It was easy enough to slide down onto his back, and his eyes, still a little crossed, fixed up on the ceiling above him. Everything hurt—the inside, the outside. There was no escaping the pain, and the scars Antoine was leaving behind felt deeper than the ones on his skin. Eventually they’d heal. They always did.
“Here,” came Parker’s voice. Fitz turned his head just as he was hit in the face with a thick comforter, and he kicked it halfway down his body before something else was shoved up against him.
Parker’s arm.
“What the fuck?” Fitz demanded.
“I’m not going to sleep out here with you, but I didn’t want to leave you alone, so you can sleep with a part of me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Fitz whispered.
“You can hold him,” Parker said, and as absolutely ridiculous as it was for Fitz to hold a prosthetic arm close, it was…oddly sweet. Parker’s other hand dug into Fitz’s hair and smoothed it back from his forehead. “I promise I haven’t tried to finger myself or my husband with him since the incident.”
“I hate you,” Fitz said.
Parker grinned. “I know. I know you do, elskede. You’re going to feel both humiliated and like actual trash in the morning, so Ronan and I will try to make sure we don’t wake you up when we leave. And there’s pain meds in my bathroom mirror.”
“What did I do to deserve you?” Fitz wondered.
Parker grinned. “Everything. And nothing.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Fitz’s forehead. “I did this for your future husband, you know. I mean, he didn’t get forehead kisses because he hasn’t earned them yet. He doesn’t get kisses if he breaks your heart.”
“It’s not his fault,” Fitz whispered.
Parker sank to the coffee table and pressed his forehead against Fitz’s. “I know. I know it’s you being an epic dumbass about this. But there’s still hope and you’re going to see that in the morning.”
Fitz closed his eyes and shuddered out a rough breath. “I love you.”
Parker touched his cheek, then kissed his forehead again. “I love you too. Stop being a dumbass. Stop being so mean to yourself.”
“I’m trying,” Fitz vowed, his words a breathy sigh. And he really did mean that. He was trying.
“Try to sleep, Fitz.” Parker tucked him in tight, then stood up and backed away. “And if you need anything, you know where we are.”
Fitz nodded, then rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes. He wasn’t really sure sleep would come, but at the very least, he was going to try.
Chapter Twenty
The night before, at the Farmer’s Market, had told Antoine everything he needed to know. “Do you think if I talk to him right now, he’ll give me a reason to stay?”
The look on Parker’s face had said it all. His eyes flickered down to where Antoine had wrapped his hands around a lumpy mess that was meant to be a hat. The yarn was softer than anything he’d ever touched, and the cash in his pocket was burning a hole there.
“Fitz has a lot of fight in him. It wasn’t just doctors who saved his life when he was pulled out of that tent. He spent years saving himself.” Parker looked over at Ronan, who was just a few fe
et away, and he nodded. “But he’s also a man who won’t take big risks.”
“I don’t think I can let everything go for a maybe,” Antoine confessed, but already, he was making plans. He had money. He had a trust, he had equity in his condo, he had savings. His name on a deed was the only thing that tied him to San Francisco, and the rest of the world held so much more promise.
“It’s up to you to decide if he’s worth it to take bigger, braver steps than he’s able to right now,” Parker told him.
And really, that was the crux of it. Fitz had walked away from him the day Antoine’s life had truly been in danger. And Antoine knew it was fear and worry. Antoine knew both of them had feelings far bigger than they were prepared to acknowledge or deal with since he was supposed to be temporary.
But for the first time in his life, Antoine had the option of permanence.
“I have to go,” he said. And that wasn’t a lie. After his meeting with Charlie, he’d called up his boss and was given permission to finish the last two weeks remotely. He was allowed to go home. If only that felt right, things would be a lot simpler.
But he did have a flight. He’d managed to get a red-eye out of DIA and he convinced one of the ride-shares to pick him up from the Lodge at nine o’clock that night. He’d wandered around the market for a little while, a false sense of hope that Fitz might appear and make everything right, but by the time he spoke with Parker, he knew the truth.
He’d have to make the decision for himself.
It felt strange to board the plane. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was flying away from the place he was meant to be. He spent the entire time with his headphones in with nothing on, his head resting on the seat back. His body had lost the aches from his injuries, but his heart felt like someone had spent the entire month and a half he’d spent there squeezing it just shy of too tight.
The echo of Fitz’s hands, of his mouth, the press of his warm body, he couldn’t shake it. He felt pinned to earth by what little Fitz had given him, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to breathe freely again. He watched the approach to the landing strip, the outside just barely light with approaching dawn glinting off the rocks glistening with water from the gentle bay.
