Something in Common (Dreamspinner Press Bundles)

by Talia Carmichael

  Bernie partially lowered his eyelids. “I’ll think of something.”

  He knew how that drove Tomas crazy. Tomas stood and jerked him up, kissing him hungrily. He lifted Bernie, who locked his legs around Tomas, grinding against him. The sound of the door caught Bernie’s attention.

  “Out. Out of my office,” Alejandro said.

  Tomas withdrew, sighing. “Party pooper.”

  He held Bernie’s hand, leading him to where Alejandro stood by the door.

  “Sorry.” Bernie ducked his head, hiding a smile.

  “Yeah, like I believe that,” Alejandro replied.

  Bernie raised his head.

  “You two are a good influence on each other. Well, you are on Tomas, anyway. This troublemaker needs someone to stabilize him. That’s you, Bernie. Good luck.” Alejandro smiled.

  “Stop filling his head with my wonderful virtues,” Tomas said.

  “See? He loves being trouble.”

  Alejandro and Bernie laughed. Tomas tugged him. Bernie waved to Alejandro. In the elevator, he leaned against Tomas.

  “Are you trouble?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll show you on the dance floor,” Tomas whispered.

  Bernie couldn’t wait. Fifteen minutes later, Tomas proved how much trouble he was. Their last dance, Bernie had been the aggressor. In this one, Tomas was moving against him with wicked intent. Bernie gulped. He could tell he was in for it. Tomas rolled his hips and brushed his cock against Bernie’s. He slid his leg between Bernie’s and held his ass. They slid against each other, moaning. Bernie placed his arms around Tomas’s neck. Tomas kissed the side of his face.

  “Te amo.” Tomas’s breath ghosted against his skin.

  Bernie leaned harder against him, and Tomas held him effortlessly.

  TOMAS FROWNED at the TV. Leaning his head back on the couch, he chewed the inside of his cheek.

  “Tomas, are you okay?” Bernie asked, coming into the living room from the kitchen.

  He wiped his hands on a dish towel, placed it on the center table, and sat next to Tomas. Bernie stroked his hand over Tomas’s arm.

  “Just tired,” Tomas replied.

  Tired of waiting to hear ‘I love you’. Tomas’s heart clenched. He’d said it often over the last month and a half. Never once had Bernie returned the words.

  You told him you would be patient. And he had been. But he felt the need to hear it.

  The day after he’d said it for the first time, they had gone to family dinner as a couple. Mami had hugged Bernie, calling him bambino while Papi had gripped Bernie’s shoulder. Bernie had flinched and withdrawn from them both as soon as he could. Tomas had seen the hurt on his parents’ faces. Later, he had asked Bernie why he seemed not to like them. Bernie had insisted he did, but that he just wasn’t comfortable with expressing affection. It had sounded false, since he had seen Bernie hug or kiss his brothers, cousins, and their poker crew. Tomas hadn’t pushed, waiting for Bernie to come to him.

  They had visited the farmer’s market, attended the Friday night concert, gone dancing often at Bacchus Sloan, and gone to poker night. Tomas had even attended movie night, but not often, letting Bernie have fun with his friends. They had their own movie night when the others went home. It was just between them.

  “I thought you couldn’t wait to see your DVR’ed SyFy movie.” Bernie sounded amused.

  Waiting is all I seem to do. Waiting for you to share with me. For ‘I love you’. Tomas pushed the thoughts away.

  “I was waiting for you. And there’s no need to laugh at me. I know you don’t understand my SyFy movie addiction,” Tomas teased.

  “With you. Laughing with you. And I do get it,” Bernie said.

  Tomas gave him a look of disbelief. Bernie laughed.

  “Okay. I don’t. They are so obviously fake,” Bernie stated.

  “I know. They’re entertaining.”

  “I still don’t get it.” Bernie shook his head.

  “But you watch it with me anyway,” Tomas said.

  “It’s entertaining listening to your commentary of the movie. Let me go get the popcorn.” Bernie stood, chuckling.

  He went out of the room. Tomas picked up the control and scrolled to the movie. Bernie came back with a bowl of popcorn. He curled his legs under him and leaned against Tomas. Putting his arm over Bernie’s shoulder, Tomas started the movie. As it played, Tomas gave his commentary. Bernie’s laughter warmed him. The sound of the doorbell interrupted them. Tomas paused the movie.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No. Maybe someone forgot something.” Bernie shrugged and moved off Tomas.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I’ll get it. I don’t know what’s so important they didn’t just call.” Tomas stood.

  “Be nice,” Bernie said.

  “I’m nice.”

  “Oh, yeah. A regular nice guy.”

  Tomas ignored him. He unlocked, then pulled open the door.

  “What do….” Tomas trailed off, staring at the man standing on the porch.

  The stranger’s features were identical to Bernie’s. A ring was in the left side of his thin nose, and another was in his right eyebrow. A stone that looked like a diamond twinkled above his top lip in the center of his cupid-bow mouth. The gangly man even had shaggy brown hair, except the tips were red. A battered leather jacket covered a T-shirt, and black jeans hugged slim legs. The man shifted booted feet. The boots had red laces with silver buckles. Even his frame was like Bernie’s. Pale green eyes observed Tomas with a cynical look.

  “I’m looking for Bernard,” a crisp British accent said.

  “Ummm… Bernie? Someone is here to see you,” Tomas said.

  “Who is it?” Bernie asked, his footsteps coming closer. “Wilbur.” Bernie sounded shocked.

  Wilbur. The man didn’t look like Tomas would expect anyone named Wilbur to look. Tomas shifted, looking back and forth between the two men.

  “I think it’s your brother. Why didn’t you tell me you were a twin?” Tomas asked.

  “Triplets,” two voices said.

  Chapter Six

  BERNIE’S VOICE mixing with crisp British tones echoed in his ears. Tomas registered what they said, and he gaped. He walked over to Bernie, who stood a little away from the door.

  “Triplets. Hell, I didn’t even know you had family,” Tomas hissed.

  Hurt filled him. How much could Bernie trust him if he’d kept such a secret? Bernie must have heard something in his tone. He turned to Tomas and cupped his cheek.

  “I didn’t tell anyone. It’s complicated.”

  “I can come back another time,” Wilbur offered in that British accent.

  Tomas looked at him. It was eerie, how he looked like Bernie. Wilbur studied Tomas with that same cynical look. Tomas amended his thought. They might look alike, but in Wilbur, there was more of an edge. One that made Tomas bristle. Tomas put his hand on Bernie’s waist.

  “You should.”

  “No, Wilbur. Come in.” Bernie elbowed Tomas in the side.

  “It’s Bur, now. And I will.” Wilbur smirked.

  The name niggled something in Tomas’s memory. Bur bent and picked up a battered guitar case. He sauntered in like he owned the place. Wilbur paused next to Tomas and looked up at him from under lowered lashes. The look coming from him didn’t look playful or innocent like Bernie’s. Bur’s look was pure devilment and challenge.

  “Do you all practice that look?” Tomas demanded, looking at Bernie.

  “No. We have it in common. He’s the mischief-maker of us. Cut it out, mid-bro.” Bernie slapped Bur on the back of the head.

  Bur raised startled pale green eyes. “Haven’t heard that in a lot of years.” His eyes went slightly glassy, and emotion filled them. In that moment, to Tomas, Bur looked exactly like the Bernie he knew.

  Tomas glanced between the two of them. “I’ll give you some time,” he said.

  “You take a moment,” Bur said. “Bernie needs
you. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

  Bur went down the hall, unerringly finding the living room. Tomas frowned after him, then turned back to Bernie. Bernie looked lost. Tomas took his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. He sat him on a stool and got a bottle of water. Opening it, he held it to his lips, and Bernie drank shakily. Tomas put down the bottle and rubbed his back. Bernie leaned on him, sighing.

  “I can send him away.”

  “No. I want to see him. Haven’t seen him in almost nine years,” Bernie whispered.

  Tomas thought about the number and Bernie’s age. “Since you were fifteen.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  Bernie looked miserable. “It’s complicated.”

  “What about your other brother? You don’t talk about him, either.”

  “Dillard. Haven’t seen him since we were sixteen,” Bernie said softly.

  Tomas couldn’t even imagine it. “What about your parents?” He figured if Bernie had brothers he didn’t know about, there might be parents too.

  “Don’t wanna talk about them.” Bernie’s face was shuttered.

  “Bernie,” Tomas said in warning.

  “Not yet, Tomas. Not now. I need to talk to Wilbur… Bur,” Bernie said.

  “I’ll get rid of him. You don’t have to deal with whatever drama he’s bringing.”

  “I want to see my brother. I love him, no matter what. As for drama, that was what he was good at. Being the middle child, he liked nothing better than picking on Dillard and giving me hell for being such an overprotective brother. I missed him. Wasn’t much of a brother.” Bernie smiled sadly.

  “I’ll wait in the bedroom. If you need me to throw him out, call me. Promise me,” Tomas said.

  “I will. Thank you, Tomas. I’ll tell you everything soon,” Bernie said.

  Bernie hugged him, then stood.

  “He looks so much like me, despite the bad-boy rocker thing he has going. Glad he had his guitar. He always liked music. Wonder how Dillard is?” Bernie sighed, then went out of the room.

  Tomas headed out into the hall. He saw Bernie standing in the living-room doorway. Bur was looking out the window. Tomas continued to the bedroom. He closed the door slightly to give them privacy, but left it open enough that he could hear if Bernie needed him.

  Tomas sat heavily on the bed. Bernie had a brother… two identical brothers. Curiosity about why he chose to hide it filled Tomas, along with concern. Lying back on the bed, he crossed his hands under his head.

  Hope Bernie is okay.

  BERNIE STUDIED his brother. His shoulders were back and his head straight. Bernie’s mind flashed to the frightened boy who had hidden behind him. Bernie pushed those thoughts away and focused on the man now standing before him. Wilbur turned to face him, his lips quirked in that uneasy grin, the one he’d had as a boy when he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. Bernie strode over to him and pulled him into his arms. Wilbur went stiff, then relaxed. His arms closed around Bernie tightly.

  “Bernard.” His voice was filled with tears.

  “Bernie. God, it’s weird hearing my name in that British accent.” Bernie looked at him.

  “What accent? You’re the one with an accent.” Wilbur’s eyes twinkled with that devilish spark.

  Bernie chuckled. “Come sit and tell me all you’ve been doing.”

  They sat on the couch. Bernie flicked off the TV. He crossed his legs under him, then turned to Wilbur. He smiled as he noticed Wilbur sat in the same pose. It was their talking position.

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” Wilbur said.

  “What happened when you left?”

  “No, what happened to you and Dillard when I left? With them.” Wilbur touched his hand.

  “Not now. Later. Tell me about you,” Bernie said.

  “You need to talk about it, Bernie. Let go of their control over you,” Wilbur urged.

  “Easy for you to say. You escaped!” Bernie lashed out.

  He went to stand. Wilbur gripped his arm and hand firmly. Bernie subsided.

  “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry. I’m glad to see you, really.”

  “I know you are. That’s who you are, big brother. I could be anything, and you would accept me.”

  “Are you a criminal? If you are, we can’t tell Tomas. His brother is a cop.” Bernie’s stomach clenched.

  Wilbur laughed, leaning over against him. Bernie held him, baffled at the reaction. Wilbur straightened and patted his cheek.

  “I missed you, Bernard. You’re still worried about protecting me, as usual. Hiding things from your partner isn’t a good thing,” Wilbur admonished.

  “He’s not my partner.”

  “Really? That’s not what I got in the report. It told me a lot about you.” Wilbur raised an eyebrow.

  “I hate that you can do that and I can’t.”

  Wilbur wiggled his eyebrow. “I know.”

  Bernie swatted him, then frowned. “What report?”

  “The report the investigator gave to my solicitor.” Wilbur sounded calm.

  “You had me investigated? Ah hell, you’re in the mob. We definitely can’t tell Tomas. That’s not a good life. Christ, how can we get you out? I can help you. Hide you somewhere.”

  “Calm down, Bernie. I’m not in the mob. It warms my heart that you would want to save me if I was.” Wilbur sounded affectionate.

  “You’re my brother. Why wouldn’t I?” Bernie frowned, confused.

  “You still have that idealism. I’m glad, yet afraid for you that you have it.”

  “I’m not naïve. I know if you were in the mob, it wouldn’t be that easy to get out. I do know people who could help.” Bernie snorted.

  “Who do you know that could help me get out if I was in the mob?” Wilbur’s tone was curious.

  “Tomas has this assistant named Sheldon. He knows everything. He’s awesome. And he said if I needed anything and didn’t want Tomas to know, he would help me,” Bernie insisted.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To piss Tomas off. He likes irking him.” Bernie grinned.

  Wilbur laughed, then sobered. “I’m glad you have such good friends.”

  “Pash. Enough about me. What about you? What have you been doing? Where have you been?”

  Wilbur grinned wickedly. “Well, you remember how they said music would lead me to hell? It did. To a whole hella lot of money and success.”

  “Why do I suddenly feel uneasy? Oh, yeah. It’s the look you get before you drag me into trouble.” Bernie chuckled.

  “No trouble this time. Just a repayment for what you did for me.” Wilbur reached into his pocket and pulled out some papers.

  He handed them to Bernie.

  Bernie opened them, reading. He gaped as he read. “No. I don’t want it. I can’t take all that money. How the hell did you get it, anyway? You said you weren’t in the mob!” he cried.

  Wilbur laughed so hard tears filled his eyes. Bernie pushed his shoulder. Wilbur cleared his throat, wiping his eyes.

  “I’m not in the mob. Repeat it with me slowly,” Wilbur said.

  “Then explain this. No one comes to a brother they haven’t seen in years with papers giving them fifteen million dollars.” Bernie smacked him in the chest with the papers.

  “They do if the brother sacrificed himself, giving them all his allowance he’d saved so they could get away. If I hadn’t, I would have surely died,” Wilbur said, his tone heartfelt. “It’s because of you, Bernard, that I am who I am today. Thank you.”

  “I wasn’t much of a brother. I didn’t protect you. Or Dillard.” Bernie lowered his head.

  Wilbur shifted next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “You did.”

  “I didn’t.” Bernie touched his back.

  Wilbur flinched away.

  Horrified, Bernie drew back his hand and scrambled away. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t like your back touched.” He fell onto the floor.

 
“It’s okay. You just startled me.” Wilbur reached for him.

  “It isn’t!” Bernie shook his head, pounding his fist on the ground.

  Wilbur slid down on the floor next to him, rocking him. Bernie held him.

  “Bernie?” Tomas’s voice rumbled down the hall.

  “I’m… okay,” he replied.

  Glancing at Wilbur, he hugged him tight. Wilbur rubbed his back.

  “Triumvirate,” Bernie whispered in his ear.

  Wilbur glanced at him, startled, his hand stopping. “You remember that?”

  “Of course. Do you still have it?”

  Wilbur shrugged out of his jacket and pulled up his shirt. Bernie raised a shaking hand and traced the tattoo identical to his own. It was the last thing the three of them had done together before Wilbur left. Wilbur lowered his shirt.

  “Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why did you come to find me?”

  “I want you to have the money, Bernie.” Wilbur was insistent.

  “No. I don’t need repayment for helping my brother out.”

  “Think of it as a payment to you for being the first investor in a brand.”

  “What brand?”

  “Me.”

  “You always like to make things more complicated than they need to be. Just give me a straight answer to my questions,” Bernie grumbled.

  “I have answered you.” Wilbur sounded affronted.

  “You haven’t.”

  “What haven’t I answered?”

  Bernie ticked them off. “How’d you get so much money? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why did you come to find me?”

  Wilbur answered ticking them off. “As I said: music, Britain, music.” He paused, guilt filling his face. “I didn’t know you weren’t being taken care of. I’m sorry for that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bernie frowned.

  “After my first platinum album, I had my solicitors contact them,” Wilbur paused, lowering his head. “I wanted to set up a payment to them, to take care of you and Dillard. I didn’t want you all to ever want for anything. I knew money wouldn’t make up for love, but it’s all I could offer. I couldn’t come back. Couldn’t face them, even for you or Dillard. So I set it up that they would get money every month to give to you and Dillard to take care of you both. I set it up, then just left it, not wanting to know anything else.” Wilbur raised furious eyes. “It wasn’t until about three months ago that I got a letter sent to my personal address. My security went crazy, since no one is supposed to know where I live. Hell, since I’ve retired, I’m not in the news that much anymore.” Wilbur gripped his hands. “Until that letter, I didn’t know that they hadn’t been doing what I said, that they had used the money for themselves and not you or Dillard. Where is Dillard? The report had no info on him. Couldn’t find him at all.”