by Jerry Cole
Brent grinned, probably looking like an idiot, but he didn’t much care. “All right. You should answer that text.”
“I will,” Marc said with a warm smile. “I’ll see you around, Brent.”
“Yeah,” Brent said. “See you around.”
When the door closed behind Marc, it was all Brent could do not to scream out in happiness or punch the air or something equally ridiculous. As it was, he was too cold and wet to do much of anything but groan happily and pad through to the bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as he could stand it, unable to keep the grin off his face.
Chapter Nine
“We’re going on another date,” Brent informed Rachel a week later.
Since their last phone call, Rachel had texted him intermittently, asking how their first date had gone, but at the time Brent hadn’t wanted to jinx anything by replying. Now, part of him wanted to spill everything. He managed to refrain, telling her the important parts, aware she would spill all to Polly and Jack given the chance, and that was the last thing Brent wanted. Not that he didn’t love his sisters, but Jack was the worst gossip, meaning she’d end up talking to his parents, and Polly would demand to come down and see them both so she could vet Marc for herself. As if Brent would let her do something so stupid before he and Marc had really gotten to know each other.
Rachel laughed into the phone. “You could sound a little bit more upbeat about it, Brent.”
Brent made a face. “I’m happy! I just don’t know whether we should be going out somewhere, you know?”
“You’re staying in?” Rachel sounded surprised, and Brent sighed.
“He’s—look, I thought it would be a good compromise, you know? I don’t know why he has a service dog in the first place, and asking beforehand isn’t really polite, you know?”
“You’re going to have to know eventually,” Rachel pointed out. “You have to know if inviting him out anywhere is a bad thing.”
Brent rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. “I’ve seen him outside. I don’t know what he does, but I’ve seen him walking Stanley before. That doesn’t mean he’s good with crowds, or maybe he has like, a mental illness or something.”
Rachel paused, sighing like their mother did sometimes, and Brent braced himself for a mini lecture. “This is something you should talk about, Brent. It’s all right being polite and respecting his distance, but if you want to date him like I know you do, you’ll have to talk.”
“We will,” Brent pressed. “I promise we will, but right now I just want to get to know him.”
“Fine,” Rachel said. Then, brightly, she said, “So, are you going to put out on this date?”
“Rachel!” Brent snapped, hanging up on her out of spite. Honestly, he needed better sisters. Of course, now she’d said it, it was all he could think about, even when Marc was right there, outside of his apartment, grinning as Brent took his trash out. Brent grinned back, almost walking into the door before he caught himself. He was honestly turning into a ridiculous excuse for a human being.
Their date was essentially just going to be pizza and a drink. It was at Marc’s this time, but effectively the same thing as their last hang out, and Brent shouldn’t have been disappointed by that, but he was. He wanted the chance to show Marc off, to let people know that yes, he had bagged that hot guy with the cute dog, even when he was a little short, weird-looking man with an equally cute dog.
“You’re not a weird looking man,” Brandon told him with a snort. Not that Brent was doing the rounds with calling people. At least he’d dragged himself round to Brandon’s apartment. “Thanks for looking after Saskia again.”
“It’s kind of my job,” Brent said, shrugging. “You don’t have to listen to me whine.”
Brandon laughed outright this time, leaning against the kitchen counter. “It’s fine, hearing your drama reminds me of high school.”
“Thanks for that,” Brent said dryly. “Love the reminder I’m acting like a lovesick teenager.”
Waving a hand, Brandon grinned. “We’ve all been there, Brent. I remember the first woman I dated from work. I couldn’t decide whether what I was doing was natural or stalking.”
“I know,” Brent said, making a face. “It’s been like a month and I’m already this weird about it, what’s it going to be like if he actively wants to date me?”
Brandon gave him a weird look. “Pretty sure you’re already dating him, if you’re going on a date?”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Brent frowned. “He could just like hanging out with me.”
There was a pause, while Brandon stared at him. Brent wasn’t sure what the problem was until Brandon laughed, his expression a little pitying but a whole lot amused. “Brent, no offence man, but if he wanted to stay with you while you were bedraggled and wet, he probably wants to date you full time.”
That was a fair assumption. “Yeah, that was a pretty dumb thing to say.”
Brandon’s smile was rueful. “Yeah, but you’re a pretty decent guy anyway.”
“High praise.” Brent rolled his eyes and thumped Brandon on the arm. “But, thanks.”
Waving him off, Brandon headed back into the living room, sighing at the state of the couch cushions which both Juliette and Saskia had shoved onto the floor so they could stretch out together. Brent grabbed a hold of Juliette’s collar, tugging her down, and Saskia immediately dropped down to join her.
“Sorry about that,” Brent said. “You gotta stop being a pain, Jules.”
Juliette ducked her head, actually contrite for once, and Brent forced himself to let go of her collar and not give her a scratch. Sad dogs were always the worst thing.
“Saskia,” Brandon said, raising an eyebrow.
Saskia pulled the same pose as Juliette and shuffled over, the two of them sat side by side. If Brent didn’t know any better, he’d think they were doing it deliberately.
“They really do have our number.” Brent dropped down onto the couch, swiping a couple of cushions from the floor and propping them up behind him. “Maybe I should be happy with Marc as he is.”
Brandon nodded, taking a long swallow from his drink and then sitting back against the couch cushions, turning his face along the back to give Brent a questioning glance. “You’ve only been on a date. I know what I said before,” he said, at Brent’s pointed look. “But he obviously wants to date you. Wait and see what happens before you overthink it and crash and burn.”
It was, essentially, what Rachel had told him in a roundabout way, so Brent nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
“No problem,” Brandon said, tipping his bottle in Brent’s direction. “Now tell me about this blog you’re setting up.”
That was easy enough to do, and when Brent finally stumbled out of Brandon’s apartment five beers later, a car called to come and pick him up, and Juliette’s leash tight in his hand, Brent was feeling a lot better about his impending date with Marc. Although maybe that had something more to do with the amount of alcohol he had consumed.
He was dropped off outside of his apartment, and this time, he managed to get the key into the lock of his apartment despite being shitfaced. He stumbled through the door, letting Juliette run off into the apartment, and leaned against the wall to take his shoes and coat off. It took him a couple of tries to undo the laces on his sneakers and let out a proud yell when he accomplished it.
The apartment was too quiet when he finally collapsed on his own couch face first, Juliette stretched out on the floor, close enough he could scratch his hand through her fur, catching on the harness. He scowled, managing to unclasp it, even from his difficult position, though she made no move to extricate herself. Brent would help her out of it after a little nap.
It was things like that, he figured, that he wanted someone for. Someone who would be in the apartment when he came home. Someone to help him stumble to bed when he’d been an idiot, someone to run their hand through his hair and someone who would chew him out in the morning but also give him
aspirin and a drink of water.
“Juliette,” Brent said, voice low and husky. Juliette shifted her head on her paws, looking up at him with one eye. “I think we gotta find me a guy.”
Brent didn’t plan on looking far. There was a perfectly acceptable guy next door who would make a wonderful boyfriend, Brent hoped. Only time would tell if that was an accurate assessment.
Chapter Ten
“So, for our next date,” Brent said, stretched out next to Marc on the couch. “I was thinking.”
Marc was sitting against the arm, legs straight out in front of him, one arm leaning against the armrest, the other slung around Brent’s shoulders. It was the classic boyfriend move from a movie, but Brent couldn’t bring himself to care. He was happy to press up against Marc, though it had taken them both long enough to get to that position that they were no longer awkward with it. “Thinking about our next date already?”
Marc’s eyebrow was raised, but Brent could see by the curve of his mouth, the hand brushing the hairs at the nape of his neck, that Marc was open to the idea.
“Two dates aren’t nearly enough,” Brent continued, as if Marc hadn’t spoken. “To know whether or not something works. Isn’t that what they say in science? You have to test the results more than twice.”
Laughing, Marc turned to face him properly, and Brent sat back, making it easier to look him in the eye. “Is that what they say?”
Brent nodded, eyes darting down to Marc’s lips and then back up. “Uh, I think so. If you don’t wanna date me again, that’s fine.”
“Not what I said, Brent,” Marc said. His voice was low, husky, and Brent swallowed thickly. He shuddered, a full-body affair that had Marc’s eyes widening a fraction before darkening, tongue flicking out to lick at his bottom lip. “Is this—”
“It’s okay,” Brent said quickly, leaning forward as far as he dared. His heart was thumping in his chest, and it felt ridiculous. He hadn’t known Marc that long, and that might not have mattered to most people, but Brent wasn’t looking for something quick and uncomplicated. He wanted more, but Marc was right there and—
Marc kissed him.
Brent’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the hand Marc pressed to his cheek, his fingers brushing the back of Brent’s neck. Marc’s lips were wet and soft, and Brent couldn’t help but press his tongue against them, wanted to slide into Marc’s hot mouth and keep kissing until they couldn’t anymore. Marc was happy to reciprocate, tongue sliding against Brent’s. It was overwhelming, Marc pressing against him after so long wanting him, the feel of his hands, his lips, his tongue. Brent groaned in his throat, chest tight with the lack of air and he broke off reluctantly, blinking slow as Marc’s eyes opened.
“Okay,” Brent said, finding his voice. “That was definitely a good experiment.”
Marc laughed. His forehead dropped gently against Brent’s, stroking his fingers over Brent’s neck. Brent let his eyes slip closed again, relishing the touches. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Speak for yourself.” Brent grinned, kissing the corner of Marc’s mouth, meeting Marc’s eyes. “You’re unfairly attractive.”
There was something on Marc’s face Brent couldn’t define. “Think you’ve been looking in a mirror.”
“Deflect and compliment?” Brent’s smile dipped. “I’m clearly not as handsome as you.”
Marc’s face shifted through a couple of expressions before settling on disbelief. “You really don’t know how attractive you are?”
Brent made a face. He’d had some attention in high school, but he had always been on the small and awkward side, and there were only so many people who could handle his weird attachment to family. “Hey, I clearly caught your eye.”
It was meant to divert Marc’s attention, and thankfully it worked. Marc shook his head, looking soft, and kissed Brent again, this time closed mouthed and sweet.
“So, the next date?” Marc asked, when they pulled apart a second time.
“We should,” Brent started, suddenly feeling apprehensive about how Marc would respond. “I was thinking we could go out somewhere.”
Marc stiffened immediately. Brent wanted to take the words back and pretend it had been a joke, but somehow that seemed a worse way to retract his statement. “Brent—”
“I know there are things you don’t want to talk about,” Brent said quickly, needing to get the words out before Marc could reject him outright. “I get it, I’m trying to be respectful, but I want you to be happy, Marc.”
“I am happy.” Marc’s tone was raw, shaky, and Brent shifted on the couch, curling closer to Marc. Marc’s body was rigid, his eyes staring at the television still playing a stupid show Brent couldn’t even remember the name of.
“Then we’ll just keep staying in.” Brent kept as much distance between them as he could, one hand wrapped around Marc’s bicep, the other curled in his lap, and stared at the dogs, both curled up on Marc’s carpet. “It’s fine.”
“Brent, look at me.”
Brent did, slowly, afraid of what he might find on Marc’s face. He didn’t want to have to give him up right after their first kiss. What if Marc thought he was prying, or trying to force him into something? Shaking his head, cursing himself for being so dramatic, he waited Marc out.
Marc gave him a small, honest smile. “If we’re gonna be dating, Brent,” he started, “then I should probably be honest with you.”
“I know it’s hard.” Brent let his hand slide down Marc’s arm and took his hand, squeezing gently. He didn’t know if it was acceptable, if Marc wanted to be touched, but he wasn’t pulling away. He was staring down at the floor, but his fingers were twisting in Brent’s, running over Brent’s palm and the back of his hand.
“I was in the military.”
Brent closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to Marc’s shoulder. At any other moment he might have been surprised by their interactions, especially with how everything was, but it felt like such a huge moment and he wasn’t sure how to go about making Marc feel as best he could under the circumstances.
Marc took a moment and then looked at Brent quickly before turning away. “I’d been in there for a couple of years before my brother decided to follow.”
Opening his mouth to say something, Brent stopped himself before he could, waiting for Marc to invite it. Marc held himself in a way that had Brent debating whether he’d run if Brent tried to interrupt.
“Mama and Papa were proud of us, thought we were doing a great thing. Mama would have preferred us to draft into the Canadian military, but it made sense to us. David, my brother, was deployed to the Middle East where I’d been fighting for a year. I was terrified.”
Marc cut himself off, swallowing hard. His voice was shaky, his hand tight around Brent’s.
“I bet,” Brent said, keeping his voice low. “For yourself and for David.”
“I kept thinking I could look out for him, you know?” Marc huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “He was in a completely different unit. It wasn’t like I could be around him 24/7.”
Brent closed his eyes, guessing from the tone of Marc’s voice and his demeanor that the story was not going to have a happy ending.
“His unit went out one day, was supposed to be a routine mission.” Marc let out a shaky breath and brushed his free hand over his face. “Some of them came back but there’d been an explosion. IED. David didn’t make it.”
“Shit,” Brent whispered, and leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to Marc’s neck.
“Fuck,” Marc echoed, and swiped at his face. “God, it’s been so long, I can’t believe I’m being like this.”
Brent frowned, fingers on Marc’s face and turning his head until they were looking each other in the eye. “Your brother died, Marc. I think it’s allowed to still hurt, even now.”
“My parents don’t think so,” Marc said abruptly. “They blamed me. I moved out here and haven’t seen them since.”
“When were you
discharged?” Brent couldn’t imagine not being in contact with his mom and he felt a surge of annoyance and anger at Marc’s parents. He didn’t know them, didn’t even know Marc, but he was aware Marc deserved better. He deserved to be surrounded by people that cared about him and his state of mind.
“Three years ago.” Marc looked so stricken, turning his face into Brent’s hand. He didn’t try and pull away but wouldn’t look Brent in the eye either. Brent struggled to find words that would help, but Marc was already talking again, voice barely above a whisper. “I lost my mind a bit after. Ended up in an attack myself, have suffered PTSD ever since.”
The PTSD was clearly what the service dog was for, and the reason Brent had found Marc in the stairwell.
“I’m so sorry,” Brent said, his own voice hoarse and choked. “Fuck, Marc, I know that doesn’t help.”
“Shut up,” Marc growled, burying his face in Brent’s shoulder. Brent cradled his head, kissed his temple and brushed a hand through his hair.
“I won’t shut up.” Brent closed his eyes, felt the dampness against his shoulder that was obviously Marc crying and wanting to hide himself. “I am sorry. Sorry you’ve been alone for so long. Your friends—”
Marc huffed a watery laugh. “I don’t go anywhere. What friends?”
Brent had been complaining about not being able to make friends and not being able to find work, and here Marc was, three years in Chicago and with neither because he had legitimate reasons to not have them. “You have me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath and then Marc let out a quiet sob, turning his face into Brent’s shoulder.
“You do have me, Marc,” Brent said again, needing Marc to understand it. “However, you want me, that’s how you’ll have me.”
When Marc pulled away, he held Brent’s gaze. His eyes were red, cheeks tear-stained, but his lips were starting to curve into a small, tentative smile. “So, boyfriend?” Brent’s heart fluttered in his chest, but Marc was still talking, his fingers smoothing down Brent’s shirt where it was damp and rumpled. “I know I’m not what you might want—”
