What the Heart Wants

by Jerry Cole

  “You shut up this time,” Brent bit out, and framed Marc’s face with his hands, brushing his thumbs over Marc’s wet cheeks. “I don’t care if we spend every date inside, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

  Marc’s answering smile was wide and brilliant.

  Chapter Eleven

  The logistics of having a boyfriend with PTSD were a little more difficult in actuality. It didn’t change the way Brent felt about Marc, and even with continued flashbacks and anxiety attacks, he hoped that would remain the case, but it was frightening to experience firsthand.

  Brent was content to spend time in either his or Marc’s apartment when they had their dates, and a few days after Marc’s confession, he found himself in Marc’s apartment, washing up in the bathroom while Marc was ordering pizza on the phone.

  He padded back through to the living room, Marc’s back turned, and Brent gave both Stanley and Juliette a welcome pat, but as soon as he placed a hand on Marc’s shoulder, Marc jumped and immediately whirled around, eyes wide and breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Brent immediately backed off, holding up his hands, but Marc was rigid, his eyes darting, and Brent muttered, “shit,” under his breath before moving Marc to the sofa.

  “It’s all right, Marc, you’re here with me.”

  Marc was still unfocused, gasping for breath, and Brent thought of the first time they had met, Marc having a panic attack in the hall and realized it hadn’t been a panic attack at all; whatever it was that triggered Marc had startled him, and this was the result.

  “Breathe with me,” Brent said, placing a hand on Marc’s chest. Marc immediately clutched at his hands, struggling to breathe. “Come on, in and out, slow yeah?”

  He kept his breaths slow and deliberate, feeling hideously out of his depth and hoping he wasn’t patronizing Marc by doing something so obviously. Thankfully, it actually seemed to help. Marc’s breaths started to slow, his fingers trembling—his whole body trembling—where he was holding on to Brent. Brent rubbed his free hand against Marc’s wrist, hoping it was soothing Marc as much as it seemed to help him.

  “You’re all right. I’m sorry,” he said, feeling relief at Marc’s breathing slowing. He wasn’t breathing normally, but he was making improvements, and Brent was gonna sit here until his knees went numb as long as Marc was breathing normally.

  Marc closed his eyes, hands still flexing and trembling around Brent’s arms, and Brent leaned in closer, pressed a kiss to Marc’s forehead.

  “You’re okay,” he said, over and over, lips brushing against Marc’s skin. “I’m sorry, you’re okay.”

  The doorbell rang as Marc’s breathing was starting to normalize, and Brent cursed under his breath.

  “Are you okay if I get that?”

  Marc paused, blowing out a breath and giving Brent a jerky nod. It took Brent a while to pry Marc’s hands away from his and gave him a quick forehead kiss. By the time he grabbed his wallet, shoved the money into the pizza woman’s hands and shut the door, Marc was leaning back against the couch, palms of his hands against his eyes, and muttering something under his breath.

  Brent slid the phone onto the coffee table and took up his position once again, hands on Marc’s knees. “You breathing all right?”

  “Yeah,” Marc groaned and moved his hands, giving Brent an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

  “Fuck off,” Brent said, frowning. “Don’t apologize for this, all right? I’m the one that startled you.”

  “I’m just not,” Marc started, trying to find the right words. Brent kept quiet, rubbed his hands up Marc’s outer thighs in a soothing circle and waited for him to finish. “I’m not used to people in my space. I was distracted with the phone.”

  “I know,” Brent said. He admitted gently he looked up PTSD when he learned Marc had it because he wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Apparently, he hadn’t learned it as best he could. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I know.” Marc leaned forward, cheeks pink, and brushed a hand over Brent’s hair. He looked nervous, awkward, when he pressed a quick, chaste kiss against Brent’s lips. “If this is gonna be too hard.”

  “It’s not,” Brent protested. He frowned. “I’m not running after this. I’m not running at all.”

  Marc didn’t look convinced, but Brent supposed that someone being on their own for so long, having everyone leave them, would be more than enough incentive to doubt anyone’s sincerity.

  “I know it’s hard to believe me,” he said slowly. “But I’ll prove it to you.”

  There was nothing Marc could really say to that, so he just shrugged and tugged Brent up onto the couch next to him. “Let’s eat the pizza.”

  At the mention of pizza both Stanley and Juliette perked up from where they’d been observing the scene. Brent frowned. “How come Stanley didn’t react?”

  Marc shrugged. “You’re here.”

  It was such a simple statement there was no reason it should have Brent’s chest tightening painfully, should have him swallowing past the lump in his throat. Whatever his own feelings about his ability to handle Marc’s PTSD in a way that was helpful rather than a hindrance, Stanley clearly didn’t doubt him.

  Brent snorted internally at the idea of listening to a dog only his own thoughts. Not that he liked the direction his thoughts were taking but having a boyfriend with something as difficult as PTSD was no easy feat—more so for said boyfriend than for Brent. Brent would just have to work at being better about making Marc comfortable when he was around.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So, what do you do?” Brent asked.

  They two of them had been on a couple of dates, and they were still learning things about each other. Marc had discovered everything about Brent’s three sisters, his parents’ separation, and the fact Brent loved dogs more than life itself but loved writing stories about things that mattered to him almost as much.

  In return, Brent learned that Marc and David had been close before David’s death, and that Marc had grown up in Quebec, where his mother was from, and played soccer until he’d decided he wanted to go into the military.

  What Brent didn’t know was what Marc actually did.

  “I know you don’t like going out socially, but do you work from home too?”

  Marc shrugged. “I did a bit of freelance work, and I had an allowance from my Grand-Mère until she died last year. The money she left me has been keeping me living here and eating. I’m gonna have to find something to do soon.”

  The look on Marc’s face at that broke Brent’s heart. There were so many things he could say but nothing seemed right. He leaned over to kiss Marc, pulling back to rest against Marc’s arm, threading their fingers together. “So, if you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

  Silence fell over them while Marc thought about it, and the TV continued to drone on about various medications, appliances, and television shows they simply had to buy or watch. Brent rolled his eyes, and dug his phone out of his pocket, grinning as he thumbed through to Jack’s new gif thread. She had a habit of sending gifs of things relating to her life, and though Brent recognized one in ten, it still amused him. He glanced up at Marc occasionally, making sure he didn’t think Brent was being rude, but giving him time to think over his answer.

  “I do have hobbies,” Marc said slowly, still hesitating. “I like dogs, obviously,” he said gesturing at Stanley. “Before I went into the military, at school, I loved English.”

  “Reading?” Brent asked, dropping his phone onto the couch and shifting around, better to see Marc’s face.

  “Yeah,” Marc said with a shrug, cheeks pink. He wouldn’t meet Brent’s eyes. “It helped a lot when I came back, too.”

  Brent could see why spending most of your time in the house would lead to something like reading being a preferred activity. There was something else that caught his attention, though. “You like dogs?”

  “Yeah,” Marc said, lips quirking. “Stanley not give it away?”r />
  “Having a service dog doesn’t mean you’ve always liked them, or that you like every dog,” Brent pointed out. He gave Juliette a cursory glance. She’d managed to pull almost every toy out of her basket, giving a lot to Stanley—who had no interest in any of them—and then throwing them around the room like they were gonna fight back. “Some dogs can be difficult.”

  Marc snorted. “One day you’ll give Juliette a break.”

  “Not today,” Brent muttered, but he was smiling as he relaxed back against Marc. Marc’s arm came around him, loose against his chest as Brent focused back on the television. They were watching a random cooking show, and Marc raised his eyebrows. “You like cooking as well, right?”

  “I’ve done it a couple of times,” Marc admitted. “Not sure I’m good at it.”

  “You could be.” Brent wasn’t really thinking about cooking, though. He was thinking about Marc liking dogs and the fact he needed to expand his client base. “Brandon’s given me a couple of clients, but if you know anyone with a dog who’d like someone to walk them or look after them?”

  He gave Marc a dazzling grin, and Marc snorted, rolling his eyes, looking back at the television. “Why would I wanna help you out like that?”

  Brent pouted, tugging on Marc’s arm, relaxing his face into a grin when Marc looked torn between amusement and exasperation. “Because you want my business to do well?”

  Marc pretended to think about it, but Brent knew he had already won when Marc’s hand tightened against his chest and a kiss dropped onto the top of his head. “I know some guys at the VA center who might know people. No promises.”

  “Thanks,” Brent said, turning to kiss Marc’s wrist before they both settled in for the rest of the show. Though they mostly spent their time in silence, aside from the various conversation that descended into things about themselves they felt the other should know. It was nice in contrast with Brent’s busy life, chasing dogs and clients all day. He didn’t always remember to update his blog, something Amanda was constantly telling him to remedy, but it wasn’t as if stories were just leaping into his lap. To be fair, he had spent whatever time he wasn’t dog watching with Marc and hadn’t really done the legwork to find things to write about, but Brent was still getting settled.

  At least that was his excuse right up until Amanda turned up on his doorstep.

  “Uh,” Brent said, peering past her into the hall. “Did you fly all the way from New York just to get me to write a blog?”

  “I drove,” Amanda said dryly, pushing past Brent without an invitation. “Which means I am incredibly tired and hoping the reason you’re being so slow at updating is that you’re busy.”

  Still stunned to see her, Brent rubbed at the back of his head and shut the door, giving himself a minute to regain his bearings before facing down his best friend. It had been a long day, and he couldn’t be expected to be smooth. “Why are you here, Amanda?”

  Amanda was already relaxed in Brent’s armchair, Juliette’s head on her knee, begging for pats. Amanda was obliging, slowly, though her eyes were trained on Brent. “I’m here because apparently you have a new beau and you didn’t tell me?”

  Brent sighed, making a mental note to send Rachel a strongly worded letter. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Coffee,” Amanda said, with a look that informed Brent he wasn’t getting out of talking about anything. As if Brent didn’t know that. He was glad he had coffee in and made it slowly, giving himself time to figure out what he was going to say to Amanda. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her; he’d kept the information solely for Rachel because Brent wasn’t even sure what was happening between himself and Marc, let alone wanting to tell everybody else what was going on.

  As he made his way into the living room, cups steaming as he placed them on the coffee table, he ignored Amanda until he couldn’t anymore, dropping down onto the couch and rubbing at his forehead. “I didn’t tell you because it’s new.”

  “So?” Amanda gave him an impressive pout, almost akin to the one he’d turned on Marc the night before. “You call me up after a one night stand, telling me it’s the end of your life. What makes this so different?”

  Brent didn’t know how to answer that. Polly would try and tell him it was a sign he didn’t really want to be with Marc, but Brent wasn’t sure that was true. Thankfully, Amanda had learned long ago to read his silences as well as she read everything else about him.

  “Wow, this one’s serious, huh?”

  “I think so,” Brent admitted. “The only one who knows is Rachel. I don’t know why she told you, and I wish she hadn’t.”

  Amanda looked hurt. “Why?”

  Brent scrubbed his hands over his face, tipping his head back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “He’s amazing, Manda. Attractive,” he gave her a pointed look, tongue-in-cheek and she rolled her eyes. “But he’s not—he’s not great with people.”

  There was a pointed silence. “Okay?”

  “Not like he’s a weirdo,” Brent protested, waving a hand. It wasn’t his place to tell Amanda about Marc’s PTSD, so he tried to word it in a way she would understand without having her prying. “His mental health isn’t great, and I’m trying to take it slow.”

  Amanda’s face softened, and Brent was grateful to have an understanding friend. “So not great with people means anxious?”

  “To a point,” Brent agreed. “I want to take it slow to make sure he’s comfortable.”

  “Wow,” Amanda started, looking impressed. “Brent Strome being respectful of a partner’s feelings?”

  “That makes me sound like a dick,” Brent said with a frown. “Thanks.”

  “You weren’t exactly great with the aforementioned one-night stands, Brent.” To be fair, Amanda usually had to deal with Brent after he’d bring a guy back from a club or bar, and then listen to him cry about his failure of a life and how he kept kicking the guys out before he could get to know them. He hadn’t been the most chivalrous guy they could have picked up, and Amanda never let him forget it. “But luckily for you,” Amanda continued, sitting back in the chair, hand still on Juliette’s head. “You seem to be turning that around.”

  “It’s not love or anything,” Brent said, though there was a tight feeling in his chest every time he had to leave Marc, or Marc left him. They were still neighbors, it wasn’t like Marc was going far, but Brent’s body clearly hadn’t got the message. Or his brain for that matter.

  Amanda snorted. “I don’t think you’d know what love was until you had it.”

  And lost it.

  She didn’t have to say the words for them to fall between them anyway. Brent wasn’t going to acknowledge them; he liked to think his prior behavior had led her to that conclusion, but he was actively trying to turn his life around. He was going to prove to her—and to Marc—that he could be the kind of guy Marc wanted to be with. Marc deserved that at the very least.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amanda decided to stick around for a couple of days, and Brent was grateful. He hadn’t seen her for a long time, and it was great to catch up with her; he went out to a bar with her and with Brandon, both of whom seemed wary of each other for a while, but after an hour—and several drinks of beer—they were both a little tipsy and leaning against each other.

  Brent had lost track of what they were talking about a half hour ago, but he was content to watch them talk about everything from their favorite movies to which sports teams they rooted for. He didn’t think they were likely to declare their undying love for each other or anything, but by the time they left the bar, he was sure they would be, at the very least, friends.

  Working his phone out of his pocket, aware neither Amanda nor Brandon were going to worry about him texting, he opened his history with Marc.

  Introducing my best friend to Brandon was a mistake :(

  It didn’t take long for Marc to text back, so Brent was comfortable he wasn’t interrupting anything. He was also glad Marc was aroun
d to talk to.

  Who’s Brandon? You have friends?

  Brent snorted, eyeing Amanda, who had challenged Brandon to a drinking contest. There was every chance Brent was going to have to bundle them both into a cab with him at the end of the night, and he groaned internally.

  :( I have friends. Why are you being so mean? Amanda is my best friend from NY. Brandon was a client turned friend. His dog’s amazing. His drunkenness? Not so much.

  “Brent,” Amanda said, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you texting?”

  “You’re really asking that?” Brent gestured between them and the glasses on the table. “I figured you were too busy to worry with little old me.”

  Thankfully, Amanda shot him a glare, but turned back to Brandon quickly enough. Brent’s phone buzzed in his hand and he looked down, lips already quirking up into a smile before he’d looked at what Marc had to say.

  I’m sure you don’t regret it really. If you’ve managed to get yourself some friends, the least you could do was give them other friends to turn to when they abandon you ;)

  Brent narrowed his eyes.

  I’m gonna need to find myself a new boyfriend if you keep this up.

  The conversation made Brent realize he should probably introduce his friends to his boyfriend. Even though he’d spoken to both Amanda and Brandon about Marc, he had yet to introduce them, and it was only fair they get to see the person Brent did. Marc might not like going out and meeting people—and Brent could understand why—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring people to Marc.

  As if. You love my dog too much.

  That wasn’t actually a lie. Despite wanting to keep his distance with Stanley out of respect for his job and helping Marc, Brent had managed to win him over anyway. He was a gorgeous dog and loved a cuddle and fuss as much as Juliette. Brent was only too happy to give him both. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Brent decided enough was enough, and both Amanda and Brandon had more than their share of drinks.