by Mia Ashlinn
“You never have to do anything by yourself, Sam,” Ethan declared with a vehemence that was surprising, even to himself. “You have us. You always have. And you always will.”
Sam startled Ethan by the light sheen of moisture that shimmered in his eyes. But he absolutely poleaxed Ethan with what he said next. “No, I don’t have you. You have each other, and I have myself.”
Brett gasped. His face paled to a white shade that worried Ethan, who wound his arm around his lover to lend support. But Brett didn’t say a word. He simply stared at Sam with dull, sad eyes.
Sam’s harsh words and Brett’s pain pierced Ethan, and a he felt a crack form in his temper. “You know what, Sam? You chose to be alone. You left. Brett and I were together. So that’s on you. Not us.”
Sam’s jaws snapped shut so hard his teeth clicked.
“What did you expect?” Ethan continued on, his anger exploding with every word that spilled from his lips. “Did you think we would separate from each other because you did? Hell no, I need Brett. Since you left, I’ve needed him more than I ever thought possible.” He sucked in a sustaining breath before finishing. “Just like I fucking need you, asshole.”
Sam’s jaw unhinged and dropped. “What?” he gasped.
“We need you,” Brett finally said. “Your friendship is essential to our happiness.”
Ethan’s heart throbbed. He wanted to tell Sam the whole truth. But Brett believed that being entirely honest about their love would scare him away. So they’d settled for winning his friendship then going after his love with a vengeance. But Ethan was impatient, and his heart was not happy. “It sucks, but it’s true. We need you. Both of us do.”
Astoundingly, Sam frowned at Brett. “Friendships come and go. People grow apart.”
“Grow apart?” Ethan asked, feeling dumber than a box of rocks. “You think we’ve grown apart?” Damn, that was just about the last thing he’d expected Sam would say. “Personally, I thought we were closer than ever.”
Sam snorted. There was a hint of self-disgust in the derisive sound. “You don’t know me. You think you do, but you don’t.”
Brett’s face twisted. His expression turned thunderous. “What the hell are you talking about, Sam? We know you better than anyone. Better than your family. Better than any of your other friends. Hell, I suspect we know you better than you know yourself.”
“Ha,” Sam snapped. “It’s easy for you or anyone else to know me better than I know myself. I have no fucking clue who I am.” His friend’s shock at his own admission was evident in the sharp intake of air he took.
Brett’s body tightened against Ethan’s arm. “Do you want me to tell you who you are, Sam?” he asked, his voice eerily calm. However, he didn’t let Sam answer. “I’ll tell you exactly who you are. You’re Samuel Luke Carrington. You have two brothers, Miah and Thom, who you constantly fight with but love dearly. You have a father, John, who you respect but fear letting down. You work as a bartender, yet you’re strangely allergic to nuts, so you have to ask for help handling them. Your favorite color is blue, and you love to sit in front of the television and watch reality shows like The Voice and Dancing with the Stars, which annoys the shit out of me and Ethan, but we watch them with you anyway. You love pizza and beer. Although, you’ll still eat steak and potatoes with the best of them. Do you want me to keep going?”
Scowling, Sam growled. “No. I’m good.”
“Too damn bad,” Ethan snapped. “It’s my turn.” He inhaled and exhaled before starting his long list of Sam-isms. “You’re a sarcastic bastard when you want to be, which is quite often. And you hate when your hair falls in your eyes, but you refuse to cut it because deep down you like it long. You have a crooked smile that you tried to get rid of when you were eight by standing in the mirror practicing funny faces. And you cried at your mother’s funeral, even though Miah and Thom ribbed you about it and your father scolded you. Instead, you leaned on us, and we held you while you cried. You’re sweet and kind and smart and a deep soul, but you only show it to a few very lucky people like me, Brett, Katie-Anne, Brooklyn, and now Tate.” Ethan choked on the last two names, but he swallowed and kept going. “You’re—”
Sam interrupted him. “That’s not what I mean, and you both know it.”
“We do?” Brett countered.
“Yeah, I’m talking about the fundamentals.” Sam squirmed in his chair. “You know…my belief system.” He rushed to tack on, “And I don’t mean religion of anything like that. I’m talking about the deep-seated issues that I never thought about.”
Completely confused, Ethan shook his head. He blinked then asked, “You don’t know what you believe?”
“No.” Sam blushed furiously. “I don’t. I believed something—something big, something life-altering—only to discover it was a lie. And if I was wrong about…this something, how do I know I’m not wrong about everything? I thought I knew what I wanted. And now, I don’t know”
Brett stared at Sam, visibly dumbfounded. “What made you have this epiphany?”
Sam’s face reddened even further. “I… That’s not important.”
“I think it is,” Ethan retorted.
“It isn’t,” Sam shot back. His stern voice brooked for no argument.
Brett shrugged. “Whatever it is doesn’t matter all that much. What is important is why you thought you had to figure everything out alone.”
Sam rubbed his temples in a slow circle. “I just do. Okay? I can’t find myself when the people I l—” He cut himself off midsentence, and his head came up quickly. “What I mean is I don’t want the people I care about to influence me.”
Sam’s words stung Ethan. Didn’t Sam know they wouldn’t purposefully change him? They loved the man he was, not the man they thought he should be.
All of a sudden, the room seemed to close in on Ethan, and he felt the need for some space. So he pulled away from Brett then rose to his feet. “We wouldn’t influence you,” he declared as he gave both men his back and stalked over to the unlit fireplace and glared at the artificial logs. “Ever.”
“Look,” Brett said. “We just want to help you.”
“You can’t.” Even with his back to Sam, Ethan couldn’t miss the tiny tremble in his friend’s voice. “I don’t want you to.”
“Liar,” Brett countered. There was no anger or accusation in his deep, gruff voice. It was merely a statement.
Ethan knew Brett was right. Sam was definitely lying. The tremble in his voice had given him away—like it always did.
“You want us here, helping you. You just don’t want to ask because you’re like Ethan. You have too much damn pride.”
Sam scoffed. “Brett Alexander Monroe, pride has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh really? Then what is it?” Brett asked.
“I don’t think you can. I, literally, mean that you can’t help me. It’s just not humanly possible for you to know things about me when I don’t know them myself.” Sam sighed. “There. I said it. Are you happy now?”
Hell no, Ethan wasn’t happy. Sam didn’t trust him and Brett. He didn’t have faith in them. Otherwise, he would at least give them a chance. But obviously, he wasn’t going to.
“Give us a month,” Brett murmured.
Ethan swung around. “A month?” he parroted.
At the same time, Sam stared at Brett unblinkingly, his eyes noticeably uncomprehending, then muttered, “A month to what?”
That was what Ethan would like to know. Although he had to admit he strongly suspected what Brett was getting at. But he would have to wait and see.
Brett didn’t make him wait long before explaining, “Give us a month to show you who you are. Give us time to show you who we are, too. Let us all start over and have a new beginning. We can explore…things.” He lifted his hand and massaged his neck, the unconscious action revealing more than he realized. “If after a month we’ve failed, Ethan and I will go. We’ll keep in touch—from a distance.”
&nbs
p; Ethan wanted to shout, Hell no, I won’t. But he refrained. Brett knew what he was doing, and Ethan had faith in him.
“And if you succeed?” Sam asked hesitantly.
Brett smirked. “Well then, you’re stuck with us.”
Sam’s tempting lips made a perfectly round O. “Uh…”
Grinning, Ethan put the screws to Sam. “Sounds like a fair deal to me. What do you think, Sam?” Then he waited for the answer that could make his future with Sam or break it.
When Sam didn’t respond, Brett’s cocky smile faded and a frown replaced it. “What’s it going to be, Sam—yes or no?”
* * * *
After Brett and Ethan left Tate’s apartment, Sam stormed into his room. Angry at himself and confused in general, he paced around the queen-sized bed, walking in an arc to one side before spinning and going to the other. Back and forth he went—over and over—until he thought he’d lose his marbles.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” he grumbled to himself. “They show up here and want to help me. And what do I do? I say I don’t know.” He huffed. “I don’t know? That’s a moronic answer.” Yet again, his indecision and insecurities were ruling his head, and he’d ignored his heart.
“Want to talk about it?”
Sam whirled around. He saw Tate leaning against the doorframe casually. However, the concern darkening his roommate’s blue eyes didn’t match the laidback pretense he was undoubtedly spinning. “No,” Sam replied, his voice as sharp as a razor. He instantly realized he was being too harsh with Tate and added with a mumble, “Sorry.”
Tate shrugged. His action was uncaring. Yet like his eyes, his rigid body contradicted his blasé attitude. “No biggie. I heard a lot of what happened. I just thought you might want someone to talk to.”
As Sam stared at Tate, he examined the younger man closely. He obviously had his guard up as though he’d expected Sam to reject his help. Like I did. Sam wanted to kick himself. He shouldn’t have been so cold toward Tate. He’d done nothing wrong, except be a good friend.
Chewing on his bottom lip, Sam considered talking to Tate. After all, he’d confided in him before. Actually, he’d disclosed a lot of very personal garbage to this man.
But as a rule, Tate wasn’t helpful when it came to love. He was a hard nut to crack. He’d listen to Sam, and he’d give him advice. However, his answers came out clinical and icy, occasionally even bitter. His friend’s acerbic attitude about love oftentimes caused Sam to pause. And at the moment, hesitation was the last thing Sam needed. God knew he’d already done it when he’d sent Brett and Ethan away without giving them a straight yes or no.
“Sam?”
“Huh?” Oh right, I was supposed to be talking about something. “Oh sorry, my mind ran away.” That’s not the only thing running around here. He growled.
Tate quirked his eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? You seem…to be turning into a dog.”
Sam half smiled at Tate’s blatant attempt at humor. “Nice try,” he muttered.
Tate offered Sam a tentative yet tight smile in return. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
Sam shook his head. “No, I can’t.”
With a sigh, Tate slipped into the room but didn’t approach Sam. Instead, he strolled over to the bed and sat down. “How about I talk and you listen?”
Taken aback, Sam gasped. “What?” He’d never known Tate to talk, really talk, about anything. He generally stuck to the funny man bit or kept his secrets closed. “Why?”
Tate cast his eyes downward. “I have some experience in les affaires de coeur.”
Matters of the heart? Tate? Seriously? Sam kept his thoughts to himself.
“I was in love once,” Tate whispered, his lips barely moving and the sound nearly impossible to hear. “His name was Will. He was my best friend and my boyfriend.” He cleared his throat. “But when Will was nineteen, he died of leukemia.”
Oh God. Still, Sam remained silent.
Tate gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. “A part of me died with Will. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have survived without his older brother Jaxon’s support,” he said before pausing to blink. Unmistakable moisture pooled in his eyes. After several additional blinks, he continued on, but his voice wasn’t the same. He sounded unsteady and abrupt, his tone deep and guttural. “But Will taught me something. He taught me that time is precious, just like love is. As I watched him grow sicker, he showed me not to waste a single second because it might be my last.”
Sam wasn’t sure what Tate was getting at. “What do you mean? I’m not wasting time. I’m not rejecting love.”
“Aren’t you?” Tate countered pointedly as he lifted his agonized eyes to Sam’s. “We both know you love Brett and Ethan. We both know you’re bisexual. And we both know that inevitably you will end up with them. It’s just a matter of time. So why run?” Before Sam could respond, Tate waved his hand in definitive dismissal. “I know, I know. You didn’t know who you were. Everything you believed in, everything you stood for, was all a lie. Blah, blah, blah. But I think you’re wrong. Deep down, you knew how you felt. You simply denied it. And denial has nothing to do with lying because you choose to lie. You didn’t choose to deny your feelings.”
“Didn’t I?”
Tate’s expression hardened, and Sam sensed his emotional withdrawal. “No, you didn’t. But now, you are.” His eyes changed, glowing with resentment. “They’re here—for you. Yet you deny them. They want to help you, and you can’t even give them a chance. Goddamn it. Do you know what some people would give to have a second chance, a new beginning with the person they love?” He shot to his feet then stormed for the door. “Well, let me tell you, they would give up anything, do anything, and say anything for one more day. Hell, they would sell their fucking souls to whoever it took—the devil, their neighbor, or the lunatic on the street corner. It wouldn’t matter as long as they had that person in their arms.”
Sam gawked at Tate’s retreating back, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, and said nothing.
As Tate paused on the other side of Sam’s doorframe, just inside the hallway, without turning around, Sam saw his friend’s shoulders hunch forward. The dejection he felt evident even from the back. “Now let me ask you this. Are you willing to let your pride rule your future? Are you really okay with giving up on a lifetime of friendship and love over something as simple as admitting you’re human and that you made a mistake by keeping them at arm’s length and then running away when things got scary?” He sighed. “Because this situation is no longer about how you don’t know yourself. It’s not about being confused or lost. It’s about the fact that you won’t let them in. You won’t share your needs and wants with them. You won’t even show them the real you, the person you know but are trying your damnedest to suppress.”
Tate coughed, the air he expelled sounding dry and forced. “If you can handle knowing all of that, then fine. Stay here with me. Move out. Do whatever makes you happy. But when something happens and you lose them because of sickness or an accident or even to the love of another human being, remember you threw everything away without even trying. Maybe that’ll keep you warm at night because I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy the pain of being in a cold, lonely bed knowing you had it all and fucking lost it.”
Flummoxed, Sam gaped at Tate as he left the room and crossed the hallway to the master bedroom. Then he watched Tate shut the door. He didn’t slam it. He simply closed it with a soft click.
Holy shit. What the hell was that? One minute his friend was as calm as a cucumber and the next he was hurt and angry, lashing out at Sam. But Tate’s tangent was on target, and he had a point. Okay, he had more than one.
Sam was being prideful and stubborn. He was choosing to take the safest path, which was utterly unlike him. He’d always been fearless, a daredevil who loved to raise hell. He was a sarcastic son of a bitch, and he hated playing it safe. Yet he’d forgotten that. Over the past four months, he’d forg
otten a lot of things.
But today was a new day. Technically, it’s a new night. But oh well. And he was going to take a chance. He was going to start over. He’d come to Luscious for a new beginning. By God, he was going to get one—whether it worked out or not.
With his decision made, Sam slid his hand in his pocket and pulled his iPhone out then dialed Brett’s number. When Brett answered, he murmured a weary, “Hello.”
His best friend’s resigned tone was excruciating. But the trill of his doubt, the note of his uncertainty, crushed Sam. He felt as though something was bearing down on his chest, as if he were suffocating slowly, being buried alive by the pain he’d inflicted upon the man he loved.
Unable to stand what he’d done to Brett, Sam blurted out, “My answer’s yes. I want you and Ethan to stay. I want you both to…help me.”
Brett’s sudden intake of air was loud. But his exhale a heartbeat later was louder. “Oh.”
Sam swallowed, the knot at the back of his throat hindering him momentarily. Then he asked, “Can we talk?”
Immediately, Brett replied, “Name the time and place.”
Sam felt his entire body relax, every muscle loosened as the tension tying him in knots drained away. Relieved, he sighed. “Sun, Moon, and Stars Café. Tomorrow. One o’clock.”
“We’ll see you there.”
“It’s a date.”
Chapter 9
At precisely one o’clock the next day, Sam strolled past the Toyota Camry Hybrid parked on the street in downtown Luscious. Just in case Brett and Ethan had chosen to sit outside, he cast a cursory glance at the patio situated on the sidewalk outside of the Sun, Moon, and Stars Café. But all the tables were cleaned and uncluttered, every seat was empty, and the umbrellas were down. So he kept going.
Hustling toward the entrance, he didn’t stop. He simply pushed the door open and strode into the café. Then he scanned the whimsical eatery for Brett and Ethan. Not surprisingly, Brett was already sitting at a table on the outer edge of the café’s floor. And Ethan was nowhere to be found. Which means he’s probably running fashionably late. As always.
