by Megan Slayer
He turned off the lights downstairs, then made his way to the second floor. When he peeked in on Darcy, she’d already fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead, then closed her door most of the way.
Light was visible beneath Chris’ door. He crossed the hallway and knocked first. The door opened. Chris had his tablet on his lap and one earbud in. He looked up when Bobby stood in the doorway.
“Hey.” Chris yanked the single earbud free. “Did your boyfriend leave?”
“He did.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Well? What’d you think?” Chris’ opinion wouldn’t make or break the relationship, but he wanted to know from the start if there were issues.
“He’s nicer than Neil.” Chris closed the tablet and tucked his legs under his body. He rested his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t get squicked by him, if that’s what you mean.”
Good to know. “I asked him to come along with me to your 5k this week.”
“Think he’ll write something about me in the paper?”
“Maybe, if you do well enough, but that’s not why I invited him.”
Chris shrugged. “Whatever.”
“If you don’t like him, I want to know. You were dead on with Neil. I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve got a sixth sense for this stuff. Be honest with me.” He still wanted to see Remy, but if Chris had a problem, then he’d re-evaluate the situation.
“Dad, you’re smiling. I haven’t seen you do that since before Neil. Not the plastic smiles like you do in your business photos or for the website, but a real one. Darcy noticed too. I think she’s got a crush on him.”
He snorted. Wonderful. If things didn’t work out, then she’d be crushed too.
“He was weird at the dinner, but maybe he hates crowds.” Chris shrugged again and stretched out on his bed. “If he makes you happy, then you got my vote.”
“Thanks, kid. Get some rest. You’ve got practice in the morning, don’t you?”
“Every day but Sunday.” Chris grinned and yanked the blankets over himself. “Good thing I like running.”
“Yes, it is. Night, kid.” He closed Chris’ door most of the way and waited for the light to go off before he headed down the hall. He flipped the light on in his bedroom and sighed, then turned the light back off again. What a week. He collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t expected to meet the handsome man from the running trails, much less go home with him. He’d never have thought a friendship would’ve formed between him and Remy, if for no other reason than he hadn’t worked up the courage to talk to him until Remy had made the first move. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Streaks of moonlight filtered across the room. He had two kids, a mortgage and bills to worry about, and the only thing on his mind was Remy. Love wasn’t possible after a week and one round of sex, but there was something about Remy. He shook his head. He’d been called an adoring fool once or twice. Never by Helene or Neil, but others had said it. Was he? He hadn’t been starry-eyed with Remy, per se. More like hormonally charged. Still, he couldn’t wait to hear Remy’s voice on the line or feel Remy’s body against his.
Maybe he was a romantic and just needed the right person to make him see the light.
Chapter Six
Remy unlocked the little door to his mailbox and grabbed the letters before he headed to his apartment. Bone-deep weariness filled him, but the desire to create was strong too. He tucked the letters under his arm and opened his door. Once inside, he tossed the mail onto the couch and locked up. He kicked out of his running shoes and left the messenger bag on the table.
He poured a glass of red wine, then flipped through the various letters. Three bills, two credit card applications, political ads, a magazine featuring sports heroes, and two legal-size envelopes with his name and address on them, but nothing more. Odd. He tossed the credit card applications into the shredder and recycled the political ads. He organized the bills with the others, then focused on the plain envelopes.
His address had been handwritten on the front and there was no return address. He tapped the second envelope on the table. Open or not? The flap on the back came unglued. He toyed with the loose edge. Nothing spilled out, so that was a plus. He’d read stories about the Coalition being accused of sending powder-laced letters. This one didn’t leak anything, so hopefully no one was trying to kill him. He shook the letter from the envelope, then unfolded the page.
Are you out of a job? Are you having a hard time finding another? Do you believe you were let go on account of your sexuality—because you’re straight and a gay person now holds your position? Then the Coalition wants you.
He groaned and crumpled up the page. Good God. Did this group have no bottom? No limits to what they’d try to do? He remembered what Maureen had said. Not all of Cedarwood agreed with the Coalition. Was this their Hail Mary, last-ditch attempt to get rid of anyone they didn’t like? Or a fishing expedition?
He opened the second letter. The rhetoric was the same, but the wording was a little different. He balled the paper up and tossed it into the trash with the first one.
What kind of message was this sending to anyone in the gay community who hadn’t come out? He picked up his glass of wine and downed half of the Merlot. He had to do something. Maureen had encouraged him, and Bobby had mentioned a better route than going off. He sighed, then grabbed his tablet and the little keyboard from his bag.
He sat at the table, wine close by, and opened a blank document. He still had the interview to write up as well as a report on the swim meet, but those could wait. He needed to get these words out first.
He grinned as he typed. He’d considered writing an editorial piece about the town and its wealth of shops and restaurants. If one was willing to look, there was culture all over the place. Not everyone in town wanted to run the undesirables out past the city limits. He knew just how to write up his first anti-Coalition piece and show everyone Cedarwood was a great place to live.
Remy worked for the next five hours on the article, taking short breaks here and there to stretch or refill his glass. He downed the majority of the bottle before he finished the first page. He sat back in his seat and reread the article. He took pride in all his work, but this article had a certain sparkle to it. He wasn’t doing this small act of disobedience for himself. This was for the kids who were starting to realize who they were, the people stuck in the closet and afraid to come out, and all of the people who didn’t give a rip about another person’s sexuality. They deserved a voice and to see the community was full of opportunity.
He saved the article and pounded through the interview as well as the write-up on the swim meet. When he’d finished those, he wrote an email to Maureen. She’d love to know what he’d done. He sent her a copy, hoping she’d have input for him.
When he finally shut down his tablet for the night, the weariness he’d felt all along hit him hard. He carried his glass to the sink and trudged into his bedroom. He should’ve brushed his teeth or at least stripped down to his underwear but didn’t bother. He hadn’t looked at the clock, but by his rough estimate, it had to be nearly three in the morning. He nestled in his bed and cuddled the other pillow to his chest. He hadn’t done anything revolutionary in writing his article. Hell, some might consider it a fluff piece, but damn it, he’d made the town look good. There was a thriving art community in Cedarwood, and he was determined to let everyone see it. Remy drifted off to sleep, and the dreams started right away.
* * * *
He wasn’t in his bed but rather in a field. He should’ve recognized the location, but none of the trees looked familiar. He dragged a deep breath into his lungs. The scent of pine and cologne wafted on the breeze. The smells were familiar but confusing. He shielded his eyes from the sun and drank in his surroundings. How was he the only one there?
“You’re not alone.” Bobby strolled up to him. He grinned and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t know.” Was there
anything the matter? He didn’t think so.
“You look like you’re a million miles away.” Bobby dropped to his knees in front of Remy. “Let me take your mind off your problems.” He opened Remy’s pants and shoved the denim around his ankles.
Remy shivered as the cool air wrapped around him. When he glanced down at Bobby, he realized Bobby was still fully clothed, but Remy had forgotten his underwear.
Bobby caressed Remy’s shaft and rubbed the blunt head of Remy’s cock over his lips.
“Oh damn.” Remy wobbled. His entire being tingled. As Bobby engulfed Remy’s dick in his mouth, Remy curled forward. He threaded his fingers into Bobby’s short hair. His nerve endings were on fire.
“Like that?” Bobby asked around Remy’s erection.
“Yes.” He needed more. Holy shit. From his head to his toes, he tensed. The heat in his lower belly spiraled through his veins. He rocked his hips, shoving his cock in and out of Bobby’s mouth. Dear God, he was so close. Already. He jammed his dick between Bobby’s lips and gritted his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t slow down. Not now. He pistoned his hips. Blood rushed through his veins.
“What?” Bobby asked.
Remy opened his eyes and glanced down at his lover. “Huh?”
Bobby stood and stepped away from Remy. “I need to go.”
When I’m on the verge of fucking coming? What the hell? Remy widened his stance and focused on Bobby. “What do you mean?” He blinked and noticed the group of people milling around them. Some shouted and others held signs. None of the people appeared to be happy.
“We’re in public.” Bobby wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know you out here. I can’t. It’s bad for business.”
Remy stuffed his dick back into his pants and growled. Bobby had pricked his ego and pissed him off. He disliked when a guy stopped the blow job just before the big O and really hated Bobby’s switch in attitude. Bad for business… What the fuck?
“What’s going on?” Remy asked. He buttoned his pants, then grabbed Bobby’s arm. “I thought you liked me.”
“I can’t. They’re watching. They’re always watching.” Bobby shrugged away and disappeared into the crowd.
“Bobby. Wait. Stop.” He couldn’t see Bobby through the wandering people. Remy pushed through the crowd and tried to chase his lover. The more he moved forward, the more people showed up and blocked him. “Bobby?”
A woman with black hair tugged into a bun stepped in front of him. “Get out of Cedarwood.”
“No,” he snapped. “This is my home too.” Just try to run me out of this Goddamn town.
“We don’t want you here,” a man in a business suit said. He held a sign proclaiming Cedarwood should be a moral town.
“So what if you don’t want me here? I’m staying.” He needed to find Bobby.
“You’ll never work for another news organization.” Another man, this one in a T-shirt and jeans, rested his hands on his hips. “This is a town for families. Not for people like you.”
He stepped toe to toe with the man, but instead of responding, everything went black. Remy swatted at the air. Was he falling? He didn’t know where the hell he was, and it freaked him out. A shiver ran the length of his spine and his blood chilled.
“Bobby.” His lover’s name ripped from his throat, and his chest ached. What had he done? Why was this happening? He wasn’t a bad guy. He simply had fallen for another man and wasn’t interested in fucking a woman. What the fucking hell?
* * * *
Remy sat up and opened his eyes. He gasped for breath. As he woke up fully, he realized where he was—in his room. Six-forty-five a.m. Rain splattered on the windows and clicked against the glass. Holy shit. He hadn’t gone anywhere, and the whole mess had been a dream. He wiped his face with both hands, then reached for his phone. He scrolled through his emails. Each one he’d sent the night before had gone through. His work was in, and even Maureen had responded.
This is great. Nothing offensive, and it makes the art community look fabulous. Great job. It’s going to print.
At least she was happy.
Remy collapsed on the bed. With all his work turned in and no appointments until after lunch, he could sleep a little while longer. Good thing. The dream had shaken him to his core. Between the wine and his blossoming feelings for Bobby, as well as his concerns over the Coalition, he’d worn his brain out.
He closed the apps on his phone, but the email icon blinked. Out of habit, he retrieved the message and frowned when he read the name. Dale Emery.
He’d worked with Dale at one of the news channels in Cleveland. Hell, now he couldn’t remember which, because he’d made the rounds at each station. They’d dated while they’d worked together, and the moment Remy had been transferred to a different one, Dale’s calls had stopped. It hadn’t been a long relationship—four dates and a lot of sex—but still. He wondered what in the name of God Dale wanted now, after so much time had passed.
He read through the email and sighed.
Hadn’t talked in a while and someone mentioned your name at the station. Missed you. Still do. Have my number still? Call me so we can catch up.
D.
Remy frowned. He’d wanted Dale so much when they’d worked together. It wasn’t love between them—not after four dates—but God, he’d admired the guy. Dale read the news on television. Everyone knew him, even if he wasn’t ready to come out of the closet.
Remy closed the email and the app, then tossed the phone onto the mattress. He had Bobby in his life. Why would he want an old flame who wasn’t really interested? Especially if he had no real idea what Dale wanted? He didn’t love Dale and wasn’t interested in being with him, but he’d probably email Dale back—later.
He closed his eyes and settled into the blankets. He’d worry about his ex and Bobby later. He needed sleep, strong coffee and a run before he could deal with them. He yanked the comforter over his head and succumbed to sleep. Hopefully, this time, there wouldn’t be any fucked-up dreams.
* * * *
Remy rolled over and sighed. He stared at the ceiling, then picked up his phone. According to the clock, he’d slept five hours. He stretched and tossed the device back onto the bedding. He probably could use another couple of hours, but he needed to get moving if he was going to make the hot stove league baseball game in time.
He showered, shaved and tried not to think about Bobby and Dale. He shook his head as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He needed to stop being so hard on himself. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Maybe a little odd—he wore his hair shaggy, but kempt—his eyes seemed too light for the shade of his hair and his lack of a tan, but he hadn’t altered anything other than losing the hundred pounds back in college.
He flexed his arms and sucked in his stomach. The more he looked at himself, the more he didn’t see the flaws. The years of running showed in his toned arms and legs. He still had a bit of a paunch in his belly, but nothing a few sit-ups wouldn’t help fix.
The words of his former therapist came to mind. At some point Remy needed to move past the bad things in his life and embrace the good. If he wanted something, then the logical step was to do what needed to be done in order to attain it.
Then who did he want? He wanted closure with Dale and a few more dates with Bobby. He crinkled his nose, then squared his shoulders. He could do this. He could get what he wanted. The dream didn’t matter, and neither did the Coalition. He wasn’t doing anything wrong by living his life, and Bobby had been right—he should be an example to the next generation. No fear, no shame.
Remy dressed and tucked his phone into his back pocket. He grabbed his tablet, keyboard and notebook, then his keys, and made his way downstairs. He still had Dale’s number in his phone. As long as the sequence hadn’t changed, he should be able to get in touch with his former boyfriend. He settled behind the wheel of his car, plunked his bag on the passenger seat, then set his phone to speaker and called Dale.
>
The phone rang as he backed out of his parking spot. Three rings later, Remy got an answer. “Hello?”
Hmm. That didn’t sound like Dale. The voice was lower. “May I speak to Dale Emery?” he asked.
“This is. Remy? Is that you?”
Remy gripped the steering wheel and turned onto the main road through Cedarwood. “You sent me an email. What’s up?” He tried to sound casual, but easy conversation had never been his strong suit.
“I talked to Pepper Dennings. Remember her?” Dale asked.
“Sure.” Who could forget Pepper? Good Lord. She was the only anchor on television with blood-red hair and the palest skin. Whichever channel she was on, she held everyone’s attention. “How is she?”
Pepper only noticed him when she needed something or someone. She used people and only cared about herself. As soon as she stepped in front of the camera, she grabbed the spotlight. He didn’t dislike her for her drive or her appeal in the media. He’d fallen under her spell too. He wished he could be as forthright and determined as Pepper.
“She’s fine. She moved to Chicago and got married. I called her the other day because we had some of her files here at the station. She asked me how everyone was doing, and your name came up.” Dale paused. “She wanted to know if you had ever gotten in front of the camera. She thought you had a brilliant presence at the news desk.”
“I see.” He hadn’t expected her to say that—any of it—but then he wondered if it was really Dale asking the question and adding Pepper in to make it sound more important. Dale had a tendency to make things sound bigger than they were in order to get what he wanted. He bit back a groan. So what does Dale want?
“I told her you’d left the station.”
“Fired was more like it. They downsized and I had the least seniority.” Depending on how he looked at the situation, it was a blessing or a curse. Bad because he wanted a chance to be on one of the daily broadcasts and to get his name out there for possibly bigger opportunities. Good because if he hadn’t come to Cedarwood, he wouldn’t have met Maureen, his one friend Sully, or Bobby and the kids. He smiled and his spirits lifted a bit. Bobby. His cock strained against his pants and he had to shift in his seat. He couldn’t wait to see Bobby on Wednesday.
