Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  Without knowing it, Seamus had started moving forward, no more than a few feet between them and the rest of their lives. Do I hug him? Shake his hand? Kiss him until he passes out? He liked the idea of doing that, but in an airport full of people, and with Dee there too? Maybe it wasn’t the wisest idea.

  <<< >>>

  You gonna run into his arms, Daddy? Dee had asked. No, he wouldn’t run, but no demon in hell could have prevented him from striding. Once he’d set eyes on Seamus—six months since he’d properly seen him last—Chancey walked right up to him and pretty much fell into Seamus’s waiting arms. He felt the strength and warmth of those arms slip around him, sliding up his sides, drawing him closer. Airport full of people be damned, they kissed—deep but pure, giving and taking, like thieves stealing things offered.

  Their lips sealed, their arms around each other locked tight, and all Chancey knew in that moment was the intensity of Seamus’s warm body, his hot breath, the glorious smell of him… Was that jasmine? Sandalwood? Chancey had no form, no function, no being. There was only Seamus Williams and the love he felt for Shay.

  “God, I can’t believe you actually did that, Daddy.” It was Dee, groaning playfully. The kiss broke, and suddenly the world came rushing back in. “You realise people are staring?”

  Let them all stare…

  Chancey released one arm and plucked the hat from his head, placing it on Shay’s. With fire in his eyes, Seamus said, “Hello there, Cowboy.”

  One arm still tightly around Chancey, Seamus reached out and scooped Dee into their circle.

  “And hello to you, too, sweet Deidra.”

  “Hey, Shay.”

  “Chancey, while I’m lovin’ the hat, I think it suits our girl better, don’t you?” Seamus transferred the hat to Dee’s curly head. “What do you say we head home now, my loves?”

  Just hearing those words—home…loves—made Chancey’s heart swell.

  “I think I could be persuaded,” Chancey agreed, leaning in for another loving kiss. God, imagine. He could fall asleep to these kisses every night and wake up to them every single morning. Always. “And by that I mean fucking god yes.”

  “Potty mouth,” Dee chastised, and Chancey and Seamus laughed.

  ~ Fin

  Christmas Craic and Mistletoe

  Seeds of Tyrone Book Three

  Two couples, two unique stories of love at Christmastime…

  Harrison and Paulo were once passionate lovers—until tragedy tore them apart. When the men miss an opportunity to reconnect at a Christmas party, Paulo is prepared to move heaven and earth to see Harrison again.

  Michael’s coming out didn’t go down well in his conservative hometown of Omagh, and the bullies are out to get him. But he has a guardian angel on his side—his unrequited, long-term crush, Tom.

  Will the magic of Christmas in Ireland be enough to see these two couples through?

  This book features characters from the Seeds of Tyrone series, but can be read and enjoyed independently.

  Dedicated…

  To second chances and those learning to believe in them.

  And to everyone who helped plant the Seeds of Tyrone and then watched them grow. We thank you!

  Part I:

  Paulo

  &

  Harrison

  Chapter One:

  Are You Ready?

  “Are you ready yet?” Pru called from down the hall. He could hear her clomping up and down on the hardwood like a runway model. It was the heels—they were her favorite.

  I could have been a model, she’d weep when she’d worn the shoes too long (and had one too many martinis). Harrison would then play the dutiful best friend and say You still could be, Pru. They’d acted that one out many a time.

  Harrison Miller stood in front of the full-length mirror, carefully buttoning his silky black shirt and wondering for the fortieth time if he shouldn’t change into something else. Did he look good in black? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t think he looked good in much of anything these days. He was too short, too pale, too unremarkable. What if he sweated and the fabric stuck to his back but no one told him and he walked around with sweat-back all evening? He’d be so much more comfortable in a sweater. But Pru had chosen this for him and said he looked dapper. Dapper was good, and he wanted to look good. He needed to look good.

  Tonight existed on another plane of importance.

  Pru popped her head around the corner and scowled for a minute before walking into the room. A curl flopped across her forehead, mirroring the disapproving look on her face.

  “Your hair’s getting free,” he said.

  She’d curled it, wound it, and tangled it up with netting and ribbons and feathers and little dangly flower clips. It was a play on a style she’d seen while hanging out in Japan. Paired with her sleek red dress and matching heels, she was the picture of elegant sophistication meets Marie Antoinette meets an accessory explosion.

  Pru tried blowing the heavy curl out of her face before just flinging it away with her fingernail. She turned her attention back on him. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “Well…” Harrison turned back to the mirror. “It’s what you picked, isn’t it?”

  “Did I?” She frowned for a moment as she thought.

  “Want to look at what else I have in my suitcase?”

  “I don’t really need to. I know you brought nothing good with you!”

  “Would you actually look before you decide that?” Harrison asked. With a sigh she began to rummage. She was right, though. Even if they’d had his whole closet of clothes to choose from, there were only castoffs, work clothes, and things that didn’t fit right.

  “Here we go! The pinstripes,” she said triumphantly as she searched through his suitcase. She pulled up the wrinkled button-down. “I wish you’d hung it up.”

  “Well, you said this one, Pru, so I figured I’d just iron the stripes later if I needed it.”

  “I’ll handle it, I think there’s an iron in my room. This is definitely a better shirt.”

  “But wasn’t I wearing the black one when he and I first met—?”

  “You also had purple fingernail polish and a choker, if I recall that night,” she said dryly. “I don’t think it really works without the accoutrement.”

  “Guess I forgot to pack my nail polish this time, and I think I borrowed the choker from you.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Hey Pru, does it really matter what I wear?”

  He was asking his reflection more than her, but she jumped on the question.

  “Totally and completely yes. Be right back.”

  She left him alone with his thoughts.

  Thoughts?

  Plural? It was really just the one thought though, wasn’t it? In less than an hour, Harrison would be seeing Paulo again for the first time in almost a year and a half.

  He swallowed and told himself to breathe.

  He still wasn’t out of the black shirt when Pru returned. She’d starched, ironed, and hung the pinstripes like she was some sort of domestic goddess. Until that moment, he hadn’t known she could iron.

  Pru clucked at his state of dress. “There’s fashionably late and then there’s late-late, H. We’ve got to put a rush on it.” With deft fingers she unbuttoned his shirt and practically flung him out of it. He took the replacement she offered. “Do you have a hat at least?”

  “I might have brought a cap or something.”

  Pru stepped over the cast-off clothing before disappearing into the closet. He could hear her digging through the shelf above the clothes rack. There were lots of boxes up there—most of them things he hadn’t brought. He wondered how many of Pru’s former lovers had left things behind. Probably lots. They were staying in her home away from home away from home. She owned many properties, each of them for a different purpose. This was the house Pru used to dabble in high society life, it being in the heart of Midday. It was only the second time Harrison had visited, though she’d invited him often eno
ugh.

  Harrison slipped a red tie around his neck and tied it. It wasn’t an exact color match to Pru’s dress, but it complemented nicely.

  “Ah-ha!” Pru cried, jumping back and presenting him with a black fedora. He ran his fingers along the felt. Wow. Pru snatched it away again, and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle. How was that for a different look?

  “You wanna leave the glasses tonight?” she asked, pointing at his face.

  He touched the arm of the fake glasses he always wore, hesitated, and then dropped his hand.

  “Think he remembers me?”

  Pru snorted with laughter. “Oh, H! That’s one for the quote book. You’re right, he might have forgotten you after a year.”

  “Eighteen months,” Harrison corrected, fidgeting with the tie.

  Eighteen long, lonely, miserable months. Eighteen months spent sleeping alone. He’d gone to therapy and adopted a cat named The Handsome Sir Reginald because he had markings that might have been a monocle if monocles were shaped like eggs.

  “And whose idea was that?” Pru reminded him.

  “He deserved…better.”

  Harrison’s heart thudded as flashes of Paulo finding someone better exploded in his mind. That was the entire reason Harrison had suggested the separation in the first place: so Paulo could get what he needed, intimately speaking. A man like Paulo shouldn’t have to deal with his intermittent impotence, his post-orgasmic tears, his mid-lovemaking panic attacks.

  I told him to find love and companionship elsewhere, and now I’m actually afraid he might have done it. Now? He’d been scared from the beginning. But he’d loved Paulo too much not to do what he did.

  “OMG, H. Stop looking like the cat does when I won’t share the caviar. Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

  Harrison didn’t think he could handle hearing any more promises. Everything was going to be…how it was going to be. Not Pru nor anyone else could say differently. “I thought we were going to be late if we didn’t get going.”

  “We will. So are you ready?”

  <<< >>>

  They could have taken one of Pru’s two Lexuses to the party, but Pru loved cabs the way one might love taking a cruise. Back home, she rode around the city like a tourist, talking endlessly with the cabbies and collecting their stories and journaling about them. When she traveled internationally—which was fairly non-stop—she made it a point to grab a cab. She had photos of herself with white-gloved cabbies in Tokyo, vintage Cadillac cabs in Havana, and everything in between.

  “Goin’ to some sort of party?” The cab driver asked after Pru had given him the address. It was the only prompting she needed to launch into full-on chat mode. She’d even pulled the little notebook out of her clutch, should the guy say anything interesting.

  Harrison leaned back in his seat and tried to tune her out.

  Tonight was the litmus test.

  Had it been long enough?

  Was Paulo sated?

  Did he even want Harrison in his life now?

  They’d scheduled tonight—December 17th—the night of the Bentley family’s exclusive Christmas party, to meet. Or, rather, it had been scheduled for last year until Harrison had a panic attack and actually hid underneath the guest bed in Pru’s Midday home.

  Tonight he wouldn’t be a coward; he couldn’t. Harrison didn’t think he could take not knowing any longer.

  Bentley Manor would be a neutral spot. He and Paulo could have a drink and talk, maybe dance. They would take it slow, talk. They would not immediately fall into bed with one another.

  Except eighteen months was a long time to be…not together. Separated. On hold.

  Pru had kept in touch with him of course. They’d been friends longer than Harrison and Paulo had. She was the one who made excuses for Harrison not showing up to last year’s party. As if reading his mind, Pru reached out and patted his knee, not breaking her conversation with the cabbie.

  Harrison’s thoughts danced around the worst. What if this year it was Paulo’s turn not to show up? Or what if he showed up…with a guest? What if Harrison wasn’t the person Paulo wanted/needed anymore?

  Use your logical brain, Harrison, he chastised himself. The last time they’d spoken…

  “This is fucking ridiculous, Ari,” Paulo said with barely controlled rage. He sat on the couch, staring straight ahead, his hands clenched between his knees. “If you don’t want me anymore, that’s one thing. But don’t you dare say shit like ‘it’s for your own good.’ I love you. I want to be with you.”

  “You should find someone better,” Harrison said sadly. Why couldn’t Paulo see he deserved better? Every time they touched in bed, Harrison remembered Ms. Ashmore and what had happened. Phantoms of her perfume lingered in the air, like a ghost following him, and the nightmares plagued him so that he woke up screaming more nights than not. His PTSD taunted him anew. Relapse. “Just…find someone who makes you happy.”

  “Someone that makes me happy? Someone like you, then?”

  “I don’t!” Harrison argued bitterly, rubbing at the corner of his eye with his palm. “Not like I am right now, I know I don’t. I heard you talking to Pru about how you can’t sleep. I know how difficult this is on you.”

  “It is difficult, Ari. Of course it’s difficult to watch you hurt and to be…powerless to fix it. I want to smash Ashmore’s face in—” Harrison cringed as Paulo got caught up in a tirade of angry fantasy. When he finally noticed Harrison was crying, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, love. We’ll get through it together. You don’t have to push me away.”

  “I’ve made my choice, Paulo. Just…go.”

  At first, Harrison hadn’t realized the mistake he’d made. He was so low, so tormented by the memories of what had happened to him, that being without Paulo almost felt good in a sick, broken way. Like the cutting he’d done in high school when he’d been bullied for being gay. Open a wound and bleed out the pain; feel the rush of relief, as temporary as it was. That was Paulo’s absence.

  He wasn’t ready to face Paulo last Christmas. Wasn’t ready to stop wallowing.

  But about six months ago he’d found a new doctor, started going to his old support group, and occasionally he went out with Pru. He thought about Ms. Ashmore less often, especially now that she was behind bars, and was even able to experimentally touch himself without triggering a load of memories. Well, he triggered some, but they were good memories. Happy memories of times with Paulo.

  “Hey, Ari. I missed you.”

  Harrison smiled at Paulo’s greeting and the sound of his suitcase hitting the floor. It was the same every time Paulo came home from a business trip. Paulo wrapped his arms around Harrison’s waist, and placed a loving and hungry kiss on his neck. Harrison lost himself to the smell of Paulo’s aftershave.

  “Whatcha making for me?”

  “Fajitas.” He turned in Paulo’s arms, squinting to see through steamy glasses.

  “Let’s take care of these…” Paulo slid Harrison’s glasses from his nose, set them to one side…

  A kiss gave way to a shower of kisses, then the deep, wanton tangling of tongues. When they broke for air, they were both too caught up in their passion to notice the fajita meat was burning.

  Pru nudged Harrison hard with her shoulder. “We’re here, H.”

  Chapter Two:

  Mamãe and Papai

  Paulo snuck a glance at his watch. 4:45 p.m. The whole damn month of October had gone by faster than this day. He kept his sigh internal, and the smile on his face.

  “I’ll have to present to their board at least once more before the deal can move forward, though. But we’re one step closer to having a German office.”

  Mamãe nodded enthusiastically as Paulo recounted the details of his latest business trip. He’d never understood why she insisted on hearing everything, no matter how insignificant. It was a marketing firm. He was good at it and it paid the bills, but even he didn’t find the same passion in his work his mot
her seemed to.

  Tell me more, Paulo she’d insist.

  There’s nothing to tell, Mamãe he’d reply.

  But you didn’t say what color tie the board president was wearing!

  His father’s eyes had glossed over after the initial the trip went well. Papai had always been a man of few words. How he’d ever married a woman as talkative as Gabriela Fernández née García could only be attributed to a God-given miracle. That they’d stayed together long enough to bring Paulo into the world was even more amazing.

  “Mamãe, I’m out of details,” Paulo finally said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and taking a sip of water.

  “,” Papai said in Portuguese. It was always Portuguese at the table for him, even when Paulo had brought English-speaking friends or the occasional boyfriend home. Tradition, Papai insisted, leaving it at that.

  Gabriela looked hard at her husband for a minute and then smiled. “Oh! I know! Tell him about Adriano!”

  Paulo raised an eyebrow and glanced from one parent to the other.

  Papai shrugged. “”

  Handsome and a great car, huh, Papai? Never mind Paulo was always traveling or that his home was in Pennsylvania. But it wasn’t Papai’s fault. Save for one, Paulo had always had a “type”: handsome, rich, Brazilian. That was the sort of man he met in his family’s social circles. That “save for one” though? Helluva save. Paulo shook his head, and tried to keep the conversation going.

  “Maybe,” he lied. There was no “maybe” about it.

  “Maybe?” Mamãe jumped on the word suspiciously. She leaned forward and scrutinized his face. “Are you seeing someone already? Someone you haven’t told me about?”

  “No, Mamãe, no one.”