Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3)

by Liz Crowe

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said. Her sister giggled, saying something Diana couldn’t hear but sounded like first time.

  Without thinking, Diana acted, stepping toward the door and pushing it open. Her sister’s bed was tucked into an alcove, like hers next door. Diana could only see the footboard from the doorway, but she heard them talking loud and clear.

  “I shouldn’t have…I mean, I’m not…you know….” Dom was in the middle of saying.

  Kissing sounds that seemed to last forever cut him off. Diana waited, angry, horrified yet unable to confront them.

  “You’re pretty good for a rookie,” Jen said, eventually.

  “Well, I do read a few magazines,” Dom replied with another long sigh. “Oh crap, what time is it?”

  Diana knew she should move away; just let it go. Jen had always done things better than her as the older, taller, prettier, better-at-riding and school, and pretty-much-everything daughter. Their father had wanted a son for the second child so he’d named Diana after the goddess of hunting and had treated her like a boy from the get-go. She had no concept of pretty dresses, or pedicures, or dances, or boyfriends, apparently—anything that made up Jen’s world.

  But by God, Dominic Love was her boyfriend. They were meant to be together. Everyone always assumed they were despite his near-constant flirtation with anything female crossing his path. She’d even let him kiss her and touch her boobs two days ago, the bastard.

  “Where’re my…oh hell, Jen don’t do that…oh….”

  Jen giggled and there were more sloppy-wet sounds. Diana’s initial shocked anger congealed, forming into a firm ball of rage centered in her chest.

  “Don’t go,” her sister insisted. “Let’s try this….”

  “Oh, uh….”

  Diana had heard enough. She slammed the door on her way out so hard two of their framed school photos in the hallway dropped to the floor with a crash. She froze, muttering curses and unwilling to shed a single tear over Dominic Sean Love. She’d had hints of his flirty ways. Every girl in his grade, one above hers, same as her sister’s, was moony over his thick, blond hair, his broad shoulders, his skin that would bronze after ten minutes in the sun. He even had a tattoo. He’d shown it to her, that night she let him kiss her.

  “Don’t tell anyone. It’s just for us, okay?” he’d insisted as he raised his shirt, giving her a view of his firm torso, making her tingly in ways she didn’t comprehend and thought she should avoid. She’d touched the red angry skin surrounding the black ink shaped like a stretch of barbed wire. It ran around his side as if imbedded in his rich, dark flesh. He’d winced.

  Then he’d declared, “I want to kiss you.”

  And she’d let him. It had gone pretty far considering, but she’d put a halt to it. Something about him gave her weak knees, but also put her on guard.

  At that moment, she let anger rule. Dominic is not a good guy, her better self yammered. And now she knew that for a stone-cold fact.

  She ducked into her room, shut the door and sat on her bed, still wrapped in her damp towel gnawing her lips raw with the effort to will the tears away.

  “You girls all right up there,” her mama shouted up the steps. “You’re not roughhousin’, are ya? Come on down and eat. Diana, you gotta get that bloody mess cleared out of the barn.”

  “We’re fine, Mama, sorry. Something fell off my dresser,” Jen’s muffled voice called from behind the door.

  But Diana could tell her sister was right outside her bedroom door. She gritted her teeth at the sound of a soft knock. “Go away.” She pulled on underwear, a bra, jeans and one of her rattiest shirts for the cleanup duty she had ahead of her. Dominic Love was not hers. That had been made perfectly clear. She’d best get on down the road to forgetting him.

  She set her jaw and when Jen slipped into her room, hair a mess, color high, and looking as guilty as sin, she was able to smile at her. “Hope he used a condom. Last thing we need around here is a Love brat.”

  Jen grabbed Diana’s arm as she tried to brush by her. “Di, I’m…I don’t know what…I’m sorry. He just showed up and you were asleep and he was so sad about something, and one thing lead to another.” Her sister hung her head. Diana observed as if from a million miles away that even in her abject embarrassment and coming from doing what she’d been doing with the very boy she knew dang good and well her own sister liked, Jennifer Brantley was still, as always, model-perfect gorgeous.

  “Don’t talk to me.” Diana kept going out the door and hovered at the top of the steps when she heard another voice.

  “Diana,” Dom said, his sexy, gruff voice barely above a whisper, sending a shiver of fury down her spine. She gripped the smooth ball of the top railing, noting for some reason at that moment how it had worn smooth on the side everyone seemed to grab when they’d head downstairs. “Please don’t….”

  She took a second to sort through her commentary options and decided not to try any of them. There were no words for what she felt right then anyway. And she had work to do. She stomped downstairs and away from them both.

  Chapter Four

  Now

  Dom let the wind whip his hair as he opened up the throttle and took the familiar curves into Lucasville. He felt light somehow, knowing what lay ahead for him. He was out now, for all intents and purposes. Although he still wasn’t sure what it—being out—meant for him. Fact was, he’d really enjoyed exploring that hidden side of his personality with a man as funny, bright, encouraging and downright sexy as Kent Lowery, but had less than zero desire to try it ever again. He’d gotten too close, let himself feel real emotion for the man. And that, he well knew, would never, ever do.

  But since he had revealed that particular deep, dark and dirty secret, right in the church where he’d grown up no less, he had to face the music now, and no amount of, but I was just fooling around, would suffice. He didn’t even know what had transpired after he’d run out, since he’d thrown his mobile phone into the Lucas River at the first opportunity that initial, horrific day of his new reality. If Kent tried to call or text him, Dom didn’t want to know about it. Not anymore. Not ever.

  It felt beyond strange not to be tethered by a phone. But liberating at the same time. Maybe he’d go without one of the damn things the rest of his life.

  He had royally screwed up. He knew it. After all those years shielding his heart from emotion, not getting really close, even to Diana, God bless her, or to Gina, the woman who’d bolted out of his life still pregnant with his kid, had lead to him dropping his guard. That’s when Kent traipsed into his life at the precise moment Dom had needed something substantial, ruining him forever. Plenty of time with his annoying therapist had taught him that much. Money well-spent, he supposed.

  Waiting at the first light, he took in in all the familiar sights, absorbing the sounds of his hometown on a quiet mid-morning. It had the sheen of strangeness, a sort of watching a TV show where all-is-well-in-small-town-America, but only-on-the-surface sensation.

  He shook his head, having spent so many hours of his life hating it here, then loving it, then hating it all over again. It exhausted him even contemplating what he’d do next, where he’d go, who’d hire him. Because his time at Love Brewing had come to an end, that much he knew. His father would never accept that his son was gay, or bi, or experimenting, or whatever spin he put on it. He, Dominic Sean Love, had kissed a man. He’d touched a man’s dick. He’d fucked another man in the ass. He’d let the same man suck his dick. He’d participated in three and four-way sex with a bunch of other dudes at that man’s suggestion, and had enjoyed it.

  But he knew for a fact he also loved women. So perhaps he wasn’t gay.

  Goddamn. What a shit show this is.

  “Fuck it.” He opened up the Harley and let it blast its way down Main Street. He’d spent too much time and effort trying to come to terms with his own desires. Besides, the whole thing had happened on a whim—something he’d done because he’d been bored out
of his skull with his life and thought he could spice it up with yet another thrill-seeking adventure. He’d be damned if he knew how to explain any of it to his traditional, hide-bound father. But he’d experienced a legit flicker of hope, thanks to Kieran and his eagerness to get Dom in front of their parents. Maybe, just maybe things would resume their status quo.

  But as he eased the bike up his parents’ gravel driveway, the small knot of anxiety in his gut exploded into a full-blown panic attack. He sat, holding onto the grips, unable to move. His boyhood home always filled him with so much angst and confusion. He’d been miserable there, but yet, there had been a medical explanation for that.

  Diagnosed as manic-depressive the summer after high school graduation, after dropping off the deep end into some seriously bad doo-doo, the second time he’d broken up with Diana Brantley, Dom had fought it tooth and nail. His father had been in his corner then.

  No one medicates my boy just because he gets down sometimes. I don’t trust head shrinkers.

  Dominic shook his head, recalling how tough his mama had been, threatening her husband with all manner of repercussions if he did not get off his redneck, ignorant high horse and get her son the medical help he required. The second half of that insane summer Dom floated along in a haze of medication adjustments as the doctors tried to find a mix of antianxiety meds and antidepressants that didn’t transform him into a total zombie.

  “Hey!” A voice startled him out of his frustrating trip down memory lane. “Where ya been, Sean?” His oldest brother Antony smacked his shoulder.

  Dom opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His brain had fuzzed over, harking back to those early days of medication tinkering. But he was clearing out his system. He hadn’t taken anything for the better part of five months now.

  You can’t medicate me out of wanting to fuck men, he’d thought more than once. I’m sick of not feeling anything, even the lows. I want the highs. I need the highs.

  But right at that moment, he’d give anything not to be experiencing the oh-so-familiar, horrific, skin-crawling sensation, as if spiders were skittering across his scalp, neck and shoulders. It was one of the milestones in his body’s detoxification from chemicals he probably should think twice about skipping so nonchalantly.

  Antony headed toward the pool then disappeared down the hill. Memories rushed at Dom, filling his brain, all his stupid and stupider mistakes with his family and with girls he’d committed there suffocated him. He had to concentrate on not hyperventilating. Kieran walked up, saving him from toppling over and pulling the heavy motorcycle with him.

  “Come on.” His brother unpeeled his fingers from the bike’s grips. “I brought these.” Kieran shook a paper bag in his face. “You gotta get back on them.”

  The familiar sound of multiple pill bottles rattled deep in Dom’s brain. He nodded, dismounted, and tugged his shirttail down over his jeans. There had indeed been a bunch of his clothes left in Diana’s bedroom. He’d forgotten about most of them. But leaving things behind as if they never existed was sort of his M.O. His vision tunneled, his chest hurt, but he followed his brother to the house, knowing the sooner he dealt with this particular reality, the better—somehow, maybe.

  The lower patio, where he’d spent so many summer evenings with family, friends and countless girls, was set for a meal. He gulped and glanced around, seeking support. His younger brother Aiden sat, holding a beer and reading something on a computer tablet. Angelique, the younger sister they all doted on appeared, carrying a tray with veggies, dip, and a sweating pitcher of iced tea. She set the stuff down and launched at him.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she muttered into his chest. “You dumbass.” Before he could react, she gave him a no-fooling hard slap. “Mama is going nuts over you.”

  He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “I know, I know, fatso,” he said, hoping to regain some of his equilibrium as the Official Love Family Jester and Insult Hurler. He shrugged when she stuck her tongue out at him.

  Someone else whacked the back of his head hard enough to make him flinch. He spotted Aiden, now standing over his shoulder. “Okay, I’m good now,” Aiden said, returning to his chair.

  Dom grinned and flipped him off then dropped into the nearest seat. He glanced up when Antony’s wife, Margot, appeared in the open sliding-glass doorway. Her tall, cool, good looks gave him a twinge of jealousy over his oldest brother’s luck until he recalled how crappy Antony’s life had been before meeting her.

  “So.” He gestured at the empty chair next to his. “You’re here to….”

  “Facilitate.” His sister-in-law the shrink smiled and kissed his cheek. “Although I’m not sure it’s such a great idea. I’m technically too close to the subjects.” She put her lips near his ear. “Your mother is not dealing with this well, Dom. If nothing else, we have to reassure her, okay?”

  Dom nodded and reached for the pitcher of beer. Margot moved it out of the way before he could snag it and emptied the bag of pill bottles out onto the table between them.

  “We’ll start here.” She inspected the medications one by one. “I understand it took a while to get these right. It’s a delicate balance, you know? To get your brain chemistry sorted out.” After placing each bottle into a neat row in front of him, she tapped each of the bottle lids.

  Dom tried to ignore the anger building in his head, making his temples pound. “I know, I know.” He swept the bottles back into the bag. “I’ll take ‘em. Relax, Doc Love.” After pouring a beer he raised the glass to her and winked. “Goddamn, you are hot. Does my stupid brother appreciate the amazing riches at his fingertips?”

  Antony sat on her other side and leaned across her. “You’d better not be sass-mouthin’ my wife, punk.” Dominic well understood the seriousness behind his brother’s lighthearted half-threat.

  Aiden’s wife Rosalee, materialized in the doorway carrying a platter of corn on the cob and a tray of hamburger patties. Dom blew her a kiss, noting the look that passed between her and Aiden but biting back the smartass commentary urge. Angelique fired up the grill. Dom frowned at the scene. His father had always been the acknowledged grillmaster of the Love house, no matter what kind of drama materialized.

  “All right, I’ll hop onto the thousand-pound gorilla and ride that son-of-a-bitch across the yard. Where the fuck are the parents?” He crossed one ankle over his knee, mainly to hide how much he shook.

  “You’d best watch your foul mouth, Dominic Sean.”

  Dom jumped up and headed for his mother, surprised at the depth of his response to her words. She stood in the doorway holding a bowl of potato salad and frowning at him. He took it and set it on the table, then folded her into a hug, breathing in everything about her that always calmed him. The combination of Ivory soap, chlorine, a whiff of rich malt, and a hint of flowery lotion wafted through his senses.

  “Mama, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry, I swear it.”

  She disentangled and held him at arm’s length, her deep-green gaze clear. Her face was thin, but it had been for the last year or so. Her hair had grown in post chemotherapy, thicker and curlier, and bright red as ever. It took all he had not to collapse into her, to let her hold him and soothe him out of this current mess—essentially shielding him from his father. She’d done it a lot during his youth and teenage years. His chest ached all over again at the thought of all the work she’d done just so he could go and really blow it.

  “I always worry. That’s a mother’s curse.” She smiled, brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, and cupped his chin with her callused palm. “I’m not speaking to your father at the moment, but that’s why you’re here, I’m guessing.” She glanced at her children and their various significant others. “Where are my grandbabies?”

  “AliceLynn is watching Jeff, Josh and Mandy,” Aiden said, referring to Antony’s teenaged daughter from his first marriage who’d been put in charge of the three youngest members of the Love clan.

  “I
told you I wanted you to bring them.” Lindsay frowned at Antony.

  “Mama, we don’t need kids distracting us today.” Antony shot Dominic a hard look.

  The words, I’m not gay, I’m bi, rose in his throat and stuck there. His head pounded as he kept an arm around his mother, alarmed at how frail she felt. The group sat silent, words he should say to it hanging in the air, unspoken.

  “Well,” Rosie interrupted the extreme awkwardness from the grill. “Dinner’s almost ready.” The smell filled Dom’s nose, reminding him he hadn’t eaten yet since…when? He had no concept of time anymore. Just of tasks, things he had to do. Another symptom, he knew. Another reason to get his sorry ass back on his medication. Things always got stretchy and confusing when he’d go into one of his funks as his brothers used to call it.

  He looked up when Rosie put the plate of burgers on the table, surprised in a detached way by how fast they’d cooked. He was slipping again, losing track of time passing. Not a good sign, really.

  He flopped back in his seat, deflated, picked up a fork and tapped it on the table. His mother sat and poured a glass of tea. “Antony, say grace please.”

  Dom bowed his head, but left his eyes open, the one, pretty silly rebellion left to him when confronted once more with his mother’s dinner-table traditions.

  “Dear Lord,” his brother intoned. Then Dom stopped listening. His mother squeezed his hand twice, the typical Love family, end-of-prayer-time signal, so he raised his head and noted the seat at the other end of the glass-topped patio table was now occupied. A terrified, heavy feeling settled in Dom’s chest.

  Anton Love rose, fingers tented on the table, a brown cardboard box in front of him. Dom met his gaze without blinking.

  This he understood. This he’d experienced plenty of times. Parental wrath—or more specifically, paternal wrath and maternal disappointment—he thought he had a handle on from years of experience. The distinct calm-before-the-hurricane sensation rippled through his psyche, bringing a tinge of red to the edges of his vision. He gripped the fork tighter and tighter, only letting go when Aiden eased the bent-in-half utensil out of his white-knuckled grip.