He knew Brandon was frustrated beyond belief at his ongoing inability to pin anything on Peter, but as the threats against the owner of bLoved had escalated, Brandon’s conviction that Peter was the one behind them had only grown. It felt premature to talk about future plans for the two of them until that was resolved, but they’d both been patient for ten years, so he was pretty sure that they could hold out a little longer.
And that it would totally be worth it.
Shane set the stack of laundry down on top of Brandon’s dresser, his pleasure at the little moment of domesticity for his man spoiled by what he was sure would be yet another in the endless stream of texts Peter was still sending him.
He pulled out his phone. Yep. Peter.
Shane sighed, shoving it back into his pocket, text unanswered. Brandon had left for work a couple of hours prior, and Shane had triple-checked that the apartment’s security alarm was armed. Now, he was determined to ignore the little frisson of unease that Peter’s relentless creepiness inspired in him.
He was also determined to shut down the voice in his head that tried to insist he was a weak fool for having actually believed that he loved Peter, and that Peter loved him back. That voice sounded condescending and arrogant, and it made him feel like shit.
Basically, it sounded like Peter.
But, for all of Peter’s alternative-facts version of reality, he hadn’t done anything actually threatening. On the contrary, he still insisted that he loved Shane, and constantly sent a stream of messages along the lines of I haven’t forgotten about you and we’ll be together again soon.
But, thankfully, sending texts was all he’d done. He hadn’t actually shown up at Brandon’s place again, and didn’t even acknowledge the fact that Shane had completely stopped replying to his messages. Shane would have blocked Peter completely, or even changed his own phone number, if Brandon hadn’t wanted to keep tabs on the communication for purposes of his investigation.
Shane yanked open Brandon’s top dresser drawer, determined to get his mind off Peter and back to happier things. It worked. Yoda and his lightsaber stared back up at him. Shane had never been as big a Star Wars fan as Brandon was, but he was definitely coming around.
He snickered, thinking of Brandon’s skill with his… lightsaber, then covered Yoda up with a fresh stack of clean boxers. He opened Brandon’s t-shirt drawer and was about to put away the newly laundered ones when a faded bit of red caught his eye, peeking out from underneath a much more sedate pale blue Adidas shirt. Shane was partial to it for the way it made Brandon’s blue eyes pop.
But the red… could it be?
He laughed as he pulled it out. It was. Shane shook the red shirt out and held it up—it was the same one Brandon had slept in all through high school. Bruce Lee stared back at him, scratched up and looking like a badass from his fight with Mr. Han in Enter the Dragon.
There was no way Brandon still fit into the thing. It was kind of cute that he’d kept it though.
Shane cocked his head to one side, assessing the worn material. It may not still fit Brandon, but it would probably fit him. He finished putting away the laundry, then did a quick change, admiring himself in Brandon’s dresser mirror.
He skimmed a hand over the words framing Bruce’s face. “Fear is for others,” he read out loud in a horrible attempt at Bruce’s accent. And then, glancing around self-consciously, as if someone might have suddenly appeared out of thin air or something, he grinned, dropping into a fighting crouch in front of the mirror.
“Waaaaaa!”
Shane let loose with his best Bruce Lee yell as he tried to imitate the whole Fists of Fury vibe, but the sound was cut off by the doorbell. He straightened up, hoping whoever it was hadn’t heard.
Also that whoever it was, wasn’t Peter.
“Fear is for others, fear is for others,” he chanted under his breath, hating the way his heart raced as he made his way to Brandon’s front door. He looked out through the peephole, relaxing when he saw that it wasn’t Peter. He tapped out the code to disarm the alarm, then pulled the door open.
“Shane Allen?” the young woman on the other side asked brightly.
He nodded, grinning. She held a huge bouquet of red roses, and the racing of Shane’s heart took off for a totally new reason.
Brandon was incredible, but Shane had always known that. What he hadn’t realized up until recently was that he was also a bit of a sentimental romantic. Shane accepted the bouquet. He’d actually always thought roses were a bit trite—something none of his exes had ever seemed to grasp—but from Brandon, he was more than willing to revise that opinion.
“Someone sure loves you,” the delivery woman said, winking. “Enjoy, and have a great evening!”
Shane cradled the flowers in his arms, closing the door behind her and fumbling with the alarm code as he tried to balance the oversized bouquet. There were definitely more than a dozen, and their smell was heady, almost overwhelming. A little bit over the top, if he were honest, but, then again, didn’t they have a decade of missed opportunity to make up for? This must be another one of those “good causes” that Brandon had decided it was justified to use some of his down-payment-for-a-house savings on, and the excitement rushing through Shane like champagne bubbles at the unexpected gesture turned into something sweeter at the thought.
Someone sure loves you, the young woman had said…. and she’d been right.
Brandon wasn’t the first man Shane had said “I love you” to, but—even though he’d always given each relationship his all—everything was different with Brandon. Easy, but not boring. Brandon excited him on every level, kept him entertained, made him feel cherished. But there was none of the work Shane had always associated with falling in love. No effort to keep Brandon happy, no compromises that felt like Shane had to give up something in order to make things work.
With Brandon, everything already worked.
Shane brought the roses into the kitchen. Every single bloom was perfect, but Shane hissed as one of the razor-sharp thorns caught his thumb. He stuck it in his mouth to stop the bleeding, trying to remember if he’d seen any vases anywhere, and noticed the corner of a white envelope peeking out from deep within the bouquet.
Shane pulled it free, earning a few more scratches. Not, of course, as many as Bruce was sporting—he glanced down at the shirt he was wearing—but definitely enough that he was going to have fun asking Brandon to kiss them and make them better, once he got home.
Exquisite cursive handwriting curled across the little envelope, spelling out his name, and inside was one of those pretty-but-generic-looking flower shop cards, emblazoned with more red roses and the words I love you. Inside, the same ornate handwriting had been used to write out the simple message:
Valentine’s Day is only a month away, baby. It’s a day made for lovers. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we’re together again by then.
Shane’s gut clenched as a sick realization shot through him, icy dread cramping his stomach. The card fell out of his hands, tumbling to the floor. It wasn’t signed, but he knew.
The roses weren’t from Brandon.
“Oh, God,” Shane whispered, the short, hitched notes of his breath edging toward panic. He backed away from the flowers, eyeing them fearfully, as if they might somehow do more than just scratch him. He finally turned away, fumbling in his back pocket for his phone and hitting the shortcut to dial Brandon’s cell as soon as he pulled it out.
“Bartoli’s Pizzeria.”
“What?” Shane stammered, confused. He pushed a hand back through his bangs. “Um, Brandon?”
“Nope, this is Tony,” came the unfamiliar voice on the other end. “Bartoli’s Pizzeria. You want to call in an order for pick up?”
“Uh, no. Sorry, wrong number.” Shane ended the call, then tapped the screen again, being sure to hit the right icon this time.
“Bartoli’s Pizzeria.”
Shane hung up, adrenaline spiking through his system as his hands s
tarted to shake. He pulled up the keypad, taking care to tap out Brandon’s phone number carefully.
“Bartoli’s Pizzeria.”
Shane pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it. Dialing Brandon’s phone number had automatically pulled up his photo from Shane’s contact list, and now, Brandon’s face smiled out at him from the small screen, confirming that he hadn’t misdialed.
“You want to order?” came the tinny, slightly irritated voice from the other end of the line. “You know we’ve got caller ID here, buddy. Is this supposed to be a prank?”
“No,” Shane said softly, not really caring if the guy heard him or not. “Sorry.”
He hung up, the fear that had taken hold of him spreading until goosebumps rose on his arms. He swallowed, glancing down at Bruce’s snarling face on his chest again.
“Fear is for others,” he repeated, turning to glare at the stupid, ugly roses that he’d never really liked anyway. He hit the keypad on his phone again, dialing the number for the Chicago police precinct that Brandon worked at. Back when he and Peter had been together, Peter had liked to joke about all the things he could have done with his tech skills, if he hadn’t have been constrained by the ethics of his contracts. Hacking into cellular networks had definitely been on the list, and Shane could only hope that whatever bullshit Peter was pulling, it wouldn’t affect all his outgoing calls.
It didn’t.
“Chicago PD,” a bored voice answered after two rings. “Nature of your call?”
“I need to speak to Officer Brandon Byrne about an ongoing investigation,” Shane said, pleased that the tremor in his hands didn’t come across in his voice.
Peter was not going to intimidate him, and he was for damn sure not going to let Peter come between him and Brandon.
Ever.
“You want me to get rid of these for you, Shane-O?” Gabe Byrne asked, swaggering into the kitchen and pulling the roses out of their vase without waiting for an answer. He hissed as he encountered the thorns, chucking them into the kitchen trash and shaking out his hand.
“Yes, please.” Shane trailed behind Gabe as he yanked the trash bag out and tied it off, then headed for the front door. “Brandon told you to come watch over me, didn’t he?”
Gabe snorted. “Dude, I’ve known you forever. I can’t just stop by and say hi while I’m home on leave?”
Shane laughed. Sure, he’d always been friendly with Brandon’s brothers, but he wasn’t fooled for a minute. Brandon had gotten all quiet and alpha-sexy protective sounding when Shane had told him about the flowers and the pizza place, and it had been all Shane could do to convince him not to get off work early and rush back home.
It had been tempting to let him, actually, but that had felt too much like letting Peter win.
The truth was, though, that the whole thing had freaked Shane out, and he’d been more than happy to say yes when Gabe had suddenly called him out of the blue—just a few minutes after Shane had hung up with Brandon—and asked if he could come hang out for the rest of the afternoon.
“Stay inside, ’mkay, Shane?” Gabe said, blocking Shane’s exit when they reached the front door. A hint of steel showed through his normally joking demeanor, reminding Shane that Brandon wasn’t the only overly protective one in his family.
Shane nodded.
“I’ll just be a sec,” Gabe said, winking as he tapped out the alarm code that Brandon must have given him. He hefted the garbage bag and pulled the door shut behind him, but was true to his word. Before Shane had had time to do anything other than fret about whether or not Gabe thought he was being a weenie, Gabe was back, letting in a blast of cold air as he rearmed the security system.
“I can’t believe you’re wearing shorts in the middle of winter,” Shane said, laughing as he shook his head in disbelief.
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Shane, for real. How long have we been friends? You know us Byrnes run hot.”
Um, yeah, they did. Hot definitely had a whole new layer of meaning, now that he and Brandon had finally gotten together.
Shane choked on a laugh, turning away so Gabe wouldn’t call him on it. “You must die out in California,” he said, trying to cover it up. He beckoned Gabe after him as he headed back toward the kitchen. “Isn’t it a million degrees out there?”
“Not in San Diego,” Gabe said. “The weather’s basically perfect there year-round. When we deploy though? Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk. Don’t even get me started on the insane temperatures over in the Middle East.”
“Here,” Shane said, opening the fridge and handing Gabe a cold bottle of beer. “You look like you’re going to overheat just from the memory.”
Gabe laughed, accepting it with a grateful nod, and Shane pulled out sandwich fixings before he let the fridge door swing closed. If he remembered correctly, Gabe’s stomach had a lot in common with a bottomless pit. He laid out some lunch meat, bread, lettuce, two types of cheese, and a tomato, grabbing a knife out of the block Brandon kept on the counter.
“So, you look right at home here,” Gabe said, eyeing Shane’s setup.
Shane glanced up, smirking. “You complaining about me feeding you?”
“Yeah, that would be a no.” Gabe laughed, leaning across the counter and stealing a turkey slice before Shane could stop him. “But for real, can I assume that this happy little homemaker thing means that you and Brandon have finally pulled your heads out of your asses and taken your bromance to the next level?”
Shane grinned, sliding the stacked sandwich he’d just put together onto a plate and passing it over to Gabe. “Are you fishing for details about my sex life, Gabe?”
Gabe had just taken a huge bite, and his face turned purple as he started to choke on it. Shane thumped him on the back, laughing, until Gabe shooed him off.
“Shut up,” Gabe said, taking a swig of his beer as his face started to return to a less eggplant-esque color. “Jesus, Shane, no on the sex. That would totally be TMI, dude. I can’t even… just, no.”
Shane laughed, starting on a second sandwich. “You’re the one who asked.”
“I was asking about love, bro, not, the uh… other.”
“Too gay for you?” Shane teased, ninety-nine percent sure that that wasn’t the case.
“Duuuuuuuude,” Gabe said, drawing the word out and loading it with enough disappointment that Shane was surprised he didn’t collapse under the weight of it. “You know I’m not like that. I don’t care where you stick your dick, but we’re talking about my brother. I don’t want to… I can’t… just, come on.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said, having mercy on him. “And I guess the answer is… yes?”
“Good,” Gabe said, grabbing the second sandwich Shane had just put together and immediately taking a massive bite, as if to guarantee that Shane wouldn’t take it back.
“Don’t choke again,” Shane said, trying not to laugh. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Shmmrff,” Gabe mumbled around the food in his mouth.
Shane raised an eyebrow as he pulled two more pieces of bread out and spreading them with mayonnaise. “That one could have been for me, you know.”
“You know it wasn’t.”
“Gross, don’t talk with your mouth full. And it could have been.”
Gabe finally swallowed. “What are you, my mom?” he asked, grinning after he’d finally cleared his mouth with another drink of beer. “And you suck at lying. You know you made it for me. There’s mustard on it, and I think we both know your feelings on mustard.”
Shane shrugged, not bothering to deny it. How anyone could stand the yellow slime was beyond him. And hello, did anything on the planet stain faster than mustard? It was a menace.
“I swear, I’ve never met anyone as picky about food as you are,” Gabe said, laughing. “I don’t know how Branny puts up with it.”
“I’m not picky,” Shane lied, trying not to stifle his smile so it didn’t give him away. “I just don’t like things that don’t taste good.”
“Yeah, but mustard rocks. And… chocolate? Seriously, bro. You must have been dropped on your head as a small child.”
“Not my fault your mom had to wash out your mouth with soap so many times, back in the day,” Shane retaliated, finally finishing putting his own sandwich together. “It obviously ruined your taste buds.”
“I’m gonna refrain from arguing taste,” Gabe said, taking another drink from his beer. “Because yours may be shitty in the eats department, but at least it’s good enough that you finally saw the light about Brandon.”
“Thanks,” Shane said, smiling and trying to hide it behind a bite of his sandwich. Sure, he’d known the Byrne boys forever and always gotten along with them, but it still felt kind of nice to have Gabe’s blessing.
“Took you long enough, though,” Gabe added, winking. “But for real, my baby brother deserves to be happy, and you make him happy. You always have, Shane. So don’t fuck it up.”
Oh, was this one of those talks?
“Or what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll kick my ass?”
Gabe snorted. “As if. You know Brandon would never let me do that.”
“Remember when he used to yell at you for swatting flies?” Shane reminded him, laughing. “I always thought the whole Army and cop things were kind of funny career choices for Mr. Nonviolence.”
Gabe smiled, but he didn’t laugh along with Shane. “Nah, that’s not how it is.” He pointed at Shane’s shirt. “Didn’t your boy Bruce say something like, uh, what was it? If you have to fight, you’ve already lost… was that it?”
Shane nodded. That was close enough.
“Violence may not be his first answer, but you know how protective Branny gets. Like that dude that Peter is harassing?”
The owner of bLoved. Shane frowned, doing his best not to feel guilty about that. “We don’t know for sure that it’s Peter.”
Gabe gave him a look.
“Yeah…” Shane said, sighing. He set his sandwich back down on his plate, suddenly losing his appetite. “God. I can’t believe him.”
Be Loved (At Last, The Beloved Series Book 3) Page 15
