By and large, most people didn’t have cogent trains of thought with fully-formed sentences in the language of their choice. Surface thoughts were skittish little things. They danced like a pike among the flies, gleaming and swift, flashing in images and emotions and sometimes with a word or two scattered among them to shorthand more complex processes. To make matters worse, very few people could hold a single thought at a time. Thoughts came in a deluge, a constant barrage of wondering and problem-solving and memories and idle attention to messages from the body.
Laurence’s thoughts were no different. The jumbled weave of consciousness inside his head juggled fan-worship levels of thoughts about Neil Storm with wary curiosity about Frederick, while a brief thread of attraction swam between them, to be swamped by concern that he’d possibly already slept with and forgotten about the man in his shop. Beneath that lay a niggling worry. A recently-terminated conversation with the man by Laurence’s side, who Riley’s thoughts identified as Ethan Savage.
His interest piqued, Frederick sifted through both men’s memories of that conversation.
“How’s it going with your hot British sex god?”
“Well, he’s hot and British, but ixnay on the exsay.” Laurence sighed softly and headed out from behind the counter to fiddle with the flowers on display.
“Still no dice?” Ethan hopped up and sat on the counter. “Any more ideas on those issues of his?”
Laurence shook his head. “I dunno. It’s so weird. He’s not afraid of intimacy. Like, he’ll cuddle, kiss, he’ll be so thoughtful and kind, and then—” He sucked air between his teeth. “Then it’s DEFCON 2 the moment anything gets hot and heavy.”
“So what’re we looking at?” Ethan frowned and kicked his heels against the counter stand. “You think someone’s hurt him?”
Laurence swallowed and his hands stilled against the flower pots. He didn’t like to think too much about what might have gone on, but for all Quentin’s insistence that his scars came from accidents most of them ran in lines. Some crossed over other, older injuries, which meant the previous one had healed before the new one came along. The only thing that made sense was too horrible to even think about.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, someone hurt him. Bad.”
Ethan hissed. “Fuck. You think he was raped?”
“I don’t know.” His head was swimming. He felt sick. Goddess, he’d been so caught up in helping Quentin get over his fears, but what if all he’d done was push past his wounds?
“Have you asked?”
Laurence nodded weakly. “Yeah, I have, but he insists nothing like that’s ever happened.”
“You think he could be lying?” Ethan hopped off the counter and came closer until he could rest his hand on Laurence’s back.
“No. No, he’s a really shitty liar.” Laurence laughed weakly. “Like, comically bad. Little kids lie better than he does. But—” He hesitated.
Did he have the right to discuss this with Ethan? This was Quentin’s personal business, and he might not appreciate it being aired between friends like gossip. But then Laurence wasn’t capable of working this all out alone. He’d tried. It didn’t work.
“Promise you won’t say a word,” he muttered.
“Cross my heart, dude.”
Laurence glanced toward the bead curtain, then lowered his voice. “He, uh. He kinda…” He bit his lip. “Fuck, man. He has blackouts, okay? If he gets scared, if he’s threatened, he just shuts down, and he’s forgotten all about it the next day.”
Ethan gave a low whistle. “You wanna get the hell away from that, Laur. Don’t get caught up in crazy!”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole!” He shoved Ethan square in the chest and pushed him away, and his hands balled into fists the moment there was space between them.
“Woah, hey! Chillax!” Ethan raised his hands and eyed Laurence’s fists.
Laurence huffed as he lowered his arms, and wrapped them around himself. “Prick,” he muttered.
“I deserved that.” Ethan dropped his own hands and stuffed them into his pockets. “How’d you know? Like, have you seen it?”
“Yeah.” Laurence sucked his teeth while he quickly assembled a half-truth. “He got into a fight with Dan. Dan threatened him, like sexually, and Quentin just went.” He snapped his fingers. “Next day he was like it never happened. Totally forgot the whole thing.”
“And you think he’s done this before and so whatever’s happened to him he’s blacked out on then erased, right?”
“I think so, yeah.” Laurence shook his head. “Fuck. I swear if I ever find out who it was I’ll nail their dick to a table then tear their fucking heart out through their ass.”
“Jesus,” Ethan breathed. “That’s… one hell of an image. Thanks for that.”
“Yeah,” Laurence agreed. “You’re welcome.”
Not for the first time in his adult life, Frederick became immediately grateful that his ability to maintain a poker face was put into practice every single day.
Riley looked at him. He expected something. What was it?
Frederick replayed his own entry into the shop as he tried to push aside Riley’s suspicions about Icky’s past. Those were not helpful.
Ah, yes. The florist asked a question, didn’t he?
“Mm. Answers, really.” Frederick turned from the flowers and sauntered toward the counter, and rested a hand on it once he got there. He raised his chin and met Laurence’s gaze.
He could see the cogs turning. Laurence was finally putting a name to the face in front of him.
Frederick.
Quentin’s brother, Freddy.
Laurence licked his lips and raised his head. “Only if I get some from you, too.”
2
FREDERICK
Frederick glanced to Ethan and pushed a subtle suggestion into his thoughts, weaving it around them and bolstering an urge the man already had.
“This seems like one of those private talks I keep being around for,” Ethan chuckled. “Catch you later, Laur.”
Laurence blinked and tore his gaze from Frederick just in time to wave as Ethan hurried out of the shop. “Sure, man. I’ll call you.”
The bell jangled, and then they were alone. Laurence’s thoughts revealed that his mother was working in a room behind a rather tacky bead curtain, but Frederick couldn’t hear her, and wouldn’t have known she was there unless Laurence had spared a moment on it.
Frederick would have to tread carefully. It was one thing to adjust a person’s consciousness, but another to do it while there were witnesses. He looked Laurence over while the florist did the same to him, and then he feigned a cheerful smile.
“Frederick,” he said as he offered his hand. “Although I would presume that you know who I am.”
Laurence shook it slowly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Enough to recognize, anyway.”
“Wonderful! That saves some time.” Frederick withdrew his hand and picked through Laurence’s most pressing questions. “No, Icky doesn’t know I’m here. Yes, I found you through Twitter. No, neither Father nor Nicky know you exist. Father would never lower himself to using the internet, and Nicky spends far too much time on Tinder.”
Laurence stared at him.
Freddy couldn’t be more different from Quen. He knows what Twitter and Tinder are. He uses I instead of one with strangers. His posture’s loose and relaxed. He looks like he eats decent sized meals and didn’t pick at them like a bird.
“Why’d you call him Icky?”
“Because his middle name’s Ichabod.” Frederick winked. “Were those most of the answers you wanted?”
“I guess?” Laurence rubbed his jaw with his palm. “Why’re you here?”
“That’s an easy one. You’re the first whiff of a relationship I’ve ever caught Icky within a hundred miles of. Up until now, not even a rumor. Frankly I thought his cock might have dropped off, but now here you are, and it’s already been going on a few months.” Frederick smiled idly. He knew better than t
o allow any of the knowledge he had gleaned from reading Laurence’s memories to enter the conversation. “And since the poor boy hasn’t a clue how to look out for himself, I’m here to do it for him lest you turn out to be some remarkably successful gold-digger. No offense intended,” he added. “But he’s my brother. I want to make sure he’s safe.”
“Man, you must think I’m some kinda cockroach.” Laurence crossed his arms.
“I don’t know what to think, dear boy. But Icky is heir apparent. We wouldn’t want some lout to run off with the family jewels, would we?” He chuckled.
“Okay. I’m not after his money. Is it nice going out with a guy who’s richer than me? Sure.” Riley shrugged. “But it’s kinda awful at times, too. He drops the kind of money it takes me months to earn, on things I could never afford, and sometimes that kinda sucks, you know?” Laurence looked him over. “No, you probably don’t know. But I work hard for what I’ve got, and it’s difficult to be in love with someone who’s got way more than I’ll ever have and hasn’t worked a day in his life to earn it. He does everything in his power to make me feel like a million dollars, and I can’t even afford to take him to a fancy restaurant or take the time off work so we can spend a few days on the beach together. You might think he deserves better than me. You could even be right. But I love him, and he loves me, and that’s just the way it is.”
Goodness, there was a lot to unpick there. Riley’s thoughts lined up neatly with his words, and his honesty was stark naked.
It wasn’t what Frederick had expected in the slightest. Riley’s emotions rang strong. There was shame and guilt intermingled with his love and desire, all wrapped up in pride and anger and lust and fear. That Riley loved Icky wasn’t in doubt any more.
That complicated matters.
“I can empathize with that situation,” he murmured. “It doesn’t take shared circumstances to have an understanding of what it must be like to see someone else receive — for free — all the things which you yourself could not possibly attain no matter how much effort you put in.”
Laurence blinked at him then dipped his head. “Thanks, man.”
“No, thank you. You have no reason to be so honest with a stranger.” Frederick flickered a brief smile. “I have answers. Your turn.”
He braced himself. Laurence’s thoughts were pulling together tightly, heating with anger and tempered only by a desire not to alienate Frederick right away.
He didn’t know the answers to Laurence’s questions. Good God, he didn’t even like that Laurence had such questions. The boy was smart. He’d assembled fragments of clues, hints of information, and he’d achieved suspicions close to Frederick’s own in a matter of months when it had taken Frederick years to reach the same conclusions.
Admittedly it was much harder to face such logic when it was one’s own family involved in events.
“Quentin says that he was accident-prone as a kid.” Laurence lifted his chin and met Frederick’s gaze. “Do you remember any of the accidents?”
“Ah.” Frederick idly tapped his fingers against the counter top. He glanced toward the door to be sure of his composure. At least Laurence had done him the courtesy of beginning gently rather than launching in with accusations. “If you are asking whether I was present, then yes. For a few. But we did not really play together as friends when we were children. Quentin is not, ah…” He winced. “Academically accomplished,” he said with care, “and so we had very little to talk about together as we grew up.”
“You’re saying you’re smart and he’s dumb.” Laurence’s surge of irritation flooded up against Frederick’s defenses.
“Oddly, no.” He looked back to Laurence as he shook his head. “It’s a common misconception. He’s simply a kinesthetic learner, where as I am more suited to memorizing data. Academia rewards those who can file away facts and recite them in examinations. Icky’s a bright fellow, but he likes to get his hands involved. He’s also an introvert, and people do like to mistake withdrawn for unintelligent.” He waved a hand vaguely. “But where he enjoys music, horse riding, and climbing trees, I vastly prefer to settle down with a book, discuss philosophy, or head off to lectures. It makes for very stilted conversation.”
“Oh.” A ripple of sheepish embarrassment washed Laurence’s annoyance away. “Sorry.”
“It’s quite all right.” He chuckled softly. “We are both here to protect him. It no doubt puts us both a little on edge, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah.” Laurence rubbed his jaw. “Okay, so you do remember some of the accidents though? Like, he says one time you hit him with a car or something?”
It would be best to play the part of a man who couldn’t read Laurence’s intent at this juncture, so he groaned. “Honestly, he’s never going to let me forget that. I had only been behind the wheel for half an hour. Have you ever driven a manual?”
“A manual… oh, you mean a stick shift?”
“Ah, yes. One of those. Manual transmission.” He clicked his tongue. “Not bloody easy when you’ve never done it before, and Icky comes charging out of the house while I’m trying to reverse the thing. Only dinged him a little. My God, the fuss though! Almost cost the chauffeur his job!”
Laurence stared at him.
“I was fifteen.” Frederick coughed into his hand as he explained. “It was private property, so there was nothing illegal about it, but it did make it rather tricky to see another fifteen year old darting across the back of a Rolls. Anyway, just some gravel rash. Nothing broken. Didn’t learn a bloody thing, though. Managed to get himself run over on his eighteenth birthday.”
Laurence shifted his weight as he listened. “But not by you?”
“Oh, no.” Frederick shook his head. “We’re a day apart, and by then I was well and truly away at College, getting rat-arsed all week in celebration, as you do when you’re away from home and turning eighteen.” He laughed briefly. “Alas I only heard about it after, when Mother called to tell me the news.” He sighed a little at that and glanced away again. “Rather more serious than when I bumped him over, too. Broke something. An arm, I think. Or ribs. God, I don’t know. Isn’t that horrible?” He pinched at the bridge of his nose. “He’s had so many bumps and scrapes that it’s all sort of jumbled together.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” Laurence grimaced at him. “I gotta admit it looks kinda weird from the outside. You know that, right?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t deny it in the slightest,” Frederick agreed.
Laurence eyed him. “Have you come here to take him home?”
“He’s a grown man. He has responsibilities.” He paused. “And it is my responsibility to see if I cannot persuade him to face his future with some bloody spine in him. But I am not going to take him anywhere. I would simply like to see him stand still for five minutes rather than sprint off at the hint of anything he deems troublesome.” He gazed at Laurence in an unspoken challenge. “I do hope that you aren’t about to tell me that Icky doesn’t do any such thing.”
Laurence rocked his jaw.
It’s true. Quentin runs from his problems. He sticks his head in the sand or he packs up and runs away. He stood up to Jack and refused to be cowed by a god, then stammers at any mention of his own father.
Frederick blinked briefly. He had no idea who this Jack was, but was Laurence serious when he thought the man was a god?
“No,” Laurence sighed. “I’m not gonna say that.”
Frederick’s curiosity had to wait. He was here for two things, and the first was already achieved.
Laurence was no gold-digger. Certainly the idea of wealth appealed to him, and perhaps it had even formed a part of his initial attraction to Icky, but now? Now the boy was ready to tear apart anyone who harmed Quentin, with his bare hands if necessary.
Frederick nodded. “As to why I am here, in this shop, speaking with you?” He shook his head a little. “Because I imagine that he would not take kindly to seeing me without warning. He would likely assume that Fa
ther has sent me to fetch him, and then he’d run off again. Please, Mr. Riley, if you would do me the kindness of asking him if he will speak with me, I shall be in your debt.”
“You want a meeting?” Laurence’s eyebrows climbed until they met his hanging curls.
He inclined his head. “Yes.”
“When?”
“At his earliest convenience. I have a suite at the Hotel Palomar. It isn’t terribly far from here, on Fifth Avenue.”
Laurence nodded. “Yeah, I know it.”
Frederick smiled and offered his hand. “I shall be there all evening. If you cannot persuade him to stop by I shall be disappointed, but I will understand completely.”
Laurence took his hand and shook it. “I’ll ask him. You don’t mind if I come with him, right?”
“No.” He smiled. “I was rather hoping that you would, actually. It might be the difference between him coming or staying away altogether.”
“Okay.” Laurence returned the smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s all I ask.”
The second goal achieved, Frederick excused himself and made his way from the shop as quickly as he was able without arousing suspicion.
If Laurence was correct, it confirmed the very worst of Frederick’s own suspicions, but could not possibly answer Frederick’s most pressing question.
Why?
Why would their father harm Quentin?
And that led onto a more sickening thought which Frederick felt horrendous for even allowing into his head.
Why Quentin, and not me?
He returned to the limousine and ensconced himself well within its cocoon-like interior before he gave his face permission to relax.
3
FREDERICK
All he could do now was wait. If Laurence convinced Icky to show his face they would be able to talk, but if not then Frederick had nothing more that he could do.
In theory.
Remaining rudderless was not his style. No, it wouldn’t do. Not now that he’d taken a peek into Laurence’s skull and found far more than he had bargained for. He could feel the beginnings of a plan aligning themselves, butting and parting as they tried to work out how best to assemble. It was audacious. Terrible, but tremendously rewarding if it could find a way to function.
Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4) Page 2
