by H. M. Wolfe
Ronan Parker checked the map once again. It was, in his opinion, better than any GPS. He was comparing the coordinates with the directions his boss, Theodore Van Houten-Bloom, had given him the day before. The man was new at Stark-Van Houten, but he'd already earned the respect of the two brothers and their uncle, who was permanently in the field.
Hugo, the oldest of the two Van Houtens, even joked that his uncle Tyler had an office allergy and that they were shamelessly taking advantage of it. The rest of the team was formed from young and very young people. They were enthusiastic and with a lot of potentials, permanently encouraged by the bosses to exploit it.
A relaxed atmosphere, totally opposite of the firm in Seattle where he'd spent, or better said wasted, five years of his life. The leading partner, Allen Flemming, was a narcissistic bastard who'd inherited his business from his late father. Unlike his predecessor, who had the same attitude as the Van Houten-Bloom brothers, the current senior partner was belittling the employees, stealing their ideas, and taking credits for the others' hard work.
Many of those working there stayed out of loyalty to the father, hoping that one day he would return and retake the reins of the firm. It was only wishful thinking, of course, because the man had perished in the same fire that claimed Ronan's uncle's life. Or so he thought, because one day, he came to work and found everyone celebrating at the news that the real boss, how they were calling Tyler, was back.
Anyway, their happiness was short-lived. Because the man, crushed by sorrow and pain at the news of his younger son's death, had given up on his life in Seattle. He'd then taken off for some unknown destination. Some of the oldest employees, who'd been there since the firm had started, thirty-something years earlier, were whispering that his heartless brother had abandoned the boy. That he was alone, in an unknown city, and his father was looking for him.
That was more than three years before. Since then, the situation had gone from bad to worse. For some twisted reason, Allen was targeting Ronan, blaming him for his own uninspired decisions and poor choices. At least, until one day, he'd had enough and resigned, taking the bastard by surprise. He just didn't have any time and energy to waste in endless, pointless fights.
His last girlfriend, the one he'd hoped to marry, had dumped him the month before. With him having nothing to keep him in Seattle, Ronan searched for a job outside the city. That search, a few email exchanges, and a trip to New York City later, he'd been hired by one of the most reputable architecture offices in the city.
And here he was, standing before the house of the client. Said client was a casino owner who also ran a foundation that helped children in dire situations. His palms were sweating as he was waiting to meet the guy. In spite of Theodore assuring him that the man was super-easy to work with, Ronan's guts told him there was something about the client, but he couldn't point out exactly what. Finally, when the door opened, the architect had confirmation of his suspicions: the other man was trouble.
T
he guy, who appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties, was standing in the doorway, shirtless. His sculptured torso was offering a pleasant view, with the chest covered in a slight dusting of fine hair, and the muscles discreetly dancing under the perfectly tanned skin. The man's arms were also muscular, without the bulges professional bodybuilders were so praised for, but which Ronan found repulsive.
That torso alone could drive any woman insane, not to mention the stunning, turquoise eyes that were staring at him and the charming smile gracing that beautiful face. The man was a work of art from head to toe, including the neatly trimmed facial hair.
''It must be very soft to the touch,'' Ronan thought, only to admonish himself a second later. ''Get a hold of yourself, buddy, are you crazy? Since when do you look at a man, thinking he's sexy? For...''
''Excuse me, are you alright?'' the deep voice with rich inflections got to him. ''You rang at my door asking for help? Are you ill or something?''
''No, I'm an architect,'' Ronan tried a joke, ''and I”m looking for my client. A gentleman named Ardan MacNamara.''
''Oh, you must be the new guy Theodore told me about. Please, come inside.'' he gestured past the door. ''I'm the one you are looking for, but I don't know about the gentleman part. My enemies would probably tell you I'm a psychotic bastard, while my friends would describe me as a nice fella.''
''Don't mind this guy. He doesn't have any enemies. He's killed them all.'' a boy's voice spoke from the kitchen, making Ardan shake his head in amusement. ''That leaves us with the nice fella version, which is far from the truth, as our resident rescuer here is the sweetest. Plus, he makes the tastiest sandwiches on Earth.''
''Stuffing our face again, are we? Enjoy.'' the master of the house ruffled Peyton's hair, as he guided a baffled Ronan into the living-room.
''They are for the little ones and for your guest, who must be already terrified by the level of insanity he's already witnessed.'' they grinned. ''Peyton Bloom-Hunter, nice to meet you.''
''Ronan Parker, likewise.'' the newcomer smiled, lightly squeezing the hand extended in his direction. ''Is this the first one?'' he gestured to the baby bump that had started to become more noticeable by the day.
''No, the second one.'' the answer came in a soft, but proud voice. ''Christopher-Benjamin is in the nursery playing with his cousin and their friends.''
''As an only child, I always dreamed of having a big family.'' Ronan spoke dreamily, ''But I guess it wasn't meant to be. Some of the girls I've dated have freaked out at the idea, and the ones who wanted to start a family dumped me...because...well...apparently, I'm unable to maintain a relationship.''
''Don't worry. Your soulmate is out there, waiting for you. And there are a lot of sweet, innocent souls in need of affection.'' Peyton leaned in, touching the other man's arm, only to flinch away, gasping in shock. ''Oh, almighty, bearded gods! Ardan, look!'' they pointed at Ronan.
''What's wrong?'' the man stepped into the room, carrying the plans to the base. ''Oh, goodness!'' he also exclaimed, eyes widened. ''The resemblance is remarkable, indeed.'' the master of the house nodded in approval.
''Would you care to explain to me what's happened? The two of you act like you've seen a ghost. And that it is most likely because of my appearance. Am I right?''
With a serene expression on his face, Ardan started telling his guest about the man who'd brought light into his dark existence. Who was giving it meaning and making him feel wanted and cherished? The host made no efforts to hide his sexual orientation because that would have meant keeping the love between him and Alasdair hidden, and that was the last thing he wanted.
According to Ardan, there was an uncanny resemblance between his husband and Ronan. Who wasn't so shocked at the news. His mother told him from a very young age that her life partner couldn't stand the sight of him. That being the reason why he'd walked away. The guilt and shame were so ingrained into the man's conscience that he considered himself ugly. He was always wondering what girls found attractive in him.
Making tremendous efforts, Ronan pushed the evil thoughts and memories into the back of his mind, focusing on the plans in front of him. Examining the layout of the buildings and space between them, he offered suggestions on how to turn some of the empty, useless areas in playgrounds, making Ardan grin.
''Shame on me.'' the man said. ''I was always thinking about new ways to enhance the children's level of comfort. I wanted to enlarge the rooms, incorporating individual bathrooms, and installing a better, more effective central heating system. But I was overlooking what was essential.''
''Maybe because you were deprived of all those things as a child,'' Ronan said in a melancholic voice. ''I, on the other hand, had food on the table, tasteless as it was and clothes to keep me warm, but I desperately wanted to play outdoors. My mother only rarely allowed me to go to the park, and even then, she kept me on a very short leash.''
''Why was that? No child should be punished that way.'' Peyton compassionately spok
e, a veil of sadness clouding their vision. ''They shouldn't be punished at all, only loved, hugged, kissed and tickled, of course. A lot of tickles.''
They'd just fallen silent when the room was filled with the sound of crystalline children's laughter. Three boys and a girl, none of them older than three, four at the most, came running in, stopping where the three of them were sitting. The little boys surrounded Peyton, caressing their belly with their small, plumpy hands, while the girl claimed Ardan, climbing into his lap.
The two of them started to have a conversation about the girl's wish of being a prince and riding a dragon. She had an adorable pronunciation of the word that came out as Dargon, but the man didn't make any efforts to correct her. He agreed with the little one's wish to be a prince but advised her to wait a bit more before starting to ride the Dargon.
The three little boys were quiet now. They were listening to the baby's heartbeat, concentrating, their little noses scrunched, foreheads creased. After spending about a minute in the same, waiting position, two of them, probably twins, Ronan thought, raised their heads. They had the brightest of smiles spread on their cute, angelic faces.
They started to caress Peyton's belly again, cooing at it, while serenity wrapped them like a comfortable cocoon. There was only them and the baby growing inside their tiny womb. It was a small, but a perfectly healthy little girl, just like her older brother. They smiled down at the bump, running their small hand up and down on it.
The family picture, so peaceful, brought tears to Ronan's eyes. He wanted to leave his seat, not wanting to disrupt the harmony in the room with his inopportune presence, but Ardan noticed it. With a discreet gesture and a somewhat pleading look, the man asked him to stay. So he took a sheet of paper from the sketch pad and started to sketch one of the playgrounds in what was going to be the base's recreation area.
With the young, innocent children in mind, Ronan couldn't stop drawing. One idea followed another. Connecting his brain with his heart, the architect put his knowledge of landscaping to good use, the details filling the page. The final result was amazing, but then, the most challenging part came. Estimating the costs and getting the client's approval.
Ronan filled a page in his slightly feminine handwriting, justifying every cent that was going to be spent. Then, together with the plan, handed it to Ardan, who took them. He examined the designs with great attention, a hard to decipher expression in his turquoise eyes.
After taking a quick look at the estimative costs, he wrote something on the piece of paper, giving it to Ronan, who stared at it in disbelief at the three words: Go for it.
''Dad, I want to ask your advice on something serious,'' Alasdair started, running a hand over his face, ''a thing that could considerably damage my relationship with Ardan, to the point of ending our marriage.''
''Nothing makes me happier than my son turning to me for advice.'' Tyler sighed. ''But not in these circumstances. Tell me, my little Spitfire, what's bothering you?''
''For the first time since I've known him, I'm keeping things hidden from my husband. It kills me, but there's no other way. I wish it weren't this way, I swear.'' Alasdair let out a broken whisper.
''You're right. This is a grave matter.'' Tyler softly spoke, petting the top of his son's head. ''Why don't you start at the very beginning?''
''Very long story short: Cian, Ardan's son who's lived with his mother in Brisbane, is very sick. As in the terminally ill. According to Uncle Rayne, the poor kid suffers from premature aging of the heart, and there is no cure for it.''
''So, correct me if I'm wrong,'' Tyler spoke again, his voice dripping sadness. ''A father is reunited with his son after sixteen years of separation. Said son is dying, and you want to rob the father of the short time the two of them have left.'
''No, on the contrary.'' Alasdair looked into the other man's eyes. They were a reflexion of his own. ''I don't want him to suffer at the thought that his child is fading away and...''
''Listen to me, Spitfire.'' his father cut the redhead short. ''Your husband will suffer anyway. But, if you tell him, he'll seek solace with you in his darker times, and your bond will become even tighter. It won't happen overnight, but in the end, his heart will heal. I know what I'm talking about. I went through that pain once, not being able to see my child for the last time. Unable to spend at least a few minutes in his company...'' Tyler's voice broke, and he fell silent.
''Dad, I'm here, alive and well. Why are you hurting over the lies of that heartless man?'' Alasdair took his father's hand between his own, lightly caressing it.
''That was the second time I went through that hell. The first was when your mother and I lost your brother. Our precious baby boy. Our Ronan.''
''Y
ou and mom...I had a brother named Ronan?'' Alasdair managed to articulate after a short pause. ''What happened to him?''
''Everything was alright throughout the pregnancy.'' Tyler started to bring back painful memories. ''We both knew way more things than when your mother was pregnant with Allen. Being a doctor also helped a lot, and she got tested for every possible genetic condition. We would have kept the baby anyway. We only wanted to know what we were getting into.''
''If the results came back good? What was wrong? How did he...'' Alasdair cut himself short, not wanting to add to his father's pain.
''I don't know.'' the answer came in a broken voice. ''Of course, the first thing we did was to start asking questions. Then things started moving, but then all of a sudden, the investigation stopped, and we carried on with our life. It was better that way, I think.''
''Wait a minute! How did they close the investigation without discovering the person responsible for it?''
''The doctor in charge of delivery, Myra Parker, had an outstanding professional reputation. They suspected her, of course, but the entire team said she followed all the steps of the delivery procedure. When we insisted on finding out the truth, the hospital management discreetly suggested to us that we forget about it. Otherwise, they would have sued us for harassment.''
''Bastards!'' Alasdair hissed through clenched teeth. But then he stopped, realizing that his burst of anger would reopen the wounds in his father's heart. Instead, he looked at the man in the eyes. ''Dad? Why didn't you and mom tell me about...Ronan? Was bringing up the subject still so painful to you, after all those years?''
''As I mentioned earlier, when we talked about you telling Ardan or not telling him about his son's condition, we found solace in one another's arms. Then when everything became less painful, we decided to try again. That's when you came into our life like a bright ray of light, and we didn't want you to see yourself as a replacement for your dead brother. Plus, the subject made Allen uncomfortable.''
''I bet it did.'' Alasdair huffed. ''Not being the center of attention was inconceivable for him.''
''It wasn't like that. He was just four at the time and a sweet child who clung to us whenever he saw us sad.'' Tyler recalled his voice, a mixture of sadness and affection.
The younger man doubted his brother had manifested empathy even as a young child but preferred to keep it to himself. Hugging his father, he thanked him for advice, promising he would talk to Ardan after dinner. He then climbed into his car to drive back to headquarters, as the little residential complex, forming around the base was called.
As he was sitting behind the wheel, Alasdair let his thoughts wander. This time, however, they weren't centered around his husband or Cian's dire situation, as they should have been, but focused on the story his father had just told him. The more he thought of it, the stranger some things appeared and the more holes he discovered. Something was definitely wrong there; the redhead would bet his life on it.
Busy as he was analyzing the information he had from all angles, Alasdair didn't notice how time flew, until he parked the car in the driveway. He spotted Ardan's car, then remembered the man had messaged him about Landon and Carlin giving him a ride. Sighing, the redhead didn't know what was bett
er, his husband being at home already or still at work.
As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, intending to pour himself a glass of orange juice, Alasdair had the answer to the question. It was just then the heavenly smell of homecooked food hit his nostrils, making them flare. The sight of Ardan's jeans-clad ass and bare, sculptured back made him salivate as much as the thought of the delicious food.
''Am I not the luckiest bastard alive? To come home to this wonderful man cooking dinner for me?'' Alasdair started a mischievous look in his eyes.
''I can hear your thoughts from here, and also, I see that grin on your face even with my back turned.'' Ardan's amused reply came, as he was checking the oven, humming in satisfaction. ''Everything is just fine here, at least for the time being.'' he headed to Alasdair, hugging him. ''Welcome home, babe.''
''Is it a special occasion? Are we expecting guests, or do you just want to impress me with your culinary talents? Because one thing is for sure, you've outdone yourself.'' the redhead caressed his husband's cheek, lightly kissing it.
