No more of that. I needed to focus on the moment. Test be damned. Have a good meal, go to Seth’s and have killer sex, and turn off my goddamn brain already. I smiled into his handsome face, forcing some of the genuine affection I felt for him to rise to the surface. “I’ll fill you in on a secret.”
He leaned across the table, his face drawing closer to mine. “Yeah? I do like secrets.”
“I talked to Charlie earlier today. There was a problem with one of his produce orders. During the conversation, he mentioned he was heading out of town for the weekend.”
“You knew the fucker wasn’t going to be here this evening before you dragged me here.” Seth grinned. “So you must love me.” His smile vanished instantly as his eyes widened. “Uhm… I mean….”
Seth never looked panicked, never appeared to be anything other than the smooth, confident man he was. Yep, failing every test there was, even ones I hadn’t set up.
“Hey, Micah!”
For a heartbeat, I thought the new voice was my salvation—Seth’s and my salvation. Until I looked up and saw Moses’s smiling face.
My blood ran cold, my gaze traveled over his shoulder, and I saw Connor’s wide-eyed, horrified expression. And then my blood heated, boiling through my veins and frying any possible synapse that could locate a way out of the situation. Without meaning to, I pulled my hand away from Seth’s, looked back at Moses, and forced a smile of my own. “Hey, kid. Didn’t spend enough time with the cilantro this morning? You come to get your revenge?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Nah. I hate cilantro. Tastes like soap.”
That was exactly what his uncle had always said as well.
Moses’s gaze traveled to where Seth’s and my hands were now a few inches apart on the tabletop. His nerves seemed to increase. I could sense the longing there. I might resent him being in Lavender Shores, but my heart broke for him. Even after so many months of him in town, I was willing to bet he still hadn’t come close to allowing himself more than crushing on another guy from afar. One more piece of evidence that my place of religion was superior to the one Moses’s parents had forced upon him.
Connor placed a hand on Moses’s shoulder, seeming to have gotten himself under control. He avoided looking at me and turned to Seth. “Good to see you. Been a while.”
“Yeah. You haven’t dropped by to see me at the bar in a while.”
Connor’s lips tightened, but he gave a slight nod toward Moses. “Well, life’s been a little busy lately. With work… and all.”
Yeah, that was the reason he’d avoided Seth.
A teenage girl in a maroon Charlie’s Tavern T-shirt stepped up beside Connor and gave a wistful glance at Moses. I was willing to bet she was in the same class as him. Surely she knew she had to be barking up the wrong tree. Not that I could blame her. I’d spent my entire life barking up the wrong tree. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized I’d lost you.” She motioned behind her. “Do you still want me to take you to your table, or do you want to join your friends here?”
Connor’s panicked expression returned. It would look comical to anyone else, such a huge, muscle-bound, tattooed, rugged man looking scared at the prospect of sitting down at a booth with his brother and his brother’s boyfriend. But I’d seen that exact expression too many times throughout the years to find anything funny about it.
Before Connor could say anything, Moses, still looking at the place where Seth and my hands sat so close together, nodded. “That would be great.” His gaze lifted to mine, and I could see the longing there. As well as the shadow of fear at wanting to be close to such a display. “That is, of course, if you don’t mind.”
“We can’t.” Connor’s tone matched his expression, causing Moses to turn toward him in confusion. Connor cleared his throat and tried again. “They’re on a date. We should give them space.”
“Actually, why don’t you join us?” Seth spoke up from across the table. I had almost forgotten he was there. I turned to look at him. As he spoke, his gaze held steady to mine. “I insist. Micah and I would love to have you guys eat with us. We just ordered a few minutes ago, so it’s perfect timing.” Unless I was reading too much into things, it seemed I wasn’t the only one doing tests over dinner.
“Great.” Moses slid into the booth next to me.
Connor hesitated, looking like he was debating whether he should run or vomit. After a few awkward seconds, he sat next to Seth. The server, her attention still focused on Moses, placed the menus and two new place settings on the table.
I allowed myself one quick glance at Connor. And for once, I couldn’t nail down exactly what he was feeling. Although, from the tumult raging behind his hazel eyes, I doubted there were too many emotions he wasn’t experiencing at the moment.
That made two of us.
Seth grasped my hand once more, linking his fingers with mine.
I flinched, but forced myself to smile over at him.
He studied me for a second, returned my smile, and then focused on Moses. “So, how has Lavender Shores been treating you?”
Two
Connor
I knew I was breaking a Lavender Shores edict—piling up over a pack’s worth of cigarette butts in an ashtray inside one of the downtown shops. Proving that even though I wasn’t a native, the town’s sensibilities had seeped into my blood, I felt guilty at the infringement. Ridiculous. It was my damn shop. I’d smoke in it if I wanted to. Yeah. I was so tough I had Lavender Ink’s front door open to the night air and a fan whirling at my back, making certain there wouldn’t be a trace of smoke by the time we opened in the morning.
The nicotine buzz helped. Kind of. While it provided my brain that familiar pleasant sense of relief, it also made me anxious. Considering it was long past midnight, jittery was the last thing I needed. If I was smart, I’d chug some NyQuil and head to bed.
Whatever. My goddamned shop.
Retrieving my last cigarette, I flicked the lighter, and sucked in glorious nicotine.
Seeing Micah and Seth had done a number on me. No, not just seeing them, eating with them. Sitting with them on their fucking date and eating with them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But that had been preferable to this moment. Sitting alone in my tattoo parlor, picturing him across town in bed with Seth.
I really was in a dark place. As much as I loved Lavender Ink, my shop wasn’t offering any comfort. Maybe because I could see Micah everywhere I looked. Well, not actually Micah, but constant reminders that this wasn’t a typical tattoo parlor. The entire thing was evidence of his influence. His and the rest of our family. This was Lavender Shores, and Lavender Ink was owned by a member of a founding family. A Bryant by right, if not by name.
Lavender Ink would pass for a luxury spa to a visitor walking in, at least until they saw the tattoo guns and equipment. All the tattoo designs on the walls were drawn in thick ink on cream parchment and bordered in museum-quality frames. The space was clean and sleek. Trendy industrial lighting, complete with Edison bulbs and large planters of bamboos towering nearly to the top of the twelve-foot ceilings. It practically screamed bottle service. Champagne service.
It all blended perfectly into the aesthetic of the town. Better than I had.
Lavender Shores was never meant to have a tattoo parlor, but now that it did, it seemed a natural fit. Almost.
Lavender Shores was never meant for a Clark either, but now, I seemed to fit. Almost.
I fit too well. So well that I could only have part of what I longed for. I cast another glance around my perfect little shop. I had to learn to be content with what I had. Needed to be thankful for it and push all other desires aside.
Since Micah had returned, Lavender Ink was the only sanctuary I had left, although even my shop didn’t provide too much relief. At least when Micah had lived in New York, I didn’t have to worry about him coming in. I could walk the streets in town and not run into him. I could be with our family and not have to wonder if they n
oticed the looks passing between us, marvel that they couldn’t feel my ache for my youngest brother. But at least, with him near, my mind didn’t spend hours making up what he might be doing in some far-off city. Who he might be doing. No, with him at home for the past several years, there was no guesswork. I always knew exactly who it was. That trade-off sucked.
It seemed my biological father’s taunts toward me as a child had proven true. I was weak, I was sensitive, I wasn’t a man. At least my nineteen years in Lavender Shores had made his last accusation fade. Fully and completely. I held no such expectations on gender anymore. But the rest? The rest was true. I was weak, in every sense of the word except the physical.
I was so weak I couldn’t admit to the world that I loved Micah Bryant. I couldn’t reach out and have what was already mine. It really was the definition of weakness. When something was truly and completely yours and you were still too much of a coward to simply say yes.
My weakness was so great that I couldn’t make myself stop loving Micah. The one thing I should do, the thing that would be right for both of us, the thing I had been trying to do for what seemed like forever, was the most impossible thing in the world.
The cigarette burned down to the filter. I glanced at my cell. It was well past two in the morning. Good God. I’d sat there for hours wallowing in self-pity. Ridiculous. And unprofessional. I had two three-hour sessions coming up, the first one at 9:00 a.m. The last thing my clients needed was an exhausted tattoo artist with shaky hands.
Enough of this. I stood, deciding to head upstairs, but my Lavender Shores and founding family sensibilities got the better of me. I retrieved a can of air freshener and sprayed at least half the bottle, letting the fan and the cleansing night air erase my guilt. If the other tattoo artists smelled smoke, they’d give me shit for not allowing them to light up anywhere other than the back alley.
Finally satisfied my sins had been obliterated, I locked up, sparing a glance at my station in the front corner by the window, looking out at the street. The thought of sitting there working in a few hours sounded like torture.
I nearly texted the clients to cancel. I didn’t. I deserved the torture. After all, that was what I’d been doing to myself the past few hours. It wasn’t their fault I was a hot mess.
Turning away, I headed up the stairs to my apartment. I shut the door gently and tiptoed across the kitchen, careful to keep from waking Moses. I cursed myself for not having had the foresight to open the pullout sofa before I’d snuck out of the apartment. The thing squeaked. The kid didn’t deserve to be woken up after his first full day of work because his uncle was a moron. Whatever. I’d sleep on the couch. It wasn’t that much less comfortable anyway.
The whiskey in the liquor cabinet whispered to me. Better than NyQuil. Better than lying on the couch picturing what was happening in Micah’s bedroom.
With a sigh, I mentally told the whiskey bottle to shut the fuck up. We had ended our relationship eleven months ago when Moses walked through the front doors of Lavender Ink. Casting an annoyed glance at the couch, I remembered my cigarette stash and another pack where I kept them with the mail, and then slid open the door leading out to the balcony.
A soft moan cut through the apartment as I began to shut the door, and I paused, listening. No other sound came for a few moments. Maybe it was going to be an okay night. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I heard another moan, followed by a sharp intake of breath, then a whimper. I glanced at the clock—3:00 a.m. It wasn’t every night, but most nights. Always at 3:00 a.m., nearly on the dot.
I reentered the apartment, shut the glass door behind me, and tossed the cigarettes on the couch. I hurried down the hall, then paused outside my old bedroom door, hoping maybe I’d been wrong. That it was just a momentary thing and peace would return.
Another cry, sharper this time washed that hope away. Not bothering to knock, I pushed open the door, walked across the room, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Moses’s hair was damp, and his face, which so resembled my own, was twisted in pain, eyebrows knitted, nostrils flared, top lip curled in a snarl over his teeth. The sheets were twisted around him, the edges pulled from under the mattress. Maybe the dreams had come earlier than usual and I hadn’t been there to help.
“Moses.” I gripped his T-shirt-clad shoulder and gave a little shake. “Wake up, buddy. You’re okay.”
Another whimper, and he flinched in his sleep, pulling away from my touch.
I tried again. Louder this time. “Moses.”
His grimace tightened, he sucked in a breath, and then his eyes opened. Blinking rapidly he looked around the room and found me, instantly relaxing. No sooner had the relief crossed his face than shame followed. “Crap. I did it again.”
I touched him once more, lightly on the shoulder, long enough to ground him, brief enough to keep from invading his space. “Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You gotta stop apologizing for this. We talked about that. I told you, I had the same thing, for years. Sometimes still do.” If only those were platitudes. “Sit up. It helps.”
He hesitated but then sat up and scooted back on the bed so he leaned against the headboard. He pulled the sheets and comforter up to him, gripping them at his chest, no doubt not even realizing what he was doing.
“Want to tell me what you were dreaming this time?”
“I’m not sure.” Moses shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
I didn’t know if he meant he couldn’t remember the dream or if he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell me. From experience, I knew it could be both. I didn’t push. Instead we sat there in the quiet darkness. His breathing returned to normal after a little bit longer. His grip on the sheets relaxed, and he lowered his hands to his lap.
“What’s your poison tonight? Guardians of the Galaxy?” I grinned at him, though I wasn’t sure he could see me in what little light there was. “Or do you want to go old-school, watch my favorite when I was a kid. The original Spider-Man with Tobey Maguire?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I still don’t get how you like Spider-Man. Better than Aquaman, I suppose, but still.”
“Come on, Aquaman was pretty hot.”
He flinched, then gave an uncomfortable laugh.
Probably not the best time to try to normalize that sort of talk. I wished I was better at this uncle or father role, whatever it was. “How about we split the difference and see Paul Rudd in Ant-Man.”
Moses grinned, a flash of a childlike expression his older-than-seventeen face didn’t normally display. It faded quickly, and he shook his head. “Not tonight. It helps, but I was so tired this morning I slept in and was late to work.” He looked hopeful again, but his tone suggested he worried he was asking too much. “I have Monday off. Maybe we could do a superhero marathon or something?”
I had a couple of appointments on Monday, but those I would reschedule. “You bet. But only if there’s pizza.”
Another smile, never a full one, never to his eyes.
I patted his blanket-covered knee but didn’t make eye contact, not wanting to push. “We can talk about anything you want, Moses. You know I went through similar stuff with your grandpa as you did with your dad.” Mom’s pleading echoed in my mind, and I dared to push a little further. “And you know Donovan would love to talk with you. He’s helped Gilbert a lot.”
Though he didn’t speak, Moses’s fists clenched the sheets and began to pull them up toward his chest again.
I backpedaled quickly. “There’s no pressure. But he’s there if you decide you want to talk to him. In the meantime, there are always superheroes and pizza.” I forced a smile. “Did you find any time today to work on your Wolverine drawing?”
He shook his head. “No, but I was looking at some of the sketches downstairs you did for that guy who wanted a tattoo of the Grim Reaper. A little cliché of a tattoo maybe, but I really like what you did with the skull. I actually think I want to focus on some of the skelet
al work for a bit.”
“Good choice. Getting that structural foundation will help you in everything you do.” This was the one area we could talk about for hours. Everything else faded away, all the tension of our pasts; the gaps from not even knowing my nephew existed to having him live with me seemed to fade when we talked about drawing. I could swear it was like living with my teenage self. He looked like me, not quite as tall as I had been, but skinny and lanky. Chances were high he’d start to fill out in the next couple of years, like I had. In that sense, both of us were late bloomers. And the kid’s drawings? They were nothing short of inspired. However, mine had always taken a darker turn, or were simply designs and patterns. Moses drew superhero after superhero, ones that were mainstream and ones of his own creation.
Now that the conversation had turned to drawing, I knew the rest of the night would be fine for him. I stood up from his bed and motioned toward the living room with my chin. “If you have trouble sleeping, just come on out and turn on the TV. I don’t feel like I’ll be getting much rest tonight anyway.”
“I’m gonna try to sleep, but thanks.” As he spoke, Moses’s voice got that hesitant sound it acquired every time he asked for anything at all. “I set my alarm, but would you mind making sure I’m actually awake before you head downstairs? I can’t be late two days in a row.”
“Of course, kid. I should’ve done that this morning.” Such things still weren’t second nature. I headed toward the bedroom door. “Sleep tight.” I started to remind him I was on the other side of the wall if he needed me, but despite our similarities, despite the dreams, he was seventeen. I needed to treat him like that. Let him know I didn’t see him as a little kid. The Bryants had rescued me when I was thirteen, and Mom had done a good job of treating me like a teenager while allowing me some of the first tastes of childhood I’d had. Moses hadn’t been that lucky.
The Hideaway (Lavender Shores Book 5) Page 3
