by Jodi Payne
He set up the Keurig and waited for his mediocre but still caffeinated cup of coffee to brew, and checked the weather on his phone. It was getting colder and colder as winter set in for real.
There was a text waiting for him too. From Sam.
Thomas hadn’t known Sam could send unsolicited texts.
Hey. Can I call when ur not busy?
Thomas read the text twice, dissecting it a million different ways. “When ur not busy” could be code for “I need to talk to you right this very second but I would never admit that.” Or it could mean Sam had bad news. For example, he could have decided he was going back to Texas after all, and “when you’re not busy” could mean “I’m already at the airport.”
“I got my head stuck in the medicine cabinet” also came to mind, as did “I’m in jail.” He grabbed his coffee and hurried back to his office.
Just please don’t be bleeding to death somewhere.
That wasn’t actually funny.
He dialed as soon as he stepped over the threshold, closing his office door behind him.
Sam picked up on the first ring. “Hey.”
Calm. Don’t ask him if his arm is stuck in the garbage disposal. Breathe. “Hey there, it’s nice to hear from you.”
I hope.
“Thanks for calling. I just…I wanted to…I mean, I wanted to hear your voice and stuff.”
And stuff.
All right. Something was up. Something Sam wasn’t able to articulate at the moment but thought he could help with. Right? He’d try that route. “Take a deep breath, sweetheart. I’m listening. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m looking at the view from the bedroom here.” Sam’s voice was husky, raw. “I didn’t want to bother you, but…I was hoping you had a second.”
He’s upset. He’s upset and he reached out to me.
He’d gotten through, and Sam trusted him. He swallowed back the pride and focused on his sub. “I do, as a matter of fact. I was just getting some coffee. It’s a great view, isn’t it? Of the square? Is today the first time you’ve seen it?”
“Yeah.” There was a wealth of emotion in that single syllable, all these feelings that Sam seemed to be unable to verbalize. Thomas was beginning to understand that had nothing to do with him, that Sam was willing to share if he asked the right questions.
“I can only imagine how difficult being in that room has got to be for you. What have you done so far?”
“Not a whole hell of a lot, but I made it in. Can…do you have plans later?”
He set his coffee cup down on his desk before he dropped it. “Do you have plans later?” could mean Sam had gotten into a fight with his landlord and the guy was tied up in the closet.
Or it could just mean, “Do you have plans later?”
“I don’t.” He didn’t want to ask a leading question, so he phrased his reply very carefully. “What did you have in mind?”
“I could meet you somewhere, take you to supper or to have a beer?” Sam sighed softly. “This is fucking hard, man. It smells like him in here, and I’m fixin’ to lose my mind.”
Thomas’s stomach twisted. It did smell like James. The bedding, the books, all of it. “I know just what you mean. Dinner, a beer sounds great. I can meet you anywhere—” He knew already Sam didn’t care where they went. The man just wanted out of that apartment. “Let’s try that Italian place in my neighborhood again. We’ll see if I can be more polite this time.”
That was a good place. It was quiet, the food was good, it didn’t say James everywhere they looked.
“Perfect. When? I’ll be there.”
“I can be there by…let’s say six? Will you be all right until then? Tell me the truth.”
“I’m going to go buy a carton of cigarettes, pretend to smoke them all, and meet you, huh?” Sam laughed, the sound raw. “I got this. I’ll see you at six. Thank you, huh? For calling.”
Oh, that voice. He just wanted to…make it better. He wanted to…God, talking to Sam made his fingers itch. It made his spine tingle. “Thank you for reaching out to me. It…means a lot. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
“I needed to hear your voice. See you after a while.” The line went silent.
“Bye.”
He took a deep breath. Every step forward with Sam was as heartbreaking as it was exhilarating. He looked forward to the time when they weren’t…what? Weren’t grieving? God, what a selfish thought. Weren’t dealing with demons? That day, if it ever arrived, could be a very long way off.
He would just look forward to dinner.
There was a knock at his door. “Come in?”
“Off the phone? They need you in the marketing meeting.”
He looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. I’m late.” He jumped out of his chair and let Ally lead him down the hall.
16
Thomas nodded to his doorman as he left home and pulled his collar up higher against the chilly air. Thanksgiving was less than two weeks away, and it was already this cold in the city? This did not bode well for February.
He walked quickly, motivated not just by the cold air but by his stomach, which had been growling at him for the last hour. And he was motivated by seeing Sam.
He wondered if he was allowing himself to take too much pride in Sam’s small victories—not blinking an eye at pet names, making no comment when someone referred to him as Sam’s Master, initiating contact when needed. These were all things he would expect of a sub, but honestly, for Sam, who despite all appearances didn’t officially have that moniker yet, these things weren’t that small. They were the very early manifestations of a hard-won and still tentative trust.
And God help him, every single new victory made him want. Ache. Need.
He knew that was natural with any new sub. He got a little turned-on by pride and winning, of course he did. He’d accepted that truth as one of the reasons he’d chosen this lifestyle. But when he thought about it, he really couldn’t separate his love for James as a man and his love for James as his sub. He couldn’t even say for sure which had come first. And he honestly couldn’t compartmentalize his feelings about Sam at this point either.
It was clear he needed to get a handle on what he was ready for and what he wasn’t. His slow progress with Sam at the club was perfect because it let him use his hands, let him work, let him engage that piece of his mind that didn’t know how to take a back seat to anything. But it had awakened a desire he couldn’t bear to look at head on, and his control over it was quickly slipping through his fingers.
He didn’t want to dishonor James, but he couldn’t lie either.
Dinner. Didn’t he decide he was just going to focus on dinner? His stomach growled again as he opened the door to the restaurant.
For a single agonizing second he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that James was standing at the hostess’s station, that ridiculous sheepskin coat that he wore with the strange defect on the shoulder familiar as breathing. Then he heard Sam’s laughter, darker and heartier than James’s. He could see how the coat hung on Sam, the damned thing at least two sizes too big. He could smell Old Spice and Irish Spring, not Grey Flannel and Ivory.
He didn’t speak right away. He wasn’t sure what sound was going to come out. He needed to see a different face to dispel the rest of the illusion, so instead, he took a breath and rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He managed a smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced.
“Hey, stranger.” Sam looked over at him, the circles under his eyes brutally dark, but the way Sam smiled was honest and totally unique. It was the scar, he thought, pulling the corner of Sam’s mouth the slightest bit.
“Hey there.” That was much better, even with the dark circles. He glanced at the hostess and back at Sam. “Making friends?”
“You know me, I can talk to trees.”
Uh-huh. Mr. Grunts and Clicks was positively chatty.
The hostess gave them a smile and waved them over to a table.
“Well,
you talked us into a table anyway. Nice work.” He wanted to help Sam with his coat. He should. But he couldn’t touch it. He knew what it would smell like close up. He knew how familiar it would be in his fingers. He just couldn’t do it.
Sam managed just fine, slipping it off his shoulders and setting it in the chair beside him. That hat brim stayed down to hide his face, the barometer of Sam’s mood unerring. “Thanks for agreeing to have supper with me.”
“I’m glad you called. And I’ve been looking forward to this since we spoke, so perhaps I should thank you for the lovely invitation.” His smile was genuine this time, easy to find for Sam.
That didn’t stop him from wanting wine, though. “Are you strictly a beer man, or would you like to share a bottle of wine with me?”
“I love a velvety red. One that sticks to your tongue.” There was a distant, warm smile on Sam’s face, a fondness. Both the words and the expression surprised him.
He picked up the wine list and handed it to Sam. “Sounds wonderful. You pick.” That was a nice change. James didn’t care for wine, so he’d always ordered by the glass.
“Surely.” Sam read over the list, lips pursed for a second, and nodded. “You drink Chianti? I like this one here. I had it in Austin.”
“We’re in the right place for it, right? Sounds good to me.” Sam could order wine. What a lovely surprise. He watched Sam wave someone over and order a bottle, letting his impression of Sam evolve yet again. There were worse things in the world than having to pay attention.
He grinned, trying to find a natural way to ask the questions he wanted to. “How was the carton of cigarettes?”
There was a pack in the breast pocket of Sam’s shirt, along with a lighter. Sam patted it like it was a comfort. “Only a pack and I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Don’t.” The temptation to hold out his hand and take it away from Sam was huge, but he didn’t.
“Yeah. I quit because I spent six weeks blowing up balloons.”
He shook his head. “If you don’t trust yourself, leave it on the table and I’ll take it with me later.” That was enough harping on that. Sam knew what he needed to do. “When you’re ready, whenever that is, we should make some plans to go through that room together. There’s no reason to do it alone. And you…we don’t have to pretend like it’s okay. Just have company.”
“That seems real mean, to ask that of you. Is there stuff you want? I’d let you have whatever before I mail things back to Texas.” Sam’s hat brim dipped deeper. “I only wore the coat because I don’t have one here, and…well, I just don’t have one, and it’s awful cold.”
Sam needed a new coat for Christmas. He was on it. Possibly before, he wasn’t sure he could look at that one for a month. He made no comment about the coat. What was he going to say? It looks nice? It didn’t, really. Sam swam in it.
“I don’t know what I’d want, but that’s not the point. You didn’t ask; I’m offering as a friend. If you’d prefer to do it alone, just tell me so.”
Dammit. He hadn’t meant to take that tone at all.
Sam exhaled, and Thomas saw the muscle in his jaw jump, but he didn’t answer, just thanked the waitress in a husky voice as she poured the wine.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Give us a couple-three if you would, please, ma’am.”
“I am so sorry.” Thomas picked up his glass and took a sip. “I ask for an awful lot of honesty from you, and I’m not reciprocating very well. So, the truth. I walked through that door and James was standing at that hostess station waiting for me. I’m just a little…I don’t have my balance back yet. I shouldn’t have asked a hard question in my present state of mind.”
“I would bring him back if I could.” Sam patted his hand, the touch gentle, incredibly so, like Thomas might shatter. “I’m sorry. I should have known better. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You were thinking you didn’t want to freeze your ass off, and you have every right to wear whatever you want. James would tell you you’d be a complete fool not to wear a perfectly good coat, and he’d be right. I just…” I wasn’t ready for it.
He caught Sam’s hand in his. “I want to help you with James’s room. I thought James and I were…I felt like we…” What was the matter with him? They were just words. But it felt like if he said them out loud, he was closing the door on the rest of his life. “I don’t like to think of someone else going through his things without me. Even you. Will you let me help?”
“Of course.” Just as simple as that. Of course.
He exhaled, breathing out the tension. “Thank you. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He gave Sam’s hand a squeeze and let it go, picking up his wine again. “You have excellent taste in wine.”
I really am sorry, and it’s so good to see you.
“Thank you, sir, and no worries. You got any idea what you want to eat?”
“The mushroom ravioli. It was the first thing that came to mind after how nice it would be to see you.” Possibly he ought to have put his honesty back in his pocket after “I’m sorry” so he didn’t also make a fool of himself. Well, maybe that would help Sam believe he meant it. He sipped his wine since he didn’t have a hat to hide under.
Sam chuckled and picked up his wineglass, toasting him. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it. Mushroom raviolis, huh? I think I’m going to have noodles and red sauce.”
“Sounds great. So how is the freelance work going?”
“It’s going. You know how it is. Feast or famine. I got a job offer at a bar that I’ll probably take for the short-term. We’ll see.”
Oh, good. Getting a job was a wise move. “That works. The rent can’t be cheap where you are.” He didn’t say James’s rent; it was Sam’s place now. But one thing worried him. “Can you keep your weekends open if you take a bar job?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s real amorphous. I got to talk to the owner’s wife and get her nod. If I can’t, I’d just have to work late nights, so maybe you’d want to still see each other during the day.”
“Of course.” Losing Saturday nights, though…that would be very disappointing. He couldn’t send Sam off to his night job floating. They’d figure it out. Sam obviously needed the work if he couldn’t buy himself a coat. That was an unfortunate truth. Sam hadn’t even asked to use his laundry facilities.
“Yeah.”
They ordered. They sat there, both of them totally inside their own heads.
Finally Sam broke the silence. “You go to your folks for Thanksgiving?”
He snorted. “I don’t. Are you flying home?”
“No, sir.”
He heard the complicated subtext behind those two words as clearly as if Sam had actually found words to explain. He was getting better at this. He felt badly for Sam but possibly better for himself.
“I’m sorry, I’m sure that was a hard decision. If you’re not working, would you like to be my guest at the club?”
“Please.” Sam’s scarred, callused hands shook for a second, then disappeared under the table.
Oh. And a layer he’d missed. “Were you not invited home, Sam?”
“Apparently I ain’t welcome.”
He quickly and firmly suppressed the flash of indignant anger in his initial reaction, but honestly? What was so wrong with this beautiful, brilliant young man sitting across the table from him? Welcome or not, Sam would still throw himself in front of a train for any one of them. How could they possibly not understand that?
“Can you tell me what happened?” Did he want to know?
“Long story short, I said no and no one likes it. It’s got nothing to do with me, not really.” Sam shrugged one shoulder, the motion practiced, like it was meant to protect Sam’s chest.
“You’re probably right about that. I remember the first year I didn’t go home for the holidays. Any of them. It was hard. I’d like to tell you there’s a way to make it easy, but it’s an opportunity to start a new tradition for yourself. I’m very ha
ppy you’ll be joining me.”
“I appreciate the offer. Really.” Sam chuckled for him. “And don’t we both sound all nice and shit for two assholes that are mourning the same man and trying to figure out what we’re doing?”
He laughed. “Don’t we? You’d think I was trying very hard to be respectful and mind my own business without letting on how much I’d really like to throw my first ever punch at a member of your family. I don’t care which one, just pick your favorite.”
“Oh, Bowie. Totally. That would amuse the fuck out of me.” Sam’s eyes rolled like dice. “I swear to God, I’m trying hard to stand tall, but some days it’s harder than others.”
“I’ve got your back. I know sometimes it seems like I have a rod up my ass and I’m choking on a silver spoon, but I’m resourceful and I think on my feet pretty well.” He grinned and sipped his wine. If he knew anything, it was the difference between who he was and who he’d decided to be.
“You do just fine, honey.” And that was high praise, wasn’t it? He’d take it.
“You think?” That was flirty. Like the first time he’d met Sam. Just out of the blue.
“Yes, sir.” And that full eye contact, serious, dead-on look was so hot it threatened to burn him.
He held Sam’s eyes, feeling so torn. Drowning in that ache again. This time he let Sam see it. He didn’t want to work through this confusion by himself anymore.
“It’s okay, honey. I got you, no worries.”
He was about to say something—like how was that even remotely possible and what did Sam think he understood—when their food arrived, interrupting his train of thought and their stare.
“Hey, this looks good.”
“Smells good too. I do love me some noodles.”
“It’s so much easier to think when you’re not hungry, right? Things make more sense.”
“Uh-huh. Eat your supper, mister.”
He chuckled at himself. “Yes.” He took a couple of bites—the warm, savory mushrooms and the rich cream sauce melting together in his mouth. “Oh. You should try this. Have you had these before? Would you like a bite?”
