Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Then five minutes later, he sends another message.

  I’ll fly out tomorrow. We’ll talk. About everything.

  Big brother to the rescue. Again. But I don’t need him to save me. Not this time. What I want more than anything? His respect. To just be my brother rather than my protector.

  No. As long as he’s still in Texas, I can take care of myself.

  Three dots dance at the bottom of the screen, over and over and over again. But no message follows.

  “We’re okay by ourselves. Right, Clementine?” I stroke the kitten’s soft fur and she rewards me by flopping over and letting me rub her belly.

  I can do this. Even if Alec keeps harassing me, I can fight him now. I’m strong enough. At least...I hope I am.

  Two hours later, I stare at my computer monitor, a silly grin plastered to my face. This has been my dream for three years. To help people like me. To do something good with my skills.

  One click of the mouse, and Zen Oasis will be headed to all of the mobile app stores, and within a week, people will be able to buy it. For an entire year, I’d given up hope of ever making it this far. Hell, I’d given up hope for a lot of things.

  Hitting that button? It’s one more fuck you to the man who tried to take everything from me. But more than that? It’s reassurance. Proof I survived.

  I wish I had someone to celebrate with. Sure, Graham will be here in under an hour, and we’ll have the “getting to know you” talk. But he won’t understand how important this is to me. How big of a milestone it really is.

  “You didn’t win,” I whisper, even though Alec can’t hear me. The words still bring me peace. Satisfaction. Maybe even a hint of pride.

  Maybe I can’t walk to the grocery store or the coffee shop. Maybe I’ll never be able to do those things. But this? This win means more to me than anything. I’m here. I deserve happiness. And maybe even…love.

  Graham

  This isn’t like any other first date I’ve been on. Going to the guy’s house? It’s something you might expect to see on Unsolved Mysteries or Dateline. After one member of the couple disappears.

  But Q isn’t like anyone I’ve met before. And maybe this is more my speed. Maybe it has been all along.

  He opens the door wearing a pair of khaki pants and a short-sleeved blue Henley, and it does things for his chest and arms that should be illegal. His cheeks redden the longer I stare without moving, until finally he clears his throat. “Um, do you want to come in?”

  Hell, yes.

  “Sorry. I was enjoying the view.” The flush spreads down to his neck, and I carefully brush past him with the massive pizza box and six pack of lager. “Big Mario’s is an institution in this neighborhood. But if you hate New York style pizza, there’s another place around the corner we can try.”

  All four locks click into place, and Q joins me in the kitchen. “I appreciate pizza in all forms.”

  He’s relaxed tonight in a way I haven’t seen before, and I want to ask him what’s changed, but I won’t risk spooking him, so instead, I pass him a beer.

  “To starting over?”

  Q twists the top off the bottle and swallows hard. But he smiles, and it’s about the best damn sight in the world. “To starting over.”

  We’re two beers in before we move beyond the superficial. Q designs websites for a living, work he can do from anywhere, graduated from Texas A&M, and a couple of years ago was working for a little weekly newspaper when he discovered the paper’s owner was into child pornography.

  “Shit. I remember that case.” Draining the last of the beer, I relax, draping my arm over the back of the couch. “Seattle has a really popular weekly too—The Stranger—and when the bar’s not busy, I read it between customers. The guy went to jail for at least fifteen years, right?”

  “Seventeen. The judge knocked a few years off because he helped break up the ring that was distributing the images.” Q rubs his palms on his khakis, his shoulders hiked up almost to his ears.

  “Hey. Ease up.” I lay my hand over his. “We don’t have to talk about this. Or anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not...” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Everything makes me uncomfortable.” Just as I’m about to offer to clean up the plates and our empty bottles, he adds, “Except this. You. Here.”

  He scoots closer so my arm is almost around his shoulders. Fuck. I feel like I’m in some romanticized memory where I wasn’t the only gay kid at my high school. One where I had the courage to pull a move this suave on a date.

  “How long has it been?” I ask quietly.

  “A year.” He stares down at his knees, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his pants. “That was my last relationship. The...uh...the bad one.”

  Dammit. I can feel him withdraw, shrinking back inside this hard shell no one can penetrate just to keep himself safe. Playing with a lock of hair curling over his collar, I press my thigh to his. “I haven’t dated in years. Did the Tinder thing here and there for a while. Always hated myself the next day. Until…” How much do I tell him? About my own past? About why I haven’t had a relationship since that awful night eight years ago?

  “Until?” The tremble in his voice makes me want to hold him and promise him that everything will be okay, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Learned that from Ryker and Wren. All I can offer him is the truth and hope it’s enough.

  “I found a family. Hidden Agenda. The people there—and in our partner company, Second Sight in Boston—they’re like my brothers and sisters. Once I realized that? I stopped searching for meaning in anonymity.”

  I’m rambling. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m making any sense.

  “I’ve always had anxiety.” Q slides his thumb over the label on the bottle of beer, then starts working a corner free, staring at it like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Only had a couple of boyfriends before…him. And after…” He shrugs. “Hard to meet anyone when you don’t leave the house.”

  “You met me.”

  That cute little flush creeps up his neck again, warmth spreading under my fingers. He’s still picking at the label, and I ease the bottle from his hand.

  “Q? Before this goes any further—if that’s what you want—I have to know your limits. Your triggers. Physical and emotional. I hurt you this morning, and I won’t do that again.”

  The small shake of his head does nothing to reassure me. “I couldn’t tell you all my triggers if you spent the next three full days listening to me.” I’m about to ask him how we’re supposed to move forward if he won’t open up when he clears his throat. “Al-Alec was everything I thought I wanted in a boyfriend,” Q says, his voice just above a whisper. “Until I realized what he was doing to me.”

  “Doing to you?” I force myself to remain calm. Because whatever Q’s about to tell me? I have a feeling I’ll want to hunt down this Alec asshole and beat him into next week.

  “At first, it was little things. Convincing me I was only into the things he liked. Pancakes. Cider. Popsicles. Non-fat milk.”

  “Non-fat milk is just gray water.”

  His laugh puts a hairline crack in the tension between us, and he meets my gaze. I’d give anything to wipe that pain from his eyes. But if I’ve learned anything from Ry, West, Inara, and all the other members of our little family who’ve found their forevers over the years, it’s that nothing ever takes the pain away. Relationships are forged when you can see past the pain. Accept it as part of the person you’re with and love them anyway.

  “After a few months, it got worse. A lot worse.” His voice fades even more, and he blinks hard before he risks meeting my gaze again. “I know you’re not him, Graham. This morning with the pancakes? I’m not proud of how I reacted. You were being nice, and my fucked up brain couldn’t see past a single moment of fear to the guy standing in front of me offering me a cup of coffee. I’m getting better. Six months ago? I couldn’t have let you in. Or called out to you in the first place.
But, I’ll never be the man I was before him.”

  “I don’t want that man.” Shifting to face him, I slide my fingers up the back of his neck and tangle them in his hair. “I want this one.”

  The kiss starts out gentle, hesitant. Until I trace the seam of his lips with my tongue. Opening for me, he moans, the sound rumbling in his chest. Fuck. Why does he affect me so deeply? The first moment I saw him, I knew he was special. Now? I’m desperate for more, but there’s a part of me that’s terrified, too. Because after tonight, I’ll never be the same again.

  I urge him closer, sliding my arm under his knees to drape his legs over mine, putting his hard length in each reach of my free hand. Palming his erection through his khakis, I’m rewarded with another one of those deep, desperate sounds before I come up for air.

  His fingers slide under my t-shirt, and it feels so damn good to be touched, I’d take him right here if I thought he was ready for that.

  Now he’s kissing me, and I’m not prepared for the intense rush of pure need shooting straight to my dick.

  “Upstairs,” he manages after I kiss him again, keeping up a rhythm between my tongue and the long strokes of my palm along his trapped length until we both have to stop and catch our breath.

  “Are you sure?” Pulling away from him feels wrong, but before we end up naked, I have to tell him my limits. Cupping his cheek, I press a gentle kiss to those firm lips, but stop him from taking it any further. “I don’t bottom, Q. I can’t. Whatever we do…however far we go, it’s the one thing I can’t…” My breath stutters, my chest unbearably tight until his gaze locks onto mine.

  “Graham.” His eyes hold understanding—more than I deserve, more than I expected. Can he tell? Just how damaged I am? “I want you. You asked for my triggers, there’s no way I’m not going to respect yours.”

  The gentle way he drapes his hand over mine, the slight tremble in his fingers, and the roughness to his voice all make me want more than just tonight. We fit, somehow. Two broken people whose jagged edges align.

  But it’s too soon to think that, let alone say it. Maybe we’ve talked enough, though, because Q gets to his feet. And when he offers me his hand, I take it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Quinton

  After I’ve checked all the locks and Graham’s cleaned up our plates, he stands at the foot of the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, looking about as unsure as I feel.

  Except for the rather obvious bulge under the denim.

  My back hasn’t bothered me much all day, so I take his hand and lead him up to the bedroom. Where I promptly freeze. Because even though I was half naked with him last night, the reality of what we’re about to do roots me to the spot.

  “If you’ve changed your mind,” he says, his arms winding around my waist, “I can go home. Or stay and hold you all night. Whatever you need.”

  “No.” My protest escapes harsher than I intend, and for a second, I expect him to yell or chastise me, but when I turn, desire and respect swim in his eyes. “I want this. But there’s so much you don’t know…”

  “About your injuries?” Guiding me to the bed, he sits next to me, one hand on my lower back, the other on my thigh. “Tell me how I won’t hurt you.”

  “I broke three vertebrae. The bones healed, but injuries like mine…I have permanent nerve damage and neuropathy. Some parts of my back and legs are almost numb, others hurt like hell. I can’t bend or twist or balance on one foot like most people. Physical therapy helps a lot, and I’m more flexible than I used to be, but I’ll never be 100% again.”

  Graham leans in, curling his fingers around my neck and brushing his lips to mine. “If you’re lying down...?”

  More kisses. Down the curve of my shoulder. His other hand slides lower, flicking the button on my pants, palming my length, and I manage to whisper, “Yes…that…God.”

  His eyes lock on mine as he tugs at my khakis, easing them down my hips until he’s kneeling on the floor. Every touch, every kiss…it’s like I’m not broken. Like he actually wants me, despite my scars, my fears, my damage.

  “Gotta get these jeans off before I risk permanent injury,” he says, his voice tinged with both pleasure and pain. “Fuck.” The single word, drawn out on a groan, makes my dick twitch and anticipation crawls up my spine when he’s standing before me in only his briefs, a condom and packet of lube in his hand.

  The way his muscles tense and flex, the anticipation lighting his eyes, his confidence and grace, despite his bulk…I’m mesmerized. I wish I had one ounce of his courage.

  Because he’s magnificent. Rugged and handsome, but also, somehow beautiful. Like he was sculpted from clay and brought to life from an artist’s fantasy. Or from mine.

  And then he does the sexiest fucking thing I could imagine. Crawls up the bed until he’s next to me, cups the back of my head, and holds my gaze. “Tell me what you like.”

  What I like. Not what he needs. Not what he wants me to do. With those five words, he banishes all of my fears, all the ghosts that haunt me.

  “It’s been so long I don’t know anymore.” The admission costs me, and I try to look away from this man who’s starred in more than one of my dreams the past week, but he slides his palm until it rests against my cheek, plants a gentle kiss to my lips, and shakes his head.

  “Yes, you do. And whatever it is? You can tell me.”

  “I just…” Tears burn my eyes when I realize there’s only one thing I want. That nothing else matters as long as I can have this one thing. “I want to look at you. I want to see you. The whole time. Face to face. Whatever we do, whatever we can or can’t do with my back as fucked up as it is, I don’t care. But I need to see you.”

  “Then you’ll see me. No matter what.” With a kiss to my palm, he seals his promise, and he’s so earnest, so completely focused on me, that I start to think maybe…I can have this one night. This one, perfect night to get me through all the ones after.

  Because soon, he’ll start asking questions. About Alec. About why I didn’t leave him sooner. About how I let myself be turned into a pathetic, drugged up, obedient zombie.

  “Q? Are you sure about this?” Graham pauses, his fingers curled around the waistband of my briefs. I picked red today. Another rebellion against my past. Against Alec’s hatred of anything but tighty whities. “If you’re having second thoughts…”

  Shit. Don’t think about the future. Not yet.

  I answer by covering his hand with mine and squeezing gently. “I’m not.”

  And then I’m bared to him, my cock throbbing and a drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip. Graham straddles me, dips his head, and swirls his tongue around my crown. That might be the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done to me. “Is that okay?” he asks, his voice tight with need.

  I can only nod, and then my God. He wraps his strong fingers around the base of my shaft and takes me slowly, like he’s savoring each inch. His cheeks hollow, and I dig my heels into the mattress, pure, white hot need shooting through me.

  Velvet lips, the heat of his mouth, and whatever he’s doing with his tongue…I’m close. So close. “Graham.”

  He raises his eyes, keeping his promise. In that moment, I realize I asked him for the wrong thing. I don’t need to see him. I need him to see me. And he does. With a throaty hum, he takes me even deeper, his free hand cupping my balls, and I can’t hold on any longer.

  The whole world slows, going soft and warm, and sheets rustle as Graham slides up my body and gathers me against him. “Come back to me, Q,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.

  I’m trying, but I haven’t felt this good in so long, I don’t want it to end.

  “Can I kiss you, baby?”

  He’s asking. Why is he asking? Blinking hard, I focus on his handsome face, his swollen lips, the eyes bright with need. Without hesitation, I pull him on top of me until we’re locked together, and I taste myself on his tongue.

  Graham gave me the choice. He’s given m
e every choice.

  “There you are,” he manages when we come up for air. “Was worried for a minute. Was that okay?”

  “That was…wow.”

  Graham

  The gift Q gave me? It’s beautiful. Letting go with such abandon, such joy…it’s like he’s never been allowed to be free before. I don’t deserve this—or him—but that doesn’t stop me from skimming my hand down his side and under one toned ass cheek.

  His legs are thin—in stark contrast to his arms and chest, and a scar bisects his left hip. Pressing a kiss to the thick line, I watch his face, making sure I’m not hurting him or dredging up bad memories. One day, I hope he’ll trust me enough to tell me everything.

  “Put this under your ass,” I say. “It’ll relieve some of the pressure on your back.”

  He wriggles until his hips are slightly elevated, which affords me a beautiful view of his lithe, toned muscles and a chance to study how he moves. “Your right side is stronger? More flexible?”

  “Y-yes.” His eyes dart to the scar on his thigh, and I cup his chin, forcing his gaze back to mine.

  “You don’t have to hide from me, Q. I see you. And you’re perfect.”

  Doubt shadows his gaze, and I slowly raise his right leg until it rests on my shoulder. “Still okay?”

  A hint of apprehension lingers in his eyes until I suck two fingers into my mouth, and then his lips part, his breath catching in his chest.

  The first time I brush his entrance with my slick fingers, he shudders, and a tiny moan escapes his lips. Massaging slowly, gently, I let him get used to the feel of me touching him there, watching for any sign of discomfort or pain.

  His cock is already at half-mast again, precum leaking from the tip, and he’s panting, trying to push his ass against me. “Graham, please…”

  Grabbing the packet of lube, I spill a bit onto my finger, then circle his tight hole, gently increasing the pressure until I slip inside. His heat grabs me, and the whimper that escapes his lips holds so much pent up need, I wish I’d thought to do this earlier with my mouth wrapped around his cock.