Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  Not a bad idea. Not a new one either. He’d done a lot more than a few hasty scalp massages, and the only complaint he’d ever had was that he had stopped. He’d thought about it in Portland and again every time he’d seen the gazebo. When he’d started feeling dissatisfied with his current job, he’d taken a methodical approach to resolving the problem but hadn’t gotten very far. After spending the night with Paulie while he was in the hospital, Kyle had experienced fleeting periods of restlessness and found himself thinking of what he could do that would make him happy again, fulfilled, the way he’d been when he’d first become a chef, and the possibilities felt endless. At first he’d thought he needed to find love, but that hadn’t worked out. Neither had his attempts to find a head chef position somewhere. Anywhere. At first he’d resisted the idea of starting over, but kept coming back to the fact that he didn’t want to keep taking orders any more than he wanted to keep hoping someone would hire him to run their restaurant. If it came down to taking orders or starting his own restaurant, that at least had been an easy decision. Kyle wanted to control his own destiny but had no interest in becoming focused on the business end of running a restaurant. Even a small place brought with it countless hours of work—hours he wouldn’t be spending doing what he loved.

  He didn’t need anyone’s permission to start a new career, though. He liked working with his hands and making people happy… and that was as far as he’d gotten. The time just hadn’t been available then for the kind of deep introspection he’d been indulging in after the accident. Over the last month he’d had nothing but time. Kyle had wondered if his shoulder had been too badly damaged for a career as a masseur, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He’d allowed himself to consider it a little more seriously when his shoulder responded so well to physical therapy. It barely bothered him anymore. Another case of great minds thinking alike.

  Mom would’ve said it’s the universe giving me a nudge in the right direction.

  It just might be a good choice. Even if he didn’t end up finding someone to love at Buchanan House, at least he wouldn’t suffer from a lack of human touch. Maybe he wouldn’t even feel lonely.

  Chapter Ten

  BRANDON PEEKED around the corner of the senior center building to check on Jason. He’d moved the whole pile of bark dust from the driveway to the flowerbeds surrounding the outdoor dining area. The back patio might not see much action within the next few weeks, but if the weather warmed up, at least the area would be neat and inviting. If only he could enjoy that kind of neatness and order inside his own head.

  It had been six weeks, and Bran hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Kyle for more than a moment or two at a time. He had tried to stay away, to let himself get past what had to be only a poorly timed crush, but his fascination kept sneaking up on him. Two days after the accident, he’d surprised himself by dropping in at Buchanan House on his lunch hour just to see how everyone was doing. If they hadn’t all been so exhausted from work and the stress of almost losing a close friend, someone surely would have seen through him immediately, would have realized he was there to see how Kyle was doing. It hadn’t taken long for Nathan to get wise to his motives—less than two weeks, if Bran read him correctly. Nathan encouraged him shamelessly, calling every weekend to report on locals crashing their parties, and asking him to come out for all manner of reasons. Usually Brandon arrived to find Kyle in one of the common rooms, a slightly unfocused look on his face. A frightening amount of hope in his eyes.

  Bran had gone out to Buchanan House whenever Nathan called—it was his job, after all—but he hadn’t been able to let himself be Bran, so he hid behind Officer Brandon Smith. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to take the chance and open himself up to the possibility of a real relationship again, especially not now, when he knew the “lucky” man he chose might have to watch as he fought for his life. He hadn’t been able to do so much as consider looking for a hookup either, telling himself similar reasoning applied.

  You’re a coward, Smith.

  Lincoln City’s seniors had benefitted from his cowardice, though. He had always volunteered at the center and used his position as coach to rope as many of the boys into helping as he could. He had just done it a lot more frequently this year.

  Before Bran could move back out of his line of sight, Jason spotted him. He leaned on his shovel for a second, then picked it up and brought it with him as he joined Brandon.

  “Good work, Jason.”

  “Can I ask you something, Coach?”

  “Sure. Fire away.”

  “Did someone dump you on Valentine’s Day?”

  “Why would you think that?” Brandon unconsciously took a step closer to Jason, hoping Jason would lower his voice if he wanted to talk about his love life. Or lack thereof.

  “Because over the past six weeks, you’ve worked me like a… a pack mule. I mean, I don’t mind helping out, but maybe you need to find a new boyfriend instead of jumping at the chance to spend all your free time, and mine, in manual labor.”

  He had a point. Since the day he’d picked Jason up at school, given his car a jump, and helped him install a new battery, Brandon had enlisted his help two or three times a week. Together they’d fixed fences and delivered groceries from the food pantry and done at least a half-dozen other types of projects and errands for local seniors.

  “I’m not doing this for me, Jason. I’m trying to keep you busy so you won’t get into any trouble before graduation. So you can make it to college and do whatever you have planned for your life.”

  Jason stood there in all his golden, youthful glory, staring at Brandon with a rant on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t get the chance.

  “I have an idea what you’re going through, and I want to help.”

  “Just please don’t say I have my whole life ahead of me to go dancing.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it.” Brandon returned Jason’s grin with one of his own. “But you do have plenty of time for dancing and romancing and everything that goes along with it.”

  Jason rolled his eyes, but he was laughing. “The flower beds are done. Can I go?”

  “Go ahead. Thanks for your help.”

  “Yeah.” Jason slid the shovel into the wheelbarrow, dropped the gloves on top of it, and took a few steps toward his car, brushing his hands together to knock the last flecks of dirt away. “Coach?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I… um, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I mean it. Thanks.”

  Brandon closed the distance between them and rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You’re a smart guy, Jace. Just get through a few more weeks and you can go on to the rest of your life, wherever and whatever you want that to be.”

  “What did you want your life to be like? Did you always want to be a cop?”

  “No. I wanted to be a teacher, but it worked out differently.”

  “Maybe not so differently.” After a moment of silence, Jason clapped Brandon on the arm, turned a little more gracefully than your average seventeen-year-old boy, and sauntered to his car.

  Brandon watched him go, idly wondering if he had ever felt that cocky and trying to remember if he had ever thought he had all the answers. Inconclusive. If he had, it had been so long ago the memory wasn’t readily available.

  He put the wheelbarrow and shovels into the shed and locked it, all the while pondering what Jason had said. In his heart of hearts, Brandon knew he’d been keeping even busier than usual to avoid being honest with Kyle—and maybe with himself as well. He wanted to, to have real conversations with him, to get to know him and see if the attraction held, but excuses were so easy to find: Kyle had been hurt and was still in pain, he shouldn’t take advantage of the fact that he had saved Kyle’s life, and a few other “reasons” that didn’t hold up to intense scrutiny. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to drop in on Buchanan House’s first Thursday night kickoff party of April—as a guest, not as Officer Brandon Smith. Or maybe it would. But even if it did, he
would be working the next day and could deal with any fallout the way he usually did—by immersing himself so fully in his work that he didn’t have time to think of anything else.

  Bran left the senior center for his apartment. His wardrobe had improved significantly over the last few weeks—he’d gone shopping and explained his motives by telling himself he’d finally caved to his mother’s pressure to dress more like an adult than one of the boys on his baseball team. By the time he stepped out his front door, he was wearing lightweight black wool slacks and a simple button-down shirt in a blue a few shades darker than his eyes. Nobody would have mistaken it for his work shirt. He’d skipped shaving that morning, perhaps subconsciously looking ahead to the party. Barely enough to classify as scruff, a day of growth seemed to be sufficient to transform his bulldog face into something on the outskirts of ruggedly handsome.

  Maybe.

  He grabbed his new leather jacket on the way out and tried to think positively. Something good is about to happen.

  Sure.

  Sitting in his boring little car, he debated sending a text to Nathan. Saying what? Asking permission to crash the party? I already have a standing invitation to every kickoff party. Warning them he was on his way? More accurate, but also unnecessary.

  Finally he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his jacket and started the car. The parking lot wasn’t full, but he still chose a space at the far end, telling himself it was to leave room for guests who had yet to arrive but knowing the real reason was to scope out who was already there. No Zipcars or crew cabs, so probably nobody from Buchanan House’s Portland family. No rides he recognized from town.

  The night was cool, and the ever-present wind was blowing a light rain just past vertical, so the front doors were closed. By the time Bran pulled one open, he’d managed to convince himself to treat Kyle like a man he was interested in and not like someone he’d fished out of the river, and that felt good and terrifying at the same time. The feeling reminded him of when he’d gone after Tim. They’d played on the same softball team for nearly two years before Bran figured out Tim might be gay. Even knowing that didn’t make it any easier—just because Tim liked men didn’t mean he liked all men, and it sure as hell didn’t mean he would like Bran. Bran knew he wasn’t the hottest player on the team, but he had other assets. Turned out, two closet cases in a relationship didn’t work out all that badly. For about three years. But that had been five years ago, and he’d aged a lot in that time.

  “Brandon? Um, hello.”

  Bran realized he’d been standing in the lobby, reminiscing about Tim, of all things, only to be welcomed by his husband. Eric looked happy to see him, and a little nervous.

  “Hi, Eric. How’s it going tonight?”

  “Oh. It’s—have you heard something? I mean, were you expecting something bad?”

  “No, not at all. I just thought I’d drop in and say hello.”

  Eric relaxed with a little sigh. “Good. I was afraid—well, that someone might have called you for an official reason. We still haven’t had any trouble.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Brandon scanned what he could see of the room behind Eric and wasn’t surprised by the thin crowd. He was surprised to see Tim striding up from the direction of the kitchen. His scowl didn’t seem out of place, unfortunately.

  “Brandon.” Tim slid his arm across Eric’s shoulders and pulled him close.

  “Hi, Tim.” Tim’s attitude, that he felt he had to protect Eric from Brandon, grated on his nerves. He tried not to let it show, but by Tim’s hard expression, he failed. “How’s business?”

  Tim’s expression clouded further, the storm brewing in his dark eyes still touching Bran in a place he wished he could turn off for good. Where it concerned Tim, that was.

  “Fine. Are you looking for someone?”

  Bran felt his face heat and wished he could unbutton the collar of his shirt. He didn’t want to admit he was hoping to see Kyle, but that left him with either lying or saying nothing. Thankfully Nathan glided up to him and saved him from both alternatives.

  “Hello, Officer Smith,” Nathan purred in his slinkiest voice. “Don’t you look delicious tonight.” Nathan ran his fingertips down Bran’s chest, alongside the buttons on his shirt. “Come with me, darling. We’ll get you a drink and you can join the party.”

  Nathan glared at Tim and then softened it with a wink. As they went deeper into the camp building, Nathan couldn’t keep his hands off Bran’s jacket. He gripped Bran’s shoulder, ran his fingertips down the arm, and rubbed his palm against the back. It made Bran feel touchable and downright sexy.

  If only it were Kyle instead.

  Reluctantly, he shed his jacket and left it on a chair near the back door. While Nathan poured him something colorful from a pitcher, Bran checked the faces in attendance—for Jason and other locals, but mostly for Kyle. He listened to Nathan talk about their plans for spring and summer events until he’d almost finished his drink.

  “How is Kyle doing?” The abruptness of the question startled them both.

  “Good. He wasn’t up for partying tonight. Or maybe it’s just the stairs he wasn’t looking forward to.” Nathan smiled at Bran over the rim of his glass. “You should go up and say hello.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

  “As you wish.” Nathan rested a hand on Brandon’s shoulder and slowly drew it down his upper arm. “I’m going to mingle. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” Nathan lightly kissed his cheek and then drifted toward a group of four men chatting. All four were tall and thin, young and sexy, their graceful hand gestures making Bran wonder if they were dancers. Or maybe sculptors. They could have been a painting for all the feeling they inspired in Bran. Not one of them compared to Kyle.

  Bran was near the large picture window looking out on the backyard, so he moved closer to peek out. The garden around Buchanan House was carefully rustic, taking good advantage of hardy native plants, especially flowering varieties. For early April the garden was bright and cheerful. What he could see of it, thanks to the solar garden lights.

  Without giving it much thought, he left his drink on the buffet table, grabbed his jacket, and slipped out onto the back porch. The lawn was so thick and lush he almost wanted to hunker down and run his hand across it. So why did he find himself heading for the stairway up to the second-floor balcony? He took care to step lightly, and by the time he reached the back door of room eight, he’d gotten so worked up at the thought of seeing Kyle he couldn’t bring himself to knock. What if he’s asleep? What if his head has cleared and he realizes what a coward I am?

  Brandon stood on the porch, looking at the door for what felt like a long time. He considered leaving—creeping back down the stairs and through the parking lot and pretending none of this had ever happened—but heard a sound in the room. His hand seemed to have a mind of its own as he knocked. Lightly, but if Kyle was awake, he surely would hear it. For a moment that seemed to stretch out uncomfortably long, Brandon didn’t hear anything. He was wondering if he should leave when the door opened. Filling it was the breathtaking Kyle Shimoda. His jeans were worn, his long-sleeved T-shirt advertised what Bran guessed was a restaurant or microbrewery in Portland, The Angry Puddle, his hair had grown and was hanging past his shoulders…. He looked good enough to eat.

  “Seriously?” Kyle let the door fall open. His left fist sat on his slender hip, the right gripping a cane so hard it shook. “Almost six weeks and all I’ve seen is Officer Brandon Smith, checking up on the fool he dragged out of the river, and now you knock on my back door?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Kyle shook his head. “Like a man with a little more self-respect than this. You might try two doors down for a booty call.”

  “What do you—No. That’s not what this is about. I thought you’d be downstairs at the party. I—”

  “But you didn’t want to come up the lobby stairs. Someone might see?” Kyle took a step
closer. His anger made him even sexier than he’d been the moment before. “Everyone knows we hooked up. You might consider coming all the way out of the closet. Skulking around back doors isn’t really a turn-on for grown-ups.” He stepped back again, and the door began to close.

  “Wait.” Bran reached out to stop the door, his palm slapping against it harder than he’d intended. “Can we start over? I didn’t mean to—”

  Kyle flinched. “Start what over? There’s nothing going on here.” Kyle’s body language had abruptly flipped a one-eighty—instead of angry and indignant, his intimidating (sexy) posture had morphed into an almost cowering position, his shoulders rounded and eyes focused on Brandon’s hand flat on the door.

  Brandon carefully removed his hand from the door. “Kyle, I only wanted to see how you were doing. I didn’t take for granted that—”

  “I’m fine.” The door was closing, slowly and steadily, as he spoke. “Thank you for saving me, getting me out of the water. I know I owe you for that, but I can’t….”

  “No.” The door closed and locked. “You don’t owe me anything. I—” Bran rested his hand on the door, the sensation of his heart dropping to the boards beneath his feet sapping his strength. He could barely hear his own voice as he spoke. “I wasn’t after a hookup. I… only wanted to see you.”

  Bran bowed his head for a moment, wondering what had possessed him to say that out loud. Besides that it happens to be the truth?

  He carefully stepped back from the door and left by the same route he had the last time he’d seen Kyle Shimoda in room eight. If he could have, Bran would have gone back in time and stayed that first night instead of giving in to his fear—yes, fear—of starting something with a man who made him think about romance and relationships. His grand plans for being a player and bedding dozens of gorgeous young men before his next checkup hadn’t happened, and he’d missed his chance with the one man he was actually attracted to.

  Sounds about right.