Destiny Calls

by Samantha Wayland

  She could still picture the courtroom the day her parents had bitterly fought over who would get custody of her. Their seemingly happy marriage had burned to ashes the year she"d turned fifteen. Then the battles had begun.

  Only, they hadn"t been fighting over who got to have her with them. They"d fought to force the other to take custody, both eager to rid themselves of the burden of parenthood. Both so mired in their hatred for each other, they saw her as part of the person they were desperate to leave behind.

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  No marriage was safe. No love foolproof or guaranteed.

  She knew that better than anyone.

  People said all was fair in love and war. She"d long ago sworn she"d never be a casualty again.

  And now this.

  God, how could she have been so stupid? She couldn"t decide who she was angrier at, herself or Patrick.

  This was supposed to have been fun. Friendship, sex. Heck, even affection and the intimacy of being with someone you trust. Not love. Never love.

  She paused, recalling the idiots yelling at each other in the kitchen earlier. Thought about how it had been her telling Patrick that she loved him just minutes ago that had sparked his stupid-ass confession.

  So, okay, there was love. But not the bad kind, the kind that made you vulnerable.

  The kind that made you make promises you couldn"t keep. The kind that lowered your guard so that you ignored the obvious signs that your lover is a lying cheat. Love brainwashed people into believing there was such a thing as happily ever after and people who would take care of you forever.

  Well, now she was sure of one thing. She was definitely angrier at Patrick than anyone else on earth.

  Crawling from the bed and away from Patrick and Brandon, she shushed Farley back onto his big pillow. She ignored the tears streaming down her cheeks while hauling her bag from the bottom of the closet, then crept around the room, stuffing it with everything of hers she could find. She couldn"t stand the idea of coming back for it.

  For the first time in her life, she was running away from this house, not to it.

  Brandon woke before the sun was up the next day. It took him a moment to orient himself. He was pretty sure he"d passed out in sexual bliss the night before. That his face was hermetically sealed to Patrick"s chest was a good clue that he hadn"t gone far since, if he"d moved at all.

  Peeling himself away, he stumbled to the bathroom, vaguely aware that something didn"t feel right. He refused, though, to turn on the light and blind himself. Instead, he did his business and practically fell back to sleep while standing there.

  With a sigh, he staggered back into the bedroom and opened his eyes enough to see Patrick sprawled on the bed. He stopped, hardly able believe what had happened as the memories of the night before came flooding back. Shit, he could hardly believe he was allowed to climb back into bed with Patrick and Destiny at all, let alone able to recall life-altering sex with them.

  Wait. His brain went from mostly asleep to barely booting up. Where was Destiny?

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  Standing in the middle of Patrick"s bedroom, buck naked and confused, it took longer than it should have for Brandon to get a really bad feeling.

  With a final snap of realization, he came fully awake.

  Fuck.

  He yanked on a pair of jeans, alarmed to find Farley curled up in the corner. Damn it. She wasn"t out walking the dog. And if she was awake and in the house, he was almost certain Farley would be with her.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Padding down to the kitchen, he looked out the door and saw her car was gone.

  Fuck.

  He hauled ass back upstairs, waking Patrick by jumping on top of him.

  “What"s up, Bran?” Patrick mumbled, his voice gruff with sleep.

  “Destiny"s gone.”

  Patrick bolted upright, forcing Brandon back to kneel straddling Patrick"s legs.

  “What?”

  “She"s gone,” he said, only then realizing what was different in the bathroom. The countertop was empty of all the weird jars and pots that smelled of Destiny. “She took her stuff. Her car.”

  Rather than leap out of bed as he"d expected, Patrick slumped back against the pillows and groaned, scrubbing both hands over his face. “Fuck. I am such an idiot.” It took a lot to resist agreeing with Patrick, since he"d obviously done something to warrant it. Or thought he had. Brandon tried to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.

  “What happened? Do you think our yelling in the kitchen freaked her out?”

  “No, Bran, I"m really an idiot.”

  “What?” he asked, cringing in anticipation of god-only-knew what.

  “I told her you two were it for me. That I wanted… Christ! I said happily ever after.”

  Patrick looked up at him, obviously desperate for his help. And Brandon might have been able to give him some if his jaw weren"t hanging down to his lap.

  Happily ever after? Jesus H. Christ.

  It took him a good three minutes to formulate a response that didn"t include punching Patrick in the nose or getting up and running from the house.

  “I can"t decide if you"re fucking insane for even thinking that, or just completely out of your ever-loving mind for saying it out loud to Destiny.” Patrick stared at him. Mute.

  Shit. There was a first time for everything.

  Heart thundering, he swore he didn"t want to ask, but how could he not? “Did you mean it?”

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  Patrick had the decency to look him right in the eyes. “Yes.” His own eyes just about bugged out of his head at that admission, even as his shoulders slumped. “I don"t know what I think about that, Patrick.” Brandon admitted as he slid off Patrick"s legs and sat facing him on the bed. “You"ve kind of surprised the crap out of me. It"s not like things are going smoothly. Christ, we"re in the middle of a shit storm here. What do you want me to say?”

  He felt like he"d kicked a puppy when Patrick"s face fell, his expression confused and hurt. Patrick shrugged, hesitating before taking Brandon"s hand. “Nothing. Just please, don"t leave,” Patrick murmured quietly.

  That was exactly what he should be doing and he knew it. Only, he couldn"t. He"d tried it once and it had sucked for the whole pathetic half-hour he"d stuck to his guns.

  Now he was all the more invested. In what, exactly? He had no idea, but he needed to ride it a little longer to see where they all ended up.

  Sighing, he declared himself a freaking idiot. “I"m not going anywhere,” he admitted.

  The relief on Patrick"s face was both a comfort and a nightmare. How long did he think this could go on? Happily ever after? Christ. Was there such a thing in the deep dark of the closet? He should be running away with Destiny.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Her cell phone started ringing at 6:30 that morning. Brandon.

  When she didn"t answer, it rang again. Brandon.

  Then again. Patrick.

  Silencing the damn thing, she stood in line at Starbucks and ordered her grande two-pump mocha solo-shot non-fat with whip no foam on autopilot. She couldn"t even spare the energy to be embarrassed by her order like she usually was. It didn"t matter.

  She was dead inside.

  Surprised her legs did her the courtesy of holding her up, she dragged herself to work. Barely. She"d sat awake all night in her apartment, her only company the ten seconds it had taken her roommate to look at her face and realize he should retreat to his bedroom with all haste.

  It seemed her coworkers could sense it too. It was a relief to be left in peace, except that once again the only company left to her was her thoughts.

  The morning was endless. She jumped every time her purse buzzed with another incoming call or voicemail. She shut the ringer off on her desk phone too when they started to call that number. Maybe she should have felt guilty
for not telling them she was okay, but she couldn"t bring herself to pick up the phone.

  And fuck it, she wasn’t okay, so why lie?

  When lunchtime finally arrived, which today was at eleven o"clock, she shot out of her chair. She was pretty sure she"d missed ninety-eight percent of what had been said in her last meeting and hoped a walk around downtown in the crisp fall air would clear her head. Or at least the smell of rotting fish from under the piers on the harbor would wake her up. She wasn"t going to be able to lie down for hours yet and she wasn"t convinced she"d sleep once she did.

  Pulling on her coat, she stepped out of the lobby of her company"s high rise and promptly slammed into the man standing in front of her.

  Damn it.

  She reached out to steady them both, but jerked her hand back when she saw the gaunt young man staring at her, too close. Too earnest. His eyes never stopped moving.

  His clean, pressed white shirt and black pleated trousers were familiar, the Bible clutched in his hand the clincher. A missionary? Cripes, that was the last thing she needed.

  Smiling politely, she murmured, “excuse me” and tried to move around him. She ground her teeth when he didn"t release his hold on her sleeve.

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  “Miss, please, I need to speak with you.” His voice was fervent. His face young. He kept scratching the arm that held her still. She sincerely hoped he didn"t have anything contagious.

  “No, thank you,” she replied firmly, trying to remain polite. She tugged at her arm as gently as she could without making a scene. He didn"t let go. Her heart skipped a beat, but she told herself to be calm. She was on a relatively busy street. She was safe.

  “Miss, I must try. I must save your soul.”

  She yanked her arm free and forced a smile, putting her hands out to ward him off.

  “I"m all set, thanks.”

  “Have you seen the light?” he asked, grasping her palm in his clammy one, pressing his Bible to the back of her hand.

  Shit. She had no idea if she"d seen the light, but she was hoping to see a cop. “I think I have.” There, maybe he"d leave her alone? God, all she wanted to be was alone.

  “So you"ve left the evil-doers behind?”

  Destiny looked around. Where the hell was everyone? She shouldn"t have taken an early lunch.

  “Yes. Sure. I have left the evil-doers behind. Can I go now?” She pulled her hand free again and turned to go back into her building. Lunch could wait. She was wide awake now, anyway—mission accomplished.

  “Thank the Lord, miss. Thank the Lord that you"ve seen the error of your ways.

  Those men are unclean. They would have tainted your soul.” Destiny stopped her headlong charge into the lobby. He"d said it as if he meant specific men.

  She spun to face him. “What did you say?”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  “Yeah, I caught that part, thanks.” Narrowing her eyes, she stepped closer. “Tell me again what we"re praising the Lord for?”

  “For your escape! You have fled and I have followed you!” She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “You have?”

  “I knew you"d see the truth. I told him so.” Is his zeal, the boy didn"t seem to think it odd Destiny had returned to his side.

  “Who"d you tell?” she asked.

  “My pastor and my Lord, miss. Those to whom I am accountable. Those to whom we are all accountable.”

  Now she grasped his sleeve. “Did you follow me here?” At last, realization stuck and his darting eyes went wide. He tried to move away.

  She held on fast.

  “What"s your name?” she asked forcefully with the hope of compelling an answer from him. She tightened her grip, leaning back to dig her heels into the brick sidewalk.

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  The guy looked downright panicked as he tugged his arm and failed to free himself.

  Good. With a jerk, she brought him close and pressed her case. “Who the fuck are you?” He gasped. “No! You mustn"t use such language. You must repent.” She grabbed his lapel with her other hand. “Who the fuck are you?” she shouted, barely resisting the urge to shake him. She saw she"d drawn the eyes of passing pedestrians and felt more comforted than embarrassed by her audience.

  The man twitching in her grasp, on the other hand, looked like he was going to cry.

  “No! I am too late. I should not have come. You are lost. I should not have doubted when he said you must all be punished. You are the harlot of the unclean. An abomination!”

  Destiny heard a gasp from somewhere behind her, but held on. Hell, she"d been called worse by people more sane than this poor shlub.

  She heard footsteps rushing toward them and let go of her captive"s collar to turn and see the security guard from her building shove through the door. Relief swamped her even as the young zealot yanked back again, nearly knocking her off balance.

  The moment his coat sleeve slipped free of her fingers, he bolted, running full pelt down the street. The guard asked her if she was okay as she watched the strange missionary disappear around a corner.

  She nodded absently, rubbing her sore fingers. She was physically unhurt, which was all the guard cared about, but she was still going to have to call Brandon and Patrick, which meant she was anything but okay.

  By mutual agreement, Brandon stood alone on the stairs in front of the police station to wait for Destiny.

  Well, agreement wasn"t really the right word. He"d more or less had to tell Patrick to fuck off and stay hidden while he dealt with their already badly spooked friend. One look at Patrick in his current mood would doubtless send her running again.

  As soon as Destiny had called, Brandon had known something was wrong. Destiny could hold onto her anger a hell of a lot longer than twelve hours. His heart had plummeted at the shake in her voice when she"d said nothing more than his name.

  Once she"d explained the reason for her call and agreed to come directly to them, he"d hung up and run to find Patrick.

  Patrick, of course, had immediately kicked into raging-alpha protective mode. And while that wasn"t inappropriate, it didn"t help with either of the two giant clusterfucks they were caught up in—Destiny"s departure and now something about a missionary following her. He didn"t know what the hell was going on, but he knew it wasn"t good.

  And as if that wasn"t enough, Patrick wasn"t just going He-man on Destiny. He was also getting all hopped up on the need to protect Brandon, for Christ"s sweet sake, and somehow Brandon didn"t think that was going to play well at the office.

  Jesus. How had they gotten it all so screwed up?

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  Brandon wasn"t even sure he should fix the mess they were in, let alone how he"d go about it. The issues weren"t small ones. Nothing simple like someone leaving the cap off the toothpaste or the toilet seat up in this relationship. No, instead he had taken on two lovers he was already in love with and both brought a heap of baggage to the party.

  Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and tried to look at it rationally.

  Destiny"s baggage was the most complex and, he feared, the most formidable. She had long ago declared she would never want a long-term partner, let alone love. Patrick was just a comfortable retreat between dalliances. Or so she chose to believe.

  He couldn"t blame her for shying away from what was right in front of her. He and Patrick had sat next to her in the courtroom gallery and watched her parents" divorce proceedings with horror, unable to protect her, helpless to do more than bring her home to Aunt Ethel and hope she saw the problem was her parents, not her. Never her.

  Without another option, the courts had split her fifty-fifty and she"d spent the next four years shuttled between two people who were constantly trying to foist her off on the other. She"d ended up thinking of her parents" houses as a bed to sleep in and a roof over her head. Her real home had been with him and Patrick and Ethel.


  It couldn"t be anything less than terrifying to Destiny to believe that any commitment would turn to ashes and a commitment to him and Patrick would ultimately take them away from her too.

  Honestly, it made Brandon want to barf thinking about it too. The risks they were taking were enormous, the possible consequences devastating.

  The idea that it was all a fun experiment had gone out the window the moment he"d touched them. Maybe before. In hindsight, his belief that he could find some measure of self-protection by withholding a part of himself was a joke.

  And it was cowardly, since holding back was more likely to further muddy the waters than bring about Patrick"s mythic happily ever after.

  Happily ever after. Ever since Patrick had said it, Brandon had been trying to figure out what the hell it meant. And how fucking scary was it that for the first time in his life, he thought he knew?

  In spite of the issues, the gigantic clusterfuck in which they were trapped, the more he thought about Patrick and Destiny, about Aunt Ethel and the hours they had spent at her table forming their little family, the more he wanted it to work.

  He"d always thought his spouse, man or woman, would be his best friend. Only now, for the life of him, he couldn"t figure out how he"d believed someone could ever take that role away from Destiny or Patrick.

  When it came to dating, he"d been doomed from the start. At fifteen, he"d already found the people with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. His heart"s desire.

  Christ on a crutch, he was as crazy as Patrick.

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  But even fear for his own sanity couldn"t reverse the conviction. For the first time in his life, rather than spending energy on keeping some part of his heart safe from the people he loved, he wanted to put that energy into giving his whole heart to them. No matter how scary it was. Or how much it could hurt.

  God help him, he was going to shoot for the moon. He was in love with Patrick and Destiny and he was going to do everything in his power to make it work.

  It was a remarkably freeing thing, standing on the steps of the police station making plans that would shock everyone around him to the core of their beings. Because in the end, if it all went to shit, at least he"d know he"d done whatever he could. No regrets.