by Rhys Ford
Thinking back to the frightened, angry young child he’d first ushered into his apartment and the fierce battles he’d had with Roman in the time since, it was hard to believe the lanky, guffawing boy sitting a few feet away was the same kid. He’d filled out, shot up nearly half a foot, and was slowly—very slowly—learning how to be a decent human being.
“Yeah, he’s happy. He likes having West around. The two of them cackle over profit margins and argue about what makes good art. Kid’s got champagne tastes, but we’re on a Kool-Aid budget. Typical Daniels.”
“And what does West think? About the two of you being together?”
“Right now? Nothing.” Angel tossed his cup into the bin. “But it’s something we’ve got to talk about. The Moonrise is done with its renovations, and I’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do. He loves me. He says it all the time. But I can’t assume—”
“Do you love him, Angel?” Lang’s assessing look would come in handy once Zig was old enough to date. It was quelling and awe-inspiring all at the same time. “Do you love my brother, Angel?”
“Truth?” Angel returned Lang’s glare with a soft chuckle.
“Where my brother’s concerned, the truth is not only welcome,” Lang replied, “it’s a necessity.”
Angel could see West’s determined face through the Lexus’s windows. He adored that face, reveled in the feel of West’s hands on him, and every morning he wondered when he was going to wake up from the dream he’d fallen into. His heart skipped when he saw West for the first time every morning, and its beat lulled him to sleep when Angel fell over, dead tired and happy after a long day.
The sky couldn’t be as blue as West’s eyes, and he’d bathed in the sweetness of West’s kiss every chance he could get. There were times when he only had to look up and he’d find West watching him, a quiet, semishy smile on his face, and Angel lost himself in the emotions only West could pull out of his soul.
“The truth is, Lang,” Angel whispered, “your brother hangs the stars in my goddamn sky. It sounds stupid and maybe corny, but when he’s around me, it’s like the night’s full of light. So yeah, I love him. I love him pretty hard.”
“Good, then tell him. And now the lesson is over. Deacon’s face is white.” Lang nodded as the Lexus bolted across the street, shot up the shop’s driveway, and came to a stop a few feet from the front door. Clapping loudly, he shouted at West as he extracted himself out of the driver’s seat. “Good parking! You’re in the lines.”
“Well, he’s in some lines at least,” Deacon grumbled loud enough to be heard over the kids’ babble.
Zig and Roman bounced over to the car, grabbing at Deacon’s arms.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m alive. So’s Satan. He’ll live to terrorize another circle of Hell later. Just you wait. God, I need a drink.”
“I’ve got cocoa and coffee at the store,” Lang offered.
Deacon and Lang exchanged a look. Then the gruff mechanic beamed a wicked smile.
“Okay, grab the kids and we’ll head in. I owe them two books each. I bet West would take out the bushes again.”
“This is why I don’t have faith in my family,” West groused, stretching his long arms above his head.
Ambling behind the kids, Deacon snorted, patting Lang’s butt as he passed by.
“And no groping my brother.”
“Fuck you, he’s my husband,” Deacon shot back. “And after having my life flash in front of me three times in the last half hour, I’m going to grab his ass as many times as I want.”
“Can I go get my books?” Rome stood in front of Angel, practically vibrating with excitement. “I did a double or nothing with Lang about the trash can.”
“Can we maybe not fleece people for one Sunday?” Scowling, Angel stared down at his brother. Roman blinked, but none of the fake innocence he’d slathered on drained from his face. “Fine. And then later, we’ll talk about that game you’re running out of that notebook.”
“You’re no fun,” his brother grumbled, but he shot off after Zig, yelling at her to wait up for him.
“Really? He’s running a betting book now?” West lifted a saturnine eyebrow, its point nearly buried under the shock of black hair lying on his forehead. “On what? Me?”
“Your driving, what you’ll hit, that kind of thing,” Angel sighed. “From what I gather.”
“I am so proud.” Beaming, West leaned into Angel, kissing him soundly. “God, he’s like if you and I had a kid. Most of your looks and all of my brains.”
“I’m trying to make sure my brother doesn’t end up in jail, Harris.”
“Please, like that’ll ever happen. He’s too smart to get caught. And if he does get caught, it’ll be a learning experience on what not to do the next time.” Sniffing at his shirt, West wrinkled his nose. “I sweat more driving than I do horseback riding. I swear it’s the stress. Deacon said he’d take the kids to the movies tonight, so if you want to try that new Indian food place without a lot of icks and eeews, I can make a reservation.”
“Actually, what we need to do is talk,” Angel said quietly. “Because I’ve got to—”
“Because the motel’s done?” West grabbed Angel’s waist, pulling him in tight. “You think you’ve got to go off and leave me?”
“Crossed my mind.” He nodded, not sure if he wanted to have his heart broken in the middle of the street. “Maybe we can talk about this later. At the house.”
“Nope, we’re going to deal with this right now, Daniels,” West disagreed.
“Can we at least get off the street?” Angel asked.
“How about this?” West laid his hands on Angel’s shoulders. “I’ll go tell Lang to hold on to Rome for us, and you drive us down to the first place I knew I was in love with you.”
“The bathrooms down at the old football field?” He grinned at West’s exasperated sigh. “What? That’s the first place we—”
“The beach, you asshole. I want to go to the beach.” West shoved the Lexus’s keys into Angel’s hands. “See if you can get that thing to listen to you and pointed towards the ocean. I’ll be right back.”
NOT SURPRISINGLY, the ocean was exactly where they’d last left it, a seemingly endless shifting churn of white-capped blue water and bits of floating kelp. The area was deserted, the air brisk with a slight chill growing deeper as the sun sank closer to the horizon. A seagull circled them twice, probably debating its odds for scoring food, but winged off in search of better prospects once Angel laid a blanket down on the shifting sands.
The late afternoon sun did little to warm the beach, and the wind smelled of slightly overripe seaweed and salt, but the fragrance was a familiar comfort. About two hundred yards away, a few teenagers were digging out a hole, intent on erecting an illegal fire pit where they’d drink stolen warm beers and tell jokes everyone’d heard a million times before.
“Were we ever that young?” West asked, staring at the laughing pile of teens halfway down the beach.
“Did we ever get any older?” Angel shot back, patting the blanket. “Come on.”
West’d snagged a bottle of wine from his brother’s office, promising Lang he’d replace it, and while it seemed a shame to pour the fine red into a pair of paper coffee cups, it was all he’d found in the liquor cabinet. As far as seductions went, it was a piss-poor attempt, but it was the best West could do on such a short notice.
Especially since it seemed Angel was forever trying to leave him.
“I’m not trying to leave you,” Angel said when West sat on the blanket next to him. His eyes were the color of the sky, hints of blue on dove behind thick black lashes. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I love you, West. I just have to figure out how to live with you and not lose myself in the process.”
“I don’t want to… absorb you, love.” West leaned on Angel’s shoulder, nudging him. “I just want to… love you. If I’ve got to live in a run-down—”
“It’s sparkling and clean now. Very
retro, though. Looks like your designers watched one too many episodes of the Avengers.”
“What? Like Mjölnir?” West scrambled through what he’d seen in the apartments. “That Avengers?”
“No, like Steed and Peel,” Angel sighed. “Swear to God, you have huge gaps in your pop culture education. It’s like you were raised on Masterpiece Theatre and PBS.”
“This coming from the man who didn’t know who the Kimba was,” West shot back. “And I’ll watch… whatever show you’re talking about. Just so long as we do it together. Don’t go back to the Moonrise, Angel. Stay at the fortress with me. Your brother’s all settled in, and Marzo’s finally got someone who’ll let him boss him around.”
“That’s only going to last a couple more years. Then shit’s going to hit the fan with that kid,” Angel warned. “It’s going to be a rough ride.”
“It’ll be a rougher ride without you,” West admitted. “I’ve missed you next to me, Daniels. And maybe there was a reason we needed to be apart then, but now I can’t see going a day without touching you, without holding you. And if you love me like you say you do, as I believe you do, you’ll know that. You’ll feel that. Look me in the eye and tell me you can wake up to an empty bed every morning when you can wake up to me.”
“I’ve seen how you look in the morning.” Angel smirked. “You’re not making a great case here, Harris.”
“I’m doing the best I can, Daniels.” His heart squeezed in his chest, roiling around in the emotions crashing over him, and West took Angel’s hand, holding it in his lap. “Stay with me. Live with me. Love me. Like I love you. Tell me you love me every morning and then grumble at me every night when I drop my towels on the floor. I want to hear you mutter about how spoiled I am when I ask Marzo to do something for me and complain loudly when I teach your brother how supply and demand works.
“For fuck’s sake, Angel,” West growled. “Stay and I promise to make your life as miserably happy for as long as we both are alive and probably for a little bit past that too. Just… fucking marry me already.”
Angel said nothing. Silent, he stared out over the sea, just breathing while West’s heart crackled and spat. It seemed like an eternity passed, aging the tension between them until it was brittle enough to break if a single word was spoken.
“There’s a part of me that’s always been yours, West.” Angel pressed into him, his eyes still on the horizon. “This past month has been… a dream. I keep expecting to wake up from it, but every morning, there you are. I feel like I’ve been running my whole damned life. Running to places. Running away from people. Maybe just running away from myself. But then suddenly you were there, right in front of me, and I didn’t want to run anymore.
“So, just so you know, Rome’s going to want you to adopt him, because he thinks he’s going to get a brother who’ll let him get away with shit. And I’m going to be the bad guy and tell him no,” Angel replied gently. “You sure you’re ready to take this all on?”
“Never been surer. Just so long as you say yes.” He swore. “How many more times do I have to say yes before I hear one from you, love?”
“Just that once.” Bending over, Angel captured West’s mouth in a fierce kiss then murmured softly, “So yeah, West. You’ve got yourself a family. May God have mercy on your soul.”
More from Rhys Ford
Half Moon Bay: Book One
Deacon Reid was born bad to the bone with no intention of changing. A lifetime of law-bending and living on the edge suits him just fine—until his baby sister dies and he finds himself raising her little girl.
Staring down a family history of bad decisions and reaped consequences, Deacon cashes in everything he owns, purchases an auto shop in Half Moon Bay, and takes his niece, Zig, far away from the drug dens and murderous streets they grew up on. Zig deserves a better life than what he had, and Deacon is determined to give it to her.
Lang Harris is stunned when Zig, a little girl in combat boots and a purple tutu, blows into his bookstore, and then he’s left speechless when her uncle, Deacon Reid, walks in hot on her heels. Lang always played it safe, but Deacon tempts him to step over the line… just a little bit.
More than a little bit. And Lang is willing to be tempted.
Unfortunately, Zig isn’t the only bit of chaos dropped into Half Moon Bay. Violence and death strike, leaving Deacon scrambling to fight off a killer before he loses not only Zig but Lang too.
Dead women tell no tales.
Former cat burglar Rook Stevens stole many a priceless thing in the past, but he’s never been accused of taking a life—until now. It was one thing to find a former associate inside Potter’s Field, his pop culture memorabilia shop, but quite another to stumble across her dead body.
Detective Dante Montoya thought he’d never see Rook Stevens again—not after his former partner falsified evidence to entrap the jewelry thief and Stevens walked off scot-free. So when he tackled a fleeing murder suspect, Dante was shocked to discover the blood-covered man was none other than the thief he’d fought to put in prison and who still makes his blood sing.
Rook is determined to shake loose the murder charge against him, even if it means putting distance between him and the rugged Cuban-Mexican detective who brought him down. If one dead con artist wasn’t bad enough, others soon follow, and as the bodies pile up around Rook’s feet, he’s forced to reach out to the last man he’d expect to believe in his innocence—and the only man who’s ever gotten under Rook’s skin.
Sinners Series: Book One
There’s a dead man in Miki St. John’s vintage Pontiac GTO, and he has no idea how it got there.
After Miki survives the tragic accident that killed his best friend and the other members of their band, Sinner’s Gin, all he wants is to hide from the world in the refurbished warehouse he bought before their last tour. But when the man who sexually abused him as a boy is killed and his remains are dumped in Miki’s car, Miki fears Death isn’t done with him yet.
Kane Morgan, the SFPD inspector renting space in the art co-op next door, initially suspects Miki had a hand in the man’s murder, but Kane soon realizes Miki is as much a victim as the man splattered inside the GTO. As the murderer’s body count rises, the attraction between Miki and Kane heats up. Neither man knows if they can make a relationship work, but despite Miki’s emotional damage, Kane is determined to teach him how to love and be loved — provided, of course, Kane can catch the killer before Miki becomes the murderer’s final victim.
A Cole McGinnis Mystery
Cole Kenjiro McGinnis, ex-cop and PI, is trying to get over the shooting death of his lover when a supposedly routine investigation lands in his lap. Investigating the apparent suicide of a prominent Korean businessman’s son proves to be anything but ordinary, especially when it introduces Cole to the dead man’s handsome cousin, Kim Jae-Min.
Jae-Min’s cousin had a dirty little secret, the kind that Cole has been familiar with all his life and that Jae-Min is still hiding from his family. The investigation leads Cole from tasteful mansions to seedy lover’s trysts to Dirty Kiss, the place where the rich and discreet go to indulge in desires their traditional-minded families would rather know nothing about.
It also leads Cole McGinnis into Jae-Min’s arms, and that could be a problem. Jae-Min’s cousin’s death is looking less and less like a suicide, and Jae-Min is looking more and more like a target. Cole has already lost one lover to violence—he’s not about to lose Jae-Min too.
Hellsinger: Book One
When his Uncle Mortimer died and left him Hoxne Grange, the family’s Gilded Age mansion, Tristan Pryce became the second generation of Pryces to serve as a caretaker for the estate, a way station for spirits on their final steps to the afterlife. Tristan is prepared for challenges, though not necessarily from the ghosts he’s seen since childhood. Determined to establish Tristan’s insanity and gain access to his trust fund, his loving relatives hire Dr. Wolf Kincaid and his paranormal researchers, Hellsing
er Investigations, to prove the Grange is not haunted.
Skeptic Wolf Kincaid has made it his life’s work to debunk the supernatural. After years of cons and fakes, he can’t wait to reveal the Grange’s ghostly activity is just badly leveled floorboards and a drafty old house. More than a few surprises await him at the Grange, including its prickly, reclusive owner. Tristan Pryce is much less insane and much more attractive than Wolf wants to admit, and when his team releases a ghostly serial killer on the Grange, Wolf is torn between his skepticism and protecting the man he’s been sent to discredit.
Readers love Fish Stick Fridays by Rhys Ford
“Fish Stick Fridays is a sweet and spicy romance contemporary with some delicious suspense, a pinch of mystery, and some hot steamy loving.”
—Smexy Books
“I am a huge fan of Rhys Ford’s writing and would recommend her to anyone, and this story is one of my favorites.”
—Joyfully Jay
“I could rave about this book for days, but I think instead I’ll just go read it again.”
—QUEERcentric Books
“I had a rollicking good time reading this and will be looking forward to more stories set in Half Moon Bay!”
—Gay Book Reviews
RHYS FORD admits to sharing the house with three cats of varying degrees of black fur and a ginger Cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep of a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a Toshiba laptop, and an overworked red coffee maker.
Rhys can be found at the following locations:
Blog: www.rhysford.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/rhys.ford.author
Twitter: @Rhys_Ford
By Rhys Ford
