by E M Lindsey
“I thought Rene said the guy owned the company for like forty years, but this guy can’t be older than Levi,” Ronan said quietly. He leaned one arm on the table, and Parker saw his fingers were shaking, which meant his stress level was getting to him. “He was…nice.”
Parker frowned. “Nice?”
“Yeah.” Ronan used his other hand to rub at his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. “He was nice. He was good looking, I guess. Soft spoken. He was a damn good salesman, because for a minute, he had me convinced he actually gave a shit about this place.”
Parker hummed and leaned back just in time for James to approach the table with what looked like a small basket of fresh mini sufganiyot. “Levi wants to know where your arm is,” James said.
Parker rolled his eyes, then leaned around James to see Levi perched in the window. “It’s at the office,” he called.
Levi flipped him off, but it was apparently the right answer because James set the doughnuts on the table and walked off. Parker laughed softly to himself and reached for one, but Fitz slapped his hand away to get to the top one with the filling oozing out.
“So, did he, like, grow horns and shit and try to trade your soul for a violin song when you got back to the station?” Parker asked.
Ronan gave him a flat look. “He asked me to meet up with him later so I could…” He rolled his eyes up toward the sky and stopped.
Parker leaned closer. “So you could?”
Ronan sighed again. “So I could let him know what I think his company should build out by the lake.”
Blinking, Parker looked over at Fitz, whose expression said he heard this part of the story already. “He wants you to come up with a list or something? Wait, isn’t that his job? Is he asking you to do his job?”
Ronan made a soft choking noise. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was that. I thought he was just trying to pacify me. You know, give us one thing the community needs and then build a bunch of million-dollar condos so no one can afford their property taxes anymore.”
Fitz chewed on his lower lip. “Did he say why he bought all this land? I mean, this place isn’t worth much.”
Ronan shook his head. “He was pretty tight-lipped about the business deal, but he wasn’t obligated to tell me anything.”
Parker reached around his husband and picked up a doughnut before pulling him in close. “You are entirely too nice, my love.”
Ronan pushed him off, but stole a kiss first before stealing the doughnut from his fingers. “Just because I prefer not to get everyone so heated they start throwing limbs…”
Fitz laughed and shook his head. “I think maybe it’s best not to panic. He might surprise you.”
Ronan let out a small puff of air, then stole Fitz’s water and took a long drink. “I don’t want to be surprised. I want this to be predictable. I want him to take a look at the land and the property line and decide none of it is worth it.”
“Then someone else will buy it,” Parker said quietly. He hated being that voice of reason—the one forcing his husband to see the dark, dreary inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Cherry Creek became something else. He wanted this place, as it was, for always. But always was a very long time. “You should talk to him. Seriously,” he said when Ronan scoffed. “Just…get to know him. He might not be a monster.”
“He’s a multi-millionaire,” Ronan said gruffly.
And well, it was hard to argue with that.
“You’re stressed,” Parker murmured against Ronan’s neck. He was pressed against him, chest hot against his husband’s naked back, and he had his arm secured around his waist. The sun was dipping low on the horizon, just a faint wash of light above the trees coming through the window, and he let himself bask in the twilight.
They were home, and had been for over an hour. Parker had gone back and forth about dinner, and finally decided to go out when he found Ronan lying face down on their bed. He’d seen this before, this sort of tragic defeat before the fight even began, and he hated it.
He didn’t ask more of his husband. He knew that every single day was some sort of battle with his brain, with his body, with the inevitable conclusion of his retirement. If Parker could somehow dig his fingers into Ronan’s body and rearrange things so he had more time, he would. But even with his skill—and frankly, he wasn’t really that skilled—he had no hope of doing anything except supporting the man he loved.
Most days, that was enough. But some days, it wasn’t.
He climbed onto the mattress beside him, pushing and prodding until Ronan rolled onto his side, then Parker tucked himself in close. He dragged lips along the backs of Ronan’s shoulders, down his spine, let his fingers count his ribs, dipping lower until they brushed through coarse curls at the base of his dick.
Ronan let out a quiet laugh. “How could you tell?”
“I mean, apart from the whole you turtling,” Parker said, and he heard Ronan groan at the phrase. Parker had been using it their entire life to describe Ronan’s unique ability to climb into his metaphoric shell when times were tough. He was a sort of alpha friend, but he didn’t like confrontation, and this was a lot for him.
“I just hate this. There’s nothing I can do, and it’s not like…” Ronan groaned and pushed his face into the pillow, his voice muffled by the thick fabric. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”
“But it feels like it,” Parker finished for him. He dragged parted lips along the base of Ronan’s neck, then bit the top of his shoulder gently. “You’ve been through worse.”
“Have I?” Ronan broke Parker’s hold on him and turned to face him, reaching down to help his leg lift so he could hook it over Parker’s hip.
Parker reached up and cupped Ronan’s cheek, feeling the prickle of his five o’clock shadow from missing a day of shaving. He loved everything about this man, but there was something particularly alluring when he was more rugged and lazy about his appearance. Parker leaned in and kissed him, open-mouthed and a little desperate to bring him comfort. “Years,” he murmured against Ronan’s lips. “We were apart for years, and that was so much worse than this.”
Ronan’s eyes closed, and he let out a shaking breath. “You’re right.”
“Everything else that’s come our way since the day you agreed not to walk out has been easier,” Parker reminded him.
Ronan nodded. “Yes.”
“So.” Parker nipped at Ronan’s cheek and chin until he opened his eyes. “Let me take you out to dinner, and then we can come home, and I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember that little usurper’s name.”
Ronan chuckled, but he let Parker kiss him again, then drag him from the bed and into the shower. They didn’t linger the way Parker wanted, but they would get to that later. Once they were fed, and Ronan’s shoulders lost some of the tension, Parker would bring him back home and fuck him to sleep if he had to.
“You want something fancy?” Parker asked as he climbed into the car. “I can probably get Enzo to bump a table for us.”
Ronan shook his head. “I want comfort food.”
Cherry Creek wasn’t flush with restaurants, but there were a few places Parker never wanted to live without. One of them happened to be Arturo’s place, No Cilantro. He rolled into town while Parker was away at Duke and established himself as a hater of the leafy green herb and provider of some of the best Mexican food Parker had ever tasted.
Parker had nursed rough nights there after fights with Ronan and had dragged his husband there to eat their feelings—good and bad—in the aftermath. Right now, with everything going on, it seemed the perfect place.
Parker rolled up to the brick and mortar shop, spying the food truck parked around back. It meant Arturo would be in the kitchen, which meant all the good shit on the line. He waited at the curb for Ronan to situate himself, then held the door open and let Ronan step in ahead of him.
Just inside, Ronan came to an almost screeching halt, and Parker slammed into his back, g
rabbing his hip for support. “What the fuck?”
“He’s…he’s here,” Ronan said in a quiet voice.
No Cilantro was a small shop, and almost all the tables were full. Parker scanned the crowd, and it didn’t take long for him to spot the one stranger eating alone at the lunch bar. His back was to them, but Parker could make out his profile—thick glasses, thin features, full lips, olive skin. His hair was a mop of dark curls, a bit like the Kadish brothers, but softer. He was wearing a button up and trousers, and he had a gold watch glinting on his wrist that hung limp as he held his fork over a smothered burrito.
“That’s him?” Parker murmured as the hostess came to grab menus for them.
Ronan gave a stiff nod, then followed the young girl to the one remaining booth. They had a perfect view of him. Or at least, Parker did. Ronan deliberately chose the seat that would put his back to the counter, and Parker almost laughed at the poor man.
“You said he was nice,” he pointed out as he shuffled into the seat. “Why are you scared of him?”
“I’m not scared,” Ronan said, rolling his eyes. He gave a sweet smile to the server who approached and ordered two margaritas and waters for them.
“Chips and salsa too,” Parker added. She winked, then wandered off, and the view of the man was clear. “What’s his name?”
“Jonas,” Ronan answered.
“Jonas.” Parker rolled the name around on his tongue. It was fitting, and it wasn’t. He looked Greek or Italian from where he was sitting, sort of dark edges and grace that Parker didn’t always find in other people. He understood why Ronan was confused. The man was attractive, in a sort of quiet way, and Ronan had never dealt well with feelings. “Maybe you’re just flustered because you actually like him.”
“Yes,” Ronan deadpanned. “I like the man who bought up all the land to build condos for the rich. Just my type.”
Parker kicked him under the table. “You like me, and I’m rich.”
“You’re rich for Cherry Creek,” Ronan said. “And that barely counts.”
Parker huffed, though he knew his husband was right. They had a good savings, and a great retirement, and enough money that Ronan never had to worry about treatments or mobility devices, or new technology that came onto the market that would make his life easier. They had a privilege most people in Cherry Creek didn’t, but it was nothing like it would have been if Parker had moved to a bigger city.
Not that he would have traded this for the world.
“I think I’m going to go say hi,” he decided on a whim.
Ronan gave him an utterly panicked look, but he was too slow to respond, and Parker was on his feet and crossing the dining room before he heard his husband let out a muffled protest. Ronan was right about him. He did like to stir shit up, liked to work people into rages. He liked to throw his own limb around when it benefitted him and watch everything go up in flames.
But mostly, he just wanted to size this man up. He wanted to look the person in the eyes and see if he really was a threat to everything they held dear. Parker was a good man, but he was a vicious man. He would protect Ronan’s heart, mind, and body with everything he had. He would run this fucker out of town if it meant keeping Ronan safe.
Jonas startled on his seat when he caught sight of Parker smiling at him, and he set his fork down. “Um. Can I…help you?”
“I wanted to meet you,” Parker said and slid onto the empty stool beside the other man. He offered out his hand, momentarily regretting not bringing his prosthetic home from the office. He liked it when they didn’t know what to do with the mechanical fingers, and he wanted Jonas on shaky ground. “I’m Ronan’s husband.”
Jonas’ eyes brightened, a light in them Parker didn’t expect. He looked almost genuinely pleased to meet him. “He talked about you today,” Jonas said.
Parker felt something warm, sudden and unexpected. He knew Ronan loved him, that had never been a doubt, but sometimes he wondered—even after all these years—if it was enough. “He talked about you a lot today too.”
At that, Jonas laughed. It was a nice sound. A little hoarse, rich, deep-chested, but kind. He withdrew his hand and set it beside his plate. “I bet. I know I’m not his favorite person right now.”
“You’re his most confusing person,” Parker admitted. He chanced a look over at his husband who was hunched over his newly delivered margarita, and he felt a momentary wash of guilt. He’d have to try extra hard to make this up to him, but it was worth it. He needed this too. “He said you asked him to come up with some ideas of what he would build if he had the land.”
Jonas looked at him, almost like it was painful to make eye contact. He seemed shy, but it didn’t seem like an act. “I did.”
“We talked about it a little bit,” Parker said. He rested his elbow on the counter and laid his chin in his hand. “We figured either you were trying to give him a consolation prize while your company ran up the property value and fucked us in taxes, or you were lazy and wanted someone else to do your job for you.”
Jonas blinked, then laughed. “I see.”
“Neither are true?”
Licking his lips, Jonas looked at his plate, then shrugged. “I don’t want to be here any more than you all want me.” And hell, if that didn’t sound like honesty, he didn’t know what would. “There’s always middle ground, Mr. Alling.”
“That’s Doctor Alling,” he corrected, just to be an ass.
Jonas smiled though and flushed very faintly across the apples of his cheeks. “Dr. Alling,” he corrected.
Parker didn’t know what to make of this man. He was a literal enigma—painfully attractive, humble, sweet, but there was something else lurking in his eyes. Pain, he knew, because Parker was too familiar with it himself. He spent years after Ronan shut him out seeing that reflected at himself every time he looked in the mirror. Parker knew loss, and he knew neglect. It had been a damn long time now, but he’d never forget what it was like.
“There’s not always middle ground. Sometimes it’s conceding victory, and someone always gets hurt,” he finally said, breaking the silence that settled between them.
“You know that well?” Jonas asked him.
Parker swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I do. I think we all do.”
After a beat, Jonas gave a stiff nod. “I suppose you’re right, yes. But concession—defeat—should only come as a last resort. I know Mr. Alling doesn’t trust me, and I don’t expect him to. I don’t expect anyone to. But I am trying.”
Parker sat another few seconds, then pushed off the stool and placed his hand just a few inches from where Jonas’ was resting. “I feel like I’ll probably see you again.”
Jonas chuckled and nodded. “I have no doubt. Feel free to cast your lot in with Mr. Alling’s, though. My question was genuine.”
Parker nodded, not sure he was going to give this man anything, but his request had already burrowed under his skin and sat there, festering. Regardless of what happened with the land, Jonas most certainly wasn’t going to leave any of them unscathed.
Chapter Twelve
Ronan tried to be irritated with Parker for leaving him at the table to poke at the Jonas situation, but it was useless. His husband was who he was, and there would be no changing him. Hell, Ronan wouldn’t want to. He’d loved Parker as a scrappy ten-year-old picking fights on the playground, as an awkward teen ready to throw a punch at anyone who looked at his friends funny, and now as the somewhat bitter doctor who had been driven to a point of desperation to know he was wanted.
Parker returned a few minutes later, sliding into the seat and grabbing his drink. He took down half before swiping his mouth with a napkin, then leaned against the wall and sighed. “I see why you like him.”
“I don’t like him,” Ronan growled.
Parker laughed and shook his head. “Yes, you do. And I understand.”
Ronan knew Parker was pulling out all the stops with his doe-eyes and soft smiles. He wasn’t sure
why, but he was too tired to fight him. And there was some measure of truth to Parker’s statement. Ronan did like Jonas. Sort of. But the man also terrified him. He terrified him, because normally Ronan could read people, but Jonas seemed genuine. And genuine people didn’t wander into towns and ruin them.
“I ordered for you,” Ronan said after a while.
Parker laughed and reached his foot under the table pressing it against Ronan’s thigh. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Simple as that, and the words rolled off his tongue like they belonged in the air between them.
The food came shortly after, and Ronan picked at his tacos, not entirely hungry after the long day of worry and stress. His hands were still shaky, and his legs felt weaker than ever. He regretted not having his crutches with him, but it wasn’t a long walk to the car. Mostly, he was content to sit there and listen to Parker’s rambling about the day. It was nonsense—all pointless but absolutely perfect, just like him. Just like their life.
God, he didn’t want it to end.
“Mr. Alling.”
Ronan startled, then looked up to see Jonas hovering a few feet away from the table, looking a little sheepish. “Uh…”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt your dinner.”
“Fair’s fair,” Parker cut in, his mouth mostly full of his burrito. “I interrupted yours.”
“I deserved it,” Jonas told him. He shuffled a few steps closer. “I was just hoping you had given what I asked a little thought.”
Ronan looked at his dark eyes and felt a little lost. He could feel Parker’s gaze on him, the curiosity of it, the intensity, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. “I hadn’t. Not really.”
Ronan expected Jonas to look frustrated, but instead he just smiled. “Maybe you—the both of you—can show me around town? The heart of the city, you know?”
Swallowing thickly, Ronan finally tore his gaze away and found his husband staring at Jonas with a shuttered look on his face. “I don’t…”