by Layla Reyne
Miller put a finger over Clancy’s lips. “I already talked it over with my family. They’re more than happy to vacation with us, in Cape Cod.”
“Us? Cape Cod?” His brow furrowed, trying to figure out the problem.
No, this was Miller’s favorite Clancy expression. He reached out, nudging Clancy’s glasses down enough so he could smooth his thumb over the crease between his brows.
The tension gave way under his thumb. Clancy’s revelation came the next second. “Wait, are you going to—”
Miller nodded. “I’m going to sell this place and buy Oscar’s building in Edgartown, if you think you can get a job in Boston and wouldn’t mind the commute.” He wanted Clancy with him in the future he’d made Miller see—them together, in Oscar’s big open space, a lively restaurant with a view of the water and a home for them upstairs, maybe eventually children too.
“Do you know how many hospitals there are in Boston?” Clancy said.
“A lot, I hope.”
Clancy’s smile was massive. “A lot a lot. And there’s even one on Martha’s Vineyard. I may have already looked.”
“Is that a yes?”
Clancy moved as if to stand, and for a split second, Miller panicked. Had Clancy changed his mind? Had Miller asked too much? But rather than stand, Clancy rose on his knees and threw one over Miller’s lap. Straddling him, he glided his hands up Miller’s chest and around his neck. “As long as there’s a piece of that pie waiting for me at the end of every day, I’ll be there.”
Miller wrapped his fingers around Clancy’s wrists, feeling the wild, hopeful beat of his pulse, and feeling his own race to match it. “I hope I’m there, at the end of every day with you.”
“Are you willing to fight for it? For us and that future?”
Now that he’d found who and what he wanted, there was no turning away from it. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll fight with you, every step of the way.” Clancy leaned forward, resting his forehead against Miller’s. “We’ll make it happen.”
Miller brought their lips together in a slow, deep kiss, full of hope and the flavor of life.
Chapter Twelve
Three Years Later
Light bloomed behind Clancy’s eyelids and he shoved his head under the pillow, groaning.
The bed dipped behind him and warmth blanketed his left side, a heavy arm draped over his back. “Who’s the sleepyhead this morning?”
“Late night,” Clancy mumbled to the human space heater dotting wet kisses and beard tickles over his shoulder blades. “Hmm, that feels good.”
So good he had no desire whatsoever to move, especially as it’d been after ten last night before he’d left the hospital, and after one by the time he’d crawled into bed. A bed he loved so much more than the one in their Boston brownstone. Not that that one wasn’t comfortable, but his city nights were often spent alone, catching sleep between hospital shifts. Here, in the place he considered home, the bed was always warm and never lonely. He couldn’t wait until he was done with his residency and could move more days of his week to the hospital here on the island.
Kisses trailed down his spine and a big, rough hand crept beneath the sheet tangled around his waist. “I see you finished off the pie when you got home.”
“Not enough.” There was never enough pie as far as Clancy was concerned.
The hand slapped his ass. Not too hard, just enough to sting and make his morning wood take notice.
“There was half a pie left.”
Clancy tried to shift onto his side, and the warm weight countered, settling fully atop him. Exactly like Clancy had wanted.
“You can’t sleep away the day, Doc.”
The pillow over Clancy’s head disappeared and brightness shattered his dark cocoon. But the heat remained, a big body pressing his into the mattress and warm, wet kisses teasing the nape of his neck.
“It’s our big day.”
Clancy eked open one eye, let it adjust to the light, then opened the other. He still couldn’t see much without his glasses, but the arm next to his was unmistakably inked. Scrolling, elaborate designs that Clancy would recognize even half blind. And assuming his nose wasn’t lying, he smelled the very sauce the recipe for which was woven into the tattoo. Among other decadent aromas drifting up from the floor below.
“How long have you been awake?” Clancy asked.
“Long enough there’s fresh bread and chicory coffee in it for you,” Miller said. “If you get your sexy ass out of bed.”
Clancy tilted his hips up. “Something else in mind for my sexy ass.”
Judging by Miller’s naked body stretched out over his, and by the erection nestled against his ass, Miller had the same thing in mind, despite his leave-the-bed suggestion to the contrary.
Clancy glided a hand down the inked length of Miller’s arm, fingers tangling on the pillow, the morning light catching their matching gold bands. They’d gone for simple, so Miller could have his resized as needed. Back to his pretreatment weight, the band fit snug on his ring finger, just like his body was currently fit snug to Clancy’s, in all the right places. Well, except for one...
“Tell me what you have in mind,” his husband said, rutting against him.
“I shouldn’t have to at this point.”
Miller laughed, not a gray streak in it, the storm clouds well and truly gone. As much as Clancy had loved Miller’s laugh before, he adored it even more now. A whole new sound that lit up his world every time he heard it. Including this morning, the puffs of laughter trailing down his spine made sweeter by the kisses, nips, and swipes of Miller’s tongue. His husband’s weight shifted off his back, his fingers untangled from his, and Miller’s hand with the sun-warmed band pushed out his thigh, spreading him open.
“This what you were thinking, Doc?”
“Not ex—”
His words died as Miller licked a trail from taint to hole.
“Yes,” Clancy moaned. That’s exactly what he’d been thinking.
Stretching both arms over his head, Clancy clutched at the sheets and hung his head, face buried in his pillow, fighting the urge to drive his cock against the mattress. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to lose the exquisite torture of Miller’s tongue teasing his rim, firing all his sensitive nerve endings. Flicking and kissing, around and finally in, spearing him with heat. Tingles of pleasure coursed through Clancy, then a lightning bolt struck, searing his blood, as Miller inserted a finger alongside his tongue, his touch aimed expertly at Clancy’s prostate.
Straining, Clancy fought but ultimately lost the battle with his instincts, lowering his hips, cock aching for friction. Miller levered up, settling his weight atop Clancy again, pressing him down and bringing his release that much closer. “That’s it, baby,” he said, thrusting his fingers in time with Clancy’s rolling hips. “Let me see how much you need it.”
“Need you,” Clancy keened, riding back on Miller’s hand. “Please.”
Miller’s fingers disappeared, the very opposite of what Clancy wanted, and he cursed a protest, but then Miller slid an arm under him, around his belly, and flipped him onto his back. The sheer power of the move, something that a year ago would have been impossible, brought Clancy out of the pleasure clouds. It had not been an easy road to here, to this place and time where Miller could work for hours in the kitchen, then manhandle him in bed. A year ago he couldn’t walk up the stairs.
“Hey, Doc, where’d you go?” Miller tossed the lube he’d fetched from the bedside drawer onto the mattress and planted a hand next to Clancy’s head. “You still with me?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Clancy swallowed down the knot in his throat. “Just a bit overwhelmed. I can’t believe we’re here, finally.”
Miller smiled, those lines around his eyes that Clancy loved so much deepening. “Don’t tell me you’re getting opening day jitters.
”
That hadn’t been where Clancy’s mind had drifted, but now that Miller had mentioned it... “Are you nervous?”
“Not in the slightest.” No hesitation, no worries about living up to expectations this time. Hell, just being here, alive, he’d exceeded them. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
And God, Miller was sexy as hell when he was cocky. Clancy rolled his hips, bringing their dicks back into contact. “Never?”
Miller countered, grinding. “Are you fishing for a compliment?”
“Me, never.”
Miller lowered to his elbow, and with him closer, Clancy could see the emotion swirling in his bright blue eyes, the gold shining in the morning light. Despite the teasing, he hadn’t missed where Clancy’s thoughts had drifted. “That day in Southport, I wasn’t sure. I had no idea what was ahead of us, but I did know I wanted to live and that I wanted a life with you.”
Clancy ran a hand over Miller’s jaw and up over his prickly buzz cut. His chestnut beard and hair had started growing back after treatment, even before his taste buds had returned, but Miller had never had the patience to get past the Chia Pet stage, ranting and raving that it looked ridiculous on a fortysomething man. Which it totally had. And the buzz cut was easier to maintain for a full-time chef. Tie a bandana on, always plaid, and call it a day. It was also fitting for a fighter.
“You wanted to fight,” Clancy said, letting every bit of love and admiration he had for his husband shine through his voice.
“I had no idea how hard it would be.”
Hard was putting it mildly. Hell was more accurate, and that was from Clancy’s perspective, not as the patient but as the spouse who knew a truckload too much about what his loved one was going through. For as awful as the actual treatment had been, it’d been the look of abject fear and despair in Miller’s eyes every day afterward that he couldn’t taste that had been the worst. Clancy had been there for him, as the promised taster, and Greg too, helping Miller use his sense memories as they’d developed concepts for the restaurant, but it’d only been this past Christmas, fittingly at Eli O’s, that Miller had tasted the salt on his fingers after preparing a margarita glass for Sloan.
His favorite flavor had been the first to return.
That day had been the best of Clancy’s life, until today. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met, Miller Sykes.”
“I couldn’t have done it alone.” He lowered his lips to Clancy’s, the kiss slow and deep, like it’d been that night in Southport, like Miller was tasting every nook and cranny of his mouth, wallowing in the flavors, before he came up for air again. “I didn’t know then, but today, I know. I know down to my soul that I’m where I’m supposed to be, cooking the food in the place where I’m supposed to, and sharing my life with the person I’m supposed to be with.”
Clancy was one hundred percent sure of the same. Of committing himself to a career in oncology, to this man, and to their life together here. Lifting up, he captured Miller’s lips, the both of them smiling. “Then make love to your husband, and let’s get on with our second big day.”
He brandished his wedding band under Miller’s nose, briefly remembering Valentine’s Day three years ago in the Ritz Carlton’s gazebo, with the ocean behind them and friends and family around them, all who’d accompanied Miller to the hospital the next day for his first treatment.
Miller halted the train of his thoughts, bringing Clancy back to the here and now with the snick of the lube bottle. He poured a generous amount in his palm, then took them both in hand, pumping them together and ramping their need back up. With his other hand, he tangled their fingers, their clasped fist pressed into the pillow above Clancy’s head.
With each up and down of Miller’s fist, Clancy’s world narrowed, from their room, to their bed, to the big body on top of him, the heart beating against his, and the need rocketing up his spine and making his belly clench. Miller was feeling it too, his cock rock hard against Clancy’s, his breath ragged at his ear, the speed of his motion—hand and hips—ratcheting up.
Clancy threw back his head and arched his back. “Now, now, now,” he begged, shamelessly spreading his thighs and lifting his hips, making clear what he wanted. He was fine with being the top in their bed, most of the time, but this morning he wanted Miller all around and in him.
“I’ve got you, baby.” Miller slipped his cock free of his grip and nudged Clancy’s rim.
“Yes,” Clancy hissed, anticipating the divine. Miller pushed in, and Clancy tightened his fingers around Miller’s, their clasped hands slipping higher, into a sun-warmed spot on the pillow.
Warm and bright.
Together, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do they part, decades from now Clancy hoped, with every fiber of his being. Decades of life and love with this man who’d shattered both their expectations.
He lifted his legs and circled Miller’s hips, hauling him the rest of the way in, all the way to the root, and tumbling Miller down, fully on top of him. Miller drew back as far as Clancy’s locked ankles would allow, then drove back in, driving a deep moan out of Clancy.
Miller nuzzled the center of his chest, lips soft, beard prickly, while his dick continued to pound inside him. “That’s what you like, huh?”
“What I love.” Clancy arched up, directing Miller’s dick right at his prostate. Jolt after jolt, perfect, building, and once his hand fisted Clancy’s cock again, on the verge of explosion. A foreshock rumbled through Clancy.
Miller skated his lips from chest to neck, along Clancy’s jaw to the spot behind his ear. “Love you too, Doc.”
Hands still clasped, their lives and hearts as one, they came.
Together.
* * *
“Uncle Miller! Uncle Clancy!”
Miller braced for impact, two small bodies colliding with his and latching on to his legs. He ruffled the hair on their heads, the toddler’s ginger and the kindergartner’s blond. “Looks like we’ve got some early arrivers.” He smiled over his shoulder at Clancy, who was locking the door to their upstairs residence.
“Or maybe they’re burglars.” Clancy advanced on Greg and Tony’s adopted son, Amos, catching him from behind and tickling his sides.
The towheaded boy slipped away, giggling. “We’re not burglars! We’re staff!” He jumped and spun at the same time, nearly losing his balance, the kid all awkward limbs, but he recovered and pointed to his back, where the word STAFF was emblazoned across the back of his T-shirt.
Molly, Sloan and Tyler’s adorable ginger cannoli, detached herself from Miller’s leg and ran to stand beside her best friend. She took her thumb out of her mouth long enough to jut it at her back. “Me too!”
They looked the part, in miniature form, dressed in the restaurant’s official uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, except these tees were a certain someone’s favorite lavender plaid. Not the standard black-and-white ones, like Miller had on under his chef’s coat. “Did you have something to do with this?” he asked Clancy.
Clancy held up his hands. “For once, this is not on me. Well, not the initial idea, at least. I did, however, pick the plaid.”
“No sh—”
Clancy slapped a hand over his mouth. “Children,” he playfully chided. “You have to go a year without a curse word in front of them before we put in an adoption application. That was the deal.” He withdrew his hand, putting both on his hips with a huff. “And I’m tired of waiting.”
More good things in his future to look forward to, growing the family they already had with children of their own. Granted, he’d only been in remission for eighteen months but neither he nor Clancy wanted to put their family on hold any longer. Miller wasn’t a spring chicken, cancer or not, and they wanted their kids to grow up with Greg’s and Sloan’s as playmates, whenever they were all in the same place. Clancy knew the risks bett
er than anyone—that he could wind up a single parent like Julie’s husband, who Miller had met at the benefit that spring, and seen every spring since, Clancy now an organizer of the annual event—but Clancy still wanted to make the leap. Miller was ready to make it with him. He bet he could get Clancy down to six months on that whole no cursing test.
“Carry!” came a demand from on low, together with a thirty-pound weight on his toes. Molly raised her arms for a lift, and Miller swung her up, his heart warming at her squeals of delight. He gave her a couple tosses, then settled her on his hip and followed Clancy and Amos into the main dining room.
“So, if it wasn’t you behind the shirts,” Miller said, “my second guess is...” He let the direction of his gaze—to the redhead behind the new bar they’d added, hand-carved by Clancy, complete with direwolf heads for corners—make his suspicion known.
Sloan feigned ignorance. “Who, me?” Snickering, she returned her attention to the pitcher of Negroni she was funneling into a bar top aging barrel.
“You have no idea what we went through for these shirts.” Greg stepped out from the kitchen where he was helping out for opening week. He removed his own stained chef’s coat, revealing the same plaid tee, the back of his reading, GUEST CHEF. He picked a wad of plaid up off the end of the hearth and tossed it to Miller. Snatching it out of the air one-handed, Miller shook it out and held it up with Molly’s help.
“Chef!” Molly proclaimed proudly, like she’d been diligently practicing the single syllable word.
Miller hoped his laugh didn’t sound too watery. “Yeah, baby girl, I am.”
A long, slim arm circled his waist from the other side. “Congrats, Chef,” Clancy said softly.
Miller’s heart stuttered. He loved hearing his husband call him that now, knowing he’d fallen in love with Miller not as a chef first, but as a person, one he’d seen through hell. Now that they were on the other side of it, Miller was able to give Clancy the chef part of himself too, one hundred percent. Hearing that recognized, appreciated, and loved, every time Clancy called him “Chef,” felt like another gift he’d been given.