Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9)

by Siobhan Davis

  We climax in record time, seconds after one another, and I can’t stop kissing him as we come down from our high.

  We sport matching grins as we freshen up, using wipes to remove the cum from our stomachs and to clean our hands. I pull Keats back into my chest, wrapping my arms around him, just needing to hold him. “I’m glad you’re home, and I’m happy it went well.” Mostly. I’m still pissed at what Kent said to him, but I don’t want to make this about me. Keats called me after our win yesterday, filling me in. I rub a hand up and down his arm. “How was your talk with Melissa?”

  He angles his head, looking up at me as his fingers toy with the dark hair on my arms. “I didn’t get to speak with her. She wasn’t at home. I texted the family group, telling them not to say a word to her. Just in case they bump into her someplace. I’m going to arrange to meet her when I’m home in a few weeks for my birthday.”

  “And what about Kent? Did you speak to him before you left?”

  He sighs, and I feel his pain as acutely as if it was mine. “He went back to Boston last night.” He grips my arms, holding me tight. “It was probably for the best. I’m still so hurt. I don’t think either one of us is ready to talk yet.”

  “You think he’s hurt because he’s your triplet and you didn’t tell him?” I ask, pressing kisses into his hair.

  “That could be part of it, but I didn’t tell Keanu, and he was fine with it.”

  “Because he suspected the truth, so it wasn’t as much of a shock for him.” From the way Keaton explained it, it seems like Kent had no clue. “I find it a little weird, if I’m honest. The three of you were close growing up, so how come Keanu read the signs, but Kent didn’t?”

  “Keanu wasn’t around as much because of modeling, but I confided things in him about my relationship with Melissa, so him reading between the lines isn’t surprising. Kent was around more but he’s...It’s hard to describe Kent when you don’t know him. He’s a lot like an island. Like, he’s part of our family, but he’s detached at the same time. He drifts out to sea, and he doesn’t get involved. He was always wrapped up in his own shit, so maybe he wasn’t as observational as Keanu was.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I never know what’s going on in Kent’s head. This is no different.”

  He sounds like a selfish, immature jerk to me, but I don’t articulate that thought. I haven’t met the guy, and all I know is he’s troubled and prone to wild, reckless behavior. I hate he’s the reason my boyfriend is melancholy at a time when he should be ecstatically happy. And I want to punch his lights out for calling his brother a pervert. Can’t guarantee I won’t when I meet him. If he says one nasty thing to my boyfriend in my presence, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold myself back.

  But, Kent is his brother. Keaton loves him, and even though he’s upset, I know he wouldn’t want me hating on him or throwing punches. I know how important it is for Keats to have both his triplets on his side, so I’ll take my cues from him. This is for Keaton to handle, and I can’t interfere. I don’t like it, but I understand it.

  For now, my mission is to distract him. “Have you eaten? Or do you want to grab some dinner?”

  “I could eat.” Keaton sits up, turning around to bend down and kiss me. “I love you. I couldn’t have done this without your encouragement. Thank you.”

  I grab the back of his head. “I always have your back.” I peer into his beautiful blue eyes, basking in the warmth I see there. “I love you too, and I can’t wait to meet your family.”

  A lopsided grin appears on his mouth. “They can’t wait to meet you too. Especially my sisters-in-law. They Googled you.” His grin stretches as his fingers trace a path along my collarbone. His touch sears bone-deep, heating every corner of me. “And they think you’re hot.”

  “They have good taste. I like them already,” I tease, brushing my fingers along the stubble on his chin.

  “Just prepare yourself for the crazy and you’re good,” he adds, pulling our clothes off the floor, and tossing my jeans and tee at me. “Let’s go before the parking ticket expires.”

  ***

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Keaton hisses under his breath as Dax walks past our table in the restaurant, sending daggers in our direction.

  I stretch my hand across the table before I remember we’re in public. It physically pains me to pull back when every inch of my being wants to comfort him. “I told you I spoke to him and it’s handled. Let him glare at us if he wants. Who cares?” I refuse to give my ex any more space in my head.

  “What if he outs you or us?” Keaton asks, viciously stabbing his chicken like he’s imagining it’s Dax’s head.

  “He told me he won’t.” I pop a carrot in my mouth.

  “That doesn’t instill confidence. If he wants to put a strain on our relationship, all he has to do is talk to the media and he’ll bring a shitstorm down upon us.”

  “Maybe we should ask Keven to dig through his stuff too. If he finds something incriminating, we can use it to guarantee his silence.”

  Keats gave me a complete run-through of his discussion with his FBI-agent brother. Keven is going to handle Brock Jonas, and I seriously hope he finds something he can use to blackmail the bastard into returning the copies he made of that recording.

  “That’s a great idea.” Keats pulls out his cell and taps away. “I should’ve thought of it. Even if we don’t find anything, Kev can track his emails and messages, so if he reaches out to anyone, we’ll have a heads-up.”

  ***

  The next few weeks are blissfully uneventful, and I hope it stays this way. Although there’s no resolution to the Brock Jonas issue yet, he hasn’t come near Keaton, and I seriously hope my threat worked and he’s dropped it.

  But I’ve got other, more pressing, issues.

  Namely, Keaton’s birthday celebration is this weekend, and I still haven’t bought him anything. “What do you buy the man who has everything?” I ask Colton as we stroll through the busy shopping mall after practice.

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” he says, winking at two college-aged girls as they pass by us, their interest obvious from the way they are undressing both of us with their eyes.

  “That’s super helpful. Thanks.” Sarcasm drips from my tone as I stop in front of a large jewelry store, squinting in the window at the watch selection.

  “Not a watch,” Colton says over my shoulder. “Way too cliché and not personal enough.” He leans his back against the glass, looking thoughtful. “Keaton’s a real genuine guy, and I think no matter what you give him, he’ll love it.”

  “You are zero help,” I mumble. “Remind me why I asked you to come with me again?”

  “Because you adore my pretty face, my sharp wit, and my scintillating personality.”

  I mock gag, shoulder checking him, as we walk away from the jewelry store. “I’m not going to find anything here,” I admit, passing store after store that holds no interest.

  “Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

  I flip Colton the bird, and he chuckles.

  “Man, this is too funny.” He flashes me a blinding grin.

  “I’m glad I amuse you,” I drawl.

  His face sobers. “I’ve never seen you this rattled. You’re always so confident and self-assured. It’s good to know you’re human.”

  “I just want this weekend to be perfect for him. Kent is still not talking to him, which is bound to make it tense, and he has to break the news to his ex-girlfriend, plus his other brother hasn’t updated us yet on Brock or Dax. Keats has a tendency to worry obsessively about things, and I want to remove all the strain from his life. I want to get him something that will help him escape.”

  “So, book a weekend away for you two. Your schedule will free up in the new year once the season is over. You could book a romantic getaway for January.”

  “Isn’t that cliché?” I ask, pulling the car keys from my pocket. “Let’s get out of here. Perhaps the answer will come to me over a st
eak.”

  ***

  “New menu?” Colton asks the waitress when we’re settled in our usual booth at the restaurant.

  “The chef is trying some new healthy options,” she supplies. “You can thank that Kennedy boy. His new cooking column gave Danny the idea.”

  “Yeah?” Pride rushes through me. Although Keaton writes for the student college paper, it’s all online, and anyone can sign up for a digital subscription.

  She nods. “I recommend the steak with the arrabbiata sauce. It’s divine.”

  We both order it with salad and a baked potato on the side, and as the waitress is writing our order down, a light bulb goes off in my head. I whip out my cell and tap the words into Google, grinning like a loon as options pop up before me.

  “What’s that cheesy grin for?” Colton asks, noisily slurping his soda.

  “I know what I’m getting him,” I say, as I click on the link for the culinary weekend in Half Moon Bay. “A cooking vacay,” I add, before he asks, scrolling through the description. “They have personalized classes as well as a private tour of a farmer’s market and a meeting with a wine ambassador. The hotel is boutique and it’s private, in a little seaside town.”

  It’s going to make a considerable dent in my savings account, but I don’t care. Keaton will love it, and I love the idea of helping him explore his passion. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think cooking is where his future lies. He just doesn’t see it yet. And even if he doesn’t end up pursuing it as a career, I know he’ll always have it as a hobby, so the weekend will be worthwhile either way. Plus, we’ll get to spend time together away from prying eyes on campus.

  I lift my head, feeling relaxed for the first time all week. “It’s perfect.” Between that and the framed tattoo drawing I already have stashed in the back of my closet, I hope my boyfriend agrees, because I want to make his birthday extra special and one he’ll remember for years to come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Keaton

  Standing at Melissa’s front door on Friday night, I steel my nerves before pressing the bell. She knows I’m coming, but not why, and I really hope she meant what she said the last time we talked in July and that she’s not anticipating a reunion. Because it would kill me to do that to her. It’s already going to be difficult enough without that.

  The door swings open to reveal my ex. She’s wearing skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater, and her long hair is down, her face devoid of makeup. “Hey, Mel. You look pretty.” I inwardly cringe as the words leave my mouth. I don’t want her reading into that. I was just speaking my mind and stating facts. Melissa is a gorgeous woman, but I don’t think she sees that.

  “Flattery won’t work, Keats,” she says though her cheeks tinge pink. “I’m not doing this dance with you again.”

  “That’s not why I’m here. I swear.” I rock back on my heels, stuffing my clammy hands in the back pockets of my jeans.

  “Why are you here?” She props one hip against the doorjamb.

  “I owe you an explanation and an apology. I hate how things ended, and there are some things I really need to tell you.”

  Her eyes drink me in, and she bites down on her lip. “Okay.” She steps aside to let me in. “But you should know my brother will be home in an hour, and he’s quite likely to punch you on sight if you’re still here.”

  Quentin is a raging asshole, and he’s never liked me, but my behavior the past couple years has given him due cause to punch me, and I can’t fault him for looking out for his little sister. “I’ll be gone by then.” This won’t take long. I’m pretty sure once I tell her the truth she’ll kick my ass out.

  Melissa leads me down a familiar hallway, out into the sunroom at the back of the two-story house. She closes the door behind me, sitting on the soft couch we spent many evenings on. I purposely sit on the chair across from her, staring out at the bleak gray sky, watching the thunderclouds rolling in, hoping it’s not an omen.

  “How are you?” I ask, leaning forward on my elbows, trying my best not to fidget.

  She shrugs. “I’m fine.” Tucking her legs into her chest, she rests her chin on her knees. “We don’t have to do this.” She gestures between us. “Pretend to be polite. I can tell you don’t want to be here. Just say what you came to say.”

  “It’s not that, Mel. I’m nervous because what I need to tell you is going to hurt and I swore I wouldn’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, and I’m stronger than you’ve ever given me credit for.”

  “I care about you. I always will. I need you to know that.” I knot my hands on my knees, swiping my tongue along my dry bottom lip.

  Tears pool in her eyes. “You’ve met someone else?” she whispers, and the first knife penetrates my heart.

  I nod, because I won’t lie to her anymore. This is going to be painful. For both of us. But there’s nothing I can do to soften the blow. “His name is Austen. He’s my roommate at Berkeley.”

  Shock splays across her face, and she stares at me with the whole deer in the headlights look.

  I forge on. “I’m gay, Melissa.”

  “What?” she splutters.

  “I’m into guys.”

  “I don’t understand.” Silent tears roll down her face, and I fucking hate myself. I’m an asshole. A shitty pathetic excuse for a human being.

  “I’m sorry, Mel. I’ve been so confused, and I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “How long?”

  She asks the one question I’ve been dreading. Acid swirls in my gut like poison.

  “How long have you known you are gay, Keaton,” she hisses, and I watch the emotion transform on her face.

  I could fudge the reply, because the honest truth is, I only fully accepted it these past few months, but I won’t insult her intelligence. If I’m to be completely transparent, I need to face the fact I’ve always known. I might not have wanted it, or accepted it, but I’ve always known. I just tried to deny it.

  “Answer me,” she snaps, hugging her arms around her knees, openly sobbing now.

  “From before we started dating,” I admit.

  “Oh my God.” She raises a shaky hand to her mouth, and I sink to my knees in front of her, struggling to hold back tears of my own.

  “Mel.” I reach for her hands, but she slaps me away. I fall back on my butt, watching her unravel before my eyes.

  “Don’t fucking touch me! You unimaginable asshole.” Tears pour out of her eyes.

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?! I have wasted years on you!” she yells, picking up the plant pot on the coffee table and throwing it across the room. It crashes to the tile floor, shattering to pieces.

  I stand, moving to pick up the broken ceramic.

  “Leave it!” she shrieks. “I can’t believe this. You let me think there was something wrong with me!” She thumps a hand over her heart as she sobs. “I thought I wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t sexy enough. Wasn’t good enough in bed.” She swipes an angry hand across her face, swatting at her damp cheeks, and her eyes blaze with righteous indignation. “And all along it’s because I have a vagina and not a penis?!” she roars.

  “Melissa. Is everything—” Mel’s mom enters the sunroom, slamming to a halt as she lays eyes on her daughter.

  “What have you done to upset my daughter now?” she asks, rushing to Mel’s side and pulling her into a hug. She glares at me with barely contained hatred. “I’d like you to leave.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mel. If you ever want to talk about—”

  She lunges at me, slapping me across the face. “Get the fuck out of my life and stay out! I hate you! You selfish fucking prick.”

  I have never heard Melissa curse so blatantly or ever seen her so enraged. She has never hit me or reacted violently. Ever. I hate what I’ve done to her. This is all on me.

  Hanging my head in shame, I walk out the door, barely feeling the stinging pain
in my cheek. Mel’s mother follows me out, and I feel her embedding imaginary daggers in my back the whole way.

  “You’re not welcome here anymore, Keaton,” she says, stopping in the doorway. “I can’t let you keep doing this to Melissa. If you ever cared for her, you’ll let her go. She deserves to move on, and she can’t when you keep coming back.”

  Her words cut deep, but I’m guessing that’s the point. “I won’t be back. Melissa will explain. I have always cared for her, and it was never my intention to hurt her.

  “Intentional or not, you did.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Goodbye, Mr. Kennedy.” She slams the door in my face, and I drag my body to my rental, climb in, and peel out of there.

  ***

  “Oh, honey.” Mom opens the door before I’ve put my key in the lock, confirming she was watching out for me. She knew I was going straight to Melissa’s from the airport. She envelops me in her arms, and I cling to her, shutting my eyes as if that will block out the screaming in my head. “It’s okay.” She rubs a soothing hand up and down my back, ushering me inside the house.

  “She hates me, and I don’t blame her. Right now, I hate me too.”

  Mom wraps her arm around my back, steering me through the entryway. “She doesn’t hate you. She loves you. That’s the problem.”

  I walk as if on autopilot, letting Mom push me down on the couch in the living room.

  “Is everything okay?” Dad asks, stepping into the room from the other direction.

  “We need the good stuff,” Mom says, looking over her shoulder. The sound of Dad’s retreating footfalls confirms he’s gone to retrieve his prized Macallan whisky.

  “Tell me what happened.” Mom circles her arms around my frozen body.

  “It was awful, Mom.” I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off tears. “I hurt her so bad. She screamed. Cursed. Threw things. She slapped me.”