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

by Siobhan Davis

  His eyes penetrate mine and tears pour down my face, as I’m unable to hold my devastation inside. “I take full responsibility for this, and you should know I don’t ever see myself loving anyone the way I love you.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and I can tell he’s fighting to hold on to his composure. “A part of me will always love you, Keaton, and I hope you find happiness within yourself, because you deserve that too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Austen – Baltimore. Twenty Months Later.

  “Good game, dude.” Colton slaps me on the back as we emerge from the showers after a blistering win over the Denver Broncos. It’s the first time we’ve played my home team, and I get a sick thrill out of beating their asses.

  “We still make a damn good team.” I raise my fist for a knuckle touch. Colton was a third-round pick in last April’s draft, and I was fucking ecstatic when I realized my college buddy was joining me here. We’ve stayed in regular contact since I joined the Baltimore Ravens the previous April, but I’ve missed having him around.

  Don’t misunderstand, the guys on my team are great, and despite my concerns, they have welcomed me with open arms. Sure, a couple of them are lukewarm, but no one has been openly hostile, and it’s more than I hoped for. Having the support of the coaching team helps enormously, and having a stellar first-year performance has helped win the fans over too.

  Still, there have been periods where I’ve been lonely. Where I’ve missed Orwell and Charlotte and Colton.

  When Colton moved out here, I insisted he stay with me, because I fucking hate living alone.

  Too much time with my thoughts isn’t good for me. Because my brain instantly returns to thoughts of the guy I left behind. The one guy I’m still struggling to evict from my heart and my head.

  I don’t let myself miss Keaton, except at night when I’m alone in my bed, remembering how good it felt to fall asleep and wake up with him by my side, and I give in to my heartache, indulging my memories, if only to remind me what it feels like to love and be loved.

  “Damn straight!” Colton slaps me on the back as we walk to our lockers. “Please tell me I’m not going solo tonight? I need my wingman.”

  I roll my eyes. “We both know I’m no wingman, and you need zero help with the ladies.”

  “We can go to a gay bar,” he offers. “I don’t mind playing third wheel though I still think you should consider another date with Jon.”

  Colton badgered me for months about meeting his bestie, Jon, and I finally relented, purely to get him off my back. And you know what? Under different circumstances, Jon would definitely be my type. He’s hot. He’s smart. He’s funny.

  But he’s not Keats.

  And therein lies my problem.

  I have no interest in any other guy.

  I’ve tried to move on. I’ve gone on a couple of dates, but none of them went anywhere, because I can’t forget the guy I gave my heart to back in California.

  “Don’t start that shit again. Jon is a great guy. But he’s not for me.”

  “Dude.” Colton leans in close, lowering his voice as we get dressed. “You can’t keep pining after him. Either move on or do something about it.”

  “You think it’s that easy?”

  “I know it’s not. But you can’t live the best years of your life like this. And all that jerking off is not good for your wrists.”

  I shoulder check him, rolling my eyes again. “You can’t force these things. And I’m only twenty-three.”

  Colton’s serious face makes an appearance. “You should call him.”

  “I’ve thought about it, but too much time has passed. And it was so painful at the end. I don’t know that I could ever go back. Besides,” I say, shoving my feet into my sneakers. “He seems to be in a good place, and I think the past is best left in the past.”

  “His vlog has fifty million followers now,” Colton says, pride lacing his words. “And his cookbook releases next week. According to an article I read, the preorder numbers guarantee him a place on the New York Times bestseller’s list.”

  I’m well aware of Keaton’s success, and I’ve followed his vlog—now a cooking show called The Queer Kitchen Revolution—since his first video.

  Ironically, he started it shortly after we broke up, purely as a way of sharing who he was with the world, fed up with the way he was being portrayed in the media. He cooked while he was talking, because it keeps him calm, and it was the combination of his winning personality, his willingness to be vulnerable in front of his audience, and his obvious skill in the kitchen that was an instant hit. Within a month, he had five million followers, and it’s mushroomed since then.

  I’ve watched each and every one even though I’ve promised myself, time and time again, I’ll stop because it hurts so much. Every time I look at him, I remember how amazing it felt to kiss him, hold him, fuck him, and the pain feels as raw as it did in those horrible first few months after we broke up when it felt like I’d lost a limb.

  Colton is staring at me, waiting for me to come back to the land of the living. I clear my throat and finish lacing my sneakers. “I know. I’m so fucking proud of him.”

  “You should text him that. Open up communication and see where it goes.”

  “He probably wouldn’t answer me.” Not after I ignored him last year when he texted to congratulate me on being a second-round pick. I wanted to reply, so fucking badly, because there was no one else on this planet I wanted to celebrate with more than him, but I didn’t, because there was no point in either of us going down a road that only led to more heartache.

  “You won’t know unless you try.”

  We grab our bags, say goodbye to our teammates, and leave the locker room. “I walked away for valid reasons, Colton,” I remind him, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

  “He made a mistake, and it was a really stressful time for both of you. If you still love him, isn’t he worth fighting for?” he asks.

  “If he still loves me, am I not worth fighting for?” I state, because that’s really the crux of the matter for me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Keaton

  I’m going to vomit any second now, I think, as I wipe my clammy hands down the front of my jeans. Exhaling heavily, I remind myself of why I’m here and how far I’ve come since I last saw Austen Hayes.

  It was exactly twenty months, three days, and six hours since I watched the love of my life walk away from me.

  I’m not going to lie. Those first few months without him were a blur, and I only got through it because Mol, Kate, and Seb refused to let me drown in grief and self-pity.

  Kate suggested I start my vlog when the pressure of the media intrusion in my life got too much and I’d reached my breaking point. It started as a form of therapy, and it was risky, because I knew the same assholes who continue to hound me online would misinterpret my heartfelt words, but I took a chance, and I’ve never looked back.

  The world never discovered the truth about Austen and me, and I’m grateful for that. There was a massive spotlight on his head when he first entered the draft, and then again when he signed with the Baltimore Ravens, and that light hasn’t diminished. I’ve watched his career proudly from the sidelines and celebrated every milestone he’s achieved, despite the near constant ache in my heart.

  I didn’t contemplate going after him for a long time. Because he made his feelings clear. His star was rising, and I didn’t want to complicate his life. But I also realized Austen was right. I wasn’t ready to embrace everything about my life, his life, and our relationship, and though our separation has killed me, I know we needed that time apart.

  Today, I have the kind of career I never imagined I’d have, and a lot of it is thanks to Austen. He was the one who first planted the idea in my head, then Kate nurtured the seeds, and I made it grow—into a passion I love almost as much as the man I’m here to see.

  I glance at my watch, hoping I haven’t missed him. Co
lton assured me they always come out this way, and I arrived at the Under Armour Performance Center early in case their practice ended sooner than expected.

  The longer I stand here like a tool, the more I grow restless. I’ve waited a long time to fight for Austen, and now I’ve reached the point where it’s within grasp, I am impatient.

  Footsteps thud on the pavement as some of the players emerge from the tunnel into the staff parking lot.

  I wouldn’t be here without Colton’s help, and I’m grateful he accepted my phone call and listened to what I had to say. He didn’t divulge much, and he needed time to think about it, but when he called me back to say he’d left a pass for me at the front gate, I could have kissed the guy—if he wasn’t Austen’s best friend and I wasn’t still hopelessly in love with the Baltimore Raven’s star wide receiver.

  I went through a period where I tried to put Austen out of my mind. Where I tried to move on. I went on a few dates, and they were nice guys, but they weren’t him, and my heart just wasn’t in it.

  More players appear, and I scan their faces, looking for the guy with the gorgeous green eyes, full lips, and dark hair, growing frustrated when I don’t find him. A few of them glance my way, and I spot the recognition in their eyes. Thankfully, none of them approach me, because I hadn’t considered what I’d say if anyone noticed me.

  I’m contemplating calling Colton when he materializes on the sidewalk, standing beside Austen, and my heart starts beating out of control.

  Austen looks so good, even in team sweats and his training top. He’s still all corded muscle with wide shoulders, a broad chest, chiseled abs, powerful thighs, and long legs. His strong arms showcase the ink I’m well acquainted with, along with a few new tattoos I haven’t gotten up close and personal with. He wears his hair the same, but it’s a little tighter on top. The eyebrow piercing is new, and there’s a new air of confidence around him. Austen was always confident and self-assured, but I can tell he’s really comfortable in his skin now, and he exudes confidence by the bucketload.

  Colton eyeballs me, urging me to move with his facial expression, and I push off the wall I’ve been leaning against, walking toward them.

  Austen turns his head, and it’s as if it happens in slow motion. I hold my chin up, keeping my shoulders back, forcing the last-minute surge of nerves aside, because I’m not fucking up this moment. Not when I’ve dreamed of it from the minute we broke up.

  Austen stares at me, barely blinking, and I can’t get a read on him because his face is giving nothing away. Undeterred, I step right up to him, smiling. “Hey, man. It’s good to see you.”

  Colton nods at me as he walks away, giving us privacy.

  Austen watches his friend for a few beats, instantly realizing he helped to make this happen. I hope he won’t be mad at him, because Colton had the best of intentions. I was encouraged when he didn’t outrightly turn me away, and maybe I was wrong to read into it, but I saw it as a positive sign that he believes Austen would be amenable to me reaching out.

  “Keaton.” Austen clears his throat, and now I’m up close I can see the shock he’s working hard to disguise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m in town to do an interview, and I wanted to see you. I was hoping we could talk.”

  Austen stares at me, and I hold his gaze, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach and standing firm. A frisson of electricity charges the air, reminding both of us of the intense connection between us. A connection that was only broken by my immaturity and my tendency to press the self-destruct button.

  The attraction we shared never died.

  The love we shared never died.

  At least, it didn’t on my side.

  I’ve scoured the news for information on his love life, but there’s been next to nothing. Still, that didn’t necessarily mean anything, so the only other thing I asked of Colton before I came here today was whether Austen was single. If he’d been in a relationship, I would’ve had to wait. Thankfully, Colton confirmed he wasn’t, and I didn’t waste another minute second-guessing myself.

  Even as Austen stares at me, with obvious conflict written on his face, I don’t regret my decision to come here.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he finally says, grabbing the strap of his bag like it’s a lifeline.

  “Why?” I ask, holding firm.

  “Going over old ground won’t do either of us any favors. It’s good to see you looking so well, and congratulations on your career, but I think it’s best we leave the past in the past.”

  “I disagree, and I don’t expect you to make this easy for me. I’m in town for the next few days,” I explain. “I’m staying at the Four Seasons. Room four-twelve. Call me or drop by if you change your mind.”

  “What. That’s it?” he says, arching a brow.

  My lips kick up. “I’m not going to beg this time, man.” I take a step closer, and my eyes drop to his lush mouth for a second. “But I am going to fight. I’m going to fight harder than I’ve ever fought for anything in my life.” I peer deep into his eyes. “Because there is no one else I want to fight for. No other man worthy of fighting for.” I shove my hands in my pocket, smiling as I step back. “Consider yourself warned.”

  ***

  “Let’s give a big WBAL-TV welcome to Mr. Keaton Kennedy,” Cherie, the daytime talk show host says, and the studio audience breaks out in a round of applause.

  I smile and wave as I walk to the couch, sitting in the spot the producer told me to sit in. I’m not exactly an expert at giving TV interviews—certainly not in Mom’s league—but my publisher has organized a ton of interviews in various cities across the US to celebrate the impending release of my first cookbook, and it’s not as nerve-wracking as it was at the start. Mom gave me some tips, as did Christina, my family’s chief publicist, and the publisher’s PR division gave me pointers too.

  “Welcome, Keaton,” Cherie says, leaning across the desk to shake my hand. “We’re delighted you could be with us today.”

  “Thanks for having me. I’m delighted to be in Baltimore and looking forward to exploring your wonderful city.”

  “First time here?” she asks, easing me into the interview.

  “Yes,” I confirm, settling back on the couch. “And I want to do the whole tourist thing. What would you recommend?”

  We spend a few minutes talking about some of the best places to visit, best restaurants to eat at, and I have to smother a laugh when she suggests I stay to watch the Ravens game on Sunday. The TV station is affiliated with the NFL, so it’s no surprise she’s plugging the local team.

  “So, Keaton. Tell me, what are your plans now you’ve graduated from Berkeley?”

  “Right now, I’m focused on my cooking show, The Queer Kitchen Revolution, and, as you know, my first cookbook releases next week. I have a couple of other business ideas I’m exploring, but for now, my passion most definitely is food related.”

  “For those of you who have been living under a rock,” Cherie says, addressing the audience and the cameraman. “Keaton’s focus is on developing delicious healthy meals with a specific emphasis on athletes and those who want to follow a calorie-controlled diet without compromising on flavor. How did that come about?” she asks me. “Was it a conscious decision to go down this route or you just fell into it?”

  “It was a bit of both,” I say, taking a sip from the glass of water on the table beside me. “My roommate in college was a football player,” I admit, because that aspect of my relationship with Austen is not a secret, but this is the first time I’m talking about it in public. Even on my vlog, I couldn’t admit how the idea for the show started, because my breakup was still too raw and Austen was a part of my life I wasn’t comfortable talking about then, not when there was still so much media interest in both of us.

  “And he used to do all the cooking,” I continue, “until I got sick of eating steak and broccoli medley, and I insisted we take turns cooking dinner.”


  The audience chuckles.

  “Austen was very strict about his diet, because he was dedicated to football and maintaining peak fitness, and I wanted to ensure I stayed within the confines of his diet while offering more variety and tastier meals. Over time, I developed more and more recipes, started a column for the student paper back in Cali, and then I started my vlog, and people were really interested in the cooking segments, and it took off from there.”

  “That’s a wonderful story,” Cherie gushes before swinging her gaze to the audience. “And in case you didn’t realize, the Austen Keaton refers to is none other than our own Austen Hayes.” Whoops, hollers, and another round of applause breaks out, and I can’t help smiling, because the adoration is obvious, and it warms my heart.

  “What was Austen like back then?” Cherie asks, leaning forward on the desk with her elbows.

  “Austen is a great guy. Hardworking and driven. So damn talented. Smart and funny and a loyal friend.”

  “It sounds like you two were good friends.”

  “We were.” I smile, working hard to smother the pang of sadness that hits me from left field.

  “It must have helped having a roommate who was also gay,” she says, and I grow a little hot under the collar.

  While I haven’t vetoed questions about my sexuality, I’ve made it clear I won’t discuss my love life. Most of the interviewers I’ve met have tried pushing me, but no one has asked me about Austen Hayes and my gay status in the same breath, and it makes me uncomfortable. At the same time, I won’t shy away from answering, and I can speak the truth while still protecting our secret.

  “It did. Austen helped me come to terms with who I am. He helped me to accept that my sexuality didn’t define who I was as a person, and he was there for me during a very difficult period in my life.” I sit up straighter. “More than that, he showed me the value of loyalty and honesty and true courage, and he made me realize some things about myself.”