For a time, Justin, Tomas, and I were in an uneasy balance of a living situation as I convinced Tomas that Justin ought to move in, just for a couple of weeks. Justin and Tomas clearly didn't like sharing a home very much, but I just couldn't be in as much of a hurry as Justin was to move.
Justin was a go-getter when it came to real estate hunting, but after the first few times, he didn't involve me until he'd kicked some metaphorical tires and eliminated the really impossible places on his own. It was too much for me to deal with, trying to decide on a whole house, and between his eagerness and hawk-like questions and my dithering indecisiveness, we didn't shop well together.
Then came the day when he said he'd found "just the place, perfect really, I hope you'll agree—but of course we won't get it if you don't."
No pressure, then.
I went along with him, filled already with a great sense of dread. I couldn't possibly like it as much as he did. I didn't think I'd like anywhere as much as the place I already lived, with Tomas and Justin, a place that already smelled like my territory, and home.
We seemed to drive quite a way. "This will be a long commute to work," I pointed out.
"It's just over twenty minutes. I timed it." He cast me a teasing grin. "You're looking for difficulties already, aren't you? Give it a try before you decide you hate it."
I slouched. The man certainly could read me. I wondered if he could tell I was pouting on the inside. Tomas's and my apartment was a five-minute drive from work. That was a good distance to be.
"There's land," said Justin, using his "for only five easy payments" salesman voice. "Trees. A nice shed, if you decide to take up woodworking, for instance."
I snorted. "I'm a city boy, Justin. Why would I take up woodworking? Are you going to take up bird watching?"
"Just give it a chance, okay?"
I slouched a little lower. I didn't say anything, but inwardly, I was not agreeing.
We finally got there. I suppose the drive wasn't quite as long as it felt like to me. He pulled into a long driveway flanked by trees. There was a lot of lawn, and a huge house at the end. It had stone veneer on it and looked way too modern, huge, and expensive for me to ever live there. I got the willies thinking about the mortgage on a place like this.
"How much does it cost?" I asked.
"Let me worry about that for now."
"You know I'll owe half of it," I told him.
"Will you? If it's all in my name, and I pay for it...yeah, I guess that wouldn't work."
"I'm not going to live for free in your expensive mansion like a...a kept boy!"
"Mansion! It's hardly a..." He swallowed his words, and gave me a pained sort of smile. "Of course. Both our names would be on the deed," he said oh-so-reasonably. "And you're hardly a kept boy. Now can we look? Please?"
He reached out for my arm, and I let him hook his own through it. He gave me a warm smile that felt enough like an apology that I decided not to be angry with him after all. I huffed softly, but didn't complain or argue as I followed him up to the house.
It was even bigger up close. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a gigantic kitchen, open-floor layout, and rec room basement. It had been well-decorated, but not freshly painted; there were no weird paint smells (or any others) hanging around.
They kept the place clean without loading up on perfumey cleaning products, too. I ran my fingers over a hardwood banister. No dust. As I looked around the huge house, with its high ceilings, exposed wood beams, brick fireplace, and sleek wooden floors, I melted a little. It seemed clean and honest, open and good—a place to really stretch out, to live, to enjoy and breathe and settle in for the long term.
Justin gave me an eager look that reminded me of puppy-eyes. I walked over to him, smiling, wrapped my arms around him, and gave him a kiss. "It's sweet," I told him. "It's very sweet to think of this for us." I kissed him again.
He kissed me back urgently, then extricated himself and drew back to study my face. "But...? Don't let me down gently. Tell me what's wrong with it."
"Nothing. Except the price. This is a big, fancy house, Justin. I know you think we don't have to stick to a budget, but really." I studied him. "And then there's the size. Is this really a good-sized house for two people?"
He ducked his head, something shy flickering across his face. "Of course. Well. There is that." He coughed.
But I had seen that look. I took hold of his arms, studying him closely. "Justin, were you thinking of adopting children with me?"
"Maybe..." He gnawed his lips, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "Or we could foster first. We could even have surrogate births, if you wanted to go that way. It would just be a shame to have to move to a bigger place when we're finally settled in, if we decide to, you know, have children."
I shook my head slowly. "I wouldn't want to use surrogacy. I'd want to foster or adopt."
"Ah. Oh. Good. Then you have thought about it?" He studied my face cautiously.
"Yeah. I think you'd be a good dad." I searched his features, feeling warm and tender toward him. "You'd always take care of our pups just right. And I'd be there, too." I might never be a very firm or decisive parent, but I was pretty sure I could love them. That was the important thing, right? Love, and food. I'd spent my summers feeding and sometimes hugging children from all over the city. I thought I could do at least that much for kids of our own.
His smile nearly split his face. "Oh, good. I think you'd be a good father, too, just so you know." He embraced me, smiling hard. Then his eyes got a little sad and his smile faded away as he added, "When I think of you, as a little boy, all on your own and without anyone except gangsters...well, I wonder how many other shifter kids need somewhere soft to land, need people to step in and take care of them?"
It was a beautiful thought, and one that I could get behind. "So we can help kids out. With our mansion. You really don't do anything small, do you?"
He gave me a wink. "Nope." He moved in for another kiss.
I WAS HIGHLY UNNERVED signing our lives away on this gigantic house. Justin reiterated that it would be fine, said we could handle it, that I shouldn't worry. Visions of bank foreclosures danced through my head—upsettingly so, because I was already attached to the big place.
I wished that I could believe, the way he did, that if we just got the price knocked down a little, did some math, and signed a few papers, everything would work out in the end.
As I packed my things, I talked with Tomas about some of my worries. He listened for a while, before interjecting a comment of his own.
"If you really think it's not right, then why are you going through with it?" Tomas sounded irritated with me. I guess sometimes my lack of decisiveness got on even his nerves.
I leaned back on my heels and eyed him over the top of a couple of boxes and a stuffed suitcase. "I like the place and I'm already worried about losing it. I don't know if it's the right thing or not—but I want it."
"Ah." He gave me a gentler look, then, and tossed a pair of balled-up socks at me. It was a soft pitch, overhand. I caught it, and he went on. "If you really want it, and Justin says it'll happen—then I've no doubt the two of you will make it work. And hey, if you're worried, just remind him you'll have to move in with me if you lose the house." He gave me a wink.
Yep, they still weren't friends.
I thought about all of that for a minute. He was right that Justin didn't really believe in things being impossible. He'd set his heart on this house as much as I had—maybe even slightly more—and he'd done most of the loan wrangling.
My biggest concern was not being able to afford our payments if one of us was out of work for a while.
"We both have savings, Riles," Justin had argued. "And we can work on a joint emergency fund, just in case. But I'm not losing this job. I'll make it work. And I don't foresee you skipping out anytime soon, either." He was right about that, but I still worried.
I'd spent most of my adult life earning money
but not spending it. This was going to be an adjustment. Responsibilities and bills, and that was before we even brought any children into the mix.
I'd shared some of that with Tomas, as well: that we were already talking about adopting in future. He hadn't had much to say, but he'd taken it all in and looked pleased.
We spent a few more minutes packing, as I mulled things over in my head. I'd collected more things than I'd expected in my time here. Even a couple of mugs.
I wonder if Justin will let me use the kitchen...
He'd probably cringe to see me burning things and experimenting and learning on that beautiful, expensive array of gleaming appliances. Still, I was pretty sure his soft spot for me—a mile wide—would make him bite his tongue and smile. If I wanted to learn to cook, Justin would offer to send me to cooking school and buy a whole new set of pots and pans for me. I'd be content with access to the stove.
Tomas smiled, giving me a sidelong look. "When you two start filling the place with kids, I want to be invited for weekend barbeques, you hear?"
"Tomas, you're pack. Of course you'll be invited."
"I'm pack? Really? I'm your pack?" His voice was getting higher in a way that said he was trying not to cry.
"C'mere, you." I caught him in my arms before he could break down. "Of course you are. What did you think?"
"I thought—I don't know—that it was just Justin now."
"No. You're always going to be family to me, Tommy. Always."
I knew he didn't want to get tearful in front of me, but I couldn't help it; I had to say it, and I had to hug him.
I SAW THE LONE WOLF around a few times more, but he never let me get close to him. I tried not to be too obvious, or intimidate him, but if I even started walking casually in his direction, he'd slip away.
We were in the same line to get coffee once, and he glared back at me like I'd intruded on his personal space. After he got his, he slipped away before I reached the counter. I figured I'd better let it go, but I couldn't help being curious, and wanting to help if he was in trouble.
My city had been so thoroughly devoid of wolves, I still wasn't used to seeing them around casually and, well, if he needed help, I wanted to give it.
I spoke with Nolan on the phone, and the advice he gave me was to let it go. "He's got to know you're no threat to him. Let him come to you, if he needs help. You've put out a hand, but if he's not willing to take it, there's nothing you can do."
I supposed he was right, but it still upset me to see the wolf around and know something was bothering him—really bothering him—but that I couldn't help. When I talked with Justin about it he had a different (and not entirely welcome) viewpoint. "You know, you're just as bad as me, in your own way. You want to help people, and you're not content till they let you."
"What? That's not true!"
He drew back and studied me, fond affection as well as consideration on his face. "It is, though. For a long time you haven't been confident enough to fully put it into action, but you found ways to help those kids even then. And I'll bet you anything you like that you found all sorts of ways to soften the stance you were supposed to take for your gang, if you thought someone didn't deserve harsh treatment."
I dropped his gaze and thought of how I'd warned Leland without telling on him, of how I'd gone behind Eddie's back to let Jaramillo off the hook when I'd known Eddie wasn't being fair to him—even by gangster standards of fairness. And a hundred other times I'd tried to cushion the harshest edges. Occasionally I still felt a twinge of guilt about how much I'd bent their rules.
Things from my old life drifted back to me. Perhaps they always would: the old feelings, the old loyalties making me feel like I should have done better, should have been more worthy of them. It was hard to turn my back completely without having something pop up and remind me of who I'd been, what I'd done, and the questions I'd had—the guilt—about my changing loyalties.
Things like this created a confusing dissonance that could throw me for a loop at unexpected moments. On the one hand, I wasn't sorry I'd disobeyed or skirted the rules. Not really. Yet that old guilt still acted up sometimes if I thought about it. Because I hadn't been as loyal as I should have.
"Don't you feel bad about that," Justin warned me. "Don't you dare. I love that about you—how you help people. You're a good man, and they couldn't beat it out of you no matter how many years they had you." He put his arms around me, and his eyes gleamed. "But now I've got you, and nobody's ever going to try again."
It probably shouldn't make me feel so safe and restful to hear him say that. But it did. I put my head down on his shoulder and closed my eyes, sighing quietly. I liked him being possessive this way; I really did.
"Just don't feel bad about the wolf, if he's not one you can help. Not every wolf needs to belong somewhere. A few are perfectly fine being lone wolves."
I found that so hard to believe. I hoped it was true, though.
After that, we found some more pleasant things to distract ourselves, and I put the subject of the unhappy lone wolf on the back burner. It was true I couldn't fix everything, and I really should try not to feel responsible. At least until an actual opportunity presented itself.
"HEY, RILES?"
I turned to more easily look at my mate. He seemed uncharacteristically serious for all of being in bed with me.
"What's wrong?" I put a hand on his side, spreading my fingers wide. I liked seeing how much of his flesh I could cover with just one hand. It made him seem more life-sized, somehow. My beautiful Justin. Okay, to some people he would look like a weather-beaten hardass. I saw that too. But still: beautiful.
He no longer took up so much more space than me in my head. I was physically bigger than him...but I was also mentally less cringing and scrunching into the smallest corners I could find. I felt like I took up a natural amount of space now.
I loved the way he gave in to my touch, how, if I drew him toward me, he moved willingly. It was still amazing to me that he wanted to be near me, and touch me: wanted me nearly as much as I wanted him.
I studied his face, wondering if I could understand what was going on with him. Certainly not by figuring out his sober expression. He'd probably have been able to tell with me, but I couldn't read him that well. A lot of times I had to guess, or judge off his scent, which wasn't telling me anything right now. "I'm not sure I like you being this worried after sex. What's the matter?"
I hoped it wasn't the sex itself. I thought we were great together, that it was perfect, everything amazing, and never got old. What if he didn't think so? After all, he'd had a lot more experience. Maybe I was letting him down somehow.
"I just wonder..." He reached out and put a hand on my chest, letting it trail down. The hesitation in his voice, the uncertainty on his face, hurt me on a visceral level. "I wonder if you'll get tired of me. If I'm the only one you sleep with. You might someday have regrets you didn't get more experience."
"No, Justin. You're all I want." If I'd wanted experience, I'd have found a way to get it sooner. The connection, the trust, the fact we'd become mates...he ought to know that mattered more than a lot of different partners to me.
"Thanks. That's very sweet. But...well...if that changes, just talk to me first, okay? I won't be..." He hesitated, touching his tongue to his lips. "I won't be happy about it, of course, but it would still be better to know."
"If you think I'm going to be looking for someone else to have sex with, you're very wrong."
He smiled at that, touched my cheek. "Hon, I know you're too loyal to ever cheat on me. I just want you to know. If it's important to you, if—if you need more experience, we can work something out."
"No. We can't." I rolled on top of him, unable to keep the growl out of my voice. "You're for me. I'm for you. That's how mates work. I don't want somebody else. I'm never going to." I kissed him before he could argue.
He was trying to be noble, I could understand that, but I wasn't having any more of it. No
more sad Justin thinking I felt trapped. It wrecked me to see him so insecure. I'd take the cocky Justin any day over that.
I kissed him and kissed him, till I felt him surrendering, letting me win. Nobody would believe Justin could be like this. I never wanted anyone else to see him this vulnerable.
"DO YOU USUALLY TEXT all through lunch?" asked Justin in a bright voice he used when he was annoyed with Tomas.
I glanced at him in astonishment. The three of us had decided to go to a diner for lunch today. (I was pleased it wasn't Wendy's.) It was nice to see Justin during the day, and possible more often now that we all worked at the same place. I was shocked to see he was wasting time getting in a dig at Tomas—and even more shocked that he'd want to.
"Hm?" Tomas looked vague as he lifted his gaze from his phone. "Is the food here? Oh." His expression soured as he realized Justin was yanking his chain. "What do you care? You're here to see Riley, not me." He tapped his screen, but he definitely wasn't texting. He'd be reading, then.
Justin gave me a tight smile. "Why did he come along if he's just going to haunt the corner of the booth and ignore us both? Is that what he usually does?"
Without looking up a second time, Tomas spoke coolly. "Yes, that's exactly what I do: ignore Riley all day. You caught me."
I rolled my eyes. "Can't we just have a nice lunch?"
"Maybe I should go," said Tomas, glancing up at me, a question in his eyes.
"Yeah," said Justin. "Maybe you should."
"No." I gave him a hard stare. "If you want to have lunch with me alone, say so next time, okay? Don't chase Tomas off. I don't care if he decides to read through every meal for the rest of his life, so why should you?"
Justin tapped his straw against the side of his water glass, and gave a tight nod. "All right. My apologies. Read away, Tomas," he instructed, with the grand wave of a hand.
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