Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s doing that now,” Levi pressed. “That man is in love with you.”

  Simon peered one eye at him. “How the hell do you know? You’re not an expert in love just because you fucked your way through your old dorm, Levi.”

  Levi gave him a flat expression. “I know, because it’s the same expression on my face when I look at James.”

  The words hung between them for a moment, then Simon shifted to look at his brother fully. “There’s no reason for him to love me, Levi. I’m a mess. I can’t even handle some bullshit confrontation with his asshole ex. Hashem yishmor, I could barely handle the market without losing my mind!”

  Levi leaned forward in the chair and laid his hand on Simon’s knee. “But you did it. And you had a good time until that asshole showed up, right?”

  Simon grunted his reply, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny it, either. “I need…I need help. Therapy. Something.”

  Levi chuckled and drew his hand away. “Yes, Si. You do. You probably have PTSD and maybe even OCD. I don’t know but, yes, you should see a therapist.”

  Simon hated that he was right, hated that his stomach was closing in on itself. “Why am I such a mess?”

  “Because our mother was terrible and threw shit on you that no child should have to bear, and Bubbe wasn’t much better at helping.” Hearing Levi admit it—hearing him not absolve their mother based on Simon’s word alone—it made him feel something, though he didn’t have words for it. “But you still deserve love—to be in love, to be loved back, and that man is head over heels. I’d bet my relationship with James on it.”

  “High stakes,” came James’ voice as he walked back into the room. He perched on the armrest of Levi’s chair and offered a soft look to Simon. “Levi is right though. Rocco is insanely in love with you. He was on the verge of tears when I told him to go.”

  Simon, if possible, felt worse. “I just need to…I don’t know. Process?”

  “You’re allowed that,” Levi told him. “I can’t stay here all night—I have to go pack the truck in and prep for tomorrow. And I’m guessing you’re not going to be any good for morning prep tomorrow…”

  “Actually,” Simon said, pushing himself to sit up straight, “that’s exactly what I need.”

  Levi looked dubious, but eventually he nodded. “Fine, but promise me you will contact him in the morning, Si. He deserves at least that from you, and you deserve to know the truth.”

  Simon nodded. He rose and followed Levi to the door, then let out a small, startled look when his brother grabbed him close and squeezed him tight enough to rob him of breath. “Todah,” he whispered.

  Levi pulled back and shook his head, giving the side of his face a pat as his mouth fell into a soft grin. “Tipesh.”

  Simon tried for a scowl, but the would-be insult was spoken with such a tone of affection, he almost started to cry. They stood there another moment, then Levi turned and reached for James, who was reaching for him at the same time. And Simon saw it then—it was impossible to miss. The light in Levi’s eyes, the light reflecting back in James’. The way they fit, their perfect orbit around each other. He hadn’t missed it before, he just wasn’t paying close enough attention.

  But it mattered now—it was important now, because Levi was right. Rocco had looked at him just like that, had reached for him just like that. And Simon could not deny, he had reached back.

  * * *

  Rocco didn’t sleep. He tried to let James’ promise soothe him, and his lawyer’s email settle the anxiety in his gut, but it didn’t help. Simon was still not speaking to him—had given him radio silence all night, and Eric was still around town somewhere just waiting to fuck everything up.

  Rocco lay on his back with James at his side as the sun crested up toward the top of the mountains. The sky was a grey blue, and there was humidity in the air with a promised storm. He missed Simon with a fierce ache he hadn’t expected, and he wanted to get out of bed and take action—but he couldn’t.

  It wasn’t fair.

  When his phone buzzed, Rocco nearly jumped out of his skin, and he fumbled for the device, swiping his screen with shaking hands. When he saw Simon’s name there, his eyes blurred with tears. He wasn’t sure what it would say—this was a make or break moment, he was pretty sure. But he couldn’t wait.

  Simon: Sorry I freaked out. I want to talk later. Do you still want to spend tonight with me?

  Rocco: I want 2 talk. Miss u.

  Simon: I miss you too. I was an asshole and I hope you forgive me. Chametz closes at four, but I think I might lock up at noon. I want time with you before sunset. Meet me?

  Rocco: I cook u dinner. C U then xoxo

  Simon: xoxo

  Rocco laid back on the pillow, his heart beating hard enough to almost worry him. James had jumped off the bed, so Rocco turned onto his side and stared at the message thread. Simon apologized. Simon thought he was being an asshole—and maybe freezing Rocco out was kind of a dick move, but Rocco couldn’t blame him for it.

  He knew what Eric was capable of. He knew he was good at creating chaos when he wanted to. Simon was still fragile, was still figuring things out. Having done the Market was huge for him, and to have that tainted and destroyed by Eric’s vindictive plans…

  Simon wasn’t the one who needed to apologize.

  Fatigue consumed him suddenly, and Rocco found himself drifting, his phone clutched to his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he warned himself not to let go, but the relief was too strong, and it stole a couple of hours.

  Rocco woke near ten, bolting upright, and he swayed on his feet as he tried to stand. Gripping the wall, he regained his equilibrium, then stumbled for a shower, taking less time than he ever had in his life. He started to worry about his looks—but he realized that nothing about his appearance mattered to Simon.

  Maybe at first. Maybe it was the way he looked, the way he moved, the way he fucked. But Simon wanted him, not Sylent, not some public figure.

  He put a little product in his hair, finger-combed it backward, then moved to the kitchen to start a cup of coffee. It was less than ten minutes before he was out the door—caffeinated, a granola bar sitting heavy in his gut. He sat in his driveway, then pulled up Charlie’s number on his phone.

  Rocco: Can I pay u 4 dog sit pls?

  Charlie: You found Simon?

  Rocco: Yes. Know I’m not guest ne-more.

  Charlie: Bring him by. If I’m not around, Theo can do it. I’m glad you found him.

  Rocco: TY

  He had just enough time to drop James off and get to the store before Simon was expecting him. Charlie was out front when Rocco pulled up to the lobby bay, and he gathered the dog and his things into his arms.

  Charlie offered a sympathetic smile as he took over the leash and hooked James’ bag over his arm, then lifted his hand. ‘You okay?’

  Rocco shrugged. “Long night. Simon and I have to talk it out. Thanks for helping.”

  Charlie waved him off, so Rocco climbed back in the car and headed into town. The parking lot of their only supermarket was mostly empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed a basket and stepped into the cool air. The summer afternoon was getting hot, and the pressing humidity of an oncoming storm was making him sweat. He swiped a hand over his brow, then moved to the pasta aisle and went for easy.

  A box of dried lasagna noodles, a couple jars of sauce from a passable brand. He strolled toward the cheeses and loaded up on the freshest mozzarella he could find, and then a chunk of cut parm. He was in the meat section, perusing the selection of ground beef when a hand touched his arm, and he glanced up to see James raising a brow at him.

  “Cooking?” James asked, a word easy enough for Rocco to understand.

  “Simon texted. I’m spending tonight with him, so I thought I’d make lasagna.” He started to put the ground beef in his cart, but James caught him by the wrist and shook his head. Rocco frowned, but set it back, and when he lo
oked at James, the man was holding out his phone.

  ‘Meat+Cheese= Not kosher.’

  Rocco’s cheeks burned. He didn’t know nearly enough, and understood only a fraction of what he had looked up online. He didn’t want to fuck this up, but he didn’t know if he’d ever be good enough to get it right.

  ‘I’m still learning too. Levi isn’t observant, but some things matter. No bacon, no shellfish, no meat mixed with dairy. I think Simon lets a few things slide tho.’

  Pursing his lips, Rocco nodded, then signed his thanks. He could do it with vegetables just as well. He had learned a few things standing at his mother’s knee in the kitchen. But more than anything, he wanted Simon to know that regardless of whether or not the food was good enough to write home about—it was for him. It was all about him.

  James didn’t try to say anything else, but he strolled with him to the vegetable section. They pantomimed a couple of things—almost like small talk. He wasn’t sure James would ever really put in the effort of learning his language, but he had to admit—the company was nice. After the night before, Rocco was still reeling a little.

  He spent half the night questioning whether or not he really should be there. If Simon had wanted to end things, it’s not like Rocco had any ties to Cherry Creek. But James being there with him felt like some sort of connection, or maybe an olive branch. It felt like other people were making an effort to help him feel at home, and that mattered.

  Rocco started to lead the way toward the bakery, but James grabbed his arm and gave his head a firm shake before pulling out his phone again.

  ‘Levi will MURDER you if you bring Simon store-bought. He’ll make dessert if you want it.’

  Rocco couldn’t help but laugh at the realization he was stepping into a family of bakers—one with a shop, for now, and one with a truck. He glanced back at a pile of strawberries in boxes, then signed it. “Strawberry,” he clarified. “And whipped cream?”

  James raised a brow, then flushed, and Rocco realized the food kink possibilities. Not something he’d ever been into off-camera, but with Simon, anything was possible. And everything. Not tonight, though. He didn’t want this to be about sex. He wanted this to be a moment where he showed Simon—with more than words—what he meant when he said he was falling for him.

  He grabbed two boxes, and a little spray can of the cheap whipped cream, then started toward the checkout. He was eyeing a small bin of single-serve applesauce packets when a person came around the corner, and Rocco’s entire body froze.

  Eric’s smile was too familiar, the glint in his eyes a painful reminder of what he’d walked away from. Rocco had wondered since he got to Cherry Creek what he’d do if he came face to face with Eric again—how could he not? But he felt nothing at first. And then, a simmering resentment of so damn many years wasted.

  ‘I was hoping I’d run into you,’ Eric signed.

  Normally, Rocco would have been able to breathe easier with someone as fluent as Eric, but now he just wanted to break his fingers to silence him after what he’d done to Simon. ‘Why? You could have texted instead of creeping around town and lying.’

  Eric’s brow raised. ‘Is that what your little boy-toy told you I did?’

  Rocco’s entire body was thrumming with furious energy. ‘No. He didn’t tell me anything.’

  Eric looked mildly amused until Rocco saw James say something out of the corner of his eye. Eric snapped back, and James laughed.

  ‘What did he say?’ Rocco demanded.

  Eric gave him a mean look. ‘Not your business.’

  He was doing it to be cruel, to leave Rocco out, to remind him that he had the power of hearing. Eric had rarely used that against him, but this wasn’t the first time. It was, however, a reminder of why Eric had never been a good person. He had never been a person worthy of Rocco’s love. Rocco had just spent years ignoring that part of his ex.

  ‘You need to leave,’ Rocco told him.

  Eric scoffed. ‘You don’t have the right to demand that.’

  Darting a glance at the checkout, Rocco realized they’d gained an audience. Chances were, he was being loud. He rarely bothered to control whether or not he made noise anymore—especially when he was angry, and right then, he was furious.

  James tapped him on the shoulder and the look on his face was one of concern.

  “Can you pay for me?” he asked. “I’m going to have a word with Eric outside.”

  James nodded, and took Rocco’s offered card before fixing Eric with a hard look and pushing toward the line. Rocco didn’t bother to wait and see if Eric followed, he just marched out and around the corner where they could have some semblance of privacy.

  ‘Look at you,’ Eric signed when Rocco stopped and turned to face him. ‘Voicing for the hearies.’

  Rocco took a step closer to him, and the rage on his face finally gave his ex pause. ‘You are hearie. You’re worse than them, because they don’t withhold communication to make themselves feel powerful.’

  Eric blanched, but he made no move to tell Rocco what it was James said, which meant it was an insult. ‘Come home, Rocco. Stop being an asshole and just come home.’

  Rocco scoffed. ‘I am home.’

  Eric’s look was one of disbelief, and he rolled his eyes. ‘This is some shitty little hick town in the middle of nowhere. Our condo…’

  ‘My condo,’ Rocco corrected. ‘My condo in Malibu, my cottage on Coronado. My name, my homes. I’m selling them, Xander is fired, and I’m through with you both. Enjoy your engagement.’ He glanced down and saw Eric’s bare hand. ‘Or not.’

  Eric’s cheeks were flaming, splotchy red. ‘I didn’t want him. I was trying to make you jealous. I was so tired of you not giving a shit about me.’

  ‘I still don’t give a shit about you,’ Rocco said. It was time—it was time to be hurtful with honesty, because he was in love with Simon and he didn’t care what happened after, so long as Simon was with him. ‘I’m in love with someone else.’

  ‘That chubby guy with freckles? The one you want to film with? Some UCLA drop-out whose business is going under?’

  Rocco became profoundly aware of how far Xander had been able to dig into Simon’s background before he cut Xander’s access to his email. ‘He had no right to my personal information once I fired him. I hope he enjoys the lawsuit. I hope you both do—since you were also no longer employed by me when you went into Simon’s personal information.’

  ‘Precious?’ Eric signed.

  Rocco couldn’t help his grin as he spelled Simon’s name, then signed it again. ‘He is everything to me—everything you never could be. I’m through. And I’m sorry you never felt like you were enough. That was proof we should have stayed broken up years ago. The first time.’

  Eric’s eyes went wide and watery. ‘Rocco…’

  “No!” He slashed his hand through the air, felt his frustrated grunt rip up his throat. ‘I can’t. We’re done. Please just go home and pack and move on.’

  ‘Are you really going to sue me?’ Eric asked. He looked scared now—and it was obvious. He and Xander had fucked up. And they knew it.

  ‘Yes,’ Rocco said, and he felt no remorse. Eric had been bleeding him dry for years—had broken up with him and crawled back, and treated him like shit, then begged for forgiveness all because Rocco had been providing. He was not a boyfriend—he was never a boyfriend. He was a bottomless meal ticket. ‘Sell the Porsche and buy an apartment. I don’t care. But leave.’

  Turning on his heel, Rocco walked away from him and found James standing near the front doors. He came to a stop a bit closer than he normally would have, then leaned his head in. “Is he still behind me?”

  James glanced over Rocco’s shoulder, then shook his head.

  Rocco let out a breath, then dragged a hand down his face as he turned it up toward the sky. The sun was behind the clouds now—heavy and dark with rain. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drag you into that.”

  James touched his arm, then
shook his head again.

  “What did you say to him that pissed him off?”

  At that, James laughed, then dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘I said I know who you are. Eric the choad, the guy too terrible in bed to make it as a porn star so he had to fuck one to live his dreams.’

  Rocco laughed hard—mostly out of stress, and relief, and acceptance. He laid a hand on James’ shoulder. “Thank you,” he said again.

  James squeezed Rocco’s wrist, then typed, ‘Simon and I are working on our relationship, but I like you. You’re good for him. I hope it works out.’

  ‘Me too,’ Rocco signed back, mouthing the words. He took his cart from James, and appreciated that the man didn’t follow him to his car. He needed the moment to regroup. He still felt like crying—which was new. He hadn’t cried once during the mess with Eric and Xander, but nearly losing Simon over it had him damn close.

  Swallowing thickly, he loaded the bags into his car, then sat behind the wheel and breathed until he could take air into his lungs without choking on it. After a beat, he grabbed his phone to send Simon a quick text.

  Rocco: b there soon.

  Simon: Good. I can’t wait.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Simon wanted to pretend like he had even a modicum of chill, but he was trying his best not to lie. The single phone call from James warning him about what had happened at the supermarket sent him to the street, pacing in front of the closed shop as the minutes ticked from one to twenty.

  Then he heard the faint roar of Rocco’s sport’s car engine, and his heart leapt into his throat. He saw when Rocco noticed him, saw the way the car wavered a bit as it pulled into the empty space Simon had left for him. Rocco barely had his feet on the ground before Simon threw himself into Rocco’s arms, and his giant boyfriend let out the smallest grunt as he gathered Simon close.