Silver felt a smile tickle his own mouth, but it hurt to slide the muscles all the way up. “I promise.”
Folder tucked under his arm, he was only a step into the hall when Eli grabbed his forearms.
“Oh my God, you have to help me. Quinn is hovering, and it’s driving me nuts.”
Silver peered around Eli to see Quinn sitting on the couch in his suit, remote in his hand as he faced the TV. Quinn glanced over, brows arching. Silver shook off the question and tipped his head toward Eli. Quinn shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.
Eli tightened his grip and gave a shove. “Stop talking over my head. It drives me fucking insane.”
Silver was betting that was a really short trip right now. “I think—”
“Oh my God, what happened to your face?”
“A lovely parting gift from my father.”
“That son of a bitch.” Eli dragged Silver into the kitchen. “Did you put any ice on it?”
“It’s fine.”
Eli opened the freezer, took out a bag of peas, and slapped it in Silver’s free hand.
“You look like a street punk.”
“I am one.” Silver bit off the So were you before Daddy showed up. Because Eli hadn’t been. He’d had jobs and an actual apartment with decent plumbing. It hadn’t just been Quinn riding to the rescue.
And now Eli had art for sale in a gallery. And a house. And a steady, though tight-assed and boring, boyfriend. Silver had… his birth certificate. He put the folder on the table. Whoever thought he’d be jealous of Eli?
But he was. And so angry he wanted to take off. Cut all these ties to people who reminded him what he would never have.
Eli stared at him like he was trying to see to the back of Silver’s eyes, then pushed the hand holding the peas toward his face. “Put it on.”
Silver sighed. “Okay.”
“I could probably tone that down with a little makeup. Maybe bring out your eyes more too.”
“No.”
“Everything okay?” Quinn came to the doorway.
“Will you fucking back off for five seconds?” Eli snarled.
Quinn looked like he’d been sucker punched and vanished from the doorway.
“I need a shower,” Silver said, though he sounded like he was eating marbles with the bag on his face.
“We have to leave in thirty-eight minutes.”
“I think I can manage that.” Silver pulled the bag down. “You know, Quinn might be a little stressed with all the attention on you.”
Silver had never seen Quinn look anything worse than constipated, but he thought Eli would buy it.
“You mean he’s jealous?”
Silver shrugged. Quinn was proud, not jealous, and Eli was insane. But Silver could manage one good deed today. “I think if you showed him some attention, he’d be able to relax and let you alone.”
“Like?”
“Go into the living room, pop open his fly, and blow the fuck out of him. You’ll—he’ll relax and everything will be better.”
Eli gave Silver a squinty look.
“Trust me.”
Eli laughed. “Maybe I will. Keep the ice on for a few minutes before you shower.” He winked. “And don’t come down till I call you.”
Chapter Twelve
WHEN SILVER got out of the shower, he found a new shirt on his bed, laid out next to his tight dark blue party jeans. It was lightweight, white and gray-blue checkered pattern, except the plain white collar and cuffs. He thought about complaining about not needing Mommy Eli to pick out his clothes, but damn, he liked that shirt.
Eli came in while Silver was shrugging into the shirt. “You were bitching about not having anything to wear.”
Eli himself was dressed in something a hell of a lot brighter than the black-on-black he’d been wearing at the door. Turquoise slacks, tight as skin, a denim shirt with a denim bow tie, and a bright yellow jacket. It should have caused immediate bleeding of the eyes, but on him, it worked.
“So, things a little less tense?” Silver buttoned up the shirt.
Eli grinned. “Yeah. I got that excess tension all over my other clothes. Then Quinn reminded me I’d be happier in what I’d first planned to wear, and everything is peachy keen once more.”
He rolled up Silver’s sleeves in neat cuffs to the elbow, then buttoned the shirt at the collar.
“Thought I wouldn’t need a tie.”
“You don’t. It’s perfect just like that. Of course, if you’d told me you were going to get punched, I would have tried to color coordinate with the bruise.”
“Thanks.” Silver shoved away Eli’s hand when he tried to push hair onto Silver’s face to hide the mark. “Tonight is all about you, Eli. No one is going to look at my face.”
No one would have looked twice on the bus, but wandering around the Arbuton Gallery ninety minutes later, people looked. And stared. Some of them tipped their heads and openly studied his face as if he were some kind of performance art. Guess violence was something they were only used to seeing in a representative form, as he’d heard one guy go on about while staring at some other artist’s picture that appeared to have gone through a shredder.
Feeling too much like an exhibit, Silver made his way into the reception area and winced when he got a look at himself in the glass walls. In the past two hours, the bruise on his cheek had deepened to a dark violet-red, complete with individual marks to show where the knuckles had hit. He wished he’d taken Eli up on the offer to try a little makeup. Having pale skin that marked so quickly had been an advantage shooting spanking videos, but right now it sucked.
He glanced back around into the gallery. He’d been really excited to see the Sold tags on two of Eli’s things, then almost shit himself when he saw how much they cost. Jesus, he wished he’d been able to make that much for one porn shoot.
Gavin stood next to Eli. Quinn was talking to some straight couple. And Nate and Kellan had just come in and were headed for Eli. That was reason enough to stay out of the gallery. Silver liked Kellan, but he didn’t feel like dealing with Nate’s condescending pity about triggers and consent or whatever the fuck he’d told Eli. How could Zeb have not made it yet? He had GPS now, so it wasn’t like he could get lost. Waiters were bringing out appetizer trays and toting champagne around already.
A guy in a nice suit with an open collar showing a tanned throat gave Silver a slow once-over, then tipped his champagne glass toward him. Silver did his own quick evaluation. Money, but with that sharply chiseled face and the hint of hard muscles under the shirt, this wasn’t a guy who needed to pay for it—at least not for sex. The way he tossed back that champagne suggested he was bored enough to want more expensive entertainment.
With a wave of confidence rolling out before him, he approached, snagging two fresh glasses from a passing waiter. It wasn’t until both hands were occupied that Silver noticed the cane, sleek and slender, now clamped under one arm.
The man offered one glass with something like a little bow. “David Beauchamp. You have to tell me who dared put that mark on your very pretty face so that I can turn his into minced hash.”
Silver let a half smile form on his lips as he gave David Beauchamp a closer inspection. Despite a few calluses on the palm of the hand holding out the champagne glass, Beauchamp wasn’t a fighter.
“We can’t risk your pretty face on that, can we?”
Beauchamp laughed. “Good comeback. That surely deserves a toast.”
“No thanks.”
Jamie was sure to be lurking around somewhere, and Silver didn’t want a scene over underage drinking.
“You’re going to make me drink alone?” Beauchamp played the disappointment exactly right, hugging the edge of serious and teasing.
“I’m guessing that doesn’t hold you back much.”
Beauchamp laughed again. “I can’t strike out completely. Please tell me you’re here by yourself.”
“No.”
The guy shot him a
look of disbelief, light blue eyes wide with fake hurt.
“I’m here with a friend who has stuff in the show. And his boyfriend.”
Beauchamp grinned, and Silver knew why the guy had such confidence. It was the kind of grin that could carry you into stuff you really knew better than to get involved in.
“Then my evening is definitely improving.” Beauchamp finished off one of the champagnes and rested a free hand on Silver’s shoulder. A light enough touch that it didn’t have to mean anything, except for the caressing thumb he felt through the thin cotton shirt.
It was fun to be flirted with by someone who didn’t want anything but… fun. Silver edged back just enough to signal Beauchamp to lay off a bit. Though maybe it would be nice for Zeb to see Silver wasn’t so broken and repulsive that a hot rich guy wouldn’t hit on him.
“Beach. How are you doing?” The familiar voice had Silver turning fast.
“Go fuck yourself, my friend.” Beauchamp’s voice was perfectly pleasant. “I’m busy.”
“Silver, nice to see you.” Gavin turned to him, looking gorgeous in package-hugging slacks and a thin green silk shirt that did the same for his torso. He was so wasted on that stompy little cop.
“Hey.” Silver moved so he was between them, between two hot guys who were both focused on him, wishing Zeb would show up at that exact moment.
“Silver?” Beauchamp tilted his head like he was mocking the name.
“Beach?” Silver said with the same emphasis.
Beauchamp laughed again. “I really like him, Gavin. We should take him out.”
“So do I. Which is why we won’t.” Gavin plucked the extra champagne glass from Beach’s hand.
“Or because Sergeant Boyfriend won’t like it.”
Silver watched them. He’d figured Beach was rich, but he didn’t know that he was Gavin kind of rich. Silver might owe Gavin big-time, but it didn’t mean Silver had to take orders.
“So, Beach, what do you drive?”
“Hmm. What do you say we let you do all the driving?” Beach’s gaze paid careful attention to Silver’s crotch.
Gavin gestured at Silver’s cheek with a champagne flute. “What happened to you?”
Silver didn’t really want to go all pity party in front of Beach, so he sketched it as roughly as he could. “I had to go back home for my birth certificate. My father decided to give me a little something extra.”
“Fathers, huh?” Beach said, shaking his head like assholes as birth parents was a minor inconvenience.
Gavin had glanced down as Silver spoke; now he raised his eyes, and the look in them gave Silver a chill. “No. Not like us.” He said to Beach, “Silver’s father threw him out when he was a teenager. He’s been on his own since.”
“The since moves us to legal territory, though, right?” Beach gave them both that grin and brushed against Silver’s arm.
Gavin glared. “Two words, Beach.” He leaned in to mutter, “Fort Carroll.”
“All right. You’re going to use that against me forever, aren’t you?” Beach raised a palm and champagne glass in wide-eyed surrender, as if Gavin had just threatened his balls. “Sorry, Silver. Your loss.”
“Did you get what you needed?” Gavin asked Silver.
“Yup. For all I care, Dr. and Mrs. Barnett can rot in hell. I never need to talk to them again.”
Beach’s joking manner fell away. “Doctor? What kind?”
“Dermatologist,” Silver said, wondering what the fuck that had to do with anything.
“Where’s his practice?”
It sounded like Beach knew old Thomas. But a guy with Beach’s money wouldn’t have to go to some little minihospital in Shrewsbury to get a mole examined.
“It’s in some clinic. Mid Coast Health.”
“Really.” Beach’s eyes lit up. “Be a shame if the good doctor found himself locked out of his own office.”
“What?”
“I own it.” Beach shrugged. “Own a bunch of health care corporations. Even if I can’t break his current lease, there’s a lot an administrator can do to make him wish I had.”
Maybe Silver didn’t like the idea of people trying to run his life—which had seemed to be the most popular job opening in Baltimore since he’d called Eli from jail. But Gavin’s anger and concern, plus the offer from some random guy to ruin Silver’s asshole father, felt kind of good. Felt like belonging somewhere. Like those few seconds with Zeb earlier, it felt like home.
“Thanks, but I’m all right. Got all I need from him.”
“And a little more.” Gavin’s voice was tight.
“Little more what?” Jamie barged in, manhandling his champagne flute like it was a beer bottle. He glanced over at Beach. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite asshole.”
Beach put a hand over his heart as if he were gravely wounded. “Sergeant Boyfriend.”
“I thought I was your favorite asshole,” Gavin murmured. For a second there was silence, but Silver felt a flash of heat just from watching them look at each other.
“Uh.” A flush stained Jamie’s cheeks almost as red as his hair.
Seeing Jamie get so very owned made Silver forget his cheek until his smile hurt.
“Well, yeah.” Jamie was back to himself. “Here, brat, hang on to these.” He passed Silver his champagne flute and the one plucked from Gavin’s hand. “Let’s go talk about that.” He tugged Gavin away.
Beach tucked a hand into his pocket in a not completely subtle effort to rearrange his gear. “My my, that was enough electricity to—did he growl?”
Silver wasn’t sure where that low vibration had come from. It was like one of the polarization bonds he’d read about in the science book.
“Well, damn. Now I really need to get laid. And as it’s been made perfectly clear that you, sweet thing, are off-limits, I’m going to have to settle for something else.” Beach’s gaze shifted to a woman in a short black dress. More specifically, the way it clung to her ass. “Any port in a storm.” He winked and strolled away, the swagger completely hiding his slight limp.
Silver searched for a place to dump the champagne glasses, but the waiters all seemed to have vanished. And of course, having a table or something to put stuff on would ruin whatever vibe the windowed walls and chrome floor was trying to create.
“Thought that wasn’t your thing.” Zeb stood in front of him, arms crossed in so much righteous indignation it strained the seams on his sport coat.
Which was a shame, because he looked pretty cute with the sleeves rolled up over tan forearms. The full, soft mouth would have added to the cute, if it wasn’t pinched in a frown.
Silver flicked his gaze at the champagne glasses in his hands, then pushed them both out at Zeb. “Here. Save me from myself.”
Zeb was startled, but his hands shot out to grab the glasses.
Too late, Silver thought he should have dumped the champagne on Zeb’s head. “You know what? After today, I am so completely over having anyone tell me who I am or who I’m supposed to be. Fuck. Off.”
He crossed the reception room and pushed open the door that took him out onto a wraparound balcony overlooking the harbor. He wasn’t alone there—other people had snuck out to enjoy a cigarette in the heavy air. As he moved along the railing and rounded a corner, he half expected to trip over Jamie and Gavin interlocking some body parts, but eventually he found a spot to be alone. Mostly because the view was blocked by some other building. It was almost a perfect hideaway, except for the glass wall behind him. Thunder rumbled, first only a vibration, then loud enough to get people’s attention.
Good. The rain should drive everyone else inside, though Silver hoped people stuck around long enough to drink and buy more of Eli’s pictures.
The storm blew up fast. From partly cloudy to early sunset in minutes. The wind lifted his hair, sweeping cocktail napkins off the balcony to spin away into the street four stories down. It was a great place to watch people from, see them hurry into buildings or cars,
though the trash was more interesting. The wind kept picking up plastic bags and sending them up like kites.
He didn’t have to worry about where he’d sleep or if the roof on Tyson Street had a new leak. And for a few minutes, he didn’t have to worry about whether he was living up or down to people’s expectations. When lightning backlit a cloud to the south, he glanced down at the metal railing and decided not to worry about that either.
He leaned forward against it as the first hard drops of rain fell, letting them sting against his sore right cheek.
“Hey.” Zeb’s voice.
With almost anyone else, Silver would have turned and put his back against the railing, feeling safer facing a person head-on. But if Zeb was going to hurt him some more, Silver would just as soon not let Zeb see his face.
“Hey,” Silver offered in answer.
Zeb put his hands on the railing to Silver’s right. Lightning flashed, and Zeb’s fingers tapped off the seconds till the thunder. He raised his hands for a second, then settled them again. Maybe his righteousness exempted him from lightning strikes.
The hands flexed and gripped the railing. That scar hadn’t been there before, the ragged one extending from the webbing next to his pinky, over the next knuckle, and then over the back of his hand. And his left index finger was missing a little piece. On his right hand, two of the fingers had swollen knuckles, and the tips leaned, like they’d been broken and taped together.
Silver remembered the skin smooth and straight, the tips and nails teasing the inside of his thighs, palm sliding across his belly, a grip on his hips to hold him flat as he tried to buck up into a hot, wet mouth. The way those hands had trembled, half pushing him away on the first thrust inside Zeb’s body.
Maybe it wasn’t his eyes but Zeb’s hands that showed what he was feeling. Right now they were hesitant, stalling, opening and closing on the top rail, tapping lightly.
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