Donny supposed he could see if Roland wanted to keep Pete on a permanent basis. The idea of not having Pete around all the time made him a little sad, but Pete was so excluded with Jack and Jill, it might be better for him to live with someone who was home and could pay attention to him more. And if Donny and Roland kept seeing each other, then it wasn’t like he’d never see Pete. Maybe Roland could even meet Jack and Jill.
That was presumptuous.
Donny finished his coffee and washed the mug, putting it back into the cabinet. He scratched out a note for Roland, letting him know he’d be back before four, then let himself out. As the door clicked shut, Donny remembered how enraged he felt walking in and seeing Pete on that broken plate, covered in paint, then Roland, fucking stumbling and shit-faced. Donny shouldn’t have fucked Roland the way he had, but he couldn’t find another way to channel his feelings.
It had worked out, Donny supposed. Roland was going to take his medication, and that would help. Donny hoped it would help because Roland had been allowing him glances at the person he was— that he could be, maybe the person he wanted to be, and Donny was eager for more.
He wanted to see if Roland’s eyes sparkled when he came.
Donny groaned and shifted his dick between his legs as he slid into his car and headed to work.
Before he went inside, he tapped out a text message to Athena, seeing if she wanted to get lunch. She sent him a middle finger emoji, which he assumed was yes.
His first delivery was a ridiculously heavy box that rattled and clanked with every step back to his car, and he clumsily tossed it into his trunk, keying the address into his GPS. It was a bit of a drive up to Pasadena, but Donny always enjoyed the gorgeous houses in the old part of town so he tried to see the bright side.
He pulled into a long driveway, stopping at a closed wrought-iron gate and unrolling his window to hit the call button.
“Yes?”
“Hi. I have a package for Richard Harrington. I’m from Frank’s Delivery.”
There was no reply, but the gates swung open and Donny drove down an even longer driveway, parking in a roundabout in front of a giant Craftsman style house. He lugged the awkward box out of his trunk, managing to get it to the porch with a lot of effort but minimal commotion. He set the clipboard on top and rang the doorbell.
Donny heard the click-clack of heels against hardwood get louder as someone approached the door and opened it. The man was attractive, that much was undeniable. From a perfectly styled head of blond hair to the amber colored eyes that widened, then narrowed, at the sight of Donny, to the impeccable black slacks and black oxfords, and a white dress shirt, rolled up to the elbows.
The man looked down at the box and lifted it up with ease, setting it on a table directly inside the house.
“What do you have in there? Twenty feet of chain link or something?” Donny held out the clipboard and laughed.
The man laughed but his face quickly turned serious again as he signed the paperwork and handed it back.
“I don’t think it’s any of your concern.” And then the door was closed in his face.
Donny blinked and shoved his hand in his pocket to dig out his phone so he could text his sister.
Donny: I just had THE weirdest customer.
Athena: You’re the weirdest customer.
Donny: If you never see me again, I’m chained up in the basement of a gorgeous house in Pasadena.
Athena: Well I’m at Gabriel and Joel’s so come here for lunch, loser.
Donny: I’m covered in cat hair.
Donny hadn’t forgotten that Athena’s best friend was ridiculously allergic to cats.
Athena: It’s fine. Gabriel got him some Benadryl. Just lint roll. He’ll survive.
Donny: Fine. Send me the address.
Donny remembered that Gabriel lived in Beverly Hills so he headed that way, and keyed Gabriel’s address in once Athena sent it. After he parked, he obediently lint-rolled himself with the roller Athena kept in his car, then rode the elevator up to Gabriel’s penthouse.
Joel opened the door, his hair tousled but his smile large.
“Donny, hey. Good to see you.”
“You too, man.”
Joel led Donny inside the penthouse. “How did that date with Davis go?”
Donny barked out a laugh, “You dodged a bullet, dude. That guy is a shitbag, for sure.”
“Who’s a shitbag?” Gabriel’s voice chimed in from the kitchen as Joel and Donny rounded the corner.
“Davis,” Joel supplied, walking up to Gabriel and sliding his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and giving him a visible squeeze. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and he hummed a noise that sounded equal parts contemplative and predatory.
“Hey, Gabriel,” Donny said. “Good to see you again.”
“You too, Donny. Did you figure out whatever you needed?” Gabriel appraised him, and Donny squinted his eyes in return.
Donny hadn’t been polite the last time he’d been here for dinner, and he felt his trepidation had been well served at the time. From what Athena told him, things with Gabriel and Joel were tentative, and while he didn’t know Joel that well, he was his sister’s best friend and that had weight.
Donny nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m good.”
Gabriel’s lip quirked up into a smile, and he offered Donny a perfunctory nod in return.
Athena was in the kitchen with four plates in front of her, assembling sandwiches.
“Look at my big sister, all domestic,” Donny laughed, grabbing a slice of tomato from the cutting board. Athena swatted at his hand and glared at him.
“I’ll domesticate you,” she said to him.
“What does that even mean? That sounds a little too kinky, Athena. You are my sister.” Donny grabbed another tomato and turned toward Gabriel and Joel. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“It’s down the hall on the left,” Joel supplied, pointing over his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Donny headed that way and was stopped in his tracks before he could reach the bathroom. The main area of Gabriel’s penthouse was modern and clean; there wasn’t much decoration to be seen, but he had about half a dozen pieces of art in the hallway and they were unbelievable.
Donny pressed his back against the wall so he could get a full view of the first canvas framed in a simple black metal frame that hung right before the door to the bathroom. It was beautiful. Obviously, it was beautiful. That was an understatement. It had stopped Donny in his tracks. It was meant to be a sunset— the canvas decorated with vibrant purples and pinks and oranges from corner to corner. It was abstract, but Donny could immediately tell what it was, and it took his breath away.
He turned to look at two on the other wall. They were obviously by the same artist with vibrant colors spread from corner to corner. There wasn’t a hint of white to be seen. All sunsets, but Donny knew this was a winter sunset. It had blues and purples with a flash of green through the middle.
Donny leaned closer, trying to find an artist signature so he could go home and google the guy.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Gabriel’s voice in his ear ripped him out of his trance-like fascination with the art. “Are you an artist?” he added on.
“I mean, I like to think I could be. But nothing like this. They’re breathtaking.” Donny reached a hand toward the canvas.
“I bought them from a gallery showing, probably eight or nine years ago.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and admired the art alongside Donny.
“Who painted them?”
“Oh, a young kid. I haven’t seen much from him lately. Roland Wilson, I think his name was.”
Donny choked. “I’m sorry. Who?”
“Roland Wilson." Gabriel pointed down at a tiny RW in the corner of the canvas.
There was no way. There had to be more than one Roland Wilson. If this was what his Roland was trying to get out, no wonder he was so angry and frustrated. These canvases were n
ear perfection, and evoked a visceral feeling inside of Donny— and wasn’t that what every artist hoped to accomplish? To communicate with someone through their art? To touch them and speak to them…
“You okay?” Gabriel asked, tapping him on the back.
“Yeah, yeah. I just… I think I know him,” Donny choked out.
“Hmn.” Gabriel pushed his lower lip out slightly, then turned and went back to the kitchen.
Donny lingered, doing his best to commit the colors to memory.
“Donny! Lunch!” Athena hollered from the kitchen.
He finally made his way into the bathroom, and he then ventured to the kitchen and pulled out a chair to sit. He didn’t hear a word of what was said between Athena, Joel and Gabriel. All he could think about was Roland’s paintings. The art spoke to Donny and obviously Gabriel too, since he’d bought them. Until now, Donny had just wanted Roland to sort himself out for selfish reasons, but now it was for a greater good. If this was what Roland was capable of creating nearly a decade ago, if he could just break through himself now…
After they ate, Donny made it through Beverly Hills in record time, and pulled into the guest parking at Roland’s penthouse. He saluted the doorman as he passed, then keyed Roland’s code into the elevators. Donny was nearly jumping out of his skin. It felt as though it was imperative he talk to Roland, to find out what inspired him, what he saw in his head when he created those perfect fucking sunsets. Donny wanted to know why it used to be easier for him.
The elevator doors opened and Donny raised his hand to knock on Roland’s door, but as his knuckles connected, the door fell open.
“Roland?” Donny stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“What?” came a slurred reply from the other side of the kitchen island. Donny looked over and didn’t see anything, but then saw the end of Pete’s glitter fish cat toy dart out and swipe back along the floor. Pete came sliding out from behind the island, far too late to grab the fish between his paws, then he scampered back out of sight.
Donny walked around the island and found Roland on the ground with Pete bouncing back and forth between his legs. Roland looked up and saw Donny, then his hand reached out to his left as he tried to obscure something from Donny’s vision.
The something, Donny realized, as it fell and clattered on the floor, was an empty bottle of vodka. Roland was drunk. Again. And it was barely after noon.
“Seriously?” Donny was furious. “I gave you another chance, Roland, and you go do the same fucking shit again?”
Roland looked up at him with a level of incredulousness specifically reserved for people who were three sheets to the wind.
“I didn’t do the same shit. What do you mean?” Roland slurred at him, dangling the cat toy in front of Pete who eagerly jumped up to swat at it.
“You’re fucking drunk, Roland!” Donny fisted his hands at his sides then folded his fingers together and raised them to his mouth, tapping his thumbs against his lips.
“Maybe, but Pete’s fine, so it’s different,” Roland replied, smirking like he was fucking brilliant.
“Pete’s fine, so it’s different,” Donny repeated, dropping his hands to his sides.
“Yes.” Roland nodded. “You were gone and so he had his medicine then he ate and we’ve been right here playing. I’ve been taking good care of him. Haven’t I, Pete? You tell him.” Roland looked proud and he patted the cat on top of his head.
Donny scrubbed his hands over his face and grunted out a frustrated noise before turning around and stalking onto the balcony, slamming the door closed behind him.
Chapter 15
The Last Promise
Roland is sitting on the floor of his apartment, his back to the wall and his head is cradled in his hands. He is painfully aware of the sounds that every door in his apartment make when they slam closed, thanks to Cody tearing through the apartment and slamming them all closed as he comes and goes.
“Are you just going to sit in there and pretend this isn’t happening?” Cody yells down the hallway at him. Roland looks up but doesn’t move away from the wall.
Cody storms into the bedroom, throwing the door open so it bounces off the wall. Roland is pretty sure there’s a dent there now from the knob by this point. Roland looks up at him and pushes his hair away from his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are damp. Roland reaches a hand up and feels his eyelashes. They’re clumped together from his tears.
“Yeah, they’re wet. You’ve just been in here crying all morning instead of talking to me. You’re a fucking master at avoiding the issue. That’s all you’ve ever done. Avoid the issue. Ignore the problem. You can’t just throw your ass at every problem, Roland. It won’t fix anything for the long term.”
Cody stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips. His accusations make Roland angry and he pushes off the wall and glares at Cody.
“That’s not what I do.”
“It is!” Cody yells. “It is,” he repeats, softer. “You need help, Rolly. I know you don’t want to admit that, but you do.”
“I’m not weak, Cody. I can do this without pills. I don’t need pills.”
Cody looks at him; his face is dripping with sympathy and sadness as he slides a hand around Roland’s waist, pulling their bodies together. Cody is taller than him, and he presses his lips against Roland’s forehead then sighs.
Roland reaches up and fists Cody’s shirt in his hands. He tugs and pulls, twisting the fabric between his fingers, trying to pull Cody closer and hold him there. Cody covers Roland’s hands with his and unfolds Roland’s fingers, breaking his grasp. He holds Roland’s sweaty hands in his, raises them to his mouth and presses kisses to every knuckle, then he lowers both their hands to his chest.
“You said you loved me,” Roland whimpers and he looks down at their joined hands. He squeezes Cody’s fingers with his and watches as a tear slides down his cheek and bounces off Cody’s knuckle.
“That’s not fair, Rolly,” Cody says, releasing him.
Roland fumbles forward, grabbing Cody’s shirt again and dragging him closer.
“You did, though, you said you did. We made promises, Cody.”
Cody shakes free of his fingers and runs a hand through his hair. Roland can see he’s exasperated, and hurt— and regretful. Roland latches onto the regret. He thinks that Cody won’t really leave him, not as long as he has that look in his eyes.
“We did. I did. But so did you, and you’re not keeping yours, and that’s not fair to me.” Cody takes a step back toward the bedroom door.
“I am keeping mine. I promised you I would get better, and I am better. I’m fine, Cody,” Roland pleads.
“You’re not better. You’re getting better, but you’re not there yet.”
“You’re not in my head, you don’t know what’s going on up here," Roland accuses, jabbing his fingers against his temples.
Cody reaches up and stills Roland’s hands, then drags his thumbs across his skin. Cody holds his face and forces Roland to look him in the eyes. Cody’s eyes are red, too. Roland feels a tear slide down his cheek. Cody offers him a sad smile, then wipes Roland’s tears from his cheeks.
“How long have I known you?” Cody asks him.
“Two years,” Roland says and Cody nods in agreement.
“Two years. And were you taking your pills when we met?”
Roland shakes his head, no.
“Were you happy when we met?”
Roland shakes his head, no.
“When did you start feeling less bad, Rolly?” Cody wipes more of Roland’s tears from his face.
“When you told me you loved me,” Roland says, smiling and trying to muster a laugh, but the sound that comes out is more like a strangled cry.
Cody smiles, a real smile this time. “You’re a liar.”
Roland looks down and Cody tips Roland’s chin up. “It was after you went back on your meds, wasn’t it?”
Roland closes his eyes and reluctantly
nods his head.
“Then why would you stop now? You’re doing good. We are doing good. Why are you insisting on fucking this up, Roland?” Cody sounds like he’s begging. But Roland doesn’t want to be medicated, doesn’t need it. The pills have got him this far, he can do the rest on his own. He needs to do the rest on his own.
Roland is desperate to be stronger than his mind.
“Cody, I don’t need them anymore.” Roland means the pills. “I promise, just let me prove it.”
“You already made me a promise, and you’re breaking it right now, and you’re breaking my fucking heart,” Cody says and his voice cracks. Tears slip from his eyes and Roland wipes them away with insistent fingers.
“You’re the one leaving. Just don’t leave, Cody. Don’t leave,” Roland’s voice is watery now, and he begs.
“Don’t stop taking your pills, Roland,” Cody pleads.
Roland gets angry and he shoves Cody away from him.
“I don’t need them!” he yells. “I don’t need them. I need you! I need you, and you’re leaving me.”
“I don’t want to fucking leave you!” Cody yells back at him, wiping his face with shaking hands. “You’re making me leave you. You’re making me. I remember what things were like when we met, and I remember where you were in your head, Roland. And I refuse to let you tear us both apart when you end up there again.”
Cody sobs, and Roland is shaking his head, no, no, no, no.
“I deserve better, Rolly. But more importantly, so do you.” Cody takes another step back.
Roland advances on him, walking them both out of the bedroom until Cody’s back hits the wall. Cody lets out an oomph and Roland presses their chests together, and leans his face into Cody’s neck. Roland forces his hand into Cody’s pants and wraps his fingers around Cody’s cock. He isn’t hard, isn’t anywhere close to hard, and Roland strokes and strokes until he feels the familiar twitch that accompanies the start of Cody’s erection.
“Roland, don’t do this,” Cody says, sucking in a lungful of air and arching into Roland’s grasp. “You always do this. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t—” Cody’s eyes fall closed and his head knocks into the wall.
The Colors Between Us Page 10