Lazy Sundays (Lazy Days Book 1)

by K-lee Klein

  “You’re downright terrifying today,” Devon teased. “Some of the guys have boats. I borrow them if I feel the urge. You wanna hit the water sometime, sweetheart?”

  “I’m not sure I’d enjoy that particular activity with you.” Scott squinted into the afternoon sun. “You probably drive like a man possessed. Is that the right term? Is it called driving when you’re in a boat? That would make you the captain, wouldn’t it? Sounds like way too much power in your hands.”

  “Hey!” Devon complained good-naturedly. He reached for Scott’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You thought the same thing about my bike and now you love when I take you for a ride.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Scott slid further down the railing. “I know that look and I refuse to talk about sex with you in public.”

  Devon loved how Scott’s cheeks pinked up, and not just from the ocean air. “Then how about letting me buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “Throw in a donut and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  The ferry was busy but not so much that Scott appeared anxious, at least no more than normal. Pride swelled in Devon’s chest as he watched Scott casually interact in a crowded place. And if he were perfectly honest with himself, he was proud that Scott was taking him home with him at all. Devon wasn’t too thick to realize home was the most stressful part of Scott’s life, and Devon sincerely hoped he would be some kind of support in that sense.

  They wandered around a little, challenged each other to spot fish, or dolphins, or a little game they liked to call “guess the secret history of random people”. It was lighthearted and fun, but Devon could see the change in Scott the closer they got to their destination. It was subtle, simple things, like the new tension in his voice, the incessant fidgeting he did with his hands, or the way he pulled away when Devon tried to reel him back in.

  “You okay?” Devon asked as they made their way back to where the car was parked at the bottom of the ferry.

  Instead of answering and allaying Devon’s concerns, Scott skipped to a random subject. “Does your rockstar community know you drive a hybrid? Doesn’t seem to fit the rock and roll lifestyle.”

  “Musicians are big activists for a lot of important stuff, even the headbanging ones. It hurts that you’re stereotyping me, man?” Devon knew that wasn’t Scott’s intention, but he was happy to see the line of Scott’s shoulders loosen. His face cracked into a grin. “You should get yourself one. They’re much more efficient.”

  “I’ll consider that,” Scott replied. He paused beside the passenger door of Devon’s Prius, his face a mask of indecision. “I need to tell you something.”

  Devon squeezed between the front of his car and the back of the truck parked in front of it. Worried, he reached for Scott but thought better of it and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Should I be scared?”

  Scott dipped his head. “My mother is, um…” He trailed off with a sigh. “She’s difficult. When you talk about your mom it always strikes me just how polar opposite she is to mine. Was to mine. Sorry.”

  “I don’t scare easily,” Devon told him. “And I’m all in whether your mother embraces me with open arms or kicks me out on my ass. I’m not in love with her.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  With a shrug, Devon stroked Scott’s arm, gently so he didn’t feel trapped. “Doesn’t have to be difficult.” When Scott sniffed his disapproval, Devon attempted to clarify. “I’m not trying to change how you’re feeling. What’s the word? Um, validating! I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings. But I do want to remind you that I’ll be there whatever you need. Keep that in your head, deal?’

  Scott nodded tightly, glanced at Devon for barely a second then tugged the car door open. Devon followed suit but the atmosphere inside the car was strained and nowhere as easy or comfortable as it had been on drive to the Horseshoe Bay terminal. He let it slide, giving Scott room to work through whatever was going on in his head. He couldn’t force the issue, and he certainly couldn’t try to change Scott’s mind about something he had no experience or history with.

  The drive from Nanaimo to Parksville was quiet, a little awkward, but Devon kept up a casual banter. “I can’t believe you grew up in Parksville. I used to come here for the big beach celebration thing. The sandcastle competition is off the hook.”

  “1982,” Scott said, robotically.

  Devon took his eyes off the road to peer at him. “Pardon?”

  “They started the sandcastle competition in 1982.”

  It was typical anxious-Scott behavior; the flat speech pattern and use of facts to cover the intolerable emotions clogging up his system. It usually meant Scott was lost inside his head. Devon attempted to keep him present. “That’s a long time. You ever hang out at the beach with your friends?”

  Scott took a while to answer, clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap. Devon lightly covered them. “I liked to look at the sandcastles every year. Usually by myself.” Scott’s answer tugged on Devon’s heartstrings.

  But he soldiered on. “My mom brought Shaun and I the first year we moved to Vancouver. She loved to walk around in the sand with the sun on her face. Who knows, maybe you and I ran into each other back then.” He grinned but Scott’s expression didn’t change.

  “You wouldn’t have noticed me,” Scott mumbled like it was the easiest fact in the world.

  “Scott—”

  “I didn’t like the sun or the sand. Still don’t I guess.” Scott hesitated and out of the corner of his eye, Devon watched him peer sadly out the passenger window. “I burn easily so I was always covered up and I brought my textbooks to the beach so I could say I was there but still study.”

  “I wish I would’ve been there for you then.”

  Scott snorted, humorlessly. “No, you don’t,” he snapped. He softened his tone after. “Sorry. I was a bore, but I liked being alone.”

  Devon didn’t believe him, but he did believe Scott had spent most of his time alone out of necessity. He guessed he was stepping into the belly of the beast with Scott as his reluctant tour guide and his mother the actual beast. Of course, he didn’t reiterate that thought. Instead, he forced a soft expression again. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing all the embarrassing pictures from when you were little. My mom had some doozies.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Well, maybe if I ask—”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.” Scott turned to Devon. “Please don’t.”

  With a nod, Devon concentrated on the road again. They were close to their destination and he was working up to a brood. It felt like he was on the way to his first gig and he didn’t like the nostalgic feeling. So he switched gears again, tried to lighten up the conversation. “Hey look! The Grey Goose Motel. I haven’t stayed in a place like that in years. Looks like a cozy little hideaway.”

  “Seriously?” Scott’s tone was harsh. “The rooms are probably laden with bed bugs and unusual stains. Can’t imagine any sane person wanting to stay there.”

  “Man, you’re really in a mood,” Devon said, shoving his hand through his hair as he went back to focussing on his driving. His patience was waning. “I mean, I get it but maybe try not to take it out on me.”

  When Scott’s hand landed softly on Devon’s thigh, Devon breathed a sigh of relief. He grasped Scott’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” Scott mumbled. “I don’t mean to. I’m not sure this was a good idea.”

  “Well, unless you want me to turn around and head back to the ferry, I think it’s too late to change your mind.” Devon kept his voice low, his tone emotionless like Scott’s, but that wasn’t one of his strong skills, especially when it involved his boyfriend. He caved immediately, pulling into a grocery store parking lot and shutting off the car. He twisted to face Scott. “Look. I’m here for you. That’s all I can say. That’s all I can offer but anything you need, I’m there. You know that, right?”

  It took a few moments for Scott to speak but he ke
pt his fingers tangled with Devon’s. That was a good sign. “You might see me in a different light,” he responded, staring straight ahead. “One you don’t like.”

  “I love you but I’m not blind to any issues either of us have, together or separately. I guess I’m a glass half-full kind of guy and I know that can get annoying. Shaun says that all the time. But bottom line, I’ll take you any way I can get you and I’m hoping you feel the same way.”

  “I do,” Scott whispered, swallowing thickly. “But I’m still scared.”

  “Okay if I hug you?” Devon asked, already stretching out an arm. Scott turned his head then nodded once. “Come here.”

  Despite the limited space in the front seat of the car, Scott melted against him. Devon shifted as best as he could to hold him, winding both arms around his body and tucking his nose into the side of Scott’s neck.

  “I love you. I’m…I’m sorry,” Scott uttered, barely audible. He sniffed then sighed when he pulled away. “Let’s go face the music.”

  Devon brought him close enough to kiss him again. “You got it, sweetheart.”

  He hadn’t expected quite the opulence that faced him when they pulled into the driveway of Barbara Weston’s house. Devon’s neighborhood had some of the most expensive homes in Vancouver but most of them had some kind of lived-in feel. This place was all show, all the time.

  “Home sweet home,” Scott muttered. He stood with hands on hips after he vacated the car, his face a pallor of whites and grey, mouth twisted into something ugly. “I’m ready,” he whispered, under his breath. “I’m ready and I can do this.”

  Devon figured Scott was psyching himself up, so he stayed still and quiet until Scott moved again. Devon studied him for signs of panic but didn’t want to be too obvious about it. “So this is where you grew up, huh?”

  “If you can call it that.” Scott shuffled his stance, pressing one hand against the car as if he was holding himself up. He closed his eyes and Devon struggled to not touch him. “Alright. I think we should bring our bags in now instead of later. Then again, later might be better so if we need an escape route we can use the excuse of getting our stuff, don’t you think? Though I’m pretty sure my mother will see right through that and I don’t want to deal with that wrath.”

  Tiny drops of sweat dampened Scott’s hairline. His body language said, “Stop! Abort! Do not pass go or collect two hundred dollars.”

  Devon stepped slowly around the back of the car, approaching Scott as he would a babbling, trapped animal. “Hey, we can take a break anytime you need. We’re grown damn men and I’m not making any excuses for anything. But I’ll go along with what you want to do, Scott. Scott?”

  “We should go inside,” Scott answered before Devon had finished. “Do you need to pop the locks or is the back open? I can do that I guess.”

  He was so disconnected that Devon wondered whether stuffing him back in the car and making a hasty escape wouldn’t be the best course of action. That might work in some dream world or movie, but Devon had to stay firmly planted in reality. “It’s open and I’m your willing and often sexy packhorse.”

  Scott smiled, but it was fake and unattractive. “Thanks.”

  When Devon opened the hatch, Scott quickly dragged his messenger bag out, draping it over his body. He roughly grabbed his suit bag then stepped back. Devon took responsibility for both their luggage then shut the hatch. “Alrighty then. Into the fray we go,” Devon remarked as he stepped in line behind Scott.

  His beau didn’t crack a smile. He waited for Devon on the top step, then rang the doorbell. It struck Devon as odd since he’d never waited to be invited into his mom’s house, ever, or any of his friends’ either for that matter. But he’d already known from the first time Deanna mentioned the party that this would be no normal weekend on the Island.

  The door was answered by a smartly dressed older woman whose smile didn’t meet her eyes as she ushered them inside. “It’s very nice to see you Scott,” she acknowledged, waiting for them to remove their shoes and hide them away in the hall closet. “Your mother is in the study. She’s eager to see you.”

  “Thank you, Fran. I’m sure she is,” Scott replied dryly. “I think we’ll put our things in my room first.”

  Devon was confused when Fran blocked their way to the stairs. She tipped her head at Scott. “She asked that you speak with her first.”

  Scott huffed a heavy sigh. “Then I guess we have to do as she says, don’t we?” He repositioned his bag over his shoulder then headed down the dimly lit hallway with Devon at his heels. Scott twisted back to him when they reached a heavy set of closed double doors. “I’m going to apologize ahead of time for what’s about to happen.”

  “Jesus, Scott. You’re freaking me the fu—you’re freaking me out,” Devon hissed. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap or some weird-ass horror flick.”

  “Scott? Is that you whispering like a reprimanded teenager out there?” A woman’s voice called through the door. “Stop futzing about and come in.”

  Futzing about? Devon wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that term before but the tone behind it left no room for any more futzing. “Alright, sweetheart. Time to introduce me.”

  “I think we’re both going to regret this,” Scott fretted. He took a big breath then swung the door open.

  The room was warm to the point of being stuffy and a little sauna-ish. A roaring fire burned in the corner, with well-organized bookcases lining the walls on both sides. Scott’s mom was sitting in a regal-looking green velvet chair by the big picture window, a glass of red wine in one hand while the other tapped impatiently against the wooden arm.

  “Well, good afternoon,” she said, her voice strong and unwavering, if not a little snobby. She stayed seated while Scott stepped closer. “I expected you earlier.”

  “I told you we were taking the noon ferry, Mother.” It was like a different Scott that spoke—formal, stiff, no hint of a smile on his lips or in his eyes. He was as closed off as Devon had ever seen him. Devon was instantly ill at ease, but a little discomfort had never kept him down before.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he drawled, mimicking her greeting. He’d found that slipping into Southern speak made people more apt to listen to him. “I apologize if we’re late. It’s probably my fault. I tend to be a dawdler.” He flashed a grin that usually melted the competition, but Scott’s mom didn’t even flinch.

  “Where are your manners, Scott? Is that how you introduce your guest?”

  Devon realized his mistake when Scott winced. He’d more than likely made the situation worse.

  “Devon DuCaine, this is my mother, Barbara Weston,” Scott stated flatly, without greeting his mother. “How are you today, Mother?”

  Barbara didn’t give Devon a second look. It was all so contrived that he wanted to scream. Instead, he poked his baby finger against Scott’s, only to have his boyfriend wrench his hand away and step around him. Scott blinked an apology at him. Okay, no PDA. Devon could live with that, hopefully.

  “I’m as good as can be expected considering I’ll be deep in chaos within twenty-four hours,” Barbara replied with a wave of her hand. Her use of the word chaos was confusing to Devon.

  “The chaos was your choice, Mother,” Scott reminded her. “You were the one who hired the event planner.”

  “Is your sister with you?” She ignored Scott’s comment.

  Scott sighed and Devon rethought the premise of not touching him all weekend, at least in front of anyone. Scott needed grounding, needed Devon’s support, so Devon felt a loss at what to do.

  “I’m almost positive she told you they’d be here tomorrow.”

  Barbara grunted and Devon couldn’t help thinking it didn’t suit her regal, ladylike persona. “And what good will that do me? What if I need her to help?”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to settle for me, Mother. Besides, you hired all the help you need, didn’t you?” Scott asked. His arms were tight to his sides, his postur
e military at attention. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to put our bags in my room then I’m going to show Devon around.”

  Devon nodded politely then turned to leave but Barbara stopped them with a single word. “Wait!” she demanded, rising from her chair. “The guest room down the hall from yours is made-up for your friend.”

  Friend? Okay.

  Scott frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We already discussed this.”

  “It matters not that we talked about it until we turned blue.” Why did she sound like Yoda? “Your friend is not staying in the same room with you,” Barbara said sternly. She was petite, thin and no taller than five-foot-three, but her presence was vast and intimidating.

  What the fuck? Scott hadn’t mentioned that particular tidbit of information. And who in their right mind would even go along with that? It didn’t sit well with Devon. “Ma’am, if there’s a problem with me staying here, I don’t mind going to a hotel,” he offered but Scott touched his arm.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Scott told him. “We’ll work this out later.”

  “I’m don’t believe there’s anything to be worked out,” Barbara replied. “Now please excuse me. I have to go check on the flowers. I insist you join me for dinner. Fran will let you know the time. Nice to have you home again, Scott. It’s been far too long.”

  Barbara Weston was the queen of passive aggressive, or maybe the queen of bossy aggression? She vacated the room in a wave of lavender and superiority, but Scott didn’t move.

  “Hey,” Devon muttered quietly. He yearned to touch Scott but restrained himself out of respect. “You going to show me your room or what? We can talk about…whatever in private, okay?”

  “Yes,” Scott answered, tone still cold. He led Devon from the room without another word, motioning him to the staircase then slowing ascending the steps.

  One of the first things that struck Devon was how spotless the Weston house was. Maureen was a star in keeping Devon’s home clean, despite being told she didn’t have to, but his place was still lived-in and practical. The Weston home appeared as if there was a place for everything and everything must be in its place, no personal items to show it was inhabited at all. It was creepy.