by Amy Lane
“Is Brandon okay?” God—so Tino, so totally concerned.
“His dad had a close call today. We were going to stay for the surgery tomorrow, if that’s okay—”
“No, that’s fine. You guys stay there. Sammy and I have it nailed here, actually. It’s not a problem. You need the time off—I’ve been the nanny, it’s exhausting. And that was just one kid.”
“Thanks, but….” God, he felt like such a weenie. “My damned cat, Tino. I’m sorry. I was calling your sister because she’s got my spare key, and I was going to ask her to feed my cat. Marilyn. She’s sort of a big hefty bitch, actually, and if I don’t feed her and put soft food on the top and clean her cat box at night, well….” He grimaced.
“Not pretty?” Nothing but compassion in Tino’s voice. “Gotcha. I can send Sammy out to do that. Here….” He faded for a moment like he was looking for something. “Here we go. She’s got that key board—”
“Everything’s labeled, with its own key ring.” The thing was a big help, actually: garage, front door, the kids’ locker key at the community pool where they took their lessons, Jacob’s three businesses—everything was labeled and hung on the key board in the laundry room.
“Yup. And here’s you. So we’re good. Don’t worry about it. You’ll be back tomorrow night?”
“Oh yeah. Even if…. I mean, Brandon’s got to come back just to square things at work if things get more, you know, complicated here.”
I.e., if his father died. Ugh. Taylor found himself praying that didn’t happen. The kid deserved another chance. For that matter, so did his family. They weren’t awful people. They were that uncomfortable in-between family, not the Robbinses, but not Taylor’s parents either. They still had good to do in the world. And they’d produced Brandon, and Brandon deserved to be surrounded by family.
“I hear you.” And Tino obviously did. “Hang in there, Taylor. And don’t worry about my sister. We both know she’s too mean to let anything happen that’s not according to her exact schedule.”
“Yeah. Take care of Jacob, though, before we get back. He’s going to be climbing the frickin’ walls, you know?”
“I know.” They’d been best friends for years. Tino must be so worried. “Jakey, he’ll need me.”
“Well, course. Everyone needs friends.” Nica was to Taylor what Jacob was to Tino. Taylor’s stomach knotted, and he closed his eyes and said another prayer.
“So do you,” Tino told him. “Enjoy the time with Brandon, even with the worry. Nica has hopes for the two of you—and I think you’re good for each other.”
“I honestly don’t see what he’s getting from the deal,” Taylor said, glad to be honest with someone.
“He’s getting a good man,” Tino said, surprising him. “You were a handful when you were a kid, Taylor, but that’s not always bad. Sometimes it just means you’re a strong person finding your way in a confusing world. You’ve left the worst parts of yourself in the past. You need to leave your regret for that person in the past too. I don’t think about you and Brandon and think, ‘Oh, Taylor, he’s a lucky idiot to land that kid!’ I think, ‘If anybody can keep Brandon from breaking his back tilting at windmills, it’s Taylor.’ Both of you, Taylor. You’re both good men.”
Taylor’s throat tightened. “Well, you know. Good role models. Not my parents, believe you me.”
“You’re sweet, and I’d love to hear more about my virtues, but I’ve got to make pizza bites and get your key to Sammy. Let us know if there’s any change, okay?”
“Yeah, you too. I’ll pass all this on to Brandon.”
“Deal.”
The call ended, and Taylor looked helplessly at the phone, stretching uncomfortably in the front of the truck. He was starting to cramp, and he cursed his body’s inefficiency. Brandon needed a whole man, healthy and without glitches, to keep him company tonight.
Where was he, anyway?
He emerged right then, shivering, a couple of plastic bags hanging from his hands. “Okay,” he said, opening the door to throw the bags on the bench seat next to Taylor. “I called the restaurant and they’ll be open for another half an hour, and I called Best Western and they’ve got a room for us, so we’re good. Here, hand me one of those sweatshirts, would you?”
Oh, bless him! “Which one?”
“I’ll take black, you take gray.”
“You’re so awesome. Thank you!” Taylor yanked the tag off and pulled the thickly fleeced souvenir sweatshirt over his head. The front read Tahoe National Forest, Truckee, and Taylor thought it was the most beautiful piece of clothing he’d ever own. “God, it was getting cold!”
“Right? I’d forgotten this place—even in the summer!”
Taylor started rooting through the bags. “Okay, we’ve got toothbrushes, toothpaste, a comb—underwear?”
“A two-pack,” Brandon laughed. “You pick the color!”
“Excellent. And souvenir T-shirts, very good, so we don’t look like slobs tomorrow. Thank y—” Taylor stopped at the small toiletry item in the bottom of the bag, his throat dry. “—ou?” he squeaked. “Uh… no, uh….”
“You haven’t had a lover since you got out of the hospital,” Brandon said softly. “Are you? Positive, I mean?”
“No,” Taylor said hoarsely. “I would have told you—”
“I figured. So we don’t need condoms. But lubricant—I understand that’s necessary.”
Being warm wasn’t a problem anymore. Taylor was sweating under the fleecy goodness of the sweatshirt. “Uh… depending on what you’re going to be doing, yes.”
“Excellent.” Brandon hopped into the truck and slammed the door. “We’ve got our bases covered. Let’s go eat steak!”
Fighting For
BRANDON studied Taylor as they ate.
He’d ordered plain sirloin, with mushrooms, garlic mashed potatoes, and broccoli, and the steak house had been glad to pony up. Brandon—always hungry, which was probably another sign of youth—had ordered the twenty-two-ounce T-bone himself.
They’d talked about Nica, Jacob, and the children before the food was brought out, and they dug in immediately once it arrived. For one thing, they were the last people in the restaurant, and it wouldn’t have been polite to linger.
For another…
Brandon was kicking himself. Almost constantly, actually.
But you wouldn’t fight for us, would you.
Why would Taylor fight for them? He hadn’t seen what “them” was yet. He’d seen kids and chaos at Jacob and Nica’s, and Brandon’s mildly dysfunctional family up here.
But other than that, what had Brandon shown him?
Some kisses. Good kisses, but not a week’s worth. Not a month’s. Not enough to promise a lifetime.
He’d given him a massage—comfort, ease—and donuts.
It was all he’d been able to manage on short notice.
And for Taylor’s part? He’d been the one to initiate the date. He’d been the one to jump in the middle of a bar fight and protect Brandon’s honor. He’d been the one to walk into Brandon’s parents’ house and save Mitch Grayson’s life.
What did Brandon know about fighting for something?
Taylor Cochran had, in his surly, irritating way, done nothing but fight for them. Probably as he’d been fighting for any love, any affection, for his entire life.
“What are your parents like?” Brandon asked when he’d dented his hunger with the first half of his meal and was actually chewing the second half.
Taylor was plowing through his own steak at a more sedate pace. He glanced up and took a small bite, coupled with a mushroom, and chewed thoughtfully.
“Loud,” he said after a moment.
“Loud?”
“Dad yelled at Mom, Mom yelled at us, we beat the hell out of each other. Loud.”
“Brothers?”
“Two. Both younger. No, I haven’t talked to them in ten years. No, I’m not going back to see how they’re doing. They don’t care
how I’m doing. They don’t talk to Nica’s mom in the supermarket. Nica went and told them I’d been injured—they told her not to come back. I don’t know how my brothers are. There’s no way to find out without opening a huge can of worms.”
“But you miss them,” Brandon said through a full mouth.
Taylor scowled and took another bite of steak.
Oh.
Of course he did.
“Why don’t you say these things?” Brandon asked—but not accusing. “It would be so easy to say, ‘Yeah, Brandon, I’d fight for us.’ Or ‘Yeah, of course I miss them.’ But you don’t. You just hope the world will see.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be blind,” Taylor mumbled. He shoved more steak in his mouth, and for a moment they were both chewing.
“Yeah. Well, the world isn’t necessarily good at seeing what’s in front of it,” Brandon said quietly. “Slow down, Taylor. Take your time. We’ve got all night.”
“Think the hotel has a TV?” Taylor asked wistfully after a few moments of quiet. “I don’t have cable at my place.”
“I hope not,” Brandon said, wiping up the drippings on his plate with one of the last bits of meat. “I have other things to do.”
He loved watching Taylor blush. He didn’t look like he could—in fact, looked like the opposite of a man who would flush delicately behind his ears and along his jaw, showing color along his cheekbones.
But he did. And every time Brandon saw those red crescents appear on his cheeks, he thought about how tough Taylor was—and how fragile at the same time. He needed someone to take care of him.
Brandon wanted the job, but he couldn’t do it if he had doubts. If he spooked Taylor with his doubts. For all of Taylor’s worries about being good enough, Brandon would have to do better.
“You know, if you keep building this thing up like it’s the end-all and be-all of your existence, not only is it going to suck, but you’re going to hate me because it sucks.” Taylor was glaring at him like an elder cautioning an overeager child.
Brandon grinned in his face. “Baby, I’m not worried about it being good for me. I’m worried about making it great for you.”
Taylor concentrated on his plate, chewing doggedly. He paused a couple of times like he was thinking of a good comeback, but every time, he stopped, until finally he swallowed and his steak was gone.
He crossed his silverware and put his napkin on top, and Brandon kept plowing through his own meal. He needed to keep his energy up. They were going to be busy awhile.
The check arrived, and Brandon slid it right out from under Taylor’s hand and tucked his card in.
“I promised,” he said mildly.
Taylor took a deep breath, probably getting ready to read him the riot act, and then swallowed it, deflated. “Thank you,” he said grudgingly.
“I told you, I totally owed you steak.” Brandon set the folder down and then reached across and touched Taylor’s hand. “And you’re the one who told my brothers we were together. That means I get to take you out.”
“I was just saying that to—”
“To protect me. I get it. I get it more than you know. But I want it to be real.”
“One night doesn’t make it real,” Taylor said, like he was trying to let Brandon down easy.
Brandon grinned again, unflapped and unfazed. “Sure it does. One night is the beginning of the next day. And the next. And the next. One night can make it all happen. Can’t you believe, Taylor? Believe enough to take a night?”
“I said I could!” He tried to pull his hand away.
“That’s fine. Just believe in it tonight. And it’ll keep happening.” Taylor closed his eyes and nodded, and Brandon squeezed his hand. “C’mon, Taylor. We’ve got our first night ahead of us.”
Taylor swallowed and allowed himself to be led away.
You got him, Brandon. You’d better not screw this up.
THE hotel was only a few blocks away from the steak house, and the only available room had a king-size bed. Brandon drove them around the back to the little room on the ground floor, and they both grabbed plastic grocery bags and hauled in their new purchases, shivering in the cold.
“I know we get spoiled in Sacramento,” Taylor said as they turned on the light and shoved their bags on the table by the television, “but this place must be a delight in the winter!”
“It is.” Brandon kicked off his shoes and opened the bathroom door, flipped on the lights, and checked for shampoo. “Oh, ick—it’s the stuff in the big refillable containers bolted to the walls. Thank God I bought some trial-size.” He moved to the table and rooted through the bags, grabbing the one with the tiny bottles and toothbrushes. He made sure to extract one particular bottle and throw it on the bed for easy access. “We’ve got snow in the winter and skiing and sledding down hills. Everything a growing boy needs.”
“Then why did you move back down?”
Brandon stopped in the doorway and made sure he had Taylor’s absolute attention. “’Cause I may put on an inch and another ten pounds, Taylor, but I swear to you, I’m as grown-up in my heart as I need to be.” He pulled off his sweatshirt and threw it on the one chair in the room, then ventured into the plastic-tiled bathroom to turn on the water.
He emerged a few minutes later, one of the towels still around his waist, and gestured to the shower. Taylor nodded and shucked his sweater, saying, “I turned on the heater, but it’s still damned cold in here. We may want to sleep in our—”
Brandon stopped him there, using the sheer mass of his chest to make him quit that thought. “What’s the matter, Taylor?” he taunted softly, rubbing his finger along the lean curves of Taylor’s lips. “You’re afraid to be naked and in bed with me?”
Taylor showed his teeth, cupped Brandon’s chin, and ravished him.
Body pressing, groins mashing, he shoved Brandon back until he was against the wall, grabbing at Taylor through his clothes, searching for bare skin, heated flesh, the triumph of a naked back. Taylor pulled away with visible reluctance.
“I’m not afraid of you!” he obviously lied, stepping back. “I’m afraid for you.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Brandon followed him, pulling Taylor’s T-shirt over his head and running his lips softly along his collarbone. He slid around Taylor’s back, nibbling his neck and working at the button of his cargo shorts. They fell to his feet, and Brandon tugged at his briefs. “You are incapable of dishonor, Taylor—”
“You don’t know who—”
“A stupid kid. That’s all. A stupid kid who thought love was a lie.” Brandon kissed a line down his back and finally got the briefs over Taylor’s thighs. He stood up again and let the towel drop, pressing his body, massive and bulky and strong, along Taylor’s, rangy and lean, still recovering but tougher than it looked. “You’re not that kid anymore,” he whispered in his ear. “And I’m not a kid either. Go shower, and we’ll see what two consenting adults can do.” Brandon gave him a gentle push between his shoulder blades. “Leave the patch off when you come to bed,” he ordered.
“Fine.” Taylor paused at the doorway, not looking back. “Turn off the light? Please?”
“Course. For you.”
But not for Brandon. Brandon didn’t need protection from what Taylor thought of as the ugly parts of himself. Brandon was starting to see how all of it was beautiful.
Brandon slid under the blankets, shivering and glad for the heater. He turned off the light and stretched out, waiting. He’d actually closed his eyes when Taylor got out of the shower, but they hadn’t been closed long.
Taylor kept the towel wrapped around his waist until the last minute, dropping it right before he slid into bed. Brandon was ready, cupping his neck and pulling him into a kiss.
Taylor sighed and relaxed against him, and for a glorious moment their bodies, skin to skin, locked together like they belonged. Brandon wrapped his fingers around Taylor’s bicep, though, and even in the dark, he felt the wince.
“Sore?” he murmured, lips near Taylor’s ear.
“Yeah, sorry. Cramped in the car a lot, no real time to stretch.”
Brandon pulled away and had Taylor lie on his stomach again.
“Really?” Taylor complained, face mashed against the pillow. “Last time I fell asleep! That’s roman—” Brandon ran his hands carefully along Taylor’s sides, sticking his fingers underneath to rub his nipple. “—tic!”
Brandon chuckled and kept massaging, but also bent down now and then to kiss the perfectly symmetrical progression of Taylor’s spine. He flicked his tongue out, taking in the taste of soap, the taste of skin, and kept rubbing down Taylor’s back to his hip. He worked the hip carefully, and the back of the thigh, and then he went back to pay attention to the fun parts.
The seam of Taylor’s backside was especially fun.
He used his tongue to tease, laughing softly when Taylor grunted and spread his thighs. “Want something, Taylor?”
“Shut up.”
Brandon spread his cheeks and ran his tongue along that private place a little more firmly.
“Nnngggh….”
Brandon could have done that all night. Hearing Taylor’s noises grow more and more urgent in spite of his absolute stillness—heady stuff! But he wanted more from their night, so he pulled back with a little tongue wiggle and started rubbing Taylor’s thigh again, and then his calf.
Taylor shifted restlessly, and Brandon chuckled when he moved a hand and adjusted himself so his erection was more comfortable against the cheap sheets.
“Things moving around a little?” he asked wickedly.
“You suck.”