by E M Lindsey
“If you ever want to see him again,” Antoine warned them, “you’ll drop the attitude about his boyfriend.”
The look on his parents’ faces—the stubborn, unmoving look—was too familiar. He had it. His brother had it. This would be a battle of wills until someone died, and he was fairly sure Marcel had enough spite to outlive them all.
“I have to go,” he said, and he meant it. He had a date that night, and then an early flight out to Colorado. Not to see his brother, unfortunately, and that did hurt. He’d been in contact with the mayor of a place called Cherry Creek to help boost their tourism. His company was mainly based out of San Francisco, but Cherry Creek was willing to pay a large sum of money to triple their tourism revenue—assuming Antoine’s plan worked out.
And it would. He was more than just educated—he was good at his job.
He’d been out to Denver a few times to meet with Mayor Davis in the last year, and only once did Marcel let him stop by. Colton, his boyfriend, wasn’t there, and Antoine mourned not being allowed into those parts of Marcel’s life anymore, but he knew he deserved it.
It was summer now, and Marcel had been gone almost three years. This time, Antoine wasn’t going to call. This time, he was going to let his brother be.
“Are you going to visit with him?” his mother asked.
Antoine shrugged. He didn’t have the energy for a fight. “I’ll call you later. You can stay here if you want. I forgot to ask about your flight.”
“Thursday,” his father said absently.
He’d be long gone by then. “It’s up to you. I’m going to shower, but you two need to get over this. It’s been years. He’s happy. Just…accept it.”
He was getting nowhere, but he supposed—in a way—he deserved that too.
Antoine arrived at the restaurant for his blind date, and he might have worried about being able to find her—and maybe worried because his co-worker, Corey, had set it up—but he spotted her instantly. Not just because she was the only person at the end of the bar stirring two small straws through her Manhattan, but also because he’d seen her multiple times before at office parties. She was his boss’ daughter.
“Jade.” His voice was tinged with faint surprise, but not disappointment.
She looked at him with a grin. “I hope you’re not mad. I asked Corey to set this up.”
She’d hit on him before—during the last Christmas party, and his boss had made a joke about wearing his balls as a necklace if he so much as looked at her twice, only it wasn’t much of a joke. She’d been within earshot too and hadn’t fought him when he politely refused a drink with her.
“Is this the part where your dad jumps out of the supply closet with a shotgun?” he asked, sliding onto a bar stool.
“This is the part where I go on a date with the hot guy from the Christmas party because my father and his fucking wallet do not get to decide who can and can’t buy me a drink.”
He liked the fight in her voice, the way her eyes flared wide with determination. Antoine didn’t usually date women, and frankly he had no intention of dating anyone right then considering he had a three-month job in Colorado. But she was gorgeous. Her hair was light brown, tight curls over her shoulders that cascaded down her back, and her light purple top and black pants hugged her curved hips and full breasts. She had an orange and yellow flower tattoo on the inside of her wrist which shone gorgeous and bright against her brown skin. Her nails, painted to match her top, clicked on the marble of the bar as she gave him a challenging look,
“Is this the part where you run out on me?”
Antoine laughed, then ordered a vodka tonic with a lime. “This is the part where we drink and have a good meal.”
“And then?” she pushed.
His stomach sank a little. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”
Bracing himself, he waited for her response, but she just rolled her eyes a little and took another drink. “I pegged your whole deal the second you walked into the ballroom, Antoine. Anyway, I’m not interested in dating. When Corey said you were taking off for three months, I thought it would be fun to hook up before you go.”
“I see,” he told her.
Her eyes went soft and heavy-lidded. “Do you?”
“I’m not that dense, Jade.” He took his drink, then passed over his card to open a tab. “Can we eat here?”
The bartender nodded, then passed them a couple of menus. Her finger dragged down the selections, then she grinned up at him. “If I say kissing is off the table, would you be fine with that? I really want this garlic shrimp appetizer.”
Antoine chuckled and shook his head. “Get whatever you want. And we don’t have to take kissing off the table, but there are plenty of places for me to put my mouth besides on yours.”
Her eyes heated. “I made a good choice.”
“I hope so,” he said. He glanced down at the burger, which looked good, and he was suddenly glad he’d bailed on his parents to see this night through.
Chapter Four
Antoine wasn’t quite hungover the next morning, but not quite himself either as he grabbed his suitcase and headed for the cab waiting at the curb. He had set his alarm to get to the airport early since his boss booked him out of SFO and there was always, always a damn fog delay.
He was deliciously sore from the good food, from the good conversation, and the good sex in the back of his car, but his body reminded him he was too old to be necking in the backseat these days. He wasn’t ancient, but Jade was only a couple of years out of college and far more malleable than his stiff joints. He popped a couple of ibuprofen from his carry on, then handed the driver a fat tip before rushing through priority check in, and letting out a sigh of gratitude when he saw the security line wasn’t long.
There were perks to flying business class, and they were the extra cushion on his seat and the leg room when they were finally allowed to board. The fog was low, and they were only stuck out on the runway twenty minutes before the plane shot into the air. When things were steady, Antoine pulled open his laptop and checked over his itinerary for the afternoon.
He had a car waiting for him in Denver, then a two-hour drive to Cherry Creek which annoyed the hell out of him, but that was the closest he could get to the little town. He had a check in at some place called the Lodge, which didn’t look half-bad, but it was one of the things he was going to bring up to the mayor, because almost all of the Cherry Creek businesses had terrible websites. The online booking system had timed out repeatedly before he was able to reserve his room, and then it couldn’t process his credit card so he was forced to call and talk to a surly man who sounded like he wanted to be doing anything but taking a reservation.
And Antoine didn’t blame him. The internet was there for the convenience of both customers and the businesses—and having to bypass it to do something as simple as making a reservation? It was like being shoved back to the late nineties all over again, and that was the last thing Antoine was interested in.
This town wanted to modernize, and he’d see it happen—even if the people dug their feet into the sand and resisted him.
He was happy with his room though. It was ground floor with a hot tub where he could soak his aching joints, and a separate bedroom so he could set up his workstation in the living area. It would be comfortable enough for the three months he’d be staying there, even if the staff attitudes were a little…questionable.
When he was satisfied that he had everything in a row, and his little compulsions to over-plan were sated, Antoine slipped his earbuds in and turned on the audiobook last queued up on his phone. The soothing, dulcet tones of the narrator were quick to put him to sleep, and he didn’t jolt awake until the plane’s wheels touched down on the tarmac.
Scrubbing at his face, Antoine peered out of the window and regretted he’d missed the views of the Rockies. Flying over them was something he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of—the way they spread across the land and were capped wi
th snow almost year-round. He always missed the city when he had to be away—because it was home, and he still felt an ache deep inside whenever he had to travel.
But his plan to set roots somewhere and let them grow the way his parents never did? He wasn’t sure that happened in San Francisco. Living there was nice. Hell, it was a dream. But the place never felt like he belonged. He was still waiting for that spark, the fire to tell him he was on the right path. And maybe it would never happen, but hoping for it cost nothing.
DIA wasn’t the worst airport Antoine had ever been in, but it wasn’t the best, either. It was too big and too crowded, and by the time he made it off the tram with luggage in hand, he was irritated. The line for rental cars stretched at least a dozen people long, and the single person behind the desk was moving at the speed of nothing. He tried not to let it get to him, but by the time he was slapping his credit card down on the table, he was ready to explode.
“I’m sorry, we’re out of the luxury sedan. We have a mini-van that seats eight, and a coup we can offer you.” The man’s voice had absolutely no inflection, and Antoine wanted to jump over the counter and strangle him.
“I do not want to drive a mini-van. I’m not a goddamn soccer mom.”
The man typed on the computer. “We have a Honda Civic.”
Antoine was not a snob. Or well, he was mostly not a snob. He did his best not to be a complete asshole—but he liked nice things. He drove a Range Rover—so he was no stranger to larger cars, but he wasn’t about to roll up into the town to do his job teaching these people how to make more money for their town looking like he could cart around a little league team.
“I’ll…whatever. I’ll take the Civic.”
The man began to type in Antoine’s information like he had weights attached to each finger, and it was an absolute test of his control as he bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing. After what felt like a hundred years, the man printed out his receipt. “The attendant will walk you to the car.”
Snatching the paper from the counter, he hustled out the door and then waited by the curb next to the Be Back Soon plaque. In all honesty, if he made it to Cherry Creek without committing murder, that would be the real summer miracle.
It took forty minutes, but eventually he was crammed inside the small car and finally on his way. There was no GPS in the car, so he propped his phone up on the dash, trying to follow the directions on the freeway. He had to head west, then a little bit south, but where he would have enjoyed the scenery on his drive, now he was just angry. The fast food he grabbed at a little freeway stop didn’t help to do much but take the edge off his hunger, and really, he was ready to just be done.
The views got prettier as they got more rural, though, mountains with occasional long spread of empty fields, farmland, and forest. He used to be the kind of kid who liked to explore. He’d describe the vast spaces for his brother, and the moment his parents would pull off to the side of the road, they’d take off running into fields, and forests, and trails.
Marcel had never hesitated when it came to adventure. He was always braver than Antoine—even if he hadn’t wanted anything big for his life. He’d taken each step with fearlessness and trust that Antoine had never understood, and he was always a little jealous of him. And maybe that was the reason Antoine had been so angry. His envy was a cruel beast living inside him.
“I should call him,” he muttered to himself. He reached to adjust his phone, looking down for only a second, and when he looked back up, fear slammed into him.
There, in the middle of the road, was an animal. He slammed the brakes as he tried to process what he was seeing—this thing, with hair, and horns, and only three legs—and maybe one eye? A goat, his brain supplied, but that thought only lasted a second because his car started to turn. He heard someone screaming—and by the time he realized it was him, he was going over the short embankment. His tires scrabbled against the soft earth, and then his entire world jolted to a heavy thud as the back of the car slammed into a tree trunk.
His ears rang and his heart hammered in his chest so hard, he thought he might actually be in cardiac arrest before he started to calm down. When his hearing returned to normal, he noticed a faint hiss, and he stepped out to survey the damage. The car was probably totaled, the trunk squashed all the way to the back seat, and both of the back tires were flat.
“Fuck.” The word tripped off his tongue in a harsh whisper, then again—louder. “Fuck! Fuck my fucking life!”
He was shaking by the time he got his phone, and he dialed up 9-11. The woman on the line was friendly—soothing enough to calm some of the shaking in his voice as he explained what was going on. “…and I was coming around the corner and I think there was…god, I don’t even know? A goat? There was some animal in the middle of the road. I tried to stop and spun out of control, and my rental is smashed up against a tree. I’m on…I think the twenty-one? Out by some farm. I don’t…I don’t even know.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Antoine Tremblay,” he answered, trying to temper the shaking in his voice.
“Do you need an ambulance?”
Antoine ran his hand down his face, then took a second to assess his pain. He’d be sore tomorrow, but he was no worse for the wear. “No. No, I wasn’t hurt. I need a tow truck though.”
“Sir, I’d like to have an EMT at least check you out. We have a member of the Cherry Creek Fire Department on standby for dispatch. They can also assist you with the tow.”
Antoine groaned and leaned against the front of the car. “Jesus. I don’t need an entire fire truck, ma’am, I promise.”
“It’ll just be an SUV with first aid supplies, okay?”
That was a little better, but not much. He was late, he was tired, he was still hungry. His rental was totaled, and he was still a good fifteen miles from town. “That’s fine. I mean, I guess I don’t have a choice, right?”
“Would you like to stay on the line while I send an EMT?” she asked.
Fuck, no, he said to himself, then cleared his throat. “Ah, no. That’s…I’m good, but thanks.” He hung up without making sure she knew how to find his exact location, but he figured she’d call back if she needed him. Instead, he fished his luggage out of the car, then trudged up the hill and stared around to see if the goat—or whatever the hell it was—was still around.
The road was empty though. Maybe it was some sort of fucked up hick apparition—the ghost of a three-legged goat that haunted the highway after being plowed down by some drunk driver.
God, maybe he had smashed his head. He felt around for lumps, but there was no indication he had any injury besides his shoulder where the seatbelt held him, and, of course, his pride. He thumbed at his phone, then sent a text off to his boss, then to Rene to explain the situation. His signal was hit or miss on the side of the road there, so he wasn’t sure if it sent, but he was too damn tired to care.
The sun was starting to sink low on the horizon, and summer or not, the air was cooling. Propping his luggage on the edge of the pavement, he sat, and he folded his arms, and he waited.
And he waited.
It was damn near dusk by the time headlights lit up the curve, and by then, Antoine was too exhausted to get to his feet. He managed a wave as the SUV rolled to a stop—sleek black with CCFD painted on the side in gold letters—a little cherry added for embellishment which made him feel like he was in an episode of Strawberry Shortcake—but hopefully with more booze at the end.
The man who climbed out of the car definitely did not look like he belonged in Strawberry Shortcake’s world. He was a wet dream in his tight firefighter t-shirt, stretching across broad pecs and a firm stomach. His jeans hugged his ass in all the right ways, and his sculpted arm flexed as he lifted his hand and dragged it through his long hair before gathering it up and tying it at the back of his head.
Antoine barely noticed his face at first, but eventually zeroed in on light eyes—green, maybe, or blue. It was h
ard to tell in the dim light of the setting sun. But he had a firm jaw, a deep, rich brow which matched the hair on his head, and a long, thin nose with a small bump in the center.
Antoine started to grin until the man’s eyes met his in a firm glower. “Um…”
The man cleared his throat. “So, Mr. Tremblay, right? Texting and driving?” He gave Antoine a slow look up and down, dripping with disdain, and any notions of wanting to ask the guy out after they got his car situated went right out the window.
“Um excuse you, but no. There was a wild animal in the road and I just barely missed it.”
The guy lifted a brow—sculpted almost like it was waxed, though Antoine could barely imagine a guy like that sitting down for a manscaping. “A wild animal?”
“Yes,” Antoine insisted, his voice now heavy with his frustration. “It was a goddamn goat or something. It was dark, it had three legs, it was just…standing there.”
The guy snorted. “We don’t have wild goats here in Cherry Creek. Are you sure you weren’t messing around on your phone? I know a lot of towns are lax about those laws, but we’re not.”
Antoine was furious enough he thought he might be able to set this asshole on fire with a single glance. “I’m pretty fucking sure I wasn’t texting. I’m pretty sure I saw a wild goat in the middle of the road which totaled my car while I was on my way to help drag this podunk town into the twenty-first century.”
Any amusement in the man’s eyes drained away. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Antoine said from between clenched teeth.
“Our little podunk town,” he repeated.
Antoine flushed—knowing he’d crossed a line, but he was tired, damn it. And his neck was starting to hurt. He rubbed at it and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. But can we just…move this along. I think I need some aspirin and a long sleep.”
The guy softened just a fraction, and he beckoned Antoine over to the SUV before peering down the hill and giving a slow whistle. “You really fucked that up.”