Love Him Breathless

by E M Lindsey

  “Anyway,” she said, and she indicated a cement picnic bench so they both took a seat facing the water. “I got a call from a land developer two days ago.”

  Antoine’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh.”

  She bit her lip and her brows furrowed low—and it was in that moment he could see the stark resemblance between the siblings. “The family who owns all this doesn’t live here. They own a lot of shit in Cherry Creek, but they don’t…they’re not part of the town. I think they figured liquidating would make sense. They sold their property to Collin a few years ago, then last summer they put all this up on the market, but told me not to advertise.”

  Antoine leaned his elbow on the table and dropped his chin into his hand. “That’s…a choice.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know what they were hoping for. Anyway, this land developer wants it—some big company who usually throws up condos and those high-end shopping malls.”

  Antoine winced. It could be good for business—in theory—but it would destroy the small town feel of Cherry Creek. He’d seen it happen over and over. “What does he want from you besides negotiating the price?”

  “He wants to send one of his assessors down here to check out the land and see how much work it would need. He’s interested in all six parcels though.” Gwen closed her eyes. “I don’t have a choice, you know? I mean, I’m contracted, but it’s not like they couldn’t pay my termination fee and sell without me.”

  “And I’m guessing you could make a big commission on this,” he offered.

  Her laugh was tight and stressed. “Huge. It would help take care of Owen’s college. It would…I could pay off debt. It’s…it’s a lot.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he told her, and she gave him a long look. “I know the risk, and I know people will blame you.”

  “God. Fitz would…” She licked her lips and then turned her gaze out toward the lake. “He hates change. He’d never forgive me.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” he reminded her.

  “I do. If Fitz was in my position, he’d tell them to go fuck themselves, take the small fee, and then stage a protest when the bulldozers arrived to clear the land.”

  Antoine bit his lip because he could absolutely see that. “Have you talked to him?”

  Gwen laughed and shook her head. “You’re the first person I’ve told. I needed an outside perspective. Someone who wasn’t invested in this place.”

  It stung, but she was right. “I get it.”

  “I thought about asking Rene, but he already signed off on the deal. I know it’s his job to keep this place afloat and bringing in more people would do that. I just don’t…I don’t want to lose what we have. But I also don’t want to lose my house.”

  Antoine gave in to his desire to comfort her and he took her hand. “Fitz will forgive you if you make money. He loves you. He loves your son. He’ll be upset, but trust him to know what you need.”

  She gnawed on her lip. “And everyone else?”

  Antoine closed his eyes. “You can care, but if you live your life trying to shape yourself around other people, you’ll all end up miserable.”

  “Why does it sound like you’re speaking from experience?”

  He laughed and let her hand go. “Because I am. My brother lives not far from here. Just outside of Denver. I’ve been to Denver to meet with Rene a couple of times before I got here—and he won’t see me.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly.

  “Our lives were unconventional growing up. My dad was at a different University every semester, so we were dragged all over the country, and it wasn’t easy never having a home.”

  “I can’t imagine,” she said quietly.

  Antoine shrugged. “I took my insecurities out on my brother. I sort of…had this expectation that he was always going to need me, and when he moved on without me,” he stopped and licked his lips. “I lashed out, and I broke something between us.” Antoine closed his eyes and shrugged, desperate to get away from the ache in his chest. “Do you want to eat?”

  She didn’t seem disturbed at all by his rapid change of the subject—and he appreciated her all the more for it. He would eventually have to leave, of course. He had a home in San Francisco—a job, a life. Everything was there, even when he wasn’t. But maybe this time, when he left to head home, he’d take a couple of friendships with him.

  Antoine debated about the Farmer’s Market as the sun started to sink low that Thursday. He was now in a holding pattern, waiting for his designer to settle on a template for the city website. It meant he had a lot of free time and no idea what to do with himself. He’d been steadfastly avoiding any place he might run into Fitz, and so far, it had been working. He took all of his meals at the Lodge, and he kept his nightly walks anywhere but the lake area.

  But Antoine wasn’t the sort of person who could live cooped up, and by Thursday he was damn near crawling out of his skin. He knew he had to be an adult about this. He’d hooked up plenty of times before, so his moment with Fitz wasn’t out of the ordinary. He wasn’t in love with some guy who gave him a hate-fueled hand-job, and he didn’t think Fitz was beating himself up over it either.

  He couldn’t avoid him forever, and Cherry Creek was too small to try. Rummaging through his things, he found a light button up and a pair of jeans, and rolled his sleeves to the elbow before grabbing his shoes. He passed by a mirror and gave himself a long look, wondering what other people saw in him.

  He always thought Marcel wore their face better. He was more muscular from the yoga, two inches shorter, wore his hair long and always had at least three or four days of scruff on his chin. Antoine could never stand the itch of growing a beard and didn’t want the maintenance of letting his hair stay long.

  He wasn’t a fussy guy. Yes, he liked designer, but he liked simplicity more. It was the one thing he and Marcel agreed on. But he never really felt at home in his skin the way his brother did. It probably had something to do with the yoga and spending most of his life learning his body intimately from the inside out. Antoine never had the patience for it. His brain wasn’t built that way.

  His brother had tried to teach him to meditate, but he ended up making a long grocery list for a charcuterie board in his head while he was trying to clear his mind. And the worst part was, after that meditation session, he actually headed to the fromagerie and made one for himself while he binged reality TV.

  He was a mess. Emotionally, mentally, physically. His ribs still ached, and every time he thought about Fitz, his heart felt like it wanted to beat out of his chest with a mixture of both rage and desire.

  He was absolutely cursed.

  He was going to be brave though. He swung by the ATM in the Lodge lobby and grabbed a handful of cash, then decided to make the walk into town rather than drive his car. He was jumpy at the cars passing by, his ribs still tingling at the ghost of impact from when he’d hit the curb, but he made it to the wide expanse of tents and booths in one piece and felt better about himself.

  “If I offer you a cupcake and promise there’s no cherry pits, will you take one?”

  Antoine spun and saw Wilder leaning against the table of his small booth, and he offered a smile. “If I promise to chew my food more carefully, will you finally forgive yourself?” he countered.

  Wilder’s cheeks pinked and he ducked his head. In the glow of the tall portable lights, Wilder’s face looked gaunt, and Antoine felt a small rush of worry for him. But his hands were steady as he pulled a chocolate cupcake from one of his covered domes and put it in a box.

  “Hey, are you feeling okay?” Antoine asked, raising a brow. “You look tired.”

  Wilder offered a gentle smile. “Yeah, sorry. Sometimes I get really bad vertigo, and this spell kept me up all night. It’s better now.” He held the box out to Antoine. “Here. Espresso and dark chocolate.”

  “You are a dream,” Antoine told him as he took it. He tried to pay, but Wilder glowered until he put his cash away. “
You know you can’t pay bills on thanks.”

  “I’m not going bankrupt over a cupcake,” Wilder assured him, and Antoine sighed, but smiled. “Are you doing research or shopping?”

  “Both,” he said, but that was half a lie. His research was done. He knew how to help these people—and what’s more, he wanted to. Desperately. “I might see my brother while I’m here, so I thought I’d pick something up.”

  “Greyson has art,” Wilder said. “But I think he does photography too.”

  “The mayor’s husband, right?” Antoine knew him from the photos in Rene’s office, and from the few times he’d seen the tattooed artist slinking out the door right before Antoine’s meeting with the mayor.

  Wilder nodded. “Yeah. He does a pretty big variety of stuff. You think your brother would be into that?”

  Antoine bit his lip. Marcel could see colors and shapes, and he liked a lot of abstract work, but he never felt comfortable buying art for people. “Yeah, he might be. I’ll check it out. And hey, I’ll bring him by the shop when he comes to visit. He’d totally love to meet you.”

  “Who would love to meet Wilder?” came a voice from Antoine’s right, and he turned his head to see a younger man hopping the table into Wilder’s booth.

  Wilder rolled his eyes. “None of your business. Theo, this is Antoine. Have you two met?”

  Theo grinned. “The guy you tried to murder with a cupcake?”

  “That would be me,” Antoine said with a small grin. “And he was talking about my brother. He’s a yoga instructor so he hates sweets, but he likes new ideas and I think he’d love the gluten-free thing. Anyway, you guys have a good night.”

  He tried not to look back, but he couldn’t help it. He liked watching the way Wilder interacted with the town, the way that Theo leaned against the table and signed with him like it was nothing. He wanted that—he wanted the feeling of belonging the way he never had before. Wilder had managed it as an outsider, but it was different for someone like him who had something to offer. Antoine had nothing but himself, and he didn’t know what about him would be good for Cherry Creek.

  He made his way through a few more booths, mostly prints and clothes and some local honey. Collin was there with his goat milk items—soaps, lotions, and cheese, all behind a large sign with a three-legged goat on the front which made Antoine laugh. Robert wasn’t there, but he damn well was in spirit, and he made a mental note to actually meet the thing that almost killed him on his way in.

  He hadn’t noticed where he was going until he found himself in front of a table full of off-kilter scarves and hats with strings sticking out, and he knew exactly where he was.

  “Not really your style, is it, Hollywood?”

  Antoine dared himself to lift his gaze and look Fitz in the eye. He wasn’t alone this time. A man just a hair taller than him, but thinner and a little more wild looking, leaning heavily on a cane, stood at Fitz’s right shoulder. Antoine had never seen Ronan before, but he didn’t need to. It was obvious.

  “Just because I like Gucci doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate handmade,” he countered. He dragged the tip of his finger over one of the longer scarves. The texture was soft and almost silky, and it had bumps in random places. He heard Fitz make a soft noise when he picked it up, but he closed his eyes and ran his hands over it. “How much for this?”

  “I’m not letting you buy that. I don’t want your pity sale,” Fitz countered.

  Antoine opened his eyes with a sigh. “This isn’t pity.”

  “Please,” Fitz argued with a scoff. “Look at you, Hollywood. You don’t want my shitty, homemade scarves.”

  Antoine bit the inside of his cheek. “First of all, why do you have a damn booth if you’re going to turn down sales? And anyway, it feels nice, and I’m shopping for my brother.” When Fitz raised a challenging eyebrow, Antoine rolled his eyes. “He’s blind. He likes soft shit, and he lives in Colorado where it gets cold in the winter. He’d like this.”

  He watched as Fitz’s cheeks pinked, and the way he twisted his head to look back at Ronan who put his hands up in surrender, then he returned his gaze to Antoine. “Are you serious?”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m not lying. He’s my twin brother, and he was born with glaucoma,” Antoine snapped, feeling his temper rise.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna,” Ronan thumbed behind his shoulder.

  He watched as Ronan pushed past the tent and walked off with a heavy limp, then he looked back at Fitz who seemed even more uncomfortable than before. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Fitz sighed and shook his head. “Nah. He just has a hard time with social situations.” He stopped and Antoine raised his brows in question. “He has MS, so being out here makes him tired some nights,” Fitz clarified. “He has a hard time doing any of this stuff. I promise it wasn’t you.”

  “Shit,” Antoine breathed out. “Should I apologize?”

  “No,” Fitz told him. He crossed the small gap between them and leaned on the table. His proximity was enough to make Antoine hot all over, and want deep in his belly. His cock went half hard and he tried to will it back down. “He was getting ready to leave anyway.”

  Antoine swallowed. “Okay.” His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t want to draw attention to it by clearing his throat. Instead, he opened his wallet again and pulled out cash. “How much for the scarf?”

  “Don’t worry,” Fitz started, but Antoine slapped his hand down on the table.

  “Please don’t tell me not to worry about it. You put labor into this.”

  They locked gazes, and Fitz’s nostrils flared. “Why are you like this?”

  “Why are you?” he bit back. I don’t want to remember what this feels like. The words hit him again, and he winced too hard to hide it. When he opened his eyes again, Fitz had taken a step back.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Antoine waved him off. “It’s…whatever. It’s fine.”

  Before he could step back, Fitz’s hand darted out—his left hand—and he curled his fingers around Antoine’s wrist. His thumb, calloused and warm, dragged along Antoine’s sensitive skin, then pressed to the center of his wrist. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You really, really don’t,” Antoine said. The last thing in the world he wanted Fitz to be was sorry. God. It was bad enough Antoine wanted him, but to know Fitz regretted what they’d done…

  “I shouldn’t have walked out like that. You just…your fucking mouth,” Fitz all but growled.

  Antoine’s entire body went hot. “You bring out the worst in me I guess.”

  Fitz blinked like he’d been slapped, then dropped his head. “I hate that.”

  The honesty in his voice was powerful. He looked up again and waited for Fitz to meet his gaze. “I’m not from Hollywood.”

  “I know.” Fitz slowly dragged his hand away, and Antoine missed his touch immediately.

  “I don’t think I’m better than the people in this town,” he went on.

  Fitz’s voice was tight and pained. “I know.”

  Antoine offered a small grin. “I like your sister a lot.”

  Fitz stared, and then he laughed—a low, rumbling chuckle that Antoine hated and loved. “Yeah, she has that effect on people.”

  “Marcel’s going to like this scarf.”

  “Is he really blind?” Fitz asked.

  “White cane and everything. He has some usable sight, but not much. He teaches yoga and he’s so much better at it than I am.”

  “Does he look like you?” Fitz asked.

  At that, Antoine had to laugh, and he grabbed his phone to pull up the most recent photo he had of him and his brother. It was a few years old, taken at the Fish Company. There was a man standing behind them holding up two large sea urchins, and all three of them were grinning.

  It had been a good day. The next day they fought, and that afternoon, Marcel met the man who would take him to Colorado and change everything.

  With a breath, Antoine turned his phone toward Fitz
. “That’s him on the right, with the bun and glasses. We’re identical twins, but he’s shorter than I am.”

  “Oh god,” Fitz groaned, taking the phone between both of his hands. “Two of you.”

  Antoine smiled at him, and parroted words Fitz used about Parker. “He’s a lot nicer than I am.”

  Fitz looked up, a slow, heavy gaze, and his lips twitched into the softest grin. “Why do I believe you?”

  Antoine took his phone back and tucked it away in his pocket before gathering up the scarf. “He really is going to love this,” he said again.

  “Maybe I can make him a hat to match,” Fitz offered.

  Antoine bit his lip, then looked up through his lashes. “How much for the scarf, Fitz?”

  “Twenty,” Fitz bit out.

  Antoine took the cash from his wallet and laid it on the table. The seconds felt like hours, the light air felt like it was weighing him down to the ground, pinning him. Fitz’s gaze would not let him go. “See you around?”

  Fitz nodded his head and smiled that same smile once more. “Count on it.”

  He was so utterly fucked.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fitz picked at the label of his beer bottle and determinedly did not look over at either one of his friends. They were sitting on Parker and Ronan’s back porch staring at the tree line, letting the elephant join them—unacknowledged.

  “So,” Parker started, but Fitz held up his hand and shook his head.

  “Don’t.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say,” Parker defended.

  Fitz turned his head and gave him a flat look. “I’ve known you since you were young enough to leave skid-marks in your Scooby Doo underwear. I know what you were going to say.”

  Parker rolled his eyes. “I never liked Scooby Doo.”

  Ronan chuckled quietly under his breath. “It’s been three beers, Fitz.”

  “I am nowhere near drunk enough to talk about this.” He finished off what was left in his bottle, then reached into the cooler and pulled out a fourth. “But I’m not on call tonight, so maybe we can get me there.”