What the Heart Wants

by Jerry Cole

  Honestly, one day he was going to be able to stand up to his family and say no.

  Today was, clearly, not that day. He winced at the thought of having to tell Marc a horde of family was coming to Chicago and he’d probably have to mingle with them.

  “Four is not a hoard,” Marc told him when he finally worked up the courage, looking unimpressed with Brent’s dramatics. Speaking to Polly had forced some of her traits onto him. Was that a thing? “I can handle it.”

  “Well,” Brent started, rubbing at his elbow. “She might have wanted Amanda and Brandon there as well.”

  Brent was watching Marc’s face, so he saw the panic cross Marc’s face before it was quickly replaced with determination. “That’s fine.”

  “Marc,” Brent started, and held up a hand when Marc opened his mouth to reply. “Hear me out first, yeah?” When Marc nodded his acquiescence, Brent sighed. “You don’t have to say you’re fine and force it. If you can’t handle it, you don’t have to come.”

  Marc pressed forward, cupping Brent’s cheek and kissing him softly. It was sweet and chaste, and Brent found himself staring up at Marc, heart thumping in his chest. “It’s your birthday.”

  “Exactly,” Brent pressed, smoothing down the front of Marc’s shirt. “Which means I want to make sure my boyfriend is comfortable.”

  There was a ripple of emotion across Marc’s face, and his thumb swept gently across Brent’s cheek. “I promise you’ll be the first to know if it gets too much for me.”

  Brent gave Marc a small smile and leaned into his touch. “You better.”

  They kissed again, taking their time with it, standing in the middle of Marc’s living room. Brent was spending so much time here, everything familiar in a way that was almost as comforting as his own apartment. Sliding his hands around Marc’s waist, tugging him close enough to press a kiss just below Marc’s ear, Brent settled his cheek against Marc’s shoulder. Most of the time their kisses and touches led somewhere else, but Brent was just as content for Marc to hold him, caress him gently with his hands and lips and words.

  “I love you,” Brent said, because he didn’t want Marc to ever doubt him.

  Marc had never said the words back. Brent didn’t know if he couldn’t, didn’t want to, or whether there was some part of Marc that just didn’t know whether he was in love. Marc sighed, kissing Brent’s head and cupping the back of Brent’s neck.

  “You know I don’t mind if you can’t say it back,” Brent said. When he wasn’t looking at Marc it was a lot easier to be truthful with him. Keeping his hands twisted in Marc’s shirt, Brent kissed his shoulder, closing his eyes and waiting for Marc’s reply—if he was going to make one.

  “I don’t—” Marc started, immediately huffing out a breath when he couldn’t finish. “I don’t want to say it until I’m sure that’s what it is.”

  Brent had been expecting it to hurt, and even though he understood the sentiment and appreciated Marc was as new to this as he was, he couldn’t help the hurt filling his chest. “I get it.”

  “Hey,” Marc said, tilting back and meeting Brent’s eyes. Brent wanted to look away, but he couldn’t do it, not with Marc’s expression so open and honest. “I’ve never been in love, Brent. You deserve to hear it when I know that’s what it is.”

  If Brent had been disappointed before, there was no way he could be after that. Part of him would always be desperate to hear Marc say I love you, too but even if that didn’t happen for a while, Brent was content to wait it out. Marc was worth it. When Brent said so, Marc swallowed hard, his hands tightening on Brent’s waist. He dragged him into a kiss, slotting their bodies together perfectly, and Brent could wait.

  It would make hearing it all the more special.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Birthdays were more trouble than they were worth.

  Brent usually didn’t mind them, having spent the majority back in New York with his family and Amanda. Living out of state meant more phone calls about what he wanted, more texts and emails about various things they could do, and questions about what he wanted.

  Nothing, Brent desperately wanted to say. At least then he wouldn’t have to keep up with the deluge of conversation. Thankfully, he managed to distract himself with his ever-increasing client list and Marc’s company.

  “You have dumb jokes,” Brent told him, still grinning after a particularly terrible pun.

  Marc shrugged, looking unrepentant and proud. Brent thought it had more to do with making him laugh than any pride over his jokes. Not that Brent thought he was awesome or something, but it was the way Marc was looking at him, searching his face, and when Brent laughed, even if it was a gentle, you’re a dork laugh, Marc looked impressed with himself.

  “Beats being serious all the time,” Marc said, nudging Brent.

  Brent narrowed his eyes, giving Marc a stern look as he corralled a couple of dogs into the back of Marc’s car. “Are you implying something, Bergeron?”

  Marc grinned at him over the top of the car, shrugging nonchalantly and flashing Brent an innocent look Brent wasn’t buying at all. “Implying? No.”

  Resisting the urge to stick out his tongue—Marc wasn’t Polly after all—Brent climbed into the passenger seat, lifting his hips to take the phone from his back pocket. Marc didn’t start the car right away, lifting a hand to Brent’s shoulder, carding it through Brent’s hair.

  “What?” Brent asked, self-conscious under the touches. It wasn’t that Marc never touched him, but more that Marc wasn’t always so tender with it, staring at Brent as if he was the best thing Marc had ever seen.

  “I know you’re sick of birthday shit,” Marc said, mouth quirking up into a wry smile. “And you’re tired of people asking. So, you want me to talk to everyone for you?”

  Marc nodded at the phone in Brent’s hand. Brent didn’t answer right away, too busy being ridiculously goofy with his expression when he stared at Marc. It made the lines of Marc’s face soften, answering Brent’s grin with one of his own.

  “I wouldn’t inflict my family on you before you’ve met then, Marc.” Before Marc could protest, Brent leaned forward, kissing Marc hard and resting a hand on his thigh, low enough not to start something. “The fact you’re asking matters more.”

  There was a soft, pleased noise against Brent’s mouth, and then Marc was pulling back. “Just thought I’d ask.”

  Brent grinned as Marc finally started the car, and he couldn’t help shooting a text to his sisters when he was sure Marc’s attention was on the road.

  My boyfriend is better than yours. He totally WANTS to talk to you guys.

  It didn’t take long for Brent’s sisters to get outraged, and his phone lit up with six texts in quick succession. Marc’s eyebrow raised at the influx but didn’t ask what they were about. Brent had a feeling he knew, judging by the self-satisfied smile on his face, and the fond looks he kept shooting Brent when he thought Brent wasn’t looking.

  Jack: !!!!!!!!!!! How dare you!

  Rachel: You should let him talk to us then, duh

  Polly: Why does that make him better than our boyfriends?

  Jack: None of our boyfriends want to talk to you

  Jack: Because you threaten to kill them

  Jack: Also, pics or it didn’t happen

  Sometimes Brent worried about Jack. Pics or what didn’t happen?

  Rachel: Jack, that doesn’t even make sense.

  Polly: Feel free to give him our numbers :)

  “My sisters are the worst,” Brent informed Marc, as they pulled into the parking lot. Marc gave him a withering look, and Brent sighed, rolling his head against the headrest and wrinkled his nose at Marc in an expression of distaste. “They want me to give you their numbers.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  Brent studied Marc’s face, trying to figure out if it was a serious question, or if Marc was keeping the tone light. When he couldn’t figure it out, he decided to go for the safer of the two options and keep
it serious. “If you don’t care that they’ll probably jump on you and drive you crazy.”

  There was a softer smile on Marc’s face when he shut off the car. It took Brent a beat to realize that maybe Marc had missed having a sibling, and he wanted to punch himself in the face. “You don’t mind?”

  “Duh,” Brent said, handing Marc his phone. “It’s not like I don’t have sisters to spare.”

  “I will definitely not be telling them that,” Marc said with a snort, taking the outstretched phone, tugging his own from the car mount. “Just to save you being the worst brother ever.”

  “So gracious,” Brent stretched, working the kinks out of his body after the walks. “I’ll drop the dogs off. Be back in a bit.”

  He leaned over the console, taking a quick kiss from Marc before unclipping his seatbelt and leaving the car. He wasn’t nervous about his sisters being in contact with Marc. Well, part of him was, but he mostly wanted Marc to have other people to talk to who weren’t him and the servicemen from the VA center. Brent was no psychologist, but he assumed it would be good for Marc to have a life away from his service.

  Dropping off the dogs didn’t take long. Brent stared at the check with wide eyes and figured having Marc with him really wasn’t gonna be an issue and jogged back down to the car. Marc was actually on the phone when he opened the passenger door.

  “—and I’ll make sure to tell him that,” Marc said, grinning at Brent as he settled in the seat and shut the door. He raised his eyebrows, but Marc didn’t rise to the bait. “Bye, Polly.”

  Brent groaned and closed his eyes, relaxing back against the seat. “Why is this happening?”

  “Because you love all of us,” Marc said easily. Brent’s breath hitched, and he tilted his head to accept the hungry kiss Marc pressed down on him. Brent’s fingers curled against Marc’s hips, wanting to hold him in place. “As much as I love kissing you,” Marc continued, pulling away, eyes dropping to Brent’s lips and then to the clock on the dash, “we have another client to see.”

  Brent pouted, smiling when Marc snorted and started the car. As they drove to their next client, Brent let himself appreciate the comfort and familiarity of their interactions. He hadn’t known Marc very long, that was true, but it felt like an age, like he’d known Marc all his life. It sounded cliché and he would never admit as much to anyone he knew, but it was the truth.

  When they finally arrived home after a full day of clients, Brent stood outside of his door, wanting to follow Marc back into his apartment, but needing the comfort of his own house. Juliette and Stanley were sitting patiently outside of the respective apartments, and Marc’s lips twitched as he took them in.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Marc asked.

  Brent was relieved he wouldn’t have to be the one that asked for a night apart, and Marc’s snort and smile was evident he knew perfectly well what had gone through Brent’s mind.

  “You’re allowed to spend a night away from me,” Marc told him, tugging Brent forward by his shirt. “I’m not gonna get mad.”

  “I know,” Brent said, keeping himself in place with his hands on Marc’s shoulders. Juliette whined unhappily as the leash tugged on her harness. “I also don’t want to spend a night away from you. Go figure.”

  Marc laughed gently, thumbing at Brent’s bottom lip and then stepping back. “Maybe on the days we don’t have to work together all day, we’ll be able to hang out in the evening.”

  Brent’s grin must have been goofy from the way it was hurting his face, but he didn’t care, squeezing Marc’s arm. He waited until Marc’s door had closed behind him and Stanley, and then opened the door to his own apartment. Juliette was sniffing at the bottom of the door, not waiting a second longer than she had to, sliding through the gap in the door and racing into the living room. Brent was grateful her feet were dry this time. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up, making a face as he realized he hadn’t collected his mail in a few days. His box would no doubt be stuffed, and there would be a couple of cards in there from family he wouldn’t be seeing, but he was too tired to make the trek back out to the mailboxes.

  Unfortunately, as soon as Brent showered for bed, his phone started ringing. It was his mother, and as much as Brent wanted to ignore her, he knew better.

  “Brent Strome,” his mother said as soon as he answered. “Why did you not tell me you had a boyfriend?”

  Brent winced, pinching the bridge of his nose as he dropped onto the couch. He hoped there was beer in the fridge because he was going to need it afterward. “Mom—”

  Sighing, his mom sounded upset. “Have I given you the impression I don’t care about your boyfriends?”

  “What, no,” Brent said immediately. “I know you do.”

  “Good, because you know I love you?”

  Brent rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then winced. “Mom, I don’t think you’re homophobic. I just—I didn’t want to talk about him for good reasons.”

  “Your reasons or his?” his mom said, and Brent forgot how perceptive she was even when she couldn’t see his face.

  “Both.” Brent rubbed his free hand on his thigh, patting the couch next to him and allowing Juliette to jump up, nestle in next to him. He kept himself occupied by stroking her fur, scratching behind her ears, while he talked into the phone. “Did Rachel tell you?”

  “Your sisters have said nothing.” There was a warning in his mom’s tone that meant she would be taking it up with them after she was done with Brent. Brent was going to have to give his sisters a bajillion presents to make up for it. “I found out when I received a text from your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, shit,” Brent blurted out. “He was only supposed to text the girls.”

  “Women,” his mom corrected. There was a pause. “So, if he hadn’t texted me, you could have continued to keep it a secret?”

  “Well, no,” Brent said. He couldn’t explain it away the same as he had with Amanda and his sisters. His mom wasn’t going to be satisfied, so he would have to be truthful. “He was in the military.”

  “Okay,” his mom said slowly. “Are you embarrassed?”

  “No,” Brent sat up straighter, keeping a hand on Juliette to keep her from getting upset at him moving. “I just want him to be comfortable. He was discharged after his service. He has—I don’t want to betray him by telling everyone—so I haven’t told anyone else this, but he has PTSD.”

  Just admitting it to his mother made him feel like a dick. It wasn’t as if his mother was going to blurt it out to Marc, but she was a caring person by nature and the last thing he needed was his mom trying to help Marc in a roundabout way.

  “He’s not great with people,” Brent continued, nervous about her reaction. “He’s spent years being by himself, and I didn’t want to overwhelm him before he—and I, we—knew if it was serious.”

  “If you’re giving him our numbers,” his mom started, and Brent couldn’t figure out her tone. “I assume things are serious?”

  It took Brent a while to say it. It was so easy with Marc, because Brent had a habit of just blurting out his feelings, but with his mom, it was harder. Maybe because he was nervous that she would hate Marc, or not want Brent with him, and then he’d have to choose, and it would be awful. “I love him, Mom.”

  There was a low sigh and his mom said, “Thank you for telling me, Brent. If you love him, that’s good enough for me.”

  Brent sank back into the cushions, letting out a slow breath. He hoped it wasn’t too audible through the phone and found himself smiling. “What did he say to you?”

  “I’m not going to tell you that,” his mom said, a note of teasing in her voice. Brent felt lighter, a weight lifted from his shoulders, and he was content to talk to his mom for a little while longer, thankful she accepted Marc, at least in theory. He hoped their meeting would go as well, and that his mother wouldn’t be mad.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The day before Brent’s birthday, Brent woke up in Marc’s bed. He
stretched, rolling over onto Marc and burrowing into Marc’s chest. Marc’s arm immediately came over him, holding him close. There was the phantom press of Marc’s lips to the crown of his head. Brent kept his eyes closed, content to stay cuddled up with Marc as long as Marc allowed it. It wasn’t often they could share the same bed, with Marc having nightmares as often as they came back from work too tired to do anything but flop into bed and stay there.

  The sun was spilling through the curtains, lighting up the room. Both dogs were in the room, curled up in Stanley’s dog bed in a hilarious display of mostly in and mostly out. Brent snorted, smoothing his fingers over Marc’s chest.

  “What’s so funny?” Marc said, his words sending vibrations running over Brent’s face.

  “Look,” Brent said, waving a hand at the dogs. They were still fast asleep, Juliette’s head smushed onto the carpet and Stanley splayed across her.

  Marc’s laugh rumbled through his chest and Brent closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. He didn’t care to move, knowing they had plenty of time before his family arrived at the airport. Marc shifted the hand on Brent’s shoulder, stroking lightly down Brent’s side. The touch was feather-light and enough to make Brent shiver, but not drive him to want anything more.

  “I got a call last night,” Brent said, screwing his face up in disgust.

  “I heard,” Marc said. “You didn’t answer.”

  “It was my dad,” Brent explained, and then sucked in a breath, wincing. “I just feel bad.”

  Marc shifted again, this time rolling them over so Marc framed his body, stroking his fingers over Brent’s face, then through his hair. “Why?”

  Brent didn’t want to answer for a moment, wanting to get his feelings under control. He had to pick his words wisely. “Your parents,” he started, darting his eyes away from Marc and to the dogs. “I don’t want to—it feels like I have both parents and you don’t—and I don’t want to…”

  Marc pressed a finger to Brent’s lips, brow furrowed. “Brent, it’s not a contest. Just because my parents were,” he paused, swallowing, “not great, doesn’t mean you have to have a great relationship with both of yours.”