Riptide (Sand Dollar Shoal Book 2)

by Pandora Pine

  Noble nodded. "I understand where you're coming from, but I'm sure it’s not as bad as you think it is. Pres is a really understanding man and he loves you. Don't sell him short."

  "I won't." It was hard, but Drake would give his lover the benefit of the doubt.

  "Hey! There you are! It's almost midnight. I don't want to miss your unmasking." Pres slipped his arms around Drake's middle.

  Not knowing what else to do, Drake kissed Pres. This could very well be the last chance he'd have to do it and he was going to make it count. "I love you so much."

  Pres gave him a funny look. "I love you too, babe. We're really gonna need to talk later about why you keep kissing me like you're a dead man walking."

  "Ladies and Gentlemen!" Griff shouted. "We're only a minute or so away from midnight!"

  The party goers cheered. Drake felt like he was going to throw up. There was only an hour to go and then he'd be able to tell Presley what was on his mind. Fuck it! He'd drag Pres out after the unmasking and leave the others to clean up. He'd make it up to them all somehow.

  "I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight for Sand Dollar Shoal's First Annual Masquerade Ball. I've heard from so many of you who love this idea that we're gonna do it again next year. Please join me in counting down to midnight when all masks come off! 10...9...8..."

  Pres clutched Drake's hand and brought it up to his lips. "You're my everything Drake," he whispered.

  "7...6...5..." Everyone was counting along with Griff.

  "You're my whole world, Pres. I hope that's something you'll never forget." Drake offered a silent prayer that Pres would still love him after he finally spilled his guts.

  "4...3...2..."

  "Why would I ever forget?" Even with his mask on, Drake could see the confusion on Presley's face.

  "1!” Griff shouted. “Time to unmask!” He reached back to pull his mask off.

  Presley reached up to pull Drake's black mask off, while Drake did the same for Presley. He leaned in to kiss Presley again. Just as their lips were about to touch, someone started yelling.

  "Hey! It's Damien Lovecock!" A roar when up from most of the men in the crowd.

  "GANGBANG!" Someone else shouted.

  "Are you here to give free rides on your disco stick, Damien?" Another shouted.

  The shouts and catcalls got louder and louder. Drake felt his blood freezing in his veins. Some drunk guy walked up to Drake palming his package. "Me first, Damien! Wreck my tight ass with your monster cock!"

  Before Drake could say a word, all of Presley's friends huddled up around him and Presley.

  "What the fuck is going on?" Griff was looking back and forth between Drake and the crowd of people gathering around them. "Who the fuck is Damien Lovecock and why do these people think you're him?"

  Drake swallowed hard. He could feel tears pricking his eyes and wasn't strong enough to keep them from falling. He should have told Pres from the very beginning. He should have just been fucking honest.

  This was worse than any scenario his imagination had conjured up over the last few days. He'd noticed the vast majority of guests tonight had been gay men, but the thought never crossed his mind that someone would recognize him in the low candlelight. "I'm Damien Lovecock."

  Pres looked confused. "I don't understand. Are you saying that's your real name?"

  Drake shook his head sadly, making eye contact with Noble. "Damien Lovecock was my porn name. I-I'm a porn star. Well, at least I used to be..."

  Presley just stared at him as if he'd confessed that he was an alien from Mars.

  "Jesus Christ. That was your secret." Noble looked stunned.

  "Wait? You knew about this?" A world of hurt filled Presley's blue eyes. His hands fisted at his sides.

  "No, Pres. I knew there was something Drake was struggling with, but I had no idea this was the secret. Jesus, man, I'm so sorry."

  "Let me get this straight, you were a gay porn star and you lied to us about your employment background?" Griff looked like he was ready to breathe fire.

  Gregor put a hand on Griff’s shoulder. "Calm the fuck down, Griff. Now is not the time. We need to calm the crowd down and get them to go home. Then we need to clean this place up so we're ready for guests tomorrow. Then we can talk this out."

  Drake didn’t know what to do. All he could think was to pour his heart out to Presley. "I've been trying to tell you, Pres. I-I just never found the right time. And then I fell in love with you and I was terrified you wouldn't understand. I love you so much. I never meant to hurt you." Drake was barely hanging on. Tears were streaking down his face and he wasn't going to be able to hold on to the glass of champagne he’d drunk much longer. "I'm so sorry."

  "You're sorry?” Presley’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but filled with rage. “You fucked men on camera for money and you're sorry? This means that I fucked every porn star that you fucked! How many were there, huh? Hundreds? Fuck you, Drake! Or Damien, or whatever the fuck your name is."

  It felt like someone had reached inside Drake’s chest and was squeezing his heart to a bloody pulp."I deserve that, Pres, but please let's go somewhere to talk."

  "Are you deaf? I said fuck you! I don't want to look at you and I sure as fuck don't want to talk to you." Presley crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes were burning with anger.

  Drake stood stone-still. He could still hear the hooting and hollering behind him and it barely registered that Landon and Leo were grabbing the loudest of the bunch and herding them toward the front door. He took one last look at Presley, who wore a look of absolute disgust on his face. He was looking at Drake as if he were a spider.

  Drake did the only thing he could do. He ran.

  XX

  The last hour had been a complete blur. One minute Presley was kissing his lover and the next, all hell had broken loose with people calling out to Drake like he was some kind of celebrity, which, Pres guessed he kind of was.

  Once Drake had run off, Noble had grabbed Presley’s elbow and steered him into the kitchen and then outside through the door in there, rather than walking him out the front door where the drunk guests were still shouting for Drake and his ass wrecking dick.

  Noble had gotten him in the house. Drake wasn't there. Presley couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Now that a bit of the shock had worn off and his anger had started building, he was in the mood to shout.

  He turned his anger on Noble. "How fucking dare you, Noble?"

  Noble whirled around from the fridge where he'd grabbed a bottle of water. He took a deep breath and set the bottle down in front of Pres before sitting down slowly. He appeared to be stalling. "You and I both know when you get angry, you get irrational and you say things you don't mean."

  Presley slammed his fist down on the dining room table, making the bottle of water jump and fall over. It rolled back toward Noble. "Tell me what you fucking know!"

  Noble shook his head. "A few weeks ago. Drake was alone in the dining room with his computer. He looked lost."

  The old Presley's heart would have broken over thinking of Drake like that, but this Presley didn't give a flying fuck. "So fucking what!"

  Noble stood up and started walking away from the table. "Let's talk tomorrow, man. I know you're pissed, but I don't deserve to be treated like this. All I did was take an interest in your friend. I did what we always do and took Drake into our family like another brother. I'm sure as fuck not gonna sit here and let you shit all over me because I was a good friend."

  Pres had to admit Noble had a point. They'd always welcomed boyfriends into their group and treated them like family. "Fine. I'll stop shitting on you. Sit. Talk." Pres took a deep breath. "Drake looked lost. Go."

  Noble rolled his eyes and sat back down. "He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I sat with him and asked him what was wrong. He said he was keeping something from you. He wanted to tell you but he just didn't know how."

  "Hey, Pre
s, I'm a porn star." Pres threw his arms in the hair. "How fucking hard was that?"

  Noble raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "I told him that he needed to figure out a way to tell you or I would."

  "So you did fucking know!" Pres could feel the heat flooding his face. He knew he probably looked like a boiled lobster, but couldn't bring himself to give a fuck.

  "I knew he had a secret but didn't know what it was until he told us tonight. Drake said he wanted to wait until after the ball to tell you. If he didn't keep his word to me, I was going to tell you about our conversation that day. I’m not keeping anything from you, Pres.”

  Presley sighed.

  "He's been torn up all night. While we were showing guests around the suites in the hotel, his hands were shaking like mine used to do when I hadn't had a drink in a while. He also had a look on his face all night like he was going to throw up."

  Pres had noticed the same things and had just figured Drake was excited about the party. He had no idea the reason he looked like he was about to blow chunks was because he was keeping a dark secret.

  Noble grabbed the bottle of water and set it upright again."I asked him what was up with him and he told me he was going to tell you his secret tonight."

  "Give me a fucking break, Noble." If he believed that, Pres would bet Noble had a bridge to sell him too. How fucking stupid did Noble think he was?

  Noble stood up. "Believe me, don't believe me. I don't care at this point. He said after we all cleaned up from the party, he was going to take you home and tell you. I asked him if he was on the run or an ex-con. He said no, but that his secret had to do with a job he was embarrassed about. I figured he was one of those assholes who walks around LA dressed as Marilyn Monroe, posing for pictures with fans." Noble set a hand on Presley's shoulder. "I had no idea he was an adult film star. I swear on our friendship I didn't know."

  Pres glanced up at his friend who looked torn up. Tonight was one of the best night's of Noble's life and instead of being home with his new fiancé, he was here trying to be a good friend. "Thanks, Noble. I'm all fucked up. I don't know what to think or do."

  "I know you're hurt and pissed off, Pres, but you need to find Drake. No one knows where he went. Find him and make sure he's safe, then you can be as angry as you want. I'm gonna go see if the others know where he is and get Charlie to go look for him. Just remember, he's our brother too." Noble patted him on the shoulder and left the kitchen. A minute later, Pres heard the door shut behind him.

  Not knowing what else to do, Presley pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Instead of pulling up a blank text message, he opened his photos. All of the most recent pictures he'd taken were of him and Drake or of Drake by himself when his lover hadn't known he was taking pictures.

  Drake looked the same as he always did. His smile was warm and Pres could see love shimmering in his dark eyes. None of this made any sense. Why hadn't Drake just come to him and told him what his former career had been back in California?

  Did Drake think he was such an asshole that he wouldn't have understood? He didn't understand, that was the truth, but he would have tried. He didn't deserve to find this out publicly with assholes shouting at his boyfriend and filming the whole thing on their phones.

  Fuck, this whole thing was going to be all over Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and god knows what else. The major Boston media outlets might not have wanted to cover the ball, but they're all going to be kicking themselves come morning when videos of what happened were trending on the fucking internet.

  Pres opened a blank text message, but had no idea what to write. Sighing, he carded a hand through his hair. "Be safe." It was the best he could do.

  Leaving his phone on the table, Pres headed toward his bedroom. He needed to get out of this monkey suit. The tie was practically choking him. Halfway through the living room, Pres stopped short. "Porn stars do it bareback," he whispered to the empty room.

  All of the rage and hate he'd been feeling at the party raced back in full force. Presley had trusted him with his life and Drake had fucked him without a condom. Panic set in and his heart started racing. What if Drake gave him HIV?

  A loud peal of thunder broke over the cottage, shaking it. Seconds later, it started to pour. Presley could give a fuck if Drake was out in the storm. All that mattered now was what the fuck he was going to do in the morning.

  A cry broke free from his chest and Presley fell to the floor, sobbing harder than he'd ever done in his life.

  19

  Drake was sitting on the beach with his arms wrapped around his knees when it started to pour. The thunder echoed across the angry ocean while lightning lit up the entire beach. He was soaked through in seconds. Not that he cared.

  This night couldn’t have gone worse if it had been scripted by Stephen King. The only thing that it was missing was a five gallon pail of pig blood being dumped on his head.

  When he’d lived in L.A., he’d gone to a million parties thrown by the movie studio or nightclubs and never once had other men acted like they had tonight. He’d had his share of drunken propositions, but they were done in private, not in front of the entire gathering.

  If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the look of revulsion on Presley’s face when he explained who Damien Lovecock was. He’d never known it was possible for love to wither and die in an instant.

  “Jesus Christ, man!” Gregor’s voice cut through the howling wind.

  “Go away, Gregor.” The last thing he needed was to deal with one of Presley’s pissed off friends. Gregor, with his Navy SEAL training, was the last person he wanted to see right now.

  “No man left behind, Drake. Let’s go.” He offered a hand down and helped haul Drake back to his feet.

  Drake let the chef pull him back to his feet. He staggered a bit and thanks to Gregor grabbing him, managed to keep his balance.

  “Can you walk?” Gregor clutched Drake’s shoulders.

  “I think so.” His muscles were stiff from sitting on the cold, wet sand, but he was pretty sure he could walk.

  “Come on. Let’s go.” Gregor tugged him back toward the cottages.

  “Go where? Are you escorting me off the property?” Everything he owned was inside Presley’s cabin. He wondered if his ex-lover would even let him back inside to grab his clothes and car keys or if Presley would throw it all outside for him to gather up.

  “No, dumbass. You’re coming home with me. We’ve got to get you warm and dry before you catch your death.”

  Drake didn’t care about catching his death. His life was nothing without Presley in it. Not wanting to get into it with Gregor outside, he followed along.

  As they got closer to Gregor’s cottage he could see all the lights were on in Presley’s cabin with the exception of his bedroom. Or, what used to be his bedroom. He hoped one of the other guys was over there with Pres. Drake sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that night that he’d been man enough to tell the truth from the very beginning.

  “Hey, he’s with Griffin.” Gregor set a hot hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Now’s not the time to talk to him.”

  The temperature must have been in the fifties, but the pounding rain and slashing wind made it feel colder. How the hell was Gregor so warm? “Okay.”

  Gregor gave him a little shove toward the front door and followed behind.

  “Strip,” Gregor commanded, once they were inside the cottage.

  Drake snorted. He couldn’t help remembering that was the exact command Presley had given him on the night they met. The night Presley rescued him from a similar storm. And what had he done to pay Pres back for giving him a warm place to sleep for the night? He’d lied to him.

  “Reminisce later. Here are some dry clothes. You’re a bit taller than me, but the sweats should fit fine.” Gregor handed him dry clothes and scooped up his wet ones.

  He slipped into Gregor’s clothes while his new host carried his wet clothes off, probably to hang them up to dry. Drake padded
into the kitchen in his bare feet and sat at the kitchen table. The house was almost an exact replica of Presley’s, with the only difference being the personal touches that Pres had added to his living space. To say Gregor’s place was Spartan was an exaggeration.

  “Now,” Gregor announced, walking back into the kitchen. “You’re going to tell me everything. Got it?” Not waiting for an answer, Gregor went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort and two glasses.

  Drake took a deep breath while Gregor poured the amber liquid into the glasses. It was the only comfort he was going to get tonight. “You know that I grew up in foster care. I was bounced from house to house until I was sixteen years old when I went to live with my last foster mother. You also know about my dyslexia. I was never a good student and the guidance counselors at school tried to steer me toward a trade. You know, plumbing or electrical work.”

  Gregor took a slow sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with those careers.”

  “You’re right, there isn’t, but they weren’t for me. I wanted to be an actor. The only thing I was ever good at in school was drama club.” It had been the only place in school he felt he’d ever fit in, until he’d met Presley and his friends.