by Mia Ashlinn
Who the hell was he kidding? He’d rather castrate himself with a nut cracker than hurt any of them—intentionally or unintentionally. The mere thought he caused any of them the slightest pain gutted him. But for his own sake, Aly didn’t need to know how badly he was hurting. She was a shark when it came to getting what she wanted. If she smelled blood in the water, he was a dead man.
Aly cast him a look that would have wilted a flower. “No. I already told you that I’m here to take you home.”
“No, you’re not here to take me anywhere.”
An inexplicable shadow crossed Aly’s face, and she sighed again. “Why do you have to act like this, Sam? Why can’t you just come home? You’re obviously miserable. And Ethan and Brett are, too.”
Sam’s heart squeezed until he lost his breath. He hadn’t meant to hurt them. He’d only meant to save himself. Obviously, he’d failed on both accounts. They were hurt, and he was drowning in the pool of misery he’d brought upon himself when he’d decided he was better off without them.
Swallowing carefully, Sam braced his hands on the arms of the chair, digging his fingers into the thick padding, and mumbled, “It’s complicated.”
Aly frowned, her displeasure evident in the deep slant of her lips. “What a cop-out.”
“It is complicated,” he insisted. He didn’t like the desperation he heard in his tone. But he didn’t comment on it. And thankfully, neither did Aly.
Aly’s eyes softened. “Tell me, Sam. Make me understand,” she pleaded in a gentle voice. Then her face transformed, and a cheeky grin appeared. “Just use itty-bitty words and big diagrams.”
Against his will, Sam chuckled. “Aly-bear, even those won’t help you.”
Aly raised her eyebrows. “Try me,” she shot back, a silent dare glittering in her piercing gaze. “If you can convince me… Well, I might not tell Ethan where you are. I might just turn my head the other way. You never know.”
How could he “try” her? He could barely comprehend the clusterfuck tying him in knots. He certainly couldn’t explain it to her if he couldn’t explain it to himself—even when his future hinged on him convincing her.
“Nah,” he said, feigning a casualness he didn’t feel. “I think I’ll let you figure it out on your own.” He brought out a brash, self-assured smile that wouldn’t have fooled anyone, not even a child. “It’s so much more fun for me that way.”
Aly gave a stilted laugh. “It might be more fun, but it’s a bad idea.”
Sam cocked his head to the side. “How so?”
“I might guess wrong,” Aly answered. Her tone was cool, her answer pragmatic.
“And this is bad because…”
Kindness warmed Aly’s eyes. Sympathy gentled her face. Sam saw the compassion, the genuine caring she felt, more clearly than he ever had before. And for a split second, he paused. But then, she whispered, “Or I could very well guess right,” and the world come crashing down around him.
Fear, stark and rabid, ran through Sam’s veins at a rapid pace as he replayed Aly’s last words in his head. Or I could very well guess right. Her statement, worrisome as it may be, was only partially responsible for the panic flaring inside him. That coupled with the knowledge in her gaze, the sympathy radiating off her body in waves, was more than he could handle.
Sam’s breath quickened, the air burning as it rushed in and out of his lungs too quickly. Adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream, and he couldn’t bear to sit in his chair any longer. Surging to his feet, he paced from one end of Tate’s living room to the other then back again without uttering a word.
Eventually, Aly seemed to realize his silence was indefinite and spoke again. “Sam, I know…I know why you ran. I’m not stupid.”
God, he wished she were stupid or clueless or something that would make this heinous moment just a little bit easier for both of them—which made him a real bastard.
“Oh really?” Sam inquired, trying to play off his inner turmoil with feigned nonchalance. “Are you psychic now?”
Aly’s lips turned down. “Don’t try to change the subject. You’re in love with my brother and Brett.”
“No, I’m not,” he returned, his denial swift and impassioned. Although, his voice was too intense, overly dramatic, and he sounded more rehearsed than believable. Frustrated by his response, Sam drove his hand through his wavy hair and thrust the strands back and away from where they’d fallen over his forehead. Finally, he hedged, “I’m just confused.”
Aly shook her head. “For once I think you’re not confused. I think you’ve hit the nail on the head.”
Again, he responded fast and furious, his tone infuriatingly theatrical. “No. I haven’t.”
“Why are you still denying how you feel, Sam?” She pressed her lips together in a tight, thin line. “It’s obvious how much you care.”
Great, just fucking great. This was exactly what he needed—the world knowing how he felt when he didn’t. He wondered how long Aly had known, how long he’d been wearing his heart on his sleeve, but he didn’t ask. He was afraid to.
Instead, he muttered, “Because…”
“You’re scared?” she filled in.
“No,” he replied. Yet Sam wasn’t being entirely truthful. He was scared, just not enough to admit it to her or anyone else. He was barely afraid enough to admit it to himself.
Aly leaned toward him, her entire body straining forward and across the distance separating them. She reached for his hand then appeared to think better of it and withdrew her near touch. “Then what?” she asked as she sat all the way back against the couch cushions. “Surely, you’re not still brainwashed by your mother.”
A vicious curse burst from Sam’s lips. How dare Aly bring his mother into this fucked-up scenario. His mother might have been a bit off her rocker, but she’d been good to him. And in return, he’d been good to her, loving her and taking care of her until the end.
“My mother didn’t brainwash me,” he snapped venomously.
Aly huffed. “Give me a break. She was the worst kind of mother. She constantly made demands of you and spewed crazy ideologies that she expected you to adhere to. Not to mention, the times she guilted and manipulated you into being what she wanted, saying what she commanded, and doing what she expected.”
“No,” he disagreed vehemently. “She wasn’t like that. She had her problems, but she never took it out on me. She always treated me like a prince.”
Aly snorted. “That’s because you were her good son. Ask your brothers about your mom. Thom and Miah will give it to you straight, whether you like it or not.”
Sam knew better. If he talked to his brothers, he would be bombarded with their hatred for Mara Carrington. That’s what they called her—not Mom or Mother. She was Mara. “I think I’ll pass.”
Aly smiled, her lips curving up in victory. “See, you know how she was. You just want to deny the truth because you’re a nice guy. You’re a good son who doesn’t want to speak ill of his dead mother. It’s not like you’re going to come out and say that your mom was a bitch who fed you her warped bigotry for breakfast every day she was alive.”
Sam growled. He didn’t know what offended him more—that she was disrespecting his late mother or that she was insulting him and his intelligence. He guessed it didn’t really matter. Either way, she was pissing him off. “I didn’t listen to that bullshit,” he denied. “And it certainly has no effect on my life now.”
“Are you sure about that?” Aly inquired in an irritatingly skeptical tone. “Being raised by a homophobic parent can really screw with a child’s head, even without them realizing it.”
“I’m sure it does, Aly. But being bisexual or gay or straight has no bearing on me. No label defines me or what I feel. I am what I am.” Even if I don’t know exactly what or who that is.
Aly didn’t appear impressed by his answer. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied him carefully. After several beats of silence, her face relaxed as though she’d solv
ed an unsolvable equation and asked, “Well then, what is stopping you?”
“What’s stopping me?” Sam barked a grating laugh that held zero amusement. “Everything.”
Aly was silent, clearly waiting for him to go on. Only he didn’t know if he wanted to.
In the end, he caved. “I’ve spent years living a lie,” he admitted reluctantly as he dragged his eyes away from her and settled his gaze on the painting above the flameless fireplace. “I’m not the man I thought I was. Hell, I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I feel.”
Sam paused and gulped. He didn’t know how to explain it in a way that would make sense. But he had to try. “I had this vision of my life—marriage, kids, and a home with a white picket fence. I know it’s trite, but that’s what I’ve always dreamed about. Now I’m…not sure what I want.”
Sam took a breath and went on. “If I’m this confused about myself, how can I know for sure I’m not confused about them? How can I know whether or not they care for the real me?” He locked his gaze with Aly’s sympathetic one. “Aly, I can’t turn my life—or theirs—upside down when it risks our futures, not when I’m this lost.”
“Sam—”
“No,” Sam interrupted. “They don’t know me, Aly. They can’t because I don’t know me.”
There he’d said it. He’d admitted the root of the problem—out loud to someone else. He didn’t trust his feelings, and he didn’t trust Brett and Ethan’s either. Until he did, he wouldn’t risk destroying their friendship for a sexy romp in the bedroom. More importantly, he wouldn’t crush their dreams or his of a family of their own—unless he was certain this was it for all the three of them. And right now, he wasn’t sure of anything.
Chapter 6
Exactly forty-eight hours after his disastrous confrontation with Ethan, Brett sat at a corner table in The Book Nook in Luscious, Kansas. His heart was pounding, thumping out of control as he scanned the room for any signs of Ethan. But he didn’t see him. He only saw the faces of fascinating strangers and the homelike interior of a unique establishment.
Giving up on his search, Brett blew out a noisy breath. What was this place anyway? He didn’t have a clue what to call it. He’d been trying to figure out a name or a description or something since he’d walked in an hour and a half ago, but he’d never been anywhere near a joint quite like this one. The endless shelves of leather-bound novels indicated a book store. Not to mention, the giant chairs strategically placed in the most quiet, most private corners of the room. But the long bar with several baristas behind the counter wearing aprons and happy faces hinted at a coffee shop. The tables spread throughout the intimate space corroborated that theory. They were sectioned off, giving way to a comfy, cozy atmosphere that only a coffee shop could engender. And finally, the stage and seating he saw peeking through the arched doorway connecting this room to the adjacent one reminded him of a tiny theater.
“Like what you see?” a woman asked out of the blue as she plunked down his second cup of auto-drip coffee in front of him.
Surprised to hear a voice other than his super-friendly server Rylan’s, Brett turned his gaze on the beautiful middle-aged lady beside his booth. “Yes, ma’am.”
The unknown woman laughed a full-body laugh. Her sound of amusement was boisterous like Ella Blaylock-Asher’s, his friend back in Serenity. Now that he got a full glimpse of the middle-aged woman, he saw she had a strong resemblance to Ella and her three sisters. Although she looked nothing like Tate. But that wasn’t surprising considering physically, Tate was the black sheep of the family.
Brett swept his eyes over the woman whose name he still didn’t know. He assessed her and mentally compared her to Ella and the rest of the Dawson sisters. She was full-figured and absolutely beautiful. Her dark hair was peppered with gray, and her eyes were the exact shade of cerulean that Ella’s were. But it was her smile that reminded him of Ella. She beamed, her whole face lit up with her radiating joy, and it was infectious. He’d never seen anyone other than Ella look like that when she was happy.
“You must be Mrs. Dawson,” Brett murmured, knowing he was right before she even answered. Ella’s mother lived in Luscious. He knew that. He’d just forgotten.
“Uh-oh, what have you heard?” Her sunny smile brightened. “Was it my girls or Tate? My money’s on Tate.” She clucked her tongue. “That boy is a menace.”
Brett couldn’t stop his scowl as he toyed with the handle of his Keep Calm and Love On mug. He wanted to laugh, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Ah,” she breathed. “Tate.” She raked over him with a sympathetic look. “He just won’t stop it with all these men. He keeps breaking hearts. One of these days, I swear…”
All these men? Brett bit his tongue to keep from flinging an insult. He wanted to rearrange Tate’s face. Sam didn’t need to live with a guy who had a revolving door in his bedroom. He was a bad influence. And that was not something his Sam needed. “It’s not like that. I’m a friend of Ella’s.”
Mrs. Dawson blushed at her blunder. “Oh.”
Not wanting to make an awkward moment worse, Brett extended his hand to Ella’s mother. “I’m Brett Monroe.”
Mrs. Dawson’s eyes enlarged, and she drawled, “Ohhh, you’re Brett.”
Now it was his turn to mutter, “Uh-oh. What have you heard?”
“Not too much.” He noticed how the dark-haired woman emphasized the word too, but he decided he didn’t want to know. “So…are you here for business or pleasure?”
Picking up his coffee cup, Brett blew a puff of air across the steaming brew. “I’m here to take care of a personal matter.” That I hope is quite pleasurable.
“Those are tricky around here,” she replied. “A town of idiosyncratic thespians who don’t know the word boundaries can create quite the challenge. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Yes, we are,” Ethan answered for Brett as he suddenly appeared next to Mrs. Dawson. “We came for someone, and we aren’t leaving without him.”
“Good.” Mrs. Dawson’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Men in love make the best entertainment, especially when it comes to my son and his friends.”
Ethan’s eyebrow rose. “You enjoy watching other people suffer? Even your own son?”
Ella’s mother shook her head. Her crystal clear eyes held disappointment as she peered at Ethan. “No,” she said vehemently. “I enjoy watching people fight for what they want and win. And before you ask, I believe love always wins. Always.” Her face transformed, and she winked wickedly. “And yes, I get a kick out of watching my son go through it with his friends because I know eventually Haven, Hayden, and Jaxon will step up to the plate. And I want him to know that when they do, they will win—whether he plays dirty or not. Like I know you two will with Sam.”
Brett returned his coffee cup to the table. “Thanks, Mrs. Dawson.” He appreciated her vote of confidence in a weird way.
“No problem,” she replied. “But call me Donna. Mrs. Dawson was my mother-in-law, and she was a bit of a loon.”
Despite himself, Brett chuckled.
Ethan did not. He simply sat down across from Brett.
“All right, Donna,” Brett said when the silence went on too long.
Donna waved her hand dismissively. “I must go. I have an…errand to run.”
Ethan nodded with a mumbled, “Good-bye.”
“Nice to meet you,” Brett said, but Donna was already gone with a flash of dark hair.
Once Donna disappeared, Brett stared at Ethan intently. He waited for his lover to talk because he wasn’t sure what to say. The note he’d left at their apartment had said it all. Now he needed to hear Ethan’s thoughts and feelings before they went anywhere.
“I–I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” Ethan mumbled. His voice was quiet, softer than Brett could ever remember hearing it. And his face was flushed an endearing shade of raspberry red. Brett definitely couldn’t recall seeing Ethan blush that profusely—in thi
s lifetime. “I was afraid you’d already left.”
Deep down, Brett was surprised he was still here, too. He kept thinking, Five more minutes. Then when five minutes had passed, he’d repeated the same three words again. Truth be told, he’d lost count of how many times he’d extended the wait time for Ethan.
“I hoped you’d come,” Brett muttered with an honesty that should embarrass him yet didn’t. “I hoped you’d change your mind.”
Ethan’s dark green eyes fell to the table. “I did.”
Brett knew he had. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. He’d have thrown Brett’s letter away and went on his merry way. But he hadn’t. He was here. And that was what mattered to Brett. Not that he was late or that he was hesitant, just that he was here.
“I’m sorry it took me this long to come to my senses,” Ethan mumbled. With every word that tumbled out of his lover’s mouth, the red in his cheeks darkened, deepening until he looked more like a tomato than a raspberry, which amused Brett to no end. But he held back his laugh valiantly. “I just…didn’t realize how hard it would be to swallow my pride. Sam’s worth it, but it’s hard to forget that he just walked away. He hurt us. What if he does it again?”
For the first time in a long time, Ethan had let his guard down, and Brett could see the vulnerable man inside. Not the cocky, know-it-all pretty boy everyone knew. This was the real Ethan. And God, Brett loved him all the more for it.
Brett laid his hand on the table and offered it to Ethan. Without hesitation, Ethan took it. “Then we’ll deal with it,” Brett told Ethan. “Together.”
Ethan’s lips tilted up in a gentle smile. “I like together.”
“Me, too.”
Clearing his throat, Ethan added, “I’m sorry about the other night, too.”
Brett furrowed his brow in confusion. “It’s okay. I just didn’t understand why.” He still didn’t. But he wasn’t going to press him. If Ethan wanted him to know, he’d tell him whether it be now or later.
“It was like my world turned upside down,” Ethan explained. “I finally made the decision it was time to move on. That day, I decided. Then I come home and see the pain you’re in and Brooklyn shows up. She tells me, I mean us…well, you know. And you’re confident we should go after him. Then you’re kissing me, and it was too much, too fast.” He swallowed noticeably, his nervousness palpable. “We hadn’t made love in four months. And all of a sudden you wanted me. It hurt…because w–w–well, I felt like you only wanted me now that Sam might be in the picture again.”