by Con Riley
They both laughed, and for the first time in too long, Aiden felt close to normal.
Marco wasn’t at home when Aiden finally got back. It was after nine in the evening by then, and he’d driven through a rare end-of-summer thunderstorm. Peering through the windshield had made his neck rigid with tension as rain came down much more heavily than usual. The few steps from the driveway to the cover of the front porch were enough to leave him drenched. He’d fumbled for his key in the dark, glaring at the porch light as if that should be enough to make it switch on.
He’d gotten too used to coming back after late nights at the store to a house that looked warm and welcoming. Aiden hadn’t paid too much attention before to the way his housemate would always be there, asking him questions from the moment he stepped inside. He’d been an irritating distraction, one that Aiden had tried not to dwell on. But maybe weeks of repetitive behavior had conditioned him to expect Marco to follow him to the bathroom, where he’d talk through the door as Aiden washed up. It seemed weird coming into a darkened house alone and then changing out of his work gear without Marco’s helpful suggestions—wear that T-shirt. Yes, the tight one—and his constant need for information.
Even on the way home tonight, Aiden had been subconsciously organizing his thoughts, aware that, the moment Marco started talking, he’d take over the conversation. That couldn’t happen tonight. Aiden had things to say. But ten minutes after getting home, he stood in Peter’s too-quiet house and decided that maybe he’d judged his housemate harshly. To be honest, he had to admit that it wasn’t so much that Marco took over all their conversations. Aiden simply hadn’t ever tried to meet him halfway. No wonder it seemed like Marco talked so much when Aiden had been so often silent, comparing him unfavorably with Ben.
In comparison, talking with Drew had been so easy. After he’d gotten done taking down Levi’s details, his partner had arrived and they’d headed out together. But only a few hours later, Aiden had looked up to find Drew, out of uniform and messing up his neatly folded piles of T-shirts, winking once again. When Marco had acted similarly, he’d labeled him as annoying and attention seeking. Drew doing the same? That seemed like honest fun.
Drew was amusing, teasing information out of Aiden much as Marco had tried to. The longer he’d spent answering all the questions, the more he’d realized it wasn’t Marco’s inquisitive ways that bothered him. That couldn’t be the reason he’d kept him at arm’s length, when he responded to Drew doing the same without thinking twice.
No. It was all the inner shit Aiden hadn’t told Marco—particularly about his brother Ben—that had made him tense around him from the beginning. Aiden wanted to talk to him about that now—some of it at least—even though the thought of explaining himself seemed hard to get his head around. He’d made a difficult decision, and now that he was ready to be more open with Marco, the man wasn’t even here. That was just Aiden’s luck.
He wandered through the house after showering and changing into sweats, wondering where Marco was. He ended up in the kitchen and looked out the window. Lightning lit the backyard in flashes of stark white, followed by deep rumbles of thunder. This weather was so unusual. He felt uneasy, as if his skin was charged with static.
Food was no distraction. He’d headed home with his stomach rumbling, wondering what there would be to eat. Walking into a house that smelled amazing had become the norm. The absence of that added to his sense of unease. More thunder rumbled, almost overhead now. He rifled through the fridge, where leftovers were neatly organized, and was reaching for the remains of some lasagna when all the lights went out.
A quick glance out the living room window confirmed that the whole street lay in darkness. No electricity to heat his dinner. No power to watch something mindless on TV. Great. He made his way to the laundry room, where Peter kept his flashlights, and found a battery-powered lantern.
Sitting in its dim light in the living room, waiting for his housemate to get home, wasn’t how he’d anticipated spending the evening. Far from it. He ended up wandering around the house, too restless to relax, pausing when he heard the sound of a car’s approach, resuming his pacing as the sound faded. By now it was after eleven.
He found himself in Marco’s room, looking at two neat piles of clothes on top of his housemate’s dresser. Marco had done his laundry for him, as well as his own. It was piled there as if Marco had gotten distracted before finishing his chore. The belt Aiden had worn with yesterday’s jeans was coiled neatly on top. It circled a small amount of loose change and the folded letter his mom had given him that he’d stuffed in his back pocket.
How long had this been going on? Aiden tried to recall when he’d last done a load of laundry, drawing a mental blank. He’d been so busy lately; he hadn’t noticed how Marco had made aspects of his home life easier.
The envelope was creased and crumpled, like the one he’d left at the store. The lantern he’d placed on Marco’s nightstand wasn’t exactly bright, so he sat close to it on the bed and smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper. Yeah, this letter was from an adoption search service too. He felt the same weight of worry bear down on his shoulders as he had when the first letter arrived.
In Marco’s room, where nobody could see him, he finally sagged and leaned against the headboard. Exhaustion overwhelmed him until it seemed a whole lot easier to lie down. He’d put off reading the letter for too long. He opened the envelope, withdrawing a single thin sheet of paper. Its contents made for quick reading—a few lines that left Aiden breathless, his chest burning, his eyes hot and stinging.
Thank fuck he’d read it on his own.
Thank fuck Evan couldn’t see him.
It hadn’t occurred to him that the adoption search service might send the same letter to every address he’d held. Jesus fucking Christ. If his mother had read this . . . . It didn’t bear thinking about.
Aiden rolled over, imagining the worst as rain lashed against Marco’s bedroom window. He hauled in breaths that were muffled by a pillow smelling of spice and comfort, until the burning in his chest and eyes gradually ebbed away.
Sleep slowly washed in to replace it.
He barely woke when Marco returned much later and rearranged the covers over them both after picking up the fallen letter and placing it on the nightstand.
He only stirred as a fork of sudden lightning lit the room. Its corresponding crash of thunder did make him moan, though, reaching out as if in search of something to hang onto as the storm raged.
In his dreams, he opened that letter time and time again. On his eighteenth birthday, Aiden had opted to allow communication if his remaining birth parent sought contact. Now, nearly ten years later, someone had initiated a search. A request had been made for Aiden’s adoptive name and contact details.
His birth father wanted to meet him.
Overhead, more thunder rumbled, and Aiden turned to Marco.
Chapter Seven
Aiden woke first the next morning. For one blindingly disconcerting moment he had no idea where he was. His whole body tensed as he reconstructed the previous day, recalling fragments of conversations, piecing together events that might have led to him waking somewhere unfamiliar. His sudden lurch from lying on his stomach to propping himself up on his elbows was accompanied by a single internally voiced question: Drew?
A quick turn of his head made him huff with relief. Marco’s glossy dark-haired head, instead of Drew’s blond buzz cut, was nestled into the neighboring pillow.
He closed his eyes for a moment, grateful that he hadn’t complicated his life by hooking up with Drew again, even though that had clearly been on offer when the officer had returned to his store the previous evening. He’d been open about his interest, persistent even, as he’d followed Aiden into his cluttered stockroom after closing and maneuvered him against the door.
Maybe Aiden had let himself be pushed.
It had felt good for a few minutes to let someone else make decisions, but Drew’s mouth had fel
t different on his, wrong somehow, and that realization had made Aiden stop him right away.
Drew had wondered aloud whether Aiden simply didn’t date. He explained that he didn’t date either, as a rule. Seeing Aiden again had made him reconsider. He wasn’t interested in dealing with being out at work, so long-term relationships weren’t on his agenda, but he’d remembered laughing in that club bathroom with Aiden and wondered if they might have some more fun together.
Fun.
Jesus.
Fun was for other people.
Aiden opened his eyes again and looked over to where Marco continued sleeping. He too slept on his stomach, both hands under his pillow, his face turned away from Aiden. The smooth slope of his shoulder was relaxed, his breathing deep and easy. As Aiden studied him, Marco sighed and turned onto his side, revealing an expanse of tanned back that tapered to a narrow waist. Lucky genetics, Aiden thought. Marco epitomized slothful behavior, marveling at Aiden’s gym attendance from his usual place sunbathing in the backyard or from the living-room couch.
Marco’s whole life had seemed to revolve around pleasure, Aiden considered, frowning as he recalled his first impressions. Nearly every morning of the last month had begun with Marco preparing him ridiculously extravagant breakfasts, as if Aiden had time to waste when he should be at work already. It was maddening how Marco would text Aiden relentlessly with weekend plans for parties or concerts—dates that he wanted no part of and never, ever agreed to.
No, before this awful week, Marco’s version of fun had acted as a reminder that he seemed nothing like Ben. But now, after Aiden’s freak-out in the garage and the way Marco had stepped up to make sure he was okay, Aiden wondered if he’d been hasty in his judgment.
Drew’s suggestion that Aiden have a little fun with him hadn’t made him judge the man in the same way he did Marco. Not one bit.
He’d let Drew push him against his stockroom door again, and he’d smiled when the off-duty cop had asked if they couldn’t at least fool around. He’d been warm and teasing, reminding Aiden that he owed him a blowjob. He asked, “How about it, stud? Right here, right now?” and that hadn’t seemed shallow. Aiden had considered going with the flow when Drew held him firmly by the hips as he leaned close to kiss him.
Aiden’s hands had mirrored Drew’s, but green eyes instead of warm brown, and the glint of golden five o’clock shadow instead of dark, had thrown him out of the moment. He’d shown Drew out and then driven home thinking about a different smile and tan skin that was cedar scented.
Maybe it was a good thing, Aiden thought, as he watched his own fingertips hover over a small crescent-shaped scar on his sleeping housemate’s shoulder, that Marco had finally given up on his relentless flirting. The way Aiden felt right now, waking up just as tired as he’d been all yesterday evening, and with the added pressure of his birth father’s attempt at contact, maybe friendship was what he needed.
Someone to confide in.
Someone who wasn’t Evan.
He didn’t touch Marco’s shoulder. He touched his hair where it fell onto his pillow instead, then jerked his hand away.
Time to get up. There was too much to deal with today and not enough time to think about why he’d woken up in his housemate’s bed in the first place.
Aiden started the coffee for once. He showered and shaved while it dripped, and then he dressed in a perfectly pressed button-down shirt, along with a coordinating necktie he found draped around its collar. His closet was in amazing order. Perhaps that would have maddened him the week before too. Discovering that Marco had been in his room while he was at work, rearranging his shit into much more logical order, should have driven him crazy.
He added it to his mental list of things Marco did without asking that made his life much easier. When the hell had he done that, anyway? The last week had been a complete blur. The only thing Aiden was certain of was that he hadn’t either yelled at Marco or thanked him for his interference.
Standing in Peter’s neat and tidy kitchen, knowing that he’d had nothing to do with why it was so spotless, made him pause as he poured his coffee. Feeding Aiden and clearing away his crap was yet another thing Marco did that he took for granted. He glared out of the window, annoyed with himself for choosing a too-busy day to finally notice.
He should be at work already.
The shower started in the bathroom. Knowing that Marco had gotten up early after getting in late, probably woken by his getting ready for work, made Aiden feel guilty. Marco should sleep in. He’d done enough already.
Without too much thought, Aiden assembled his version of breakfast. The eggs he hastily scrambled didn’t look as good as Marco’s. His would be flecked with herbs and taste amazing.
Usually, Aiden would eat whatever Marco made him, refusing to sit with him where their knees would touch under the small kitchen table. He’d stand with his back against the kitchen counter instead, often saying the same thing—that Marco shouldn’t slow him down by cooking in the morning. Now those words seemed thoughtless.
How often had he found time for lunch this week, apart from one diner trip with Paul? He swallowed as bitter, black-coffee-laced acid smoldered somewhere deep inside him. If Marco hadn’t fed him nearly every morning, he’d be in much worse shape.
He scraped eggs that looked too dry over toast he’d forgotten to butter, and then he looked down in critical assessment. That first attempt looked ugly. Aiden tried much harder, tongue peeking between his lips, as he assembled a second plate. He took care to butter right up to the toast’s edges, and this time he remembered to season the eggs.
There.
That looked a little better.
Not as good as the amazing fruit-stuffed French toast he’d eaten in sullen silence just a few days before. Starting a morning with a meal like that, or with bacon just the way he liked it and a stack of homemade pancakes, had become routine.
He’d been nothing but ungrateful.
Coffee slopped over the mug rim as he pushed the door to Marco’s bedroom open with his hip. He stepped inside, and Marco turned from the window where he’d been pulling on a shirt. Marco’s expression defined confusion, his voice a warm, accented rumble.
“What is this?”
Aiden felt heat prickle across his chest, reaching his neck as he bent and placed the tray on Marco’s neatly made bed.
“What does it look like, dumbass?”
Marco pressed his lips together before bursting into delighted, surprised laughter that still had Aiden smiling as he drove across Seattle.
Later that morning, he took a break from the sales floor and retreated to his office. His part-time clerk had come in early, grudgingly, as if Aiden had asked for his life’s savings rather than an extra hour of his day. He had nothing like Levi’s work ethic.
Aiden had to compile his register records for the police investigation, and that meant working on it now, before he was on his own again all afternoon and evening.
This was one of the downsides he hadn’t considered about owning a brick-and-mortar store instead of one that was virtual. He’d discounted how tied to it he would be and how it seemed like he always had to be there despite Ben mentioning it the one time Aiden had gone to his apartment alone, warning him to carefully consider how much of his life he wanted to dedicate to business.
It had been about a year before his dad died when Aiden plucked up the courage to go see Ben. Ben’s first question, after he’d answered his door to find Aiden, twenty years old and blushing, standing on the other side, had been difficult to answer. Why didn’t Aiden ask his father these questions? Aiden had stammered out excuses about Ben’s import business and how he wanted to find out how that worked firsthand, as part of his college project.
Ben had pressed his lips together, just as his brother often did, holding in a smile. He’d guided Aiden to an aroma-filled kitchen—one that now smelled more often of Morgan’s microwave popcorn or Theo’s reheated pizza—and sat him at the counter. Aiden h
ad pulled out his list of college-project questions as Ben made them delicious coffee, and he’d watched as Ben talked through his answers while rolling out fresh pasta.
He’d laughed when Aiden had wondered aloud why he was making ravioli by hand when you could buy it at the grocery store.
“Theo loves my cooking, and I love seeing Theo happy. It is something we enjoy together.”
Aiden had tucked that moment away, turning it over and over as he lay in bed at night, remembering the dusting of flour on Ben’s cheek and how he’d blinked when Aiden brushed it away. Aiden had sat through the whole process from start to finish, watching in fascination as Ben carefully sealed the ravioli edges, taking care to make each one look perfect, his concentration fierce and focused.
Ben’s expression had been stern as he finished up, assessing his work with critically narrowed eyes. Aiden had said, “Seems like a lot of work for something that will be eaten in five minutes.”
“It’s no work,” Ben had murmured. “What’s an hour or so of preparation, compared to an evening of contentment and my partner’s pleasure?”
Aiden hadn’t had an answer. He’d been too engrossed in the way Ben moved around the room—purposeful yet unhurried—taking time to leave the kitchen spotless before leading Aiden to his study. His explanation of his import business had been detailed. They discussed fashion and exchange rates, where to source the best garments, and who Ben sold them to.
“I would make more money if I had a sales outlet, that’s true.” Ben hadn’t seemed to mind Aiden’s nosy questions. He loaded up a spreadsheet on the desktop PC and helped Aiden understand his business model. “See, this percentage is my average markup. Marco will make the business more profitable because he has drive and determination. I used to be the same, but now I have a much better life balance. It’s the right time to sell my share to my brother.”
Aiden had argued, wrapped up for a moment in Ben being so close and so incredibly good-looking, forgetting that Ben was way out of his league and in a happy relationship already. He’d edged closer, and Ben had tipped back his head and laughed when Aiden blurted that he looked far too young to retire.