by Con Riley
“I’m very old. More than twice your age.” His chuckle was full of warm amusement until he focused on Aiden’s wide-open expression. He hadn’t learned yet how to mask whatever he was feeling—something he got good at only a few months later—and Ben’s laughter quickly died away. Ben had wet his lips, expression suddenly so much more serious, and Aiden had tried to kiss him.
Why Ben had apologized to him, Aiden hadn’t ever figured out. He’d burned with embarrassment after Ben had pushed against his chest and said, “Stop, you are mistaken.”
Aiden hadn’t been mistaken. Not one bit. He’d known he wanted to get closer to Ben for years. Their rare meetings had only added to Aiden’s teenaged wishful thinking, where Aiden did more than kiss Ben, and Ben did more right back.
In hindsight, his crush had been pretty foolish, and potentially very awkward. Aiden sat at his too-small desk at the rear of his store and recalled how Ben hadn’t hustled him out of the home he shared with Theo but had instead guided him back to the kitchen. He’d pressed a glass of water into Aiden’s hands and then talked to him some more about his business.
Only now, Aiden realized that Ben had really been talking about his relationship with Theo.
“At first it takes up all your time, and that is wonderful and frightening. Starting something so life-changing consumes every waking moment. Wallow in feeling if you ever get a chance to, Aiden. Hold on with both hands, because the early days are fleeting. Later, things become mundane sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you throw away something steady and enduring for the chance of a quick profit.” He’d started preparing a salad, grating vegetables and slicing with practiced precision. “No, you adjust your expectations and concentrate on what gives you so much contentment. Adjustment is part of business. The trick is to make sure that you have balance.”
He’d looked across the counter at Aiden, and his smile had been gentle. “Find a business that allows you to be flexible. That way you’ll bend instead of breaking when life throws bad times at you. Don’t be afraid to change course, if changing course means sharing good times and bad.” He’d walked him to the door later, once he was sure that Aiden was okay. Ben kissed him on both cheeks, hugging Aiden briefly when anyone else would have thrown him out already . . . or fucked him over his study desk.
Aiden had almost forgotten Ben’s final words, but he recalled them now as he sat bent over columns of register totals. “Have patience. Believe there is as much value in someone making pasta for you as there is in a higher profit margin. Find a way to run your business so that it doesn’t run your whole life, and let someone share it with you.”
He could do with someone to share this particular aspect of his business with. No matter what Aiden did with the register readouts, they still made no sense. He unfurled the long white rolls of paper, deciding to compare them to his income spreadsheet. They told conflicting stories, their cash differences almost mirroring each other from day to day to day.
He looked again at the total from the prior Thursday. It had been over by $300. Then on Friday there had been $300 too little. His dad had said that a business showing a loss through theft had problems, but a business whose registers held too much cash had an even worse one. A thief who tried to make takings look better was probably a hardened criminal rather than a onetime opportunist.
His dad had often talked about the audits he ran for his clients, when they played cards together in the attic space they used as a game room. Maybe that shit should have sounded deathly dull to Aiden, but when he was younger, his dad somehow made resolving other people’s cash-flow problems sound like something from a James Bond movie. Aiden grew up thinking his dad was a cross between a Secret Service agent and a mathematical wizard. He made finance sound mysterious and magical. Then he’d win all of Aiden’s poker chips and make that look easy too.
It still burned Aiden that he’d assumed his dad had been just as masterful with their own money.
Finding out the opposite had rocked Aiden to the core. It made him furious now. He’d been overwhelmed after his dad died, and he’d had to keep his anger to himself—certain the truth of the betrayal would have broken his mom and brother.
But, money aside, the hardest thing to get his head around had been how his second chance at a normal family life had been built on lies too.
He’d been so young when his birth mom left him with a social worker, promising to come back soon. She’d died a short while later. David Daly had promised that a second chance at a family meant forever, and then he’d taken his own life. Discovering that money issues were the cause had seemed impossible, unbelievable. For a college kid majoring in business, finding out what his father had done to them had been like a textbook worst-case scenario. Situations like this one with Levi’s theft pushed Aiden back into that incredulous headspace all over again.
The chime of an incoming text made him pull out his phone, fumbling and almost dropping it, he was so agitated. He peered at its tiny screen, hazy with old water damage.
MARCO: Thank you for my breakfast. It was delicious.
He sagged back into his seat as he read the words again. Had he ever bothered to text his thanks after a month’s worth of meals that he knew Marco had taken time over? All those breakfasts and dinners had been delicious, truly, unlike the meal Aiden had prepared that morning.
Still, Marco had eaten his overcooked, poorly seasoned eggs while making small noises of appreciation, and had even eaten all his too-dark toast. He’d finished in minutes, and then had grasped Aiden’s arm as he’d headed out. Marco’s quiet “That was wonderful,” and his thumb rubbing across Aiden’s inner wrist, had been thanks enough.
Hearing now, hours later, that Marco was still thinking about it made him feel warm in a way that soothed instead of burned.
Another text came in.
MARCO: Will you be okay to get your own dinner?
Of course he would. The refrigerator was full of leftovers he could eat. Or he could pick up takeout.
MARCO: Don’t eat takeout. It will give you heartburn.
Aiden smiled and texted back.
AIDEN: Yes, Mom. You want me to make something for you?
He got back to attempting to compile his figures yet again. Marco’s next message didn’t come in for another ten minutes.
MARCO: No. Theo and Morgan took us to a great club last night.
MARCO: Jack wants to go back.
MARCO: Don’t forget to eat.
Aiden stared at the screen until the backlight faded, then returned to his addition. He added up the numbers slowly one more time, thinking about how Marco had gotten in so late last night while he’d been sleeping.
He only barely stopped himself from hurling his phone across the stockroom.
Chapter Eight
Aiden drove to Theo and Morgan’s apartment that evening, glaring at each and every stoplight that held up his progress. He’d almost made it home after closing the store, getting as far as his driveway before heading out again only a few minutes later. His hand had been on his keys, ready to pull them from the ignition, when a flash of red in the rearview mirror had caught his eye.
Paul’s truck had been freshly waxed and polished. It gleamed in the late August evening sunlight as it passed by at a crawl before turning into the driveway across the street. Aiden watched Paul as he climbed out of the cab, then reached back in to retrieve a bunch of flowers that looked as if they’d come out of his backyard rather than from a florist. The way the gray-haired man stopped and tugged at his shirt collar, like it was suddenly far too tight, before straightening his shoulders was almost cute. Aiden wished Marco was with him to see it—he’d tease Paul forever. The front door swung open, and he couldn’t miss Amber’s huge smile as she greeted Paul.
Aiden tore his gaze from the mirror. He looked instead at the empty house he sat outside. Was there any point in going in alone? He was pretty sure he’d end up prowling the rooms again or, even worse, spending more time reading that letter
about his birth father.
No.
Not again.
He’d thought about it all day already, and like his investigation of Levi’s theft, he hadn’t made any progress. The letter was short and to the point: although someone claiming to be his birth father had come forward, giving his permission for Aiden to have his contact details, at no point would his own details be passed on without his express permission. That much he was absolutely sure of.
When he’d filled out the form expressing an interest in connecting with his birth family, he’d just turned eighteen, and he’d had several options. The leaflets he’d been given had been useful—reassuring about aspects he hadn’t had a chance to work through. Apparently it was normal to wonder about his heritage, but leaflets couldn’t answer his other questions.
Maybe he should have called one of the phone numbers that came with his original pack of paperwork. The leaflets all suggested that mental preparation was important and that there were a lot of resources available to him in King County. But even knowing that, his first contact with the adoption department had still been almost too much to handle. He’d known that his birth mom had passed away. He’d known that for as long as he could remember. Discovering that drug addiction had killed her had been surprisingly painful.
He’d sat in a bland, impersonal office and read through his early history on his own, feeling sick to his stomach with alternate bouts of sadness at the waste of her life and anger that drugs had been more important than caring for him. Add in the fact that his birth father’s details were listed as unknown, and it had left him feeling conflicted.
He’d come home white-faced and kept what he’d found out to himself. Guilt that he’d wished his second family away for one long, awful moment—wanting more than anything to turn back the clock and live a different life entirely, with his mom alive and drug free—had left him no other option. The leaflets said that self-blame was a common thing to work through and that it was easier to do that with other people to talk to. Reading that hadn’t stopped him from wondering if his birth mom would have tried harder to beat her addiction if he’d been a better kid.
No way could he come home and talk about that shit.
Evan had still been so young, just turned fourteen, and finally flourishing under their adoptive mom’s intense care and attention. Their adoptive dad had been rock-solid in his opinion that the boys’ pasts were best left behind them. Aiden knew he’d see his curiosity as a personal judgment. Guilt had set in, weighing down his shoulders, the moment he signed the contact permission papers.
All he wanted was information.
Some kind of link to his history.
It was impossible to explain to himself, let alone to other people. The chances of his birth father turning up were close to zero. He’d known that. But even so, he’d kept his contact details updated. Just in case.
What he couldn’t figure out was why he felt so bad now, even though his adoptive dad wasn’t alive to judge him. Maybe it was his overriding concern for his mom’s mental health, but he’d already decided that there was no way he’d ever talk with her about his birth family. More stress was the very last thing she needed.
Answers were what he thought he wanted, back when he first signed those papers. And that hadn’t seemed like anyone else’s business. But as he sat in his truck watching Paul go into Amber’s house, what he wanted, more than anything, was someone of his own to talk with.
All those years of keeping shit to himself.
All those years of thinking that was how it had to be.
The one time he’d shared anything at all had been with Marco, and for maybe five whole minutes, he’d felt a little better.
Aiden looked one last time at the darkened windows of the house he’d thought he hated sharing and then backed out of the driveway, heading toward Theo and Morgan’s place.
It was his own fault that Marco was giving him so much space now. Aiden had acted like he was a pain in the ass for weeks. Then he’d been a complete asshole to him after he’d done nothing more than listen—no wonder he’d backed off. Aiden could count on one hand the number of times Marco had gone out without him since they’d started sharing Peter’s house. Now he was out with Jack the “let me Google that for you” librarian for a second night in a row? That couldn’t be coincidental.
Marco was staying away from home on purpose.
He parked across the street from Theo’s apartment and headed inside. He’d gotten used to coming here for poker nights whenever Evan dragged him along and for meals with his housemate. But just as he pressed the buzzer this time, Aiden felt an inner lurch of guilt-edged memory.
The last time he’d come here on his own, Ben had let him in.
This time, Theo answered. He was half-dressed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, the towel around his shoulders darkening where it caught drips from his still-wet hair.
“Hey!” Theo smiled as he ushered Aiden in. Then he hesitated as they stood in the living room doorway. Couch cushions were in disarray, and clothes lay inside out, scattered across the floor as if someone had torn them off, then thrown them. “Come sit in the kitchen while I straighten up.”
“I should have called before coming over.” Aiden couldn’t help smiling. Theo was so red-faced. He added, “I don’t want to, um, interrupt your evening.”
“No, no. It’s good to see you,” Theo called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen, then came back moments later hauling on a T-shirt. For an older guy, he was in very good shape. Theo shoved his hands through his hair, finger-combing it into neatness, and asked, “Isn’t Marco with you?”
Aiden took a moment to answer. Theo’s expression was half concern, half patient amusement. Aiden realized that Theo must be nearly as old now as Ben had been when he’d come here as a college student. He was still smoking hot. What the hell had Aiden been thinking? Had he really thought that Ben would throw away what he had with someone like Theo for a dumb kid with a crush? He hadn’t considered Theo for a moment back then, and he was lucky nothing had come of it. Really lucky. He cleared his throat and said, “No. Marco’s gone out. That’s why I’m here.”
Theo pulled out a stool and sat next to him at the counter. “Yeah? Are you okay, Aiden? I know Marco can be pretty intense—”
The sound of singing, muted but definitely enthusiastic, filtered into the kitchen. Theo smiled, shaking his head.
“Is that Morgan?”
Theo nodded. He held a finger to his lips when Aiden started to speak again. “He’s just getting going.”
Sitting on the same seat where he’d watched Ben make pasta, listening to Theo’s new partner belt out “Islands in the Stream” while he showered, was surreal. He sipped the coffee Theo poured him, and they both sat in silence until Morgan’s voice—deep and bluesy—died away. Theo shivered.
“That was really something.” Aiden watched as Theo smiled, then added, “I don’t know whether to laugh at his song choice or ask for an encore.”
“I know. He’s going to kill me for letting you hear that,” Theo replied. “I still don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“Twice.”
Theo blinked across at him. “Yes. Twice.” His expression shifted from happiness to agony. Just like that.
Aiden wished Marco was with him. He’d know the right thing to say now, while Aiden didn’t have the first idea. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Theo was already shaking his head. “No, no. I know what you meant. I agree. I’ve been very lucky, even if it didn’t always feel that way. Having Ben and Morgan . . . .” He puffed out a huge breath. “I must have done something real good in a past life.” A door opened and closed in the hallway, and Theo sat up straighter. “So, tell me, what’s Marco done now?”
Morgan’s voice was gruff and somewhat muffled. “Don’t tell me. You’ve finally had enough and want Marco to move out?”
Aiden looked over his shoulder. Morgan stood bare-chested in the doorway, toweling his hair
dry.
“It’s okay, Aiden. I can understand.” He walked over to Theo and stole a sip of his coffee. “You lasted a month longer than I expected.” His tone was gently teasing. He reached for Theo’s coffee cup again, and Theo shoved him away.
“Get your own.” Theo added, “I wish you’d told me right away that you didn’t like him, Morgan.”
Peter had first offered his empty house to Marco as a way to get him out of Morgan’s hair. He’d explained to Aiden that Morgan found it more difficult having Marco staying with him and Theo than he’d anticipated, especially when he’d shown no sign of going home to Milan.
Morgan reached out to his partner, one hand stealing around the back of Theo’s neck. His voice lost its teasing edge. “I do like him. You know that, don’t you? It’s only that I like him a whole lot more now he’s not in our bed every morning.”
Aiden spoke without thinking. “He doesn’t mean anything by that.” Hadn’t Aiden ended up asleep in Marco’s bed when he badly needed company? That realization made him falter. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Marco’s just used to having people near him. He’s pretty hard not to like, Morgan. When you get past the jokes, and the way he’s all up in everybody’s business, Marco’s more than likable. He listens, if you let him, and he thinks about other people all the time. Once you pay attention, there’s more to him. Much more. He’s only annoying on the surface. Underneath that, he’s one of the best people I know.”
Theo looked across at Aiden, his steel-gray gaze softened by a slow, sweet smile. “That’s exactly how Ben used to describe him. He’d be so happy if he could hear you.”
Aiden sat in his truck in the closest parking spot he could find to the club Theo said they’d gone to the night before. He’d asked why Aiden didn’t just text Marco to ask if they were there again and if he could come meet them. From what Theo had seen the night before, Jack was a fun guy and would probably enjoy the extra company. Aiden had shaken his head. Texting Marco was the easy option all right, but what he really wanted was information. That, he realized as the words fell from his mouth, was the real reason he’d driven across the city.