by Peter Styles
“Chris? Son?”
“I’m here, Dad.”
“Where’s your mother?” his father croaked.
Chris clenched one fist tight around the metal safety bars that were on either side of the bed. “She couldn’t make it right away. Traffic is terrible. But she’s coming.”
“Good,” his father grunted. “A man’s wife should always be there for him. And the other way around. Don’t you forget that when you have your own wife.”
He’s hallucinating. Dying. Lost in memories.
“I won’t, Dad,” Chris said, for lack of anything else to say. There would be nothing to gain by announcing to the old man that his boyfriend was standing in this very room, especially if he was lost in memories of a time when he was very bigoted.
His father’s head turned, the ligaments in his neck crackling. “And who’s this? That person you went on one date with?” And now they were back to clarity, but for how long.
Chris turned his head slightly to gesture for Jeremiah to come forward, but the other man had already done so and was now standing at his side. “That’s right. We’ve been on a few more since then.”
The old man grunted again. “I hope so. Not customary to take a man to your father’s death bed unless you know the poor sod a little. What’s your name, son?”
“Jeremiah, sir.”
“Hmm,” Chris’s father said. And that was all. It was the closest to acceptance that he would ever come, because right then his eyes closed once more. “I’m tired.”
“Then sleep, Dad. Mom will be here when you wake up.”
And then there was only silence. Chris blinked away burning tears at the truth in his words. The old man would never wake up again, unless it was in his beloved Heaven. And his wife would be there. She was a saint. The two of them would be reunited at last.
All that was left to do was wait. After a minute or so, he heard a plastic chair scraping over the tile floor. Jeremiah dropped down next to him and they waited together.
They hadn’t waited for very long when there was a knock on the door behind them. “Chris?” the doctor called inside.
Jeremiah patted his hand, skin warm and soothing. “I’ll watch him,” he said.
Chris nodded his wordless thanks and then went out in the hallway to face down the doctor. He was an older Hispanic fellow, without any trace of an accent whatsoever.
“I’m relieved that you came when we called,” the doctor said. “He doesn’t have long left. His vitals are fading rapidly.”
Pressing his lips together, Chris said, “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“We have given him painkillers to make his passing easier, but it’s time, Chris. We prolonged his life for several months but we can’t prolong it any further.” The doctor blinked, and Chris realized once more how impersonal everything was in life. This other man had seen so many people die that it didn’t even affect him anymore. “There’s almost nothing left to try to keep alive. His insides are turning to mush. He—”
Chris held up one hand, turning his head away as pain wracked through his chest. “I get the point.”
“You’ll want to say your goodbyes.”
As Chris came back into the room and took his chair again, he thought bitterly how he had never actually been the one to say goodbye before. Others left him, not the other way around. Then, a small hand slipped into his and he clutched at it. This was an end, and a beginning. This was one final parting before the rest of his life could begin. And so, he waited.
It came at 11 p.m. Each time the doctor came by to check, he seemed surprised at how persistent the old man was in surviving. Chris thought it was only proper. Stubborn old bastard, just like he was in life. However, he couldn’t escape his fate forever. The old man took a breath, let it out, and simply never took another.
Chris sighed and slumped forward, pushing the call button before burying his face in his hands. Arms wrapped around him from behind; he leaned into Jeremiah, taking strength and comfort from a love he had only just come to know while saying goodbye to another.
Chapter 21
Worth Property Management met its end without Markus to lord over it, crashing in on itself rapidly and leaving every single employee without a job. Chris had done what he could for them, hiring a few where he could, but he didn’t want the rest of them; they weren’t people who would work well with his current team. At least, that was what he told Jeremiah.
As for Markus himself…That trial had been almost too brief. The big, intimidating football player turned into a spineless coward when placed alone in an interrogation room with a police officer, admitting to every part of his crime. Jeremiah didn’t testify, partly because he didn’t need to and partly because he didn’t want to face that terrible man who pumped him so full of lies. Things were moving forward. There was no time to look back, which meant he was just relieved when the whole proceedings were over with. The monetary payout to compensate him for all he’d gone through was enough, although he didn’t even need that.
“I guess after all this time, I’m still just a trophy wife.”
Chris looked up at him from where he sat on the other end of the couch, his paperwork spread out all over the cushions and the coffee table. “You think you’re just a pretty face, huh?”
Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. “I’m still hanging on the arm of a wealthy man while he pays my way in the world.”
Shrugging playfully in return, Chris replied, “When you get your degree and use your literary powers to start critiquing books and make money, you can buy me dinner for a change. In the meantime…” Chris paused, looking up at the ceiling as he searched for words. “You’re special to me and I’m happy to do it, but it’s more than that. I’ve always wanted someone I can spoil and cherish. You are my rare little unicorn, after all.”
Jeremiah groaned, color rising up his cheeks as it always did when that damnable suit was brought to mind. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Don’t mention it. Does our relationship make me a sugar daddy?”
Jeremiah groaned even louder. “No way! You’re not that old yet.”
Chris laughed and picked up another form from one of his many stacks. “Good to know.”
The way their lives had become so seamlessly intertwined still amazed Jeremiah. When he moved in with Markus, he always felt pushed to the side, like the other was simply accommodating him. Now that he was with Chris, he knew how it really felt to have his life blend with another’s. Their routine established itself quickly, as if they had always been meant to live together. And maybe they had.
Awareness crept up his spine, the knowledge that he was being watched. He calmly set his book aside and then turned his head to look at Chris, who was openly staring. “What are you doing?”
“Marveling.”
Jeremiah shook his head and pretended to reach for his book again. His muscles tightened, bunched up, and he threw himself across the couch and landed directly in Chris’s lap. Papers exploded up into the air, blown around the living room by the ceiling fan.
All Chris could do was sit there and watch as everything he so neatly organized went off in every direction. It would take hours to put everything all back in order again, especially because he hadn’t gotten around to stapling any of it.
Jeremiah grinned up into his stunned eyes. “Oops.”
Chris growled and grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him up higher in his lap and holding him tight so that he couldn’t go anywhere no matter how hard he struggled. “You little rascal! Look at what you did!”
Jeremiah beamed. “I am. Are you going to punish me for it?”
He laughed at the stunned look that crossed the other’s face. “What, you’re into that? Like… spanking?”
“Hell, no.” Jeremiah reached up and wrapped his arms around Chris’s neck, feeling his groin start to burn and his cock stiffen. Hard pressure from beneath his ass told him he wasn’t the only one feeling playful. “So then, if you aren’t g
oing to punish me for making a mess of your work, what are you going to do?”
I suck at dirty talk. Good thing Chris appreciates my efforts.
Judging from how quickly the bulge beneath him was lengthening, he appreciated it quite a bit. Keeping his grip firm, Chris lowered his lips to Jeremiah’s and kissed him roughly. Chris’s tongue pushed into his mouth, seeking out his own to rub against and play with. Jeremiah whimpered, tasting sweetness and heat, clutching at Chris’s back and digging his nails into his skin.
When they finally parted, Chris murmured to him, “How long do we have until dinner is ready?”
Perhaps Jeremiah’s favorite discovery was Chris’s crockpot, an ancient gift given to him by someone a long time ago. Even the worst cook couldn’t screw up cooking dinner in a crockpot.
“Half an hour.”
“Plenty of time,” Chris growled. He stood up with Jeremiah in his arms and carted him away to the bedroom.
Plenty of time, Jeremiah agreed. Because now we have forever.
The End
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Undercover Lover
Peter Styles
© 2017
Disclaimer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).