Take a Chance on It

by K.A. Mitchell

  “Thank you for explaining it to me,” Dane said formally. He stood and left the room.

  Gideon had wanted a warm blur from whiskey tonight, craved it enough that he deliberately avoided it, which meant he wasn’t able to will himself to sleep before Dane came back. The rustle of a condom wrapper against the pillowcase and the fractional dip from a bottle of lube announced his return before Dane’s weight—still too light—hit the bed.

  He smelled like toothpaste and motel soap. He’d left the light from the hall on, enough for Gideon to see that he wasn’t wearing his hat. His intentions were clear without a single word. He’d fuck Gideon into changing his mind. Why not? It had always worked before.

  Silently Dane kissed and licked across Gideon’s chest, tingling his nipples with the mint from the toothpaste and then the heat of his breath. Gideon’s dick knew this script, rising in eager anticipation for its cue.

  He held on to that as Dane’s teeth grazed a hip. Just another fuck between them. Still triple digits, or had they hit four figures? But it wasn’t just another fuck. And if it was good-bye for real, Gideon was going to grab on to every minute of it.

  Before Dane’s mouth closed around the head of Gideon’s cock, he sat, dragged Dane up, and pulled him under.

  Dane smiled up at him. “Since when do you not want your dick sucked? And by me?”

  Gideon didn’t waste breath on an answer. He kissed him, hard, deep. Kissed that grin off Dane’s face, ground it off him with the rub and thrust of their cocks together. Dane locked arms and legs around Gideon, both of them breathless and humping fast. Too fast. No tender memories to store up here, nothing but burning friction and bruised lips. Dane rolled his hips around, and Gideon didn’t care if the angle was wrong. He drove on in that dry hump, pinning Dane’s head with a hand on his ears, and tongue-fucked his mouth, ate his lips, drank his breath.

  Gideon didn’t stop until he was coming, until the pressure forced him to lift his head, suck in air and groan. He came in violent shudders, panting and grunting.

  Dane dragged him back down, his own hips gone frantic, dick scraping Gideon’s sensitive shaft. “Please.” Dane pushed the word between their mouths, hungry and needy, and Gideon kept rocking.

  Dane’s hands squeezed Gideon’s ass, driving him forward just a bit more. Gideon felt him build to it, felt it echo in his balls, that last climb and the sweet release of it splattering on Gideon’s stomach as Dane bucked through it. His breath eased back from the train roar in Gideon’s ear.

  “Gideon,” Dane began.

  “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

  Dane nodded against Gideon’s shoulder.

  AT THE long table in Nicosia’s Restaurant and Banquet Hall, Gideon stared at the double Crown Royal Theo had bought for him when Gideon turned down champagne for the toasts. Dane had handled his best man duties with style, right down to a toast that skirted the PG-13 edge but left everyone laughing.

  “Cake time,” Dane whispered in his ear after he returned to his seat.

  Gideon glanced up. Jax’s expression was positively dippy as Oz fed him a thumb full of frosting.

  “It’s not that I don’t want that,” Dane said, leaning forward to be heard in the buzz of celebration.

  “Some frosting? I’m sure Jax will share.”

  “Don’t be such a prick. I got what you were saying last night. And look, I know your childhood was shit and mine was rainbows and puppies, but I picked up my own baggage. Like what Lance said about me taking a conservative rebellion.”

  Gideon stopped rubbing the rim of his glass and glanced at Dane. “And?”

  “Jax is walking into this ready-made family. A slice of heteronormative heaven.”

  Oz’s daughters—Oz and Jax’s daughters—were carefully handing out plates of cake. Gideon shook his head when one tried to put a slice in front of him, but she just left it and ran back for another. “I hardly call two men in a biracial marriage raising children heteronormative, but go on.”

  “Part of me wants that. All of it. The whole happy package.”

  “Knock yourself out—or knock up some surrogate.” Gideon froze. “Wait. What are we talking about? Because I am not remotely interested in child-rearing.”

  “See, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “What you’re saying is that you want children?”

  If Dane had said he wanted to go work for an oil company, Gideon couldn’t have been more stunned.

  “Not now.” Dane shook his head vigorously. “But I thought about it years ago. I even thought about saying yes back when Spencer asked me to marry him the first time.”

  Now was an excellent time for Gideon to pick up his drink. The whiskey burn in his throat was preferable to the feelings trying to crowd into it. “What stopped you?”

  “You.”

  Gideon took a bigger swallow. “Bullshit. I never ever got between you two.”

  “You didn’t have to because you already were. There was no way to have that”—Dane gestured at the wedding cake—“and you too. And I couldn’t give you up.”

  Gideon’s mouth was so dry even the rest of the whiskey didn’t help. “What do you want now?”

  “I don’t know. I still don’t know that I’m cut out for domestic bliss, and I can’t face the idea of losing you completely if I fuck it up.”

  Typical Dane. A rush of hope followed by a kick in the nuts. As predictable as Charlie Brown and the goddamned football. Fuck Dane. And fuck hope.

  “Welcome to life, Mr. Archer. The rest of us walk around without safety nets all the time.” Gideon pushed away from the table and headed for the bar.

  Chapter 19

  ANYONE WHO knew Dane knew how much he hated waiting. His moms had always joked that he’d been three weeks early because he’d been too bored to wait to go to term. The waiting on his thirty-sixth birthday had to be the worst of it. Waiting for the icy blast of contrast dye to spread through his body while he was forbidden to move. Waiting to be put through the machine and scanned. Waiting to be told whether or not he had another round of chemo coming.

  Dane stared up at the ceiling. With all the televisions in the damned waiting rooms, you’d think they’d put one on the ceiling in here. He started to count the dots in the ceiling tile and gave up after seven. Without anything to distract him, his mind kept going back to the same scary subject: Gideon.

  Dane knew perfectly well Gideon deserved better. Not because Dane had self-esteem issues. Unfortunately, when forced to turn his focus inward, Dane knew exactly what he was. Smart, amazing in bed, and a completely insufferable selfish brat. He didn’t just want his cake and to eat it too, he wanted all the cake, the pies, the cookies, anything that looked good. Choices were terrifying because to make one was to lose all the others.

  But now, even if he didn’t choose, he was still going to lose. Lose Gideon. He said it was just a vacation, some time away. But Dane knew what it was: a deadline. Gideon claimed he didn’t know where he was going yet, but it was probably to one of those places in the Caribbean where you could get a divorce in two weeks.

  The Jeopardy! theme played in his head. Time’s up. Dane pictured his screen in Final Jeopardy! His answer: What is…? His wager: Gideon.

  I’m sorry. But we have some lovely parting gifts for you, thanks for playing.

  Sack up, Dane. When they let you off this table, go out there and tell him the truth. Hell, beg him.

  He worked on the composition. He was good at begging. He’d written dozens of grant proposals. And suddenly the nesting grounds of the roseate tern paled in comparison to this one all-important pitch.

  I love you. I’ll probably end up hurting you, but please don’t leave me. Let me try to get it right.

  That needed serious work.

  DANE GAVE his charm a practice run on the medical technician who helped him up from the table. He knew his game was suffering without his curls or eyelashes, but pathetic cancer patient had to count for something.

  “How did t
hings look?”

  “I’m sorry, Dane. You have to wait to talk to Dr. Fuentes.”

  He’d figured as much, but it still gave him a sense of foreboding. He ran through his presentation a few more times as he dressed, but he wasn’t coming up with any better lines. Starting with “we need to talk” was only going to put Gideon on the defensive, but what if Gideon decided to go back to work? Maybe Dane shouldn’t wait even until they got back to the loft. Just spill his guts—his heart—as soon as he got back to the imaging waiting room.

  He wiped his clammy hands on his sweats and plastered on a smile before he turned the corner. Gideon was staring down at his phone.

  “Hey,” Dane got out.

  Gideon looked up, and Dane couldn’t remember a single thing he was going to say. Gideon’s face was blank, that mask that he wore, but Dane had been living with him every day for two months now, and he had learned to see glimpses of the real feelings underneath. Or maybe he’d learned to pay attention. He wanted to pay better attention.

  In Gideon’s eyes, in the tightness around his mouth, was a bleakness Dane had never seen before.

  “What happened?”

  Gideon shifted, tucking his phone away. “I have to go up to the Bronx. My dad died.”

  GIDEON STARED down at the face of his father and nodded. The morgue attendant pulled the drape back, and Gideon signed the form. And another. And another.

  “When will you release the body?”

  “There will have to be an autopsy, but barring any complications, maybe by Tuesday.”

  Gideon counted forward. That meant the funeral would be put off till next Thursday.

  Thanks, Dad. Only you could still fuck shit up for me after death.

  Dane pounced as soon as Gideon walked out of the morgue. “What happened?”

  Gideon shrugged. “Heart attack? Stroke? He didn’t show up for work for three days, and someone finally went looking for him. He was stretched out on the couch.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Don’t I look okay?”

  “Yeah.” Dane glanced back at the morgue doors. “He was still your father.”

  “Lucky me.”

  THEY MET Gideon’s sister at a diner. She tossed in a heavy purse and jacket before sliding into the booth across from them, waves of cigarette smoke flowing right up Dane’s nose.

  He tucked his index finger under his nose to block some of the smell. Bek and Gideon had the same deep eyes, but hers were quicker with emotion, helped along by expressive dark eyebrows. Her hair was shoulder-length, dyed brown-black, but the roots showed plenty of gray. Dane knew she was eighteen months younger, but she looked ten years older.

  “Bek, this is Dane.”

  “Hi.” She nodded at him. “Boyfriend?”

  “Husband,” Gideon corrected.

  “Nice.” Her accent was thick. “Guess my invitation got lost in the mail.”

  “Most people’s did,” Gideon said.

  A waitress came and poured them all coffees.

  “It’s my fault,” Dane offered. “Shotgun wedding.”

  She brayed a laugh. “Knocked you up, huh? I like you, Dane.”

  “Thanks. We met once before.”

  “Really, when?” Bek tapped sharp-tipped nails against the side of her coffee cup, reminding Dane of the way her brother rubbed his thumb over the rim of a glass.

  “Eleven years ago.”

  She shrugged with her eyebrows and shook her head. “Don’t recall it.”

  Dane did. He’d gone with Gideon from one ATM to another, maxing out the cash advance on three credit cards to get bail money for her. Dane was pretty sure Bek remembered too.

  “Is that bastard really dead?” she asked Gideon.

  “Yup. Cold meat on a slab. So what do you want, burial or cremation?”

  “He leave a will?” She opened the menu as the waitress came back.

  “We’ll order in a minute.” Dane gave the waitress a smile.

  She huffed away.

  “No.” Gideon stirred his coffee, though he took it black. “And I doubt the house was clear. Sorry. By the time the state gets through with him, I’ll probably be writing them a check.”

  “Figures. Cremation, then,” Bek said. “Why should he waste any more space?”

  Dickens could have taken some of this dialogue for the scene with Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Not that their father had deserved any better.

  “So now we’re looking at calling hours.”

  Though Gideon didn’t have his phone out, Dane could tell he was ticking off items on a list.

  Bek sucked her teeth. “Unless you’re planning on holding them at Frankie’s Bar, I don’t know who’s going to show up.”

  The waitress was back. “We have a policy about minimum orders.”

  Gideon’s shoulders tensed.

  “We just found out our father died, so maybe you could back off some, okay?” Bek snapped at her.

  Dane could tell there was no sympathy forthcoming. “I’ll have a western omelet. Bacon on the side. He’ll have the hot turkey sandwich, gravy on the fries. Bek?”

  “Steak sandwich, no fries.” When the waitress was out of earshot, she added, “Side of fuck you, bitch.”

  “Let’s avoid a side of spit in our food for now,” Dane suggested.

  “Anybody you think we should call?” Gideon asked, as if the business with the waitress hadn’t happened.

  Bek pulled her phone out of her purse and scrolled. “I guess the Lanzettis might come, maybe Aunt Loretta. I’m not calling anyone.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Gideon looked down at his coffee as if he was surprised to find it there and pushed it away. “Bek, I have to ask, so don’t bitch me out. Have you heard anything? From her?”

  “Fuck no. I’d tell you, I swear. Not that it fucking matters anymore.”

  “No,” Gideon agreed. “It really doesn’t.”

  DESPITE GIDEON’S stock answer being “I’ve got it” to every offer of help from Dane or Theo or Jax, Dane noticed Gideon never refused to take Dane with him to any of the death errands. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it beat waiting and wondering what Dr. Fuentes would say on Monday.

  They sat in comfortable chairs while the funeral director across the desk assured them that cremation was an excellent choice.

  He slid a brochure over to them. “If you wish, you could have the ashes of your father compressed into a diamond to wear or treasure.”

  Gideon covered his face, and the funeral director nudged a box of tissues closer. Dane recognized the twitch of Gideon’s shoulders as suppressed laughter.

  “We’ll just have a look at the urns,” Dane told the man.

  Dane was no expert on funerals, but from the prices in the book the man handed over, Mr. Russo had taken a look at Gideon’s Gucci loafers and elected to start at the high end. Gideon pointed to a plain box on the sixth page.

  “Would you like that with a photo holder option? An engraved poem? The deceased’s name?”

  Gideon turned down all of the upgrades.

  Mr. Russo pulled out a form and made a few checks. “What was the deceased’s approximate weight?”

  Gideon blinked.

  “So we can be sure we have the correct size for the ashes,” Mr. Russo explained.

  Gideon looked at the book again. “Under two hundred pounds.”

  “Very good. We have the calling hours as Thursday from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m. in the Rose Salon. The notice for the papers. And the Timeless Memories Walnut Creation Urn in large with no engraving. Who will be receiving the ashes?”

  “Excuse me?” Gideon asked.

  “Your father’s ashes. Will you be taking charge of them or will your sister?”

  Gideon went completely still. Then without a word, he got up and left the office.

  “Excuse us.” Dane bolted after him, Russo’s “Of course” following him out the door.

  Gideon stood near the coat rack like a blind man lost in t
raffic.

  Dane walked him into a small but ornate single bathroom and locked the door.

  Gideon’s blank expression didn’t change.

  Terror slammed into Dane in a wave. Sweat prickled on his neck, and his tongue felt sour and itchy. Gideon wasn’t masking his expressions, he was just gone. As hopeless as the cancer made Dane feel, it had nothing on this crush of anxiety. He had to do something.

  When Gideon still didn’t talk, Dane wrapped himself around Gideon and pressed a kiss into his neck, under his ear.

  Gideon’s arms came up and settled at first gently, then firmly, on Dane’s back.

  “Shit,” Gideon murmured. “I forgot your birthday.”

  “Huh?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Yeah. That’s—” Dane shook his head. “Gideon, your dad died.”

  “He’d been dead to me a long time already.”

  “Doesn’t mean he still couldn’t hurt you.”

  Gideon’s arms tightened around him. Dane clung back, sliding his hands under Gideon’s suit coat and stroking the knotted muscles.

  Seventeen years was a long time to always be the one on the receiving end of care. Being here, being this person for Gideon, it didn’t feel hard or confining at all. It felt amazing, like being on a beach and finding that connection between sand and water and sky. Dane wasn’t waiting for something to happen. There were no options beckoning him away.

  This was. They were. And it was all he needed.

  They held each other, weight balanced, breaths matching until Gideon lifted his head. “I didn’t think it all through.” His voice was soft with surprise. “That the ashes had to go somewhere.” He blew out a deep breath. “I’m not having that fucker in my loft.”

  “No,” Dane agreed. “Don’t worry. I got this.” Dane kissed him. “You ready?”

  Gideon nodded and trailed Dane back to Russo’s office.