Patrick moved quickly, catching Aidan who didn’t try to get away this time. He playfully swung Aidan so that his chest was pressed up against the wall. Patrick placed scorching kisses along Aidan’s neck and across his shoulders, his hand coming around the front to fondle and tease. “Who’s Seamus?” he asked.
Patrick wasn’t rough with Aidan, but there was a sense of urgency between the both of them as they moved together. Patrick guided Aidan’s hips, positioning him perfectly so that he could get inside.
“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll—”
“Do it to me, Paddy, please.”
Being pressed up against the wall and giving in to the lust he and Patrick felt was enough to overwhelm him. He tried to slow himself down, but every time he got enough sense into his blood-depleted brain to try and break the tide bearing down on him, impatience took over and he bucked back on Patrick’s cock.
He was saying things. Incomprehensible things. Desperate things. He was begging Patrick not to stop, telling him how much he loved him, until he lost his mind and his control over his orgasm. Aidan rammed his forehead hard into his arm and cried out as the explosion overtook him. Patrick, sensing what was happening, had stopped his stroke and gripped tightly as Aidan throbbed out hot ejaculate. It splattered against the wall about the same time Patrick’s other hand dug into the flesh at Aidan’s waist.
He thrust himself forward, deep inside of Aidan, and groaned out his pleasure into Aidan’s shoulder. “Oh feck, my love…” Over and over, feck…my love, my love, my love…
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
A Serious Matter
When Patrick had left for work that morning, the rain had been coming down in sheets, the bitter stinging sort of rain that precedes hail and snow, and that would mean a lot of sitting in Arthur’s kitchen, drinking tea and reading the paper. It also meant that when faced with a choice of walking and getting drenched to the skin, or taking his brother’s yet-to-be-sold pickup truck, it was a no-brainer.
The day was dusky, casting an eerie sense of foreboding over the cemetery; the feeling hit Patrick the minute he walked through the gates and, try as he might, he couldn’t shake it. He told Arthur he was heading out for a wander to check all was well, grabbed one of the big waterproof jackets, and trudged off through the dull gray morning. So much for checking all was well; the rain pelted his cheeks and blurred his vision, so he kept his head down and wandered aimlessly, occasionally chancing a glance around him. The place was deserted.
He made it to the far gate and took a moment to shelter under one of the big evergreens, peering back along the main path. Soon the ground would be frozen solid, then covered in snow, then ice, and it would stay for weeks, sometimes more than a month. That was when this job got bloody tough. People still needed burying, even in the depths of winter.
All of his gloominess could be put down to seasonal doldrums, but it wasn’t normal, because Patrick didn’t mind winter at all. It was a time of cleansing, when those perennial weeds could be tackled and victory claimed. It was in winter that new life lingered right beneath his feet, waiting for just that little bit of nourishing warmth and light to gently bring its loveliness to bear.
Patrick knew what was really bothering him. Last night, Aidan had worked a late shift, and this morning an early one, so for the first time in months he’d stayed in his cupboard under the stairs at The Grand Heights. Apartment, Patrick. He rolled his eyes at his own melodrama. He’d seen the place and it was okay, as broom cupboards go. It’s an apartment, goddamnit. Now he was chuckling to himself, and it was a coping strategy, because the bed had been too big, breakfast too quiet. No sweet jammy kisses to start the day.
That was such a great discovery: Aidan’s love of jam on toast, and no ordinary jam on toast either. This was home-baked bread, cut into doorstop chunks, smothered in real Irish butter and then loaded with strawberry jam made by Maxine’s mother, who was from England. It had been their first point of commonality back at school, or not so common, but close enough, and the first time Patrick visited, he and Max’s mum had chattered for hours about places they both knew, and things they missed from home, one of which was proper strawberry jam. Since then he’d had a constant supply and usually ended up throwing it in the trash because it had grown its very own fuzzy coat. With Aidan around that was no longer a problem.
Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets and started making his way back through the cemetery, pausing at his mam’s grave to ponder his dilemma.
“I’m in a bit of a quandary, Mam. It’s not like we don’t love each other, and I know we get along, but Aidan has so many hard decisions ahead of him, and I don’t know if it’s right to put another load on his shoulders, or even if that’s what I’d be doing. I suppose I should just ask him outright if he wants to move in with me officially. Or if not that, then look for somewhere together.”
Patrick paused and frowned. It wasn’t asking Aidan to move in with him that was the problem; it was that Aidan’s job and his living arrangements were connected. Posing the question meant he would also be asking Aidan to rethink his work situation and if he was going to go back to med school.
“I don’t know what to do for the best.” Patrick sighed heavily and shivered. It was way too cold to be standing around outside. “See you, Mam,” he said and set off again, this time making it back to Arthur’s kitchen, where a mug of freshly made, hot tea was awaiting him. He rubbed his hands together and resumed his seat at the table, watching the first snowflakes flutter past the window. So winter was here.
He must have been watching the snow for quite some time before Arthur came back into the room. It was his “bathroom” time of day, and Patrick hadn’t thought anything of it, but now he realized he’d been sitting there in a trance for a half-hour or more, nursing his stone-cold cup and staring out the window.
“It won’t stick,” Arthur remarked casually. Patrick opened his mouth to answer—only something along the lines of probably not—at the same time as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and frowned at the screen. It was a local number, but not one he recognized.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Ah, hello.” Patrick felt the smile form. Arthur chortled and pottered off again to give him some privacy. “I missed you this morning.”
“Me too. I need to ask you a huge favor.”
“All right?”
“Will you come here after you finish? I have to talk to our manager. Something’s happened.”
“You can’t talk now, can you?” Patrick guessed by the cryptic nature of the call.
“No.”
“Something to do with Ms. Ashmore?”
“Yeah. Another incident.”
Patrick sat up, his hair bristling; the rage he’d suppressed returned in full force. “With you?”
“Oh, no, Paddy. Not me, no.”
Patrick took a few deep breaths to calm himself. “All right, so, what? You’re making a formal complaint?”
“I think I’m gonna have to, Paddy, and I’m afraid.”
“I know, my love. It’s going to be just fine. Okay. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m finished here. It’ll be early today, I think. It’s snowing.”
“Is it?” Aidan’s voice was flat.
“I’ll be with you as soon as I can. You hold in there. Is Jill working?”
“Yep. She’s with me on the desk.”
“All right. She’ll look after you. I’ll see you later. Aidan?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He heard Aidan laugh shyly and wasn’t expecting him to say it, but just caught the whisper of it coming back his way before the line cut off.
<<< >>>
The rest of the day dragged by, the snow continuing to fall, but not yet staying on the ground. When the temperature dropped overnight and everything froze, that was when it would stick, but for now it was quite calming to watch the bright white flakes against the dark gray of the sky. Arthur kep
t asking Patrick if he was all right, and Patrick kept on telling him he was, or else Arthur would have packed him off early, and that wouldn’t do. However, as three o’clock arrived, Arthur sent him on his way. No funerals; no mourners; no point in two of them sitting around bored shitless—Arthur’s words. Patrick did as he was told and made the terrible journey to The Grand Heights.
“Hey, Patrick,” Jill greeted him with a faked cheeriness.
“Hi, Jill. How are you this afternoon?”
“Great, thanks. Aidan’s in his apartment.”
Patrick nodded in thanks and walked across the lobby; Aidan met him halfway. He attempted a smile. It was so sad and insincere that it pierced Patrick to the core.
“Aidan?” Jill called. “Take Patrick through to my office.”
“Okay.” Aidan led the way, pushing the door closed behind them and then grabbing Patrick and kissing him passionately. Patrick was stunned but didn’t resist. When Aidan withdrew he seemed a little more together.
“So this new guy moved into Bryan’s place. He’s maybe twenty-two, twenty-three—young, anyway. But when his application came through, it was in his dad’s name, and Jill didn’t think anything of it. If she’d known, she’d have found a way to refuse his tenancy.
“He moved in and a week later he bumped into Ms. Ashmore in the lounge. She did the same to him—coming on to him, offering him fifty bucks to—”
Aidan closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Patrick took Aidan’s hands in his and squeezed gently, keeping the light, reassuring pressure. Aidan opened his eyes again. Patrick smiled. “You’re doing grand, my love. Go on.”
“And like Bryan, he rebuffed her, and she was real pissed. She went to the police, told them that someone’s breaking into her apartment and stealing from her.”
“Well, that’s going to be fairly easy to disprove, isn’t it?” Patrick reasoned. “The place has loads of security cameras.”
“Yeah, it has. But I’ve still got her fifty dollars in my room. It’ll have her prints and mine on it. I’ve been in her room, many times. She calls on me to do jobs like three or four times a shift.” Patrick’s blood ran cold at that. “She doesn’t try anything—she just watches me. Point is, I’m all over that apartment. I’m screwed, Paddy. I’m gonna end up in jail and I did nothing wrong.”
“No, you’re not,” Jill said from behind him. Neither had heard her enter. “That first guy I told you about? He said he’d come forward if you’re prepared to report your assault.”
“But you said he wouldn’t. You said she went to the police and he was blacklisted.”
“Yeah, but he admitted to nothing. He can still report her.”
“And he threatened you. Why would he change his mind and come forward now?”
“Because, Aidan, he’s my brother.” Jill shrugged. “My twin brother.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine:
A Caravan
“You’re brave, y’know,” Patrick said as he traced gentle patterns over Aidan’s bare stomach. The sweet sensations went a little way to ease the knots in Aidan’s nervous belly. Maybe they could stay like that: warm in bed, Patrick’s hand on his stomach? He glanced over at the green numbers on Patrick’s digital clock on the nightstand. 5:07. Still early. They could stay like that, a little longer at least—though suddenly part of him wanted to get up and start moving, as if walking would shut off his anxious brain. “You’re so brave to be doing what you’re doing.”
“Only because I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Yeah, right. I watched you as you were talkin’ about Ashmore’s latest attempts on the new boy—and all I saw on your face was caring, Aidan Degas. I think y’care more for the other men who’ve been hurt by her, who might be hurt by her still, than any threat of jail.”
“But—”
“My love, you could easily have burned the fifty dollars and been done with it. The fingerprints in her apartment are explained by your being the building’s fix-it man.”
Aidan raised his eyes very slowly, taking in Patrick’s strong, handsome features. That was all very true, of course.
“If I don’t speak up, she’s going to hurt someone else.”
“Aye, she will.”
The admission pushed past his lips. “I’m not doing this for me, Paddy.”
Patrick’s smile was a little sad as he swept Aidan’s hair off his forehead and laid a gentle kiss there. “I know you’re not. Part of me wishes you were, but only because…”
“Because why?”
Patrick’s jaw tightened, accenting the hollows in his cheeks. His eyes were shadowed and for a moment he seemed so far away. “You remember I said it once? I’ve never in my life raised my hand to a woman, my love. But I admit to havin’ lost myself to thoughts of takin’ a shovel to her face.”
Aidan managed a weak smile at the thought of gentle Patrick swinging the shovel like a baseball bat. Never in a million years. Patrick touched Aidan’s smile, tracing it with his fingertips as if he meant to memorize it.
“You think I’m ever going to stop feeling so…used?”
“I do.”
“And stupid?”
“That too.”
“It happened last spring. Summer and fall are already gone, but it’s still in my head.”
“The woman took advantage of you, Aidan. She drugged you and—” Patrick caught himself before he could say rape. They’d only talked about it the once. Patrick had held Aidan and assured him that what happened didn’t make him less of a man, that Aidan needn’t downplay it.
“I told her no, Paddy.”
“I know you did.”
“I’m assuring myself,” Aidan said quietly. “I haven’t let myself…I mean, I didn’t understand before. I wouldn’t let myself understand before. But it happened. She drugged me and she played with me and I was in no condition to consent. That’s…rape.”
Very gently Patrick placed a kiss on the side of his face. “Yes, it is.”
“You really think it will get better?”
“I promise you, it will.”
“You’re pretty optimistic,” Aidan murmured, snuggling up next to Patrick and pulling the covers over the both of them to shut out the chill in the air.
“And you’re just pretty.”
“Flirt.”
Later, when Patrick had drifted back off to sleep, Aidan slipped out of bed and padded into the cozy kitchen he’d come to enjoy. There was actually enough space to move around, cook, clean, and do general kitchen-y things. Things like owning a full-size refrigerator or having a sink with two sides and a disposal might not seem like state-of-the-art luxuries to most people, but to Aidan they were amazing.
He looked in the pantry and found the bag of chocolate chip cookies, divvying some onto a plate and pouring himself a glass of milk. Breakfast of champions. He poked his soft belly, considered if maybe he should dump the whole thing and do sit-ups, and then dunked a cookie in the milk instead.
In just a few hours, the group caravan would descend on Patrick’s apartment. He wasn’t sure who all was coming, but knew it was going to be quite a few people. If it were up to him, it would just be him and Patrick. They could go right now—just as soon as he wiped off his milk mustache. But Jill said her brother, Harrison, wanted to meet him. There was something about the way she said it, too, that made Aidan think it was less that Harrison wanted to meet him, but that he needed Aidan there. He thought Bryan might be coming to give a statement, as well as the new would-be victim, Enrique.
Looking down he realized he’d eaten all the cookies without really tasting them. Finishing off the rest of the milk, he sighed.
Aidan didn’t know what to expect when they went to the station, but Jill apparently had done a lot of research and she’d talked at length with both him and Patrick. Aidan admitted he’d mostly zoned out, leaning his head on Patrick’s shoulder and just feeling the steadiness of his boyfriend’s body. He wished Ms. Ashmore would go away. It wasn’t that he wanted her dead—no
t smashed in the face with a shovel-type dead at least—he just wanted her gone. Gone from his life, from his friends’ lives, gone from anywhere she might hurt someone else.
It was bad enough the effects still lingered in the ways some of the other tenants looked at him. Mrs. Wright had even snapped her fingers at him outside the demonstration kitchen just last week to ask if he wanted to spank her with a spatula. Pre-Patrick Aidan would have shrunk against the wall or run, but he’d stood up a little taller, looked her right in the eye, and said, “The things you say to me are disgusting, Mrs. Wright.”
Unfortunately, this seemed to be just her kink and she went away even more flushed and excited than ever. But at least he’d stood up to her.
“Darlin’?” Patrick’s voice carried through the living room and across the breakfast bar. “What are ya doin’ up? Come back to bed.”
Aidan put his plate and glass in the sink and followed the sounds of comfort and warmth.
<<< >>>
Even if she had not revealed it, Aidan would have known Harrison and Jill were twins. In addition to their strikingly similar facial features—same full lips, button nose, silky blonde hair—there was the way they carried themselves, laughed, spoke, moved; all of it was so alike that Aidan knew they’d shared a womb. Besides, he could see in the way they looked at each other, they shared the unbreakable bond of twins. He had to turn away from it for a moment to get his tiny flare of irrational jealousy under control.
“You all right?” Patrick asked quietly. So conscientious and understanding.
No, Aidan definitely wasn’t all right. He was about to go down to the police station with a group of friends and strangers the size of a large party, and all he wanted was his sister by his side. His fire-eyed twin would have hooked her skinny arm with his and marched with him right up to the desk and said, excuse me, but we’d like to report a crime.
As much as he loved the way Patrick cupped his face just then, it was no substitute for Nadia. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the day without crying.
“So are we carpooling, then?” Bryan asked. He’d brought the college girl from Aidan’s birthday party. Some date, Aidan thought. Hey girl, want to go down to the police station with me and report an attempted solicitation? I’ll take you out for burgers after.
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