Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  She was being playful and couldn’t have known her words struck the center of Harrison’s worst fears.

  There was a comforting hand on his left shoulder. Not Pru’s, she was too far away. Harrison looked up at Michael who smiled encouragingly down at him. They’d had a long talk about what was going on for the both of them. He hadn’t shared it all, but Harrison did open up to Michael a little.

  Was it only that morning he’d told Mike about Paulo as they walked around the farm? He’d kept the conversation focused on good memories. It was part of Harrison’s attempts to stitch himself up. Their first actual date was on a wine tour in California. Luxury car rental, five-star hotel and dining stays, and the best wines the coast had to offer. It was fun, glamorous, and heady. In fact, Harrison had worried Paulo was way out of his league. It never bothered him when Pru wanted to pick up and do something—like the Kansas City trip where he’d first met Paulo! But with Paulo…he didn’t want to worry about not being glamorous enough. So for their “second first date,” Harrison made dinner at his apartment, took Paulo out to see his favorite burlesque troupe, and when they got home, he danced.

  “You danced?” Michael had asked, blushing and curious. Of course he hadn’t meant anything by it, but Harrison knew what Michael saw when he looked at him. Beige slacks, patterned sweater, glasses.

  “I used to want to do burlesque, but I wasn’t brave enough. But for Paulo that night, I showed him half a routine I’d put together.”

  Michael nodded, and Harrison wondered if Michael even knew what a burlesque troupe was.

  “He laughed.”

  “No!”

  “It’s a good thing.” Harrison smiled, the chilly breeze rustling the grass at their feet. “It was a funny routine.”

  “So it went well, then.”

  “Yep. You know what, though? The strange thing about it was when I showed him my dance, afterward, I wasn’t worried I was less than him anymore.”

  “You’re really cool, Harrison,” Michael had said enthusiastically.

  Now Michael looked enthusiastic again, his expression a sort of show him your dance! look. Harrison instinctively patted Michael’s hand, and they broke apart. When he looked up, Paulo was staring at him. No fleeting glances there! He’d full-on met Harrison’s eyes and the expression on his face was…

  Harrison pressed back against the couch, a hurt forming in his belly. That look had become so ingrained in Harrison’s memory. It was a flicker of hurt…engulfed in anger.

  Chapter Twelve:

  For the Love of His Ari

  Paulo didn’t know what he’d expected. Harrison to come running into his arms? Maybe. Maybe there was a very real, very sappy part of his heart that thought they would throw themselves at each other and hug, kiss, and touch until they were assured the other was real. Maybe he’d expected something more subdued. Quiet hand-holding as they sat outside together, whispering promises of what was to come.

  He’d never imagined this—being somewhere completely foreign but wholly familiar. It was a Christmas explosion of decorations and drunken revelry that reminded him of Christmas at his parents’ house in Rio when he was a kid. The tree loomed large above him—each light a starburst of color. One more ornament might tip the whole thing over.

  There was Harrison in the middle of it, near but apart, flanked by Pru and Michael. Paulo kept up a stream of conversation with the others: Aidan whom he knew, Patrick just in passing, and Seamus and Chancey. They seemed like good men. Fun. Even the little girl, Dee, was funny in a sassy, Cátia sort of way. They talked together for a very long time, except they only half-talked. Harrison, Pru, and Michael said little.

  Almost an hour passed before Chancey announced, “We should take our party down to the pub maybe? Give the kids some alone time.”

  He threw a wide net with the word “kids”; of the four married men, Chancey was the only one older than Paulo.

  “Who wants to come?”

  “Me!” Dee cried enthusiastically. “What? Marie will let me play darts.”

  “Marie’ll make ye wash dishes is what will happen.”

  “Worth it,” Dee shrugged. “I want to win money off the drunks.”

  Chancey, who’d been chastising his daughter’s wicked ways all evening, smirked behind her back, and Paulo thought he might approve of a bit of a hustle.

  “We’ll follow,” Pru agreed with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was looking at Paulo when she said it.

  So it went that most of the men went back down to the pub—Marie’s. It turned out the woman who had called a cab for him really was like family to them. Chancey said Dee could come along, and she gleefully joined them.

  Paulo sat alone on the warm hearth, the embers of a dying fire heating his back. As far across the room as possible, Harrison sat. Then there was…Michael. He was handsome, if not lanky, and very young. Eighteen maybe? He had a head of curly black hair not unlike Paulo’s, except that it was wildly unkempt, and where Paulo was richly bronzed, this boy was starkly pale.

  Paulo swallowed hard on the bitter lump in his throat and reminded himself that he needed to be patient. It was possible Harrison wasn't his anymore.

  But the thought of that sent flames of anger licking up his every nerve. Harrison had pushed him away with the instruction to seek sexual comfort elsewhere, and he hadn’t. Paulo had stayed faithful to what he believed they had.

  So what of Harrison?

  Had Harrison said I’m not good enough for you really meaning, I want to see other people?

  I want to make love with kids who don’t look old enough to shave.

  I don’t want you, Paulo.

  “Glad you could make it, Paulo,” Pru said suddenly, and untangled her long legs from the folded position they were in. She stood. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  Should he invite Harrison to dinner in the village so they could talk? Was that wise? Harrison was looking anywhere but at him.

  Had he lost weight again?

  Paulo watched Michael, the possible-boyfriend, as he threw his head back and laughed at something Pru said as she sauntered past. Harrison’s lips twitched, just a little, like he wanted to laugh along. They were like figures on a Christmas card: happy, warm, far removed from Paulo.

  Had he lost Harrison?

  Had he come all this way just to be shown he’d lost him?

  Was this why Prudence hadn’t returned his calls?

  Suddenly Paulo was not alone. Pru had returned and plopped down beside him on the hearth. She handed him a drink, something warm and sweet smelling.

  “Thanks,” he murmured. “For the drink and for giving me the address.”

  She’d put her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “I figured you’d be yelling by now,” she murmured so low, her lips barely moved.

  “I’m pretty fucking pissed, Pru.”

  “Yeah, well. You’re here now. Jill vouched for you.”

  Paulo turned and looked at her, whispering angrily, “I didn’t realize I needed to be vouched for. What? So you all feel like I’m not good for Ari, and you conspired to keep me away? But Jill says it’s OK? So, you’ll let me back.”

  “Relax, Paulo.”

  He made a tsk noise of disgust.

  “I was doing this for both of you, all right?”

  “What?”

  “You were hurting each other and neither was moving on. So yeah, I didn’t think it was good if you saw him.”

  “If you were doing it for both of us, why am I the one getting vetted?”

  She looked up at him, her gaze earnest. “You don’t think I’ve vetted Harry, too?” With a kind hand, she touched his arm. “You’ve hurt for too long, Paulo. I didn’t want H to hurt you anymore, either. But I think he’s ready, and Jill thinks you are.”

  What the hell had they been thinking? Conspiring like this? Neither Jill nor Pru was keeper of their destinies, but they’d played the part.

  Paulo took a sip off his drink, lo
oking down at his own distorted reflection in the cup. Perfectly delicious mulled wine. The flavors of cinnamon and ginger danced on his tongue, and the tingling burn triggered a memory. Strange that he should think of something that tasted dreadful even as the mulled wine smelled so pleasantly of autumn.

  “Harrison?” he asked, his voice hollow for a second. Paulo raised his eyes, not caring that others watched him. “Do you remember that Christmas we tried to make the wassail?”

  “D’ye want some?” Michael asked uncertainly. “It’s feckin’ awful stuff, it is. But if you’d like…”

  Paulo grinned at the boy without a hint of humor and shook his head. “Just a memory, friend.” Then, returning his gaze to Harrison who was trying not to look at him, he said, “Do you recall?”

  Michael looked down at Harrison, and Paulo did not like the sincere interest in his eyes.

  “It was pretty awful,” Harrison agreed.

  They’d thrown all the ingredients they could find together in the crock pot. Apple juice and orange juice, cinnamon sticks, sugar, and walnuts. While waiting for it to brew, the pair found an article online about English wassail—real wassail. Bread included. But they’d broken into the brandy by then, and giggling as if they were doing something illicit, he and Harrison took the cinnamon rolls Jill baked for them and dumped them into the crock pot. The lunacy of it didn’t stop there. They’d actually tried to drink it.

  And when it was clear how awful it was, they challenged each other to a contest to see who could finish their glass.

  Paulo watched Harrison for some sign that all of the memory was registering. The contest, the winner, the prize. How they had gone to bed together, flushed and wanting, and how—as the loser of the challenge—Paulo was forced to fulfill Harrison’s fantasies.

  Which meant Harrison had to spill his fantasies…

  It was fuzzy now, what he’d expected his lover to ask for, but Harrison’s actual request was still perfectly clear.

  “Talk to me in Portuguese.”

  “What?”

  Harrison was flushed on the alcohol, but he went a glorious shade darker. With gentle fingers, Paulo plucked the glasses off his face and set them aside.

  “I hear you on the phone with your parents and, um, I’ve always wondered why you never say anything to me in Portuguese?”

  An easy smile parted Paulo’s lips. “Because I want you to understand what I’m saying to you.”

  “Well, you’ll have to make me understand in other ways, won’t you?”

  Paulo gently felt up under Harrison’s sweater, his hand dancing along the flesh.

  “Eu te amo.”

  He kissed Harrison’s chin, the dimple in his cheek, his nose, his lips.

  “Eu te adoro.”

  He devoured Harrison’s mouth, his tongue staking claim. You’re mine, you’ll always be mine. He pulled his lover to him, pressing against him, body against body, hearts thudding together, kissing him so hard neither could breathe. And he only broke to growl:

  “Paixão da minha vida.”

  Harrison was truly drunk then, but not on the brandy. He looked utterly lost to the passion, so even if he could understand Portuguese, he might still have missed it when Paulo said, with all the seriousness in the world, “Case comigo.”

  “Would you excuse me?” Harrison asked the room at large, standing up.

  Paulo had to fight not to follow, despite a nudge in the ribs from Pru. He made a noise under his breath. Didn’t she know he wanted to go after Ari more than anything? But Harrison wasn’t his to chase.

  Case comigo.

  Harrison hadn’t understood the meaning of those words, and Paulo hadn’t said them again. He’d let Ashmore burn them out of his head. There would be time for romance after he’d snuffed the anger out. But he should have said all those sweet words to Harrison. While he was turning his back on Harrison’s pain to tend to his own rage, when he listened to his mother accusing Harrison of wanting it, when he packed his things, all the time wasted on being an ass, Paulo should have been holding Harrison instead. He should have been stroking Harrison’s hair. He should have been saying, case comigo.

  It was so stupid, looking back on it.

  Even though he hadn’t wanted to, he’d still abandoned the only man he’d ever loved—only man he’d ever come close to loving—at the time when Harrison needed him most. It sickened him.

  “Well?” Paulo’s façade of cool broke, and he practically growled at Michael. He didn’t mean to lose control of himself, knew it was that very thing that had landed him in this position. He was just trading Ms. Ashmore for Michael with his stupid, confused face. “Aren’t you going to go to him? He’s obviously upset?”

  “Me? Oh, well…” Michael looked at Pru as if asking her permission.

  “A good lover doesn’t let his partner hurt alone.”

  Paulo’s tone was harsh, but if Harrison wanted this child in his life, the least the boy could do was act like a man deserving of Harrison.

  “You got the wrong idea,” Michael insisted.

  “He’s not H’s lover.” Pru sighed at Paulo heavily. It was her you’re an idiot sigh, and he’d heard her use it on everyone from her cousin to a British ambassador.

  For a minute longer, Michael and Paulo stared at each other. Rather, Paulo glared, and Michael blushed and looked down. He still hadn’t moved, and it was chilly outside. Harrison hated being cold—even a little bit cold—it made him sleepy.

  When they weren’t making love on snowy days, Harrison would take every blanket they owned and create a cave, burying himself deep inside just to stay awake. If Paulo had wanted kisses, he’d had to stick his head under mountains of covers.

  Didn’t Michael know even this basic fact? He should be with Harrison. Holding him close, rubbing Harrison’s hands between his, being… What was he thinking? No.

  No!

  No more waiting for Michael to make his move.

  No more being mired in the past.

  No one else dictating their fate.

  Paulo was done.

  He didn’t care if Harrison and Michael had something. He’d judged the boy and found him wanting. He wasn’t leaving until Harrison knew how much he loved him.

  Paulo marched out of the room, into the hallway and out the front door. He let it slam behind him, realizing he might never be allowed back inside.

  “Harrison?” he called.

  He made his way down the path, trying to see in the dark. It was a relatively clear night, but because of the bright moon, the tall trees cast long, haunting shadows. It was easy to disappear under cover of darkness.

  Behind him, the light from the house cut rectangles across the ground, but past their warm glow, there was only the black-green grass of the lawn at night. “What happened to the lover I knew who was scared of the dark?” he murmured.

  “Storms,” Harrison replied from somewhere just past Paulo’s line of sight. “I’m not scared of the dark. Just when the power goes out because of storms.”

  “You are out here.”

  “Where would I have gone?”

  “To town, maybe.”

  “I’m really…surprised you’re here, Paulo.”

  “In a bad way? Or…?”

  Harrison didn’t answer.

  They were finally alone. Alone after a year and a half apart, and all he wanted to do was grab Harrison out of the shadows and pull him into the tightest embrace. He wanted to whisk him away, never let him go, tell him all the things he should have told him that night Harrison asked him to leave.

  He knew he should say something but couldn’t form the words. Not because Paulo didn’t feel it. The remorse running through him ran deep. But the words were so difficult and confused. He wasn’t good at this.

  “Are you hiding out here because of me? Instead of cuddling with your boyfriend?”

  Jealous. It was such an ugly, but familiar, color on him.

  “My boyfriend?” Harrison repeated.

 
“Please come out of the dark, Ari. I know you’re unhappy, but don’t hide.”

  After another moment, Harrison stepped out of one of the tree’s shadows and into the edge of the light coming from the house. His dark brows were knit above the rims of his glasses.

  “Your eyes,” Paulo murmured. He’d seen the glasses before, of course, but had been so overwhelmed to be near Harrison again, his brain hadn’t processed them. “Has something happened since the surgery?”

  Harrison adjusted the frames.

  “I think I’m going to go back inside now.”

  So here was his answer. This was what Harrison wanted.

  “I’ll go.” The words dropped from his lips like snowflakes, gentle but cold. “But only if it’s what you want. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Ari. I just wanted you to know I didn’t purposely stand you up at the Bentley party. I don’t even know if that matters, but I’ve come so far to see you, and…”

  Paulo trailed off as Harrison approached, begging himself to get the words I’m sorry out before he lost his chance forever. Instead, Harrison caught his arm and stopped. He was looking down, so that Paulo could see the top of his blond head.

  Was that his own heart thudding? Or Harrison’s? It seemed like the whole night was full of the sound of heartbeats. Loud and hard and clear.

  Harrison’s fingers dug into Paulo’s jacket and he pulled. Paulo did not resist. Instead he leaned down, drawn by Harrison’s gravity. Harrison stumbled forward into their first kiss in…an eternity.

  The bright stars played backdrop to Harrison’s warm, wet lips. Paulo’s breath and body froze. Church bells tolled in the distance, but they were nothing like the rush of noise in his ears. All Paulo felt was Harrison and the kiss. The kiss, powered with the cores of their very beings. There was no regard for self or sanity. There was the kiss as expansive as the plains and the night itself.

  It was phenomenal.

  It was sublime.

  And Paulo knew it would end.

  Of course it would end.