Heart Unheard
Page 18
Brent wished he could tell Scott all the things he wanted to, but he wasn’t going to write another damned note, so he let his lips do the talking. That turned out to be a much better idea, judging by the soft whimpers Scott made deep in his throat.
The sound of footsteps crunching old leaves underfoot made Brent pull away, but they shared smiles and heated looks that promised so much once they were alone.
A black-haired man who was chiseled-jaw handsome approached the clearing, holding the hand of a blond boy of about five. The boy ran to the water’s edge, just seconds from stepping in. “Can I play, Daddy?”
The man sat on the bench next to Scott, waved his son over, and helped him take off his shoes, then let him play in the few inches of water that turned the wheel. The boy laughed, splashed, and held the wheel still, then released it with a whoosh of water, giggling. Brent leaned against Scott as the boy did it again, laughing out loud as he played with the water.
“We always come here,” the man said, with a smile that looked forced. “This is his favorite spot.” There was pain behind his eyes. “This is one of the few times he’s laughed like this since his mother died a few months ago. He asks all the time if he can play with the wheel.”
“I love it too.” He watched them, knowing how it felt to lose someone so precious. In a way, watching the boy play, it was like his dad was helping, even now.
Brent slipped his arm around Scott’s waist as a wave of contentment washed over him. He was here with Scott, who had ultimately helped erase some of the guilt and pain of his father’s death. Brent wasn’t a coward, he knew that now, though he’d likely still have repercussions to work through. And the more he thought about it, the more he figured his dad would hate for him to feel that way. His dad would want him to be happy. Now he truly was, especially with Scott next to him.
“My dad fixed it some years ago. The original had broken, so he rebuilt it.” Brent tugged Scott a little closer. “He was a Milwaukee Police detective and was killed protecting me when I was a kid. I’ve come here for years to be closer to him.” Brent smiled.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, turning back to his son, who continued playing and nearly fell in the water. Not that it was going to make much difference in how wet the little guy got.
“Don’t be. My dad would be thrilled to see how happy your son is.” And that was so true.
Brent used to come here because his dad made the wheel and he felt closer to him. Yeah, and maybe because of the guilt he carried. He’d looked for answers here, though there were none to be had. Now he would come here because it was where he and Scott had finally confessed their love. From now on that was what he was going to remember about this place. His dad would be so pleased.
“You guys have fun.” Brent stood, and Scott did the same. Then Brent took Scott’s hand, threaded their fingers together, and started down the path. It was time to leave his past behind and take hold of his future, their future… together.
Epilogue
I GOT the last box, Brent signed before going out to retrieve the rest of Scott’s things from Dean’s truck. There hadn’t been a lot of stuff, since Scott was moving in from his parents’, although they’d had to pick one of the coldest and windiest days of January to make the move. They had decided to try to find a house to rent, and one near Trevor and James had become available, so Brent had arranged for it and moved in before the holidays and gotten things settled. Now Scott was joining him, making the house a home, just like that.
Okay. I unpack, Scott signed in return. Sometimes they didn’t always make the right signs, or messed them up, but they were able to communicate simpler ideas and phrases using their hands. It was taking time, but after their first course, they had made progress, Scott more than him. That was okay, though. They used it every day as much as possible and often looked up signs so they could build their vocabulary. It was becoming easier and more natural by the day.
Brent was well aware that learning and being fluent were going to take time—a lot of time—but they helped each other, and with Scott’s parents taking classes as well, Scott’s world seemed to be opening up once again, rather than contracting. That made Brent happy because Scott was happier.
Brent pulled his coat closer around him and went outside, stood against the wind as he got to the truck parked out front, and retrieved the final box. Snow swirled around his feet as he trudged back up the walk and inside, then shoved the door closed to block out the cold. He set the box on the hall floor and took off his gloves, thankful to be warm and dry.
“Is that it?” Scott hurried in, glancing at the box and then carrying it away toward the stairs. “We won’t need this until the holidays next year.”
Brent pulled off his coat and went out back to shake off the snow in the mudroom, and then hung it up. As Brent unloaded, Scott had been putting things away so the house wasn’t cluttered with boxes and things. Brent checked the time and glanced out the windows to where the light was already fading on one of the shortest days of the year. He had brought in some wood, so he laid a fire and let it take off the last of the chill. He closed the screen as the flames caught and the wood crackled and popped on the grate.
“This looks like something from a greeting card,” Scott said as he entered the room and sat in one of the comfortable chairs near the fire. “I’m cold.”
Brent snorted, grateful Scott couldn’t hear him. He set down the poker, turning to Scott. I was the one out in the cold, he signed, or hoped he did.
Scott shrugged. “I’m still cold.”
Brent added another log to the growing fire, closed the screen again, and sat on the sofa. It will warm up soon. He loved this. The wind whistled around the corners of the house, and yet they were warm. Brent was as content as he could ever remember being… until the lights flickered and went out. The house went silent, with the fan on the furnace stopping as well. That meant that even though the furnace was gas, there would only be the fireplace for heat until the power came back on.
He motioned for Scott to stay still, went to the kitchen to retrieve two flashlights, and brought one to Scott. Then Brent returned to the kitchen, used a match to light one of the burners, and opened the refrigerator. He removed a container of soup his mom had made, grabbed a couple of beers as well, and closed the door quickly, then transferred the soup to a pan to warm through. Brent got some crackers, brought them into the living room, and set them on the coffee table. Then he did the same with the beer, and once the soup was heated, brought that in as well, in two bowls. He and Scott sat in front of the flickering fire, eating warm soup, watching the dancing flames. It was quiet, settling, and incredibly domestic.
They ate without talking, which had become quite normal, their hands otherwise occupied. Over time, their mouths and lips would be used primarily for other things, special things, especially when they were alone. Brent took care of the dishes when they were finished, then hurried upstairs and returned with a couple of blankets that he laid out on the sofa, and they curled together once Scott added more wood to the fire.
“Is your mom okay?” Scott asked when Brent’s phone lit up on the coffee table with a message.
Brent nodded. She was at Mike’s, and apparently they were battened down to wait out the power outage for the evening. His mom was as happy as Brent could remember her being. It seemed they had both finally managed to move past the loss of his dad and the aftermath of the events of that day. We’re good here, he returned. Stay warm.
Brent sent quick messages to Dean and Trevor just to make sure they were all safe and sound. A message came quickly from Trevor that he and James were hunkered down and still had power. Dean didn’t respond right away, but when he did, Brent showed Scott the message.
My power is out too. I was going to go out, but am staying at home, huddled under blankets.
“We have to find him someone special. He deserves it,” Scott told him.
Brent smiled. He does, but for God’s sake, we can’t play
matchmaker, Brent signed as best he could. He ended up spelling out the last word.
“No way. Though he needs to find someone better than the guys he meets at the club.” Scott squirmed until he got comfortable with his back against Brent’s chest and his head resting on Brent’s shoulder, body throwing off heat like a furnace. Brent leaned forward, and Scott turned around a little, just enough that he was able to reach his lips. Their kiss was gentle, but heated quickly, Brent holding Scott more tightly. “What are you doing?” Scott stilled, turning to look into Brent’s eyes.
“Nothing.”
“No. That wasn’t nothing. You were signing—I could feel it against my back. You do that sometimes.”
“I guess so.” Brent leaned forward again, but Scott pulled away, and Brent let him go, bringing his hands around to the front so Scott could see them. Certain ideas and thoughts seemed to flow not from his brain to his mouth, but from his mind directly to his fingers. Brent signed, and Scott smiled slightly.
I love you too, Scott signed in return and then placed his hands in the center of Brent’s chest. “Is that what you sign against me?”
Brent nodded, then rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of the best way to explain, but Scott lunged and then his arms were full and explanations seemed completely unnecessary as Scott tugged his shirt up and disappeared under the blankets, his lips finding a nipple, surrounding it in heat and love just briefly before his cheek settled against Brent’s chest.
Brent ran his hands along Scott’s arm, their warmth blending and building. He gently tapped Scott on the shoulder until he looked up at him. Brent pulled his hands and Scott’s head out from under the covers, silhouetting them against the fire. Will you marry me?
Scott didn’t answer, and Brent made the signs again, carefully, slowly. He had to spell out “marry,” but that was okay. Judging by the way Scott’s smile warmed the room and sank straight to Brent’s heart, he understood.
“Yes,” Scott told him. “Yes, most definitely yes.”
In that instant, keeping warm was so much less important, and their evening by the fire, in the dark with the power out, turned into a celebration that generated plenty of heat of a different kind, searing the moment into their memories forever. And this time Brent wasn’t the only one proving that one didn’t need spoken words to touch someone’s heart.
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Readers love Heart Unseen by Andrew Grey
“I have no hesitation in recommending Heart Unseen to all m/m romance lovers and Andrew Grey fans!! Andrew is going from strength to strength and with this book he has got a winner!”
—Love Bytes
“Overall, this is a beautiful story… Highly recommended.”
—On Top Down Under
“Of cou
rse, this is Andrew Grey, so they get their HEA, leaving this reviewer feeling warm and fuzzy in the area of my heart and with a smile on my face.”
—Hearts on Fire Reviews
ANDREW GREY grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived all over the country and traveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and now works full-time on his writing. Andrew received the RWA Centennial Award in 2017. His hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing). He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving husband. Andrew currently lives in beautiful historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.
Email: andrewgrey@comcast.net
Website: www.andrewgreybooks.com
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