by Peter Styles
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s a riot. And has a good heart. Did a lot to try and help me get on my feet—not that I took it, ungrateful moron that I was—but she’s never stopped sending me Christmas cards. Always with an ironic message.”
“You really do know everyone, don’t you?” Rowan asks, closing the car door with his foot as he starts to walk with boxes piled four high in his arms.
“I guess,” Stephen says, unable to shrug with his armload. “The table with the pink tablecloth.”
They set up the boxes quickly, hanging around to wait for Erica as she’s busy talking with other parents. As soon as they get the okay from her, they will be free. Not that Stephen is rushing—he really does know most of the people at the party, either through work or through Erica. They’re good people, with common concerns and uncommon personalities. He’s just about to steal Erica from a chatty woman when someone slips in between him and Rowan. Oh, no.
“Stephen! I almost didn’t recognize you, all cleaned up and pretty,” the woman beams as if she’s in a toothpaste commercial. Stephen can see Rowan over the woman’s shoulder, looking vaguely put off and confused.
“Oh, hi…” What’s her name? All he can remember about her is her persistence and the way she’d tried to dig her claws into him at a PTA meeting he catered for Erica last spring.
“Josie! You silly thing, I can’t believe you forgot,” she laughs, slapping him weakly on the arm as if they’re sharing an intensely private joke. Please make this stop. “Our conversation was so memorable!”
It really wasn’t, Stephen thinks, trying to find a way out of the conversation. He can tell Rowan has a tiny smug smile and Stephen tries to glare at him, broadcasting a help. The other man finally takes pity on him, inserting himself into the conversation.
“Excuse me,” Rowan says smoothly, “but we need to speak to the host. So many deliveries to tend to, you know?”
“I’m sure you can handle it,” Josie smiles, calculated but not rude. “You don’t need Stephen—”
“Actually, I do,” Rowan says, an edge creeping into his tone. “He’s actually the most important person at the shop, other than Jen. He knows way more than I do—I’m just temporary help. If anyone needs to talk to Erica, it’s him. If you need a conversation partner, though, I’d be glad to step in.”
Stephen blinks. Well. Even Josie seems a little flustered, thrown for a loop by the clear rebuke. She’s still grasping for words when Stephen excuses Rowan and himself from the conversation, ducking away towards Erica.
“Thanks for defending my honor—” Stephen starts, feeling a laugh burble up in his throat.
“Oh, shut up,” Rowan hisses, but some of his smile has returned and he doesn’t look as unhappy as before. “I would’ve jumped into the sand pit to get away from her.”
“You’re such a social butterfly.”
Rowan sticks out his tongue and Stephen grins, pulling the man closer with a careful hand on his shoulder as they walk towards Erica. When Rowan doesn’t immediately pull away, he feels a tiny seed of triumph. Erica seems to notice them making a beeline for her and she gracefully exits her conversation, waving red-lacquered nails before sidling up to Stephen and Rowan.
“Hello, Rowan, isn’t it?” she beams, teeth perfectly white. Rowan looks nervous.
“She’s only half-wolf,” Stephen snorts, nudging Rowan, “She won’t bite.”
“Much,” Erica adds, extending a hand to Rowan. “You’re Jen’s cousin. She’s lovely.”
“When she’s not making you jump from trees, yes,” Rowan says drily. Erica pauses for a moment before laughing brightly, bumping Stephen with her hip.
“I like him. Good job.”
“Oh—wh—I—” Rowan starts, fumbling his words, a flush starting to rise in his face. He looks panicked as he glances at Stephen, worried.
“Thank you,” Stephen says simply, “but he’s the persistent one.”
Even out of the corner of his eye, he can almost see the tension melting away from Rowan like an ice cube in the summer. Whatever has been bothering Rowan seems to dissolve, giving way to a pleasant blush and smile. Maybe this will work after all. They say goodbye to Erica, taking a generous tip and hot dogs in a Tupperware container that she passes with a flourish, and then they’re on their way again, climbing into the truck as children swarm the cupcakes.
“Something was bothering you, right?” Stephen asks as he pulls out into lunchtime traffic, taking his time. He glances at Rowan, who looks a little conflicted but nowhere near as down as he did before.
“Melissa came in a few days ago. She said she really did want to help you get better,” Rowan admits.
“I mean…sure. She kind of always has, whether it’s been deserved or not,” Stephen frowns.
“Yes, but…she kind of…I don’t know. It seemed like she missed whatever you used to have. In college, or whenever. Before.”
“So do I, but it’s not as if I could go back,” Stephen raises an eyebrow, “Neither of us are the same. She knows that.”
“But if you could—if she wanted to try again—wouldn’t you?”
That’s what it was? Stephen stops at a red light, feeling his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He can’t even properly imagine what it is Rowan is suggesting. Rowan’s still waiting for his answer, though, a sort of resigned look set into his features.
“No,” Stephen emphasizes slowly, feeling a tiny bit of disbelief when Rowan looks surprised. “We’re honestly not great as a couple. Friends, definitely, and we work okay as a parental team, but not married. No. I mean, it wasn’t terrible by any means, but neither of us got what we wanted.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Stephen snorts, “You realize that most people don’t remarry their exes, and if they do most of those unions probably end in divorce. Again. There’s a reason for that.”
“It was an honest question,” Rowan grumbles.
“I know,” Stephen grins, glancing over at Rowan. He feels a little warm. He was actually worried. He cared enough to think about it. “You know, we’re both off—why don’t we—”
“We’re ordering takeout,” Rowan interrupts, raising his eyebrows, “I’ve been dying for some Chinese and the place I used to love closed. How long do you think it’ll take?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen says, a smile fighting its way onto his face as he tries to keep an even expression, “That depends on how much we order.”
“Better make it extra, then,” Rowan smirks, “You’ll need leftovers for lunch tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
They barely make it into Stephen’s house before Rowan is pulling Stephen’s shirt off. Stephen laughs, trying to help Rowan with his clothes, and they somehow stumble towards the living room instead of the stairs and land on the couch. Stephen isn’t mad about it.
“How did you ever manage to stay in shape? Your aunt and uncle ran a bakery,” Stephen marvels, tasting Rowan’s skin. Rowan isn’t a bodybuilder by any means but his chest is nicely firm, the slope of his stomach perfect and sensitive to Stephen’s touch.
“Running,” Rowan gasps, arching as Stephen nips at his side. “From Jen. A lot of running from Jen.”
“Hmm. Remind me to thank her,” Stephen murmurs, smiling.
He’s done his research since their last time. Not that he’s ignorant about everything; he just wants to make sure he’s doing everything right. He cares about making sure that Rowan is comfortable and, ideally, he doesn’t want Rowan doing the work every time. Stephen is just pulling away Rowan’s jeans when the man starts fishing blindly for something on the floor, a flash of annoyance crossing his features.
“Where’s my jacket?”
“Here?”
“Oh, good,” Rowan breathes, messily turning it inside out before he lets out a little cheer, fishing out two small packets of lubricant. Stephen snickers.
“Did you plan—”
“Hey! Always be prepared!” R
owan grins, waving the packets at Stephen. He’s got a point. Still, Stephen is just a little peeved to have been one-upped when they haven’t even started. He yanks one of the packets open after glancing at the wording, knowing he’s making a mess with the lube but not particularly caring.
Rowan’s grin disappears the moment Stephen presses a finger against him, cautious and nervous. The sigh that escapes Rowan’s lips tells Stephen that he’s doing something right so he continues, gently pushing inside and then pulling out, and again. When Rowan responds positively, breathlessly—“Please...more…,” his face flushed, the color growing with each passing second—Stephen complies, smiling, slipping another finger in. The slower the better, he thinks, despite the rapid pace of his heart. His pulse is thundering in his chest and his cock feels tight and in need of touch but he still moves slowly, concentrating on watching Rowan unravel beneath him. It’s a beautiful sight—there’s no trace of Rowan’s usual composure; instead, all that’s left is flushed skin and lust-filled golden-brown eyes. Rowan keeps trying to move his hips, pushing further, but Stephen presses him down against the couch, teasing him.
“God—please, Stephen, please—you’re torturing me,” Rowan manages, choking on his words.
“Not yet, I’m not,” Stephen smirks, pulling his hand away, and Rowan whines at the loss of contact. “Turn over for me.”
He’s immensely glad that Rowan had everything they need. Stephen would hate to leave Rowan like this to look for a condom—he knows the point is to keep Rowan strung out, one slow touch after another, until they’re both too strained to keep up the waiting. Stephen pushes into Rowan slowly, hoping he’s done enough to prepare him, and he’s greeted with a relieved moan. I just have to go slow, he reminds himself, despite the desperation pooling below his stomach. Slow. It takes all of his strength to move in centimeters; when he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily.
He manages to keep up the pace for a torturous amount of time. He feels pent-up and anxious, every slide hurting as much as it feels good. Stephen knows he won’t be able to last much longer—he’s shocked that he’s been able to go slow for so long. Rowan is already panting, body shaking with the desire to move.
“What do you want me to do?” Stephen asks, stopping in place. His hand wanders along the faint dip of Rowan’s spine.
“I want you to fuck me. Fast,” Rowan gasps, reaching for the arm of the couch as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
I can do that, Stephen thinks. His hand manages to stop at the curve of Rowan’s shoulder, holding the body beneath him with a careful grip. He moves immediately, pushing as fast as he can, and their shocked cries mingle in the air. It’s the truth of a cliché phrase; waiting seems to make it that much better. Rowan shoves his body back against Stephen as fast as Stephen pushes into him, the harsh impact making their pulses pound in time. It lasts even less time than Stephen’s experiment; they both fall over the edge explosively, Rowan’s body arching as Stephen’s hands grip him harder. For a moment, there’s nothing but the red-black rush of orgasm and then they’re both slumped on the couch, sweaty and sore.
“Good, so, so good,” Rowan mumbles into a cushion, blindly reaching behind him for Stephen’s hand.
“Thanks,” Stephen laughs breathlessly, catching Rowan’s hand in a tangle of fingers. He’s bent over him, still inside him. “I spent way too much time preparing.”
“That’s both adorable and amusing,” Rowan says. “I think—um, the food is probably going to get here soon. We should clean up, get dressed.”
“You’re kind of a neat freak, too, huh?” He pulls away from Rowan, immediately missing his warmth, and stands.
Rowan slaps him halfheartedly and Stephen grins, pulling him up from the couch to join him in the bathroom. It’s a good thing we have the day off, he thinks, because I’m not doing anything for the next few hours.
His phone rings at six in the morning. One hand reaches out blindly and he groans, feeling completely dead to the world and tired. Who the hell is calling me so early? Part of him hopes it’s Rowan—the man left a few hours after their takeout escapade, reluctant but needing fresh clothes and sleep. Stephen was sad to see him go, but knew they’d likely meet the next day since the shop was closed.
“Stephen. Where are you?”
“Melissa? In bed. Where are you?” Stephen asks, confused and tired. His eyes are still closed and his voice is rough.
“There was an accident.”
They’re four words he can’t handle. His ears start ringing as if someone’s struck a giant bell or fired a gun in his bedroom. He jolts upright, feeling sick to his stomach from the motion and the conversation. His heart hammers in his chest. No, no, no—
“What happened? Where is she?” he’s already tearing clothes out of his drawers, mindlessly shoving things on with one hand as he stays on the line.
“It’s—she’s fine, she’s just hurt—I’m sorry, I should have said that first. We’re at the medical center by the college; Austin Medical—”
“I’m on my way,” Stephen says quickly, throwing the bathroom light on as he starts to run water, splashing his face messily to try and clean up before he leaves.
“Stephen, it’s fine, you have work and—”
“I’m on my way,” Stephen repeats, emphasizing every word. “I’ll call you when I get to town.”
It’s an eight-hour drive but he would have made it if it were ten. Or twelve. Or any ridiculous number. All he can think about is Jordi in the hospital. He barely remembers to shove his wallet in his pocket, grabbing a jacket from the couch before he jumps into his truck. He starts driving without a plan, knowing only how to get where he needs to go.
She has to be fine, he thinks, she has to.
14
Ten in the morning is not the time for his phone to ring—especially on his day off. His schedule has virtually been cut in half for his last week; Jen is trying to make the transition easy and most of the college kids are on break. He’s still lazy and sleepy, then, when he pulls an arm out from under the sheets, sighing through his nose as he brings the phone to his face. Stephen?
“Hello?”
“Rowan.” It’s just one word—his name—but somehow, Rowan can immediately tell that something is wrong. He sits up quickly, worried.
“What is it? What happened—what’s wrong?”
“I—Melissa called. Jordi’s in the hospital—some kind of accident. I don’t know much but I know she’s okay. I’m driving to see her.”
“Oh—God, okay, well—I hope everything’s okay. If Melissa isn’t worried, maybe it isn’t that bad,” Rowan offers, heart aching. He hasn’t known him long, but it’s already obvious how much Stephen loves his daughter.
“I, um—I might be gone for the next two days. If—do you mind—”
“I’ll cover your shifts,” Rowan immediately says, rubbing at his eyes, “and if I’m working, I’ll see if I can get Jen or one of the kids to fill in. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll let her know. You just get there safe.”
“Thank you,” Stephen finally says after a long pause, relief and emotion heavy in his voice.
“Don’t worry about it. Just go see her. I’m sure she’s fine,” Rowan reassures him.
Stephen hangs up and Rowan sighs, sliding back down onto the sheets. There’s an uneasy miasma in his chest. He tries to brush it off as secondhand worry—after all, Jordi seems like a great kid and Stephen loves her to death—but he feels like it’s something that’s been festering for a while.
My time is almost up.
It’s bittersweet, thinking about leaving. He loves his friends and coworkers in the city and he likes his job. It’s just that he loves his home in Oriole, too, and he’s starting to feel like he might be falling in love with Stephen. It’s never happened before—this falling in love business—and he’s terrified. Do I pursue it? Risk losing him by going home?
“God, I can’t go back to sleep!” he yells at his ceiling, groanin
g. He slaps a hand over his face and stares at his phone. After a moment of consideration, he slides through his contacts and calls.
“You’re so lucky I’m awake,” Lina says, her familiar voice immediately soothing him. “I’m actually having breakfast with Leo and Austin. They say hi.”
“Hi,” Rowan replies, feeling a little miserable.
“O—kaaay. What happened with your baker boy?”
“First of all, he’s older than me by like, probably five years,” Rowan snorts, “and he’s visiting his daughter. I…I’m…”
Lina gasps on the other end of the line and Rowan pauses, confused. “Are you having your revelation with me?” she asks, real excitement and false drama coloring her tone. “I’m honored, really—you’re what? Go on!”
“I can always call someone else,” Rowan warns halfheartedly, a smile already making its way onto his mouth.
“You wouldn’t dare. Come on, Rowan. It’ll feel better if you say it.”
“I-I...I think I’m in love with Stephen,” Rowan mumbles, feeling his face heat. Lina squeals excitedly on the other end, a shuffling sound indicating that she’s probably waving her arms.
“Good golly, that was cute. I wish I could’ve seen your face. You’re probably frowning, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Okay, so you called me to tell me you love him—which, why—so what’s next? Eloping to Italy?”
“France,” Rowan corrects, feeling relieved. She was right. It feels better to have said it. “No…I just…I’m conflicted. I-I do...I love him and I know his life is the bakery, and his daughter. I’d never try to pull him away from it. But…I have an apartment. A job. Friends—”
“Apartments don’t matter—besides, Leo’s sister needs a place and she’s been asking about subletting. And you have a job at home—you practically trained for it all your life.”
“And my friends?”