“Why don’t you sic Keith on him?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Julian sighed. “Cam, is he really that bad? Does he really need help?”
“You haven’t seen him. It’s like a part of him died.”
“Then get him some help. Call Keith. See if he can help fix him.”
“You know, I really wish you were here right now.”
“Cam, I don’t know if I’d really be any help.”
“I know, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting you here. I hate dealing with him on my own.” Cam sighed softly. “He’s always the strong one, Julian. When he breaks down I feel helpless.”
“He’s your best friend, Cam. You have to help him with this. That’s kind of what best friends do.”
“I know.” Cam gave the phone a small pout. “I miss you, man. You should come and visit.”
“Maybe after Christmas.”
“Tell Jack that I say hi.”
“I will. Take care of Patrick.”
“I’ll try.” Cam hung up the phone with a sigh. He tossed it onto the bed and buried his face in Jeremy’s neck.
“What did Julian say?”
“You mean you didn’t hear the rather loud conversation?” Cam grinned into Jeremy’s neck. His lover had freakishly good hearing.
“Of course I heard it. I just thought that you might want to talk about it.”
“Apparently Patrick fell in love with some guy named Brad and is now depressed because he left him.”
“Brad left Patrick?”
“No. Patrick left Brad.”
“Then why is Patrick depressed?”
“Because he’s Patrick.”
“Your friends are confusing.”
“Not all of them. Mainly just Patrick.” He rolled over until he was sprawled across Jeremy’s strong chest. “Julian thinks that we should call Keith.”
“It’s a good idea.” Jeremy slid his fingers into Cam’s hair. “It would be a better idea if you called him tomorrow.”
Cam arched an eyebrow. “Really? And what do you suggest that we do if I’m not calling Keith right now?”
“I have a few ideas,” Jeremy murmured. He tightened his grip and rolled them over so Cam was on the bottom. Cam could feel his lover’s erection pressing against his own rapidly forming one. He moaned softly as Jeremy ground his hips against his. Threading his fingers through the blond hair that he loved so much, Cam smiled up at his lover.
Fixing Patrick could wait for at least an hour. Maybe two.
KEITH stood outside of Patrick’s house and stared at the door. He knew that Patrick was home. After he had snapped at a couple of teenagers reporting a stolen bike, the same one they had reported stolen the week before, his captain had decided that he needed some more time off. Plus, his car was in the driveway.
Keith had been sent to the house by Cam to “fix” Patrick. He didn’t need to ring the bell to gain access; he had his own key. He just didn’t want to go inside. Inside meant dealing with an emotionally troubled Patrick. An emotionally troubled Patrick tended to be an asshole.
“Why is it always me?” he muttered. Taking a deep breath to suppress his mounting nerves, Keith walked up the front steps and directly into the house. He was immediately greeted by a soft bark and a wagging tail. Keith crouched to give Bingo some attention. “Hey, pretty lady; who’s a good girl?”
Bingo’s tail wagging increased in speed, and she licked his cheek. Burying his fingers in her fur, Keith soaked up what he figured to be the last bit of friendly contact he was going to have for a while. He just hoped that Patrick wouldn’t start throwing things. That had been annoying enough when he was in the hospital. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like when Patrick could actually aim his throws.
Time to bite the bullet. Keith headed into the kitchen, encountering nothing but empty space and the smell of stale coffee. The room was spotless. Which was odd. Patrick liked to cook. His kitchen was never spotless. Following a hunch, Keith walked over to the fridge and pulled it open. Except for some condiments and juice, the main content of the fridge was beer.
“Damn it.” Keith closed the door with an annoyed growl. “Trick! Where the fuck are you?”
“In here.” The voice came from farther in the house. Grumbling to himself, Keith walked through the house. When he heard the sound of flesh hitting leather, he knew where he needed to go. He slowly made his way to Patrick’s workout room. Stopping, he leaned against the doorjamb to look at the other man.
Patrick was shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat, and beating the hell out of a punching bag. Keith watched as his muscles bunched before he hit the bag. It had been a while since Keith had seen Patrick without his shirt on, but he could still see the difference. Patrick’s entire upper body was now honed muscle. It was a really good look on him.
Patrick tossed sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes and glanced at Keith before turning his attention back to the punching bag. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Brad.”
Patrick gave the bag one more violent punch and turned around. The bag hit him in the back, and he took a stumbling step forward. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
Patrick glared. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Tough. We’re doing this.” Keith wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the other man. “But first you’re having a shower.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Go shower. You smell.”
“I meant that I don’t want to talk about Brad.”
“I don’t care. We are going to talk about this, and I am not leaving until we do.” Keith grabbed the towel that was by the door, walked over to Patrick, and looped the towel around his neck. “Now go and shower. You smell.”
A trace of his flirty smile crossed Patrick’s face. “I thought you liked it when I was sweaty?”
“When we were having sex. No sweat for serious conversations.” Keith used the towel to pull Patrick closer and press a kiss to his nose. “Go and shower.”
“Sometimes I just want to smack you.”
“Go shower.” Keith stepped to one side and shoved Patrick toward the door. He crossed his arms and stared until Patrick reluctantly shuffled off. Keith shook his head with a sigh and stepped over to the mini-fridge against the wall. It was also full of mainly beer, but there were a few bottles of water. He grabbed two of the beers from inside. Steeling himself for the coming conversation, Keith followed Patrick to the master bedroom.
As always, Keith was struck by the masculine elegance of Patrick’s bedroom. The furniture was dark wood that was accented by the forest green, navy, and chocolate-brown color scheme of the room. The large bed was haphazardly covered with a comforter that was more off the bed than on, and the exposed sheets were all wrinkled. Still clutching the two beer bottles in his hands, Keith flopped down on the unmade bed. He heard the water turn on in the attached bathroom, but it didn’t sound quite right. “You better not be filling the tub thinking that I’ll leave if you take too long.”
“But my muscles are sore!”
“It’s your own fault. Now get your ass in the shower! Your beer is getting warm,” he called. The running water stopped amidst the sound of faint muttering. Hearing a rather creative insult aimed his way, Keith grinned as the shower turned on. Patrick did come up with the most inventive insults.
Twenty minutes later, Patrick emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of low-slung pajama pants and toweling off his hair. Keith let his eyes travel over the well-defined torso, noting the changes in appearance. All of the exercising that he had been doing to avoid what was on his mind showed in the definition of his stomach muscles. Both nipples were now pierced, but what caught Keith’s attention was the new tattoo. Surrounding Patrick’s belly button was what looked like a cross between a compass and a sun done in black ink. The four wavy lines that re
presented the compass points were longer than the rest of the design. Overall, it was a very striking tattoo.
“What are you looking at?” Patrick had raised an eyebrow at him.
“That’s a new tat.”
“Yeah,” Patrick mumbled. He tossed the towel on the floor and ran his hand over the pattern.
“I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“Did Keegan design that one?”
“No.”
The sudden defensive posture as Patrick flattened his hand over the tattoo in almost a show of protection provided Keith with a rather clear insight. “Brad designed it, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he know about the tattoo?”
“How would he know that? I don’t remember us having a conversation where he admitted to being psychic,” Patrick practically snarled at him. Keith was almost positive he was using the anger to keep from breaking down. Patrick’s eyes didn’t look as angry as his words.
“Well, he had to know you were going to do something with it when he gave it to you.” Keith felt a small smile cross his face as he noticed the suddenly guilty look on Patrick’s face. “He doesn’t know that you have it, does he?”
“I may have taken the sketch when he wasn’t looking.”
“So, we gonna talk about it now?”
Patrick flopped next to Keith with a sigh. “Do we have to?”
“I’m going to have to say yes. Pat, this is eating you up, and everybody has noticed.”
“Everybody?”
“Rumor has it that even Julian was called.”
“Shit.” Patrick groaned and flung one of his arms over his head. The other one reached toward Keith.
“You want something?”
“If you’re going to be grilling me about the stuff I don’t want to talk about, then you better give me that beer that you said you had.” The words were the usual brand of Patrick snark, but they lacked the heat that usually went with them.
Keith sighed as he handed over the bottle. “Do I want to know how many of these you’ve had today?”
“Probably not.”
“Have you had any actual food today?”
“I may have had a bagel.”
“A bagel? As in one bagel?”
“Sounds about right.”
Keith settled himself on the bed next to Patrick and smacked his friend on the chest. “You’re an idiot.”
“Ow. Why are you hitting me?”
“Because you’re being stupid.” Keith hit him once more. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong.”
“You are such a fucking liar.” Keith stretched an arm out and put his beer on the nightstand, then rolled onto his side so he could look at Patrick. His friend was tense and methodically destroying the label on his beer bottle. “Patrick, why did you break up with Brad?”
“Because it was just a fling.”
Keith scoffed. “If it had been just a fling, you would have put that drawing in a frame and forgotten about it. You don’t tattoo flings on your body.” Keith reached out and pulled the bottle from Patrick’s hands. “Patrick, look at me.” Patrick turned his head, and Keith’s heart clenched at the pain in his eyes. “Did you really want to break up with Brad?”
“No.” The word was said so low that Keith nearly missed it, but the green eyes were shimmering with tears.
“Then why did you?”
“Because I was scared.”
“Why?”
A weak laugh that sounded more like a sob escaped Patrick’s throat. “Because I think I’m in love with him.”
With that admission in the air, Patrick rolled away from Keith and buried his head in one of the pillows. When the strong shoulders started to shake, Keith realized that Patrick was crying softly. Keith wrapped an arm around his heartbroken friend and placed a soft kiss against a bare shoulder.
“Why does being in love scare you?”
“Because he can’t love me back.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know that he can’t love you?”
“Why would he?” Patrick asked. His voice cracked as he asked the question. A self-deprecating snort left his mouth. “Why would anyone love me?”
“Damn it, Patrick. You deserve to be loved.”
“Why would he want me when he could have anyone? Male or female. He’s bi. What if he wants kids? I can’t give him that.”
“Patrick, from what you told me, Brad obviously cares about you. I don’t understand why you’re pushing him away.”
Patrick gave a weak laugh. “I don’t understand why he cares about me. Why would he pick me?”
“Maybe because you’re a great guy,” Keith stated. Patrick scoffed in his arms, and Keith pulled until Patrick was lying on his back underneath him. “You’re a great guy, Patrick.”
“No, I’m a great lay.”
“Okay, I’m not going to argue with that. You are a fantastic lay.”
A small smile crossed Patrick’s face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You’re also an amazing guy.” Keith cupped Patrick’s face in his hands. “You’re kind, funny, caring, and most importantly, you’re loyal. You are loyal to the ones that you care about, and you never let them down when they need you. Why can’t you take the chance that someone else can see that about you?”
“Because I can’t see it. I can’t see what other people see in me. All I see is what my father saw. Just some weak little kid who can’t do anything right and is such a mess that even his parents don’t love him. How can Brad love me if my own family can’t?” The confusion visible in his eyes nearly broke Keith’s heart. Patrick honestly didn’t understand why people could love him.
“Patrick, your parents are assholes. Plus, I thought Cam and Julian were your family.”
“They are.”
“And they love you, don’t they?”
“I guess so.”
Keith smacked him on the chest. “Don’t say stupid shit like that. Of course they love you.” He rested his chin on Patrick’s chest. “Plus, you know that I love you, so that has to count for something.”
“I guess,” Patrick repeated. A small smile was starting to form on his sad face.
Keith grinned at him. “So, have I convinced you that you’re loveable?”
“Possibly.”
“Good. Time for a new question.”
Patrick sighed as his arms wrapped around Keith’s waist. “Okay, I guess we can change the topic.”
“Do you want Brad to be with another man?”
Patrick’s face lost all of its remaining color. “What?”
“Well, if you’re not going to be with him, you don’t really think he’ll be alone, do you? I mean, what if he decides that he likes being with men? Can you handle the idea of him being with another man?”
Patrick pushed at Keith. “Get off me. I think I’m going to puke.”
Keith rolled over and watched as Patrick ran to the bathroom. He winced as he heard the sound of him retching. “You see, this is why you should eat when you drink.”
A groan came out of the bathroom. “No, food would have been worse. Throwing up booze doesn’t hurt as much.”
“But it tastes worse.”
“Ugh, don’t say ‘taste’.” Patrick appeared in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear. He groaned and made his way back to the bed, flopping next to Keith with a pathetic whimper. “Beer bad.”
“That’s what happens when you drink on an empty stomach.”
“What, no sympathy?”
“No. You’ve been acting like an idiot. You don’t need sympathy. What you need is a swift kick in the ass.”
Patrick snickered. “And they sent you to be my kick in the ass.”
Keith punched him. “Stop being an asshole.”
“Ow.” Patrick rubbed at the red mark that Keith’s fist had left on his shoulder.
; “You know, you’re off topic again.”
“What was the topic?”
“Brad dating other men,” Keith said. A small grin crossed his face as Patrick once again blanched. “Now, from your reaction, I’m guessing that Brad dating other men would be a bad thing.”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, because I’m just that much of a bastard.”
“No, I don’t want Brad dating other men. I want Brad dating me.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“Grovel?”
“That sounds like a plan.”
“Do you think it will work?” There was a nervous note to Patrick’s voice, and he was biting his lower lip.
“If Brad loves you half as much as you seem to love him, it might just work. And it’s going to be work, Patrick. If he’s hurting anywhere near as much as you are, you’re really going to have to try. He has the right to be pissed at you.”
Patrick sighed. “I know that. I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”
“I can’t speak for Brad, Trick. I would be willing to give you a second chance, but I know what you’re like.”
“Of course, groveling works better if I can get him to talk to me.”
“You think he won’t talk to you?”
“I was an asshole, Keith. I’m afraid if I call he’ll hang up on me.”
“So, how are you going to get him to talk to you?”
Patrick was quiet for a moment before his eyes lit up and he looked over at Keith with a grin. “I need a recording studio with a piano. And do you know where I can buy some yarn?”
Keith stared at Patrick’s almost manic grin and felt confusion start to flood his mind. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Patrick was planning. Sometimes it was safer not to.
Chapter 4
“HAS he called yet?”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not? Do you want me to go and kick his ass?”
Brad sighed as he flopped onto his couch with the phone in one hand and a glass of juice in the other. “I don’t think that would work very well, Graham.”
Broken Wings Page 5