I rushed ahead to fill the silence. “I think he actually had a chance with you. And you seemed happy. And I’ve never known you to date anyone as long as you did Micah. I just think that if you two talked, especially right now, maybe things might go differently. That you might actually have a chance—”
Seth yanked the beer out of my hand and leaned forward across the bar, slamming his forearms over it as he brought his face within two inches of mine. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
I flinched back, completely caught off guard. “I… um… know it’s not my business, but I just thought—”
He didn’t let up. “You know, for a man as big and strong and with all your tough-guy tattoos, a person would place bets on you sneezing and a house falling down. I never would’ve thought you were a coward.”
He might as well have slapped me. The anger in his voice nearly matched Micah’s. “What?”
Seth gave a quick glance around the rest of the bar, found it empty, then glared at me again. “I’m not an asshole, Connor. Your secret’s safe with me, but this is low. Completely fucked-up.”
“What?” It seemed to be the only thing I could say. His words replayed in my mind, trying to change into something I could understand. Seth opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment it clicked and absolute terror washed over me. “What secret?” Surely not. No way. No fucking way.
Confusion crossed his face again, mingling with his anger. “Micah didn’t tell you?”
I froze for a second, considering my options. Running being the most tempting. However, I had no doubt that if I stood to bolt, my legs would fall out from under me.
Seth didn’t give me more than a second to think, nor did he clarify. At least not exactly. As he spoke, his words grew quieter, nearly deadly. “Your secret is safe with me, Connor. I’m not a gossip, and I’m your friend. And Micah’s.” He leaned even closer, his breath brushing my face. “And as your friend, I’ve got to tell you, you’re being a jackass. What are you worried about? The town talking? Your precious founding family saying you’re an embarrassment and kicking you out? That people will look at you and think you’re sick or something? All that is stupid. Even if they do that, who the fuck cares? And if that’s even a part of your consideration, then you’re stupid and a coward.”
He did. He really did know. It was almost a relief—if relief could be terrifying. Then it hit me, not only did he know, but he was judging me. Just not in the way I would’ve expected. “That’s not the reason.”
Seth sneered, an ugly expression on his handsome face. “Oh, really? Don’t tell me you think Micah isn’t good enough for you. We both know that’s shit.”
My own anger flared, and I had to focus to keep my voice lowered. “Of course not. I’m the one not good enough for him. I’m the reason he’s here, why he gave up New York, the Symphony—”
“Shut the fuck up, Connor.” For the first time in our relationship, I had the impulse to punch him in the face. But Seth kept going before I could react. “Micah isn’t a kid. He can make his own damn choices. And don’t bother telling me that you don’t love him. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And now that I know, I can’t believe I was such a fucking idiot to not recognize it for what it was. It’s obvious. You’re so fucking head over heels for the guy.” He leaned back finally, still looking like he wanted to spit at me. “And then you come here. To me, a guy who’s been your friend for ages, and you what? Try to pimp me off so you don’t have to feel bad about how much you love him? So you can blame me for keeping him out of New York instead of yourself? Fuck off.” He let out a heated breath. “I gotta get out of here.” Seth started to walk away, then whirled around with a partially crazed laugh. “No, this is my bar. You get out of here.” He leaned close once more. “And Connor, I won’t judge you for loving Micah. He’s not actually your goddamn brother. But I will think you are the biggest fucking idiot I’ve ever seen in my life if you don’t pull your head out of your ass. Now get the fuck out of here.”
I walked to my car in a daze. And the secret I’d held on to for so long, that Micah and I had both held on to, was no longer a secret. Why had Micah not told me that Seth knew? Anger bit at me for a second, closely followed by shame. There wouldn’t be a secret if it wasn’t for me. Micah had tried to get it out in the open for ages.
I went home and to bed, but of course sleep was elusive. Just echoes of Micah’s and Seth’s tirades. Accusations of cowardice. Of refusing to accept the thing I wanted most. Of being selfish. I just wasn’t sure which was more selfish. To keep Micah for myself or make him fly.
Flying. Freedom. That’s what the Bryants had given me. Why I had wings over my chest. Freedom. I couldn’t take Micah’s. I couldn’t clip his wings.
When I finally succumbed, I had horrid dreams that had absolutely nothing to do with the Clarks and everything to do with Micah in New York—a tall beautiful dark-haired man, who looked suspiciously like Seth Marino, by his side.
I managed to stay strong the next day.
Not really true. I stayed strong for about three hours. Until my second client. Until I tattooed a treble clef on the ankle of a coed visiting Lavender Shores on holiday. She was a student at some artsy-fartsy school, training to be an orchestra conductor. She droned on over the half-hour session about musical concepts I couldn’t understand. I felt like Micah was all around me, though he never made me suffer such mundane details. I had to focus not to push the needles too hard, to keep my flow fluid despite the building anxiety. I’d been white-knuckling it, promising myself I would do nothing, just let things unfold, then that damn treble clef tattoo, all the talk of composers and symphonies. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I didn’t believe in God anymore, but if I did, this was something I would expect him to do. In my experiences, he liked to be cruel. So of course, this would be the tattoo he’d have me work on when Micah was finally slipping through my fingers.
That thought finally did it. And I knew it was selfish. But it was also completely genuine and unfiltered. Truth be told, at the heart of it, my biggest fear wasn’t Micah not being released to fly. Not becoming trapped in Lavender Shores because I hated the city, not that our family would struggle with our relationship not being what it was supposed to be.
My biggest fear was that Micah would actually, finally, slip through my fingers.
And whether it made me a coward or not in my own estimation, I couldn’t let that happen.
Micah’s house was dark, like the night around it, when I pulled up. But his car was in the drive. Maybe he’d gone to bed early, even though that would be atypical for him. It didn’t matter. If I didn’t do this now, that very instant, I’d return to being the coward Micah and Seth had labeled me. I knocked on his front door, then pounded. No answer. I started to dig in my pocket for his key when I heard it.
Music drifted through the ocean air, notes that were somehow cheerful and mournful at the same time, a sound only Micah could produce.
I knew who’d given him the mournful quality.
If Micah was right, if Seth was right, maybe I could take it away. I felt so much guilt for putting it there, but maybe I had the power to change that.
I left the porch and walked across the property, toward the cliffs in the distance. Of course he was in his hideaway. Our hideaway.
I wasn’t too late. Not if he was there. At least I hoped.
That hope had me speeding up, and I hurried to the small entrance, the rope ladder waiting for me. As I lowered myself into the cave, Micah’s song reverberated over the stone, surrounding me, becoming the entire universe. As soon as I touched the cavern floor, I slipped off my shoes and padded over to where our tiny storeroom turned into our little cathedral and sanctuary. Carefully I peered around, not wanting to be seen, at least, not yet.
Micah stood by the shallow pool in the center of the cavern, partially silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the arches. I came the rest of the way into the cavern, taking a few steps closer and
then pausing to lean against the wall and just watch.
He was magnificent. His tall, lithe body moving with masculine grace as he drew his bow across his violin over and over again. His face, tilted against his instrument, was in partial profile, lit by the flickering candlelight. His eyes were closed.
Again the notion hit me as it had countless times before. Micah didn’t belong here. Not in this little town, not playing for nothing more than the sea.
The song ended, and with only a breath of a pause, a new one began. I didn’t know the name of either, but the first song had some happiness in it, some freedom. This one was just as beautiful but more of a dirge, more of sorrow and death.
I studied what I could see of his expression, trying to read what Micah was thinking.
That was stupid. I could only see what I saw. Could only find what I expected.
I closed my eyes and listened.
Though there were no words, and though it took a few moments for Micah’s voice to slip past my own thoughts and worries, I began to hear him, just him, in the music.
With the tremble of the notes, he sang out his sorrow, his loneliness. I nearly opened my eyes as I heard it. I’d never perceived Micah as lonely, ever. But I heard it. And having heard it, I couldn’t deny its presence. The evocative melody wafted over the room like waves, washing over me, sweeping every molecule of Connor away and leaving only Micah.
The song altered swiftly, swelling in volume and pitch, and I opened my eyes.
A tear rolled slowly down his cheek, the trail glistening in the moonlight, and fell on his violin.
How had I been so blind? Been such a coward? That truly was the only word for it. And so foolishly selfish? I loved no one as much as Micah. Yet how many times had I hurt him? Denied him?
I walked toward Micah, still silent, my heart beating a rhythm so much faster than his song. I’d come ready to proclaim my love, ready to tell him I would tell the world about us, ready to fall into his arms in joy. Instead, I was gutted at the realization of what I’d done.
Micah must have sensed me. I was mere inches away when his eyes opened and he flinched in surprise, the bow making a screech across the strings. As he turned toward me, he slowly lowered his hands, the violin in one, the bow in the other, both hanging at his sides.
I thought I was going to wrap my arms around him, pull him close, but as the candlelight illuminated his expression, I fell to my knees, my guilt cutting me down.
There was silence, nothing more than the lapping of the waves. A heartbeat passed. “Connor.” His whispered word was full of wonder and confusion.
I couldn’t make myself move, so I just looked up at his face, his beautiful, beautiful face, and felt tears burn. “I’m so sorry.”
He flinched again, just a touch. “What?”
I wanted to reach for him, take his hand, but I was frozen. “I’m so sorry, Micah. I’ve hurt you so many times. I thought I was doing right by you. I thought it would be selfish if I kept you here.” He started to speak, and I could see the old argument come to his lips, but I rushed on. “I know. It wasn’t my choice, wasn’t my call to make. I’m sorry.”
Micah studied me for a moment. I expected to see doubt there. Walls up where they had never been before, the evidence that I was too late. Finally too late. But I didn’t.
He blinked a couple of times and looked like he was about to smile. “Tell me.”
“I love you.” A million other confessions wanted to come out, wanted to spill from me. More apologies, promises. A list of all the ways he was the most wonderful thing in the entire world. “I love you, Micah.”
They were words I’d said countless times, words I’d meant every time they left my lips. But I’d never said them like this.
Micah smiled then, a beautiful trembling thing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I met his cornflower-blue eyes. “And you are not my brother. You are the man I love. My soulmate.” I’d never let myself think that word. And up until that moment, I hadn’t even believed in that concept. But as the words passed from my lips, they solidified from abstract to the truest thing I’d ever known. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. And I will be yours for the rest of my life. Even if I’m too late.”
“You know you’re not too late.” His smile grew, changing into something new, yet familiar. “Though I’m halfway tempted to beat you with my violin right now. But instead—” He transferred the bow to the hand that held the violin, then offered his free hand to me. “—how about you stand up and kiss me.”
I took his hand and stood, then stepped into him and looked down into his eyes once more. “I’ll tell the world. Everyone. Right now, if you want. Whatever happens, I can handle as long as I’m yours. I’ll even—”
“Oh my God, Connor, shut up.” There was a laugh in his voice. Then he gripped the back of my neck like he had so many times before, and kissed me. Kissed me in an amazing and completely new way.
Thirteen
Micah
I ran my hand up Connor’s neck and over the back of his head, his thick hair stinging over the blisters from my work at the farm and the violin strings. I was thankful for the sting, for that touch of pain. It was proof I wasn’t dreaming, that I hadn’t gotten swept away in the music and the moonlit cave or the sound of the sea. Connor was really there. He’d truly said the things I’d been waiting my entire life to hear. We’d been close before, but even then, he hadn’t sounded so sure. So desperately certain. I pulled back from the kiss and searched his eyes just to make doubly sure.
Connor’s gaze met mine, clear and bright and, for once, unafraid. He knew what I needed. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, no one knew me like Connor. “I’m yours. Fully and completely. For as long as you will have me.”
My throat constricted, and my heart clenched. He was mine. Finally. I’d been his since the day he walked through the door. “About damn time.” I kissed him again, the feel of his lips, the pressure of his tongue, the strength of his hand on my back—all sweeping me away as surely as the music had done moments before.
Almost instantly, he began to rock against me, the hard thickness of him pressing slightly above my own. I started to reach up and rip my shirt off only to bash the violin against his hip. He broke the kiss and took a small step back, grinning. “Want to put that away real quick? Then head back to your house?”
I probably looked at him like he was insane. “Are you kidding? Number one, I’m not waiting that long to get you inside of me. And two”—I motioned with my free hand around the cavern—“what better place is there for us?”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.” He took another step back. “I’ll go get the stuff.” And then he was heading to the other room.
I hurried to the edge of the cavern wall, where I’d left the case, and put the violin away and locked it tight, then began to strip off my clothes. I’d just stepped out of my shoes and sweatpants, the stone cold under my bare feet, when Connor walked back in, blankets in one hand, the bottle of lube in the other.
He halted, and his gaze traveled over me. I stood a little straighter and angled my hips so my erection was lit by the candlelight, basking in his desire. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”
Where the hell had he gotten that idea? “You never would’ve lost me, Connor.”
“Well, now I’ll make sure of it.”
Another few moments passed as I spread the blankets and Connor nearly ripped the clothes from his body.
He stood a few inches from me, and he suddenly looked nervous.
“You still okay?” Surely he hadn’t flipped back to normal already.
He nodded. “Completely. I just can’t believe this is actually real. Probably sounds ridiculous, considering how many times….”
My favorite was when Connor was above me. It didn’t matter if I was on my back or my stomach, just as long as his huge, heavy mass weighed me down, sheltered me, claimed me. But that wasn’t what I needed. I took his hand, and pulled
him gently onto the blanket. “Lie down.”
He did, lowering himself in front of me and then lying back.
I stood above him, straddling his hips. There truly was no other man for me. None had ever measured up. Not in physical beauty, not in sexual chemistry, not in his sweet and fiery nature. My gaze traveled over Connor as if seeing him for the first time—I suppose in a way I was. I no longer just saw Connor, I saw my Connor. Finally, mine. His long, thick legs leading up to his long thick, uncut cock and then the endless muscles and tattoos of his stomach, chest, shoulders, and arms. And his face. Handsome yet imperfect, slightly beautiful and defiant. The little curve of the right side of his lips that always gave him a cocky expression. Those hazel eyes, their gaze roaming over my body, then lifting to meet mine. I saw the proof there, just like I had moments before, just like I had heard in his voice. I could see the change. Couldn’t put words to it, but it was there. The candlelight illuminated the slight scar in the crease of his left cheek and the other one under his eyebrow. They’d been there as long as I’d known him. He never told me the story of where they came from, just said they were reminders of how lucky he was with his new family.
Nearly overcome, I sank to my knees, his erection grazing my ass. I barely noticed. I bent closer and kissed the scar on his eyebrow and then the scar on his cheek before pulling back to meet his eyes once more. “I will keep you safe.”
For a second I thought I was seeing things, a glistening that wasn’t there. Connor did not cry. Ever. But then a tear fell, and he reached up with his large hands and cupped my face. “And I will protect you with my life.”
Silly promises, maybe. We were in the middle of Lavender Shores. The only real threat might be a sudden tsunami sending a wave into the cavern. But Connor was all too aware of how extremely unsafe life truly was. Thanks to him, so was I.
Our lips met again, and this time, while there was heat—there was always heat with Connor—it was more of a seal to our vow. The signing of a contract, the promise of hearts.
The Hideaway (Lavender Shores Book 5) Page 12