The Hideaway (Lavender Shores Book 5)

by Rosalind Abel

  Mom and Dad were always so different. Dad serious and Mom wild and free. But here, they were in sync. Both their mouths fell open, the color draining from their faces.

  Connor continued, “I know this may be hard to hear, or hard to understand. But I want to make clear that this hasn’t been an easy road for Micah or myself. That we’re not jumping into this lightly or trying to cause drama or hurt.”

  I had to say something. I couldn’t ask him to do it all. “I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember. He’s the only man I’ve ever truly loved.”

  Bafflement left Mom’s and Dad’s expressions, turning to… something akin to revulsion? Shock?

  “Mom….” Connor gave a little shake of his head. “I want to make clear it wasn’t something that happened when I moved in. I never took advantage of the… of your family. Of Micah.”

  “But… you’re….” Mom’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of us. “You’re brothers. It doesn’t matter when it started. You’re brothers.”

  “No, Regina. They’re not.” Dad’s voice was hard. Not in a way I’d heard before. Not exactly angry or sad. Just hard. Cold. “They are not brothers.”

  “Yes.” She pulled her hand from his, casting a glare at him that looked like she was just as shocked by him as she by us. “Yes. They are. They are my children. And they are brothers.”

  Dad ignored her, focusing on Connor, his coldness deepening. “When did it start?”

  Connor’s lips moved, and I knew what he was about to say, about how it would sound.

  “I let Connor know how I felt when he came back from college….” I quickly realized that didn’t narrow it down enough. “I was almost seventeen. He rejected me.” I looked at Mom, needing her to understand. “He told me that we were brothers. That this was wrong. I didn’t… convince him my feelings were real for a long time. And he’s fought it ever since.”

  Impossibly her eyes widened further. “That’s why. It wasn’t about farming. It was Connor.”

  Beside me, Connor’s shoulders slumped.

  “No, Mom. That’s part of why Connor refused to be with me for so long. Not just because of our family, but because he insisted he wasn’t going to keep me from my dreams.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and she glared at Connor. “How could you? How could you?” She swiped a hand in my direction. “He’s my baby. My boy.”

  Connor flinched and made a noise like he was trying to keep his own tears at bay.

  Confusion crossed Mom’s face and some of the anger left. “You’re both my boys.” Tears started to flow freely then. “You’re both my babies. How could…?” Her words cut off as she stood, the chair scraping across the wood floor, and she rushed from the room. Her pounding footsteps echoed from the stairs and then above our heads, and her muffled sobs filled the silence.

  I stood, ready to run after her, but Dad’s words held me in place.

  “Connor, wait outside.”

  Without hesitation, Connor stood and began to head toward the door between the dining room and kitchen leading to the backyard.

  “Dad!” I couldn’t believe he was making Connor leave, like a bad child or animal. Like a stranger. “You can’t—”

  “Micah, be still.” Dad slapped the table.

  Connor returned long enough to squeeze my shoulder, the first time he’d touched me since we’d walked through the door. It wasn’t a quick touch. Firm, strong, and long enough to make clear to both Dad and myself that we were together on this. “I’ll be fine. Talk to Dad.” And then he was gone.

  I couldn’t remember ever being so angry at my father. “How could you? How can you treat Connor like—”

  “Be quiet, Micah. Let me think.”

  Fury raged like I’d never thought I could feel. “I’m not a child, Dad. You don’t get to tell me to be quiet. I’m—”

  “I said be still, goddammit.” He pounded the table again. “You don’t get to drop something like this in my lap and then make demands. So shut up and let me think.”

  Despite my insistence that I wasn’t a child, I sank back in the chair and couldn’t have found words if I’d had a gun to my head. Dad had never cursed in front of me. He’d never told me to shut up. Never told any of us to shut up.

  After a few seconds, Dad stood and began to pace, casting glances overhead, where Mom’s crying had lessened but could still be heard. He wandered into the living room, and was gone long enough to make me wonder if he was going to return. I glanced toward the back door and saw Connor’s silhouette pass in front of the window. Seemed like pacing was the thing to do.

  Dad reentered with a glass of bourbon and took his seat once more. After a sip, he leveled his stare at me, his tone had returned to calm. Calm and cold. “I don’t care what you think my reaction will be. I’m going to ask you a question. You are going to be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying, Micah Edward Bryant, I can promise you that. So do not lie.”

  I nodded. Easy enough. There was nothing to lie about. Not anymore.

  “When did it start with you and Connor? And don’t sugarcoat. Be specific.”

  I nearly asked if he was sure he wanted me to be specific, but then realized I didn’t care if it made him uncomfortable. If it made me uncomfortable. “I snuck into Connor’s bed when he came home from college. I was sixteen. Almost seventeen. He was twenty.” I leveled my gaze back at him, matched his tone. “I tried to get him to sleep with me that night. And it wasn’t about sex for me, at least not entirely. I was already in love with him. Connor nearly came unglued. Kicked me out of his room, told me we were brothers. Told me that it was wrong. Broke my heart. He would barely look at me for years.”

  Though Dad had winced and shifted uncomfortably at a couple of places in my story, he didn’t look away, didn’t weaken. He narrowed his eyes, studying me, searching. After a long excruciating time—I didn’t think I’d ever met my father’s gaze for that long, or anyone else’s for that matter—he sat back. “Good.”

  Good? Just good? I supposed it was better than a million other things he could’ve said. “If you’re worried about this causing drama because we’re a founding fam—”

  The anger that crossed his face again cut me off. “Of all the things you could suggest, there’s nothing that could hurt me more. As if there is anything more important to me than you, than any of my children. Founding family or not. You are all that matters.” His gaze darted to the window, to where Connor still paced, and sorrow replaced the anger. “Family is all that matters in the end.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He looked back at me and blinked. “What do you mean? Do I have options that no one told me about?”

  Didn’t he? “Are you going to forbid us being together?”

  “Didn’t you just tell me you weren’t a child? Do I look like such a fool to you that I would think I could demand such a thing and not lose you both?”

  Lose us both.

  Though it wasn’t like any fantasy moment, not even close to being pleasant, I knew with those three words that my family would live up to the expectations I’d had all along. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “This won’t be easy. For anyone. And it will take time.” Dad didn’t stand or start to take my hand, but some softness returned to his tone. “You and Connor have had years to come to terms with this, and it sounds like it wasn’t easy. Give your family the same consideration.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Go be with your mom. She needs you.” He stood. “I’ll get Connor.”

  “Dad, be nice to him. Please. It wasn’t—”

  His eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare tell me how to speak to one of my children, Micah.” He motioned upstairs. “Go help your mom.”

  When I knocked, she didn’t answer. A quick test of the handle showed that the door wasn’t locked. I poked my head in. “Mom?”

  She was kneeling beside the bed, and if I didn’t know better, I would’ve said she was
praying.

  Maybe she was.

  She looked over at me, eyes bloodshot, mascara running down her cheeks. I wasn’t sure if she was going to tell me to go away or yell. Instead she buried her face in her hands and cried harder.

  I hurried to her side and wrapped my arms around her as she shook. After a few moments, she shifted, throwing her arms around me, her sobs increasing.

  Neither of us spoke, and I doubted she was even capable of words with as hard as she was crying. I simply held her, trying to figure out what to say. I understood Dad’s reaction, even if I didn’t like it. I couldn’t comprehend Mom’s.

  Finally, her sobs slowed, and she sniffed. She got up, knees cracking as she stood and walked to the restroom.

  I heard her blow her nose, as she turned on the water in the sink. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited, trying to figure out what to say to make it better.

  When she walked back into the room, her eyes were still bloodshot and looked on the edge of fresh tears, but her face was clean, the streaks of mascara gone. She sat on the bed, close to me, and sighed shakily. Like she was beyond exhausted.

  “Mom.” My whisper was so quiet I wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear me, even as close as we were. I simply couldn’t make myself speak any louder in the stillness of the room, fearing it might make the world crumble. “I promise Connor never did anything wrong. Ever. He wouldn’t—”

  “I know that.” She turned toward me, a horrified expression on her face. Similar to the one she’d had at the table, but different somehow. “Connor would never do such a thing.”

  Good. That was good. Very good. “Then, what’s the problem? Why are you hurting?”

  She made a sound that was part laugh, part disgust, and rolled her eyes. “You are so sweet and sensitive and kind. You always have been. But, you’re still a man, and so definitely not a mother.”

  I had no clue what to do with that. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

  She sighed again and shook her head.

  “I love him, Mom.”

  She nodded. “I know.” She wiped her eyes. “I think that’s part of it. I feel like a fool. Looking back, I can see that. I always knew you loved him, but I just thought… he’s your brother. I thought it was simply hero worship or something.”

  That was there too, no doubt. Probably wasn’t a good idea to say. Not that I had any clue what to say at that point. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I wish I could fix it.”

  “You can’t, baby.” Mom patted my knee, started to pull her hand back, then left it there.

  I knew I shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t press, but I couldn’t keep from it. “I don’t understand why you’re hurting, Mom. If you know Connor never did anything wrong with me, if you know I love him, then….”

  “You’re my children, both of you.” She blinked, maybe searching for words, then settled for a shrug. “I can’t ask you to understand. I doubt you could. In many ways, as much as your father loves Connor, counts him as one of ours, I doubt even he could understand, not fully. I can’t explain it to you.”

  Again, I had no idea what else to say. “Okay.”

  Her voice brightened suddenly and she looked back at me, sitting a little straighter. “Maybe Connor could open a tattoo shop in New York. You could still have your dreams.”

  I normally would’ve been irritated that she still didn’t get it, but I wished I could give her a different answer. Offer some comfort when she needed it. “Mom, like I’ve said. I’m living my dreams already. There and here. Even if Connor had never been in the picture, this is still what I want. Though, I’d give them both up for him, if I had to.”

  The defeated expression in her eyes made me think she’d finally given up about me rejecting farming and returning to New York City. “If he loves you like you say, then he’d never ask you give up your dreams.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “I know. I wasn’t saying he did. Just that, true love doesn’t come at the cost of your passions. It should support them.”

  “He’s giving up a lot for me.” The truth of that statement cut deep. “At least he’s lost a lot for me.”

  She squeezed my knee. “He’s not going to lose us, baby. Ever.”

  “I know.” I’d always known that. One more thing I’d been right about in my debates with Connor, even if I’d been wrong on nearly everything else. “But he lost Moses. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to get over that.”

  Again she straightened, and this time when she looked at me, her eyes flashed. “What do you mean he lost Moses?”

  Twenty

  Connor

  “You promised I would never stand in the way of your dreams.” I opened the oven door, let the blast of heat dissipate, and then stuck a thermometer into the pork loin. Probably another fifteen minutes. “And now, here we are, hardly any time since we became official, and you’re already breaking your word.” The handle of the oven door slipped through my fingers and slammed shut, making it sound like I was angry. Which, I supposed was fine. I was angry.

  Micah paused from slicing the onions and wiped the back of his arm across his eyes. “Number one, I never promised that, at least not in that wording. Number two, that isn’t what’s happening here.” He sniffed, this time wiping the back of his arm under his nose. “And three, that’s seriously how you’re referring to us as now? As official?”

  He was so damn cute, standing there, eyes watering and nose running. Maybe I wasn’t quite as mad as I wanted to believe. “That’s exactly what’s happening. You can’t even deny it. You’re standing there crying. It’s killing you not to go to New York.”

  He balked. “Crying? I’m not—” He realized I was joking and grabbed the dishtowel and threw it at my head. “Shut up, jackass.”

  I caught it, but got a spray of water across my face anyway. “Careful. You might accidentally throw the knife.”

  Micah glanced down at the blade and lifted it, shaking in my direction. “Seems to me you’re the one who should be careful. Throwing around accusations while I’m wielding a weapon.”

  I crossed the short distance from the oven to where Micah stood at the counter and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Here, let me do that. You really are crying and snotting so much it’s going to get in the salad dressing.”

  “Would serve you right.” He shrugged me off, then scraped the onion slices into the bowl of olive oil with blue cheese. “Besides, I’m done already, so great timing. Now it just has to sit.” He began to stir the mixture, and the teasing left his tone as he spoke again. “Seriously though, Connor, I’m not giving up my dream. It’s only a week. It’s just a few songs on one album. Anybody could do it.”

  I sighed, some of my frustration returning. “Exactly, it’s only a week. You’re acting like I’ll fall apart if you leave.”

  From the look he gave, I knew that was exactly his concern. “Come with me, then. A week in New York could do you good.”

  As much as I needed a break or a vacation, I never found the city relaxing, which Micah knew. Though at any other time, I would do it for him if it meant him actually saying yes to the recording gig he’d been offered. “I can’t leave. What if Moses shows up?”

  “Exactly. You think I don’t want to be here if Moses comes back? And I’m not leaving you. Not right now. There’ll be other albums. Plus, we are already shorthanded at the Green Violin and the farm. There are several interviews lined up over the next couple of days. I can’t leave Adrian to do them by himself. You know he’d just hire the cutest thing that walked through the door and not somebody who actually had a decent work ethic.”

  I pulled up close to him, choosing to be glad he wasn’t going to be gone, even if it meant I was selfish and should push harder. “Well, I can’t have that. I don’t need any cute men around you all the time trying to pull you away.”

  Micah didn’t give into the flirting. “I told you, Walden said he texted Moses a couple of times. That he answered. You should text him.”


  “Babe, just because your family came around… our family came around, quicker than I thought, doesn’t mean Moses is going to change. I’ll admit I’m a little surprised he’s willing to even talk to Walden, but if there was anybody he would talk to, it makes sense it would be Walden. Chances are he’s blocked my number. Or simply changed my name to the Devil or something.”

  “You’ll see. He’ll come back. I know it. Walden thinks so too.”

  I sighed, suddenly feeling tired. I didn’t want to argue, I didn’t want to speculate about Moses. He was on my mind all the time. I was driving myself crazy. At a time when I should be the happiest. In the week since Moses had left, things had gone better than I could’ve ever imagined. Well enough that Micah was able to say I told you so more than once. Though things were still tense with the family, and a little strange, I hadn’t lost anyone. Neither of us had. It was definitely going to take some time before everyone was used to it, probably take even longer until Micah and I were comfortable holding hands or acting like a couple in front of the rest of the family, but it would get there. We would get there. The only exceptions were Moses and Gilbert.

  “We’ve got about ten or fifteen more minutes before that pork loin is ready to come out and rest. Can we not talk about Moses or anyone else in the family? Just for tonight? Let’s just have dinner, watch TV and forget the world even exists.”

  Micah moved to stand in front of me, pressing me against the edge of the counter, and kissed me. His tongue caressing my lips, seeking entrance.

  I opened to him, growing hard instantly at the touch of his tongue on mine.

  His hand snuck between us and squeezed my cock. He broke the kiss, leaning back, squeezing again. “That’s all you want to do tonight? Eat, television, and forget the world? Personally I had a lot more fun options in mind.”

  I thrust against him, reveling in his body, even clothed. I relished how easy things suddenly were between us, how normal. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’d been worried, or at least concerned, that some of our fire would be lost when things were out in the open, no longer having that secret thrill. If anything, things were better. Freer. “What did you think I meant by forgetting the world exists?”