Wild Angels

by Bethany Brown

  In Patrick? “What do you mean?”

  “You saw him when he first got here. Jack, he was so—I don’t know. Tense. Miserable. And yeah, part of that was a through-and-through to the shoulder, and part of it was enforced exile until he recovered, and God knows we didn’t help matters much, at least not at first. But now?”

  Jack understood, even if Julian didn’t quite yet. “You haven’t seen him like this in a while, huh?”

  “Maybe,” Julian said very quietly, “maybe never.”

  Patrick lit up like a damn Christmas tree at the slightest mention of Brad’s name. And Brad—God, Jack didn’t know who it would be harder on when Patrick eventually had to leave. Jack had known Brad far longer than he’d known Patrick, and he’d never even known him to have a serious relationship with a woman, let alone with a man. They were both in for a world of hurting. He pressed a kiss to the top of Julian’s head, not having any words of comfort to give, and stared into the night.

  Jack knew the exact moment Julian’s eyes drifted closed. Gradually, his head slumped down further against Jack’s chest.

  Jack pulled the blanket up tighter and dropped another kiss to the top of Julian’s head. They had a lot to talk about, but it could wait a few minutes. He raised his coffee to his lips and took the last sip, and then he set the empty mug down on the porch. Closing his eyes, Jack tipped back his head and waited for the stars to come out.

  The slight rustle of bedsheets let Patrick know that Brad was on the verge of waking up, and he cursed inwardly. He had been hoping for a few more minutes of quiet contemplation at least. So much was going on in his head, it felt like the world was spinning out of control.

  Patrick wondered if he could manage to climb back into the bed without waking Brad. He doubted it, but it was worth a try. He knew they had limited time left, and he wanted it all to be perfect.

  “Patrick?”

  Shit. The best-laid plans. “Shh,” he said, sliding back under the covers. “Go back to sleep.”

  “The bed is cold,” Brad rejoined sleepily.

  Patrick could imagine the pout and resisted the urge to smile wistfully as something twisted inside his chest. “Sorry.” He curled his arm around Brad’s waist again, hating himself a little for needing the contact, and stroked the firm belly a few times for comfort. “That better?”

  Brad made a barely conscious noise of assent, leaning into the touch. “Why’d you get up?”

  “Bathroom,” Patrick lied, cringing. It was a good thing Brad was still mostly asleep. Even Patrick could tell the lie was unconvincing. The tone was too light, too casual, too forced. Any second now Brad would call him on it.

  Brad was quiet for a minute, his breathing deep, and Patrick dared to hope that he’d gone back to sleep, that they could have one more night with a specter hanging over their heads instead of an elephant in the room. Then Brad inhaled deeply and turned over, blue eyes fixing on Patrick’s in the darkness. “Okay, what’s up?”

  Patrick froze, swallowing hard. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. I know how much you like to cuddle.” Brad’s normally sweet, gentle tone was overlaid with something that sounded a lot like anger. The hair on the back of Patrick’s neck prickled. “And I know you well enough to know when you’re lying. You can either tell me what’s going on so we can fix it and go back to sleep, or—”

  He couldn’t help himself. “Or what?”

  Brad’s eyes narrowed. “Or you can let me go to bed angry.”

  Great. So he could have Brad either asleep and angry or awake and hurt. Patrick wasn’t liking his options much. He knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping either way. Ignoring the sinking sensation in his stomach, Patrick took a deep breath and practically begged, “Can it wait until morning?” At least then, even if he couldn’t sleep, he could have the night to himself to watch Brad’s chest rise and fall with every breath. At least then there was a chance, however small, that he would be ready to do what he had to when the morning came.

  Sitting up in bed, Brad leaned against the headboard. “Judging by how uncomfortable you are, I’m thinking not. You’re starting to worry me, Patrick. What’s going on?”

  Patrick wasn’t going to get out of a confession tonight. Sighing, he sat up, tilting his head toward the ceiling. It made it a little easier to keep his tone even if he didn’t have to look into Brad’s eyes when he was talking. “You aren’t going to like what I have to say.”

  “I pretty much figured that out on my own, thanks.” Brad picked at the bedspread. “Let me guess: it has something to do with the fact that you’re leaving in five days.”

  He should have known there would be no hiding it. “Of course it does.” They had known from the beginning that this—whatever this was—couldn’t last, that at the end of the month Patrick had to go back home, go back to work, get on with his life. It was just that he hadn’t counted on how big a part of his life Brad would become. Maybe Brad hadn’t counted on it, either. “I didn’t mean for this—us—–to happen when I came here,” he said. It was as close to an apology as he could get, because as much as this was going to suck, Patrick didn’t regret anything. “I was supposed to sit around on Julian’s couch for a month playing Mario Kart and teasing him about his boyfriend. You weren’t exactly in the cards.”

  “Sorry to spoil your plans.” Brad sounded bitter. Patrick didn’t like what it did to his voice and couldn’t even imagine being able to handle the expression on his face, so he didn’t look. “I didn’t exactly have you scheduled, either, you know.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” Patrick protested, curling away from him. God, he wanted a cigarette; his fingers were trembling. He clenched them into fists and pressed them into the maelstrom whirling in his stomach. “I don’t regret anything except having to leave you.”

  “Ah.” Patrick couldn’t help it—he looked, just in time to see Brad’s expression twist to match Patrick’s heart. “Would this be a literal or metaphorical leaving?”

  Patrick didn’t answer, not trusting his voice. Both—God, it was both, and he was such an asshole and such a coward, and nothing he’d done had ever been this hard.

  “I see.”

  Shoving the covers down with his feet, Patrick rolled out of bed and dug on the floor for his jeans. He couldn’t deal with this right now, couldn’t hear these words from Brad’s mouth, so far from what he needed to hear. He couldn’t deal with needing someone so badly, especially someone he’d only just met. Maybe in the morning, when he had a clear head, they could talk—maybe when Patrick had the perspective a few hours’ distance could give him, he would know what to do.

  “Where are you going?” Brad pushed himself into a sitting position. “Patrick?”

  Patrick struggled into his jeans, trying to ignore the tone of desperation in Brad’s voice. He managed to do up two of the buttons, but his hands were shaking too badly to finish. He didn’t bother, deciding to forego finding his shirt as well. Brad’s bedroom was suddenly too small, the walls closing in around him. Patrick had to get out of there as soon as possible, before one of them did or said something they’d both regret forever.

  “Patrick!”

  “It’s better if I go now,” he said bleakly, not turning around. He tried not to let his head droop, but it was no use; he felt utterly defeated, and he couldn’t help but show it. “The longer I stay, the harder it’s going to get.” It was already going to tear him apart.

  “What, so you’re giving up? Just like that?” Brad stood, obviously furious, but Patrick didn’t turn around. “I thought we had something worth fighting for, but I guess I was wrong.”

  Patrick felt the slice of the words like a knife across his heart. It killed him that he’d brought Brad to this, and hearing those words from Brad’s mouth hurt more than anything he’d ever thought possible. But if that was the way Brad felt about it, then there really was no point in staying any longer. He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

  “I’m sorry,” he whis
pered, and walked out.

  “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

  “Hmm,” Julian said sleepily, blinking his eyes open slowly as something brushed across his lips. His right side was cold, but he was comfortable and warm on the other side, and under his cheek Jack’s chest was moving up and down steadily. He snuggled in deeper.

  “You know, you are ridiculously hard to get into bed sometimes.”

  Julian heard the teasing in his tone and let a small smile form on his face. “I just wanted you to kiss me again.”

  “Well, if that’s all.” Jack obliged, longer and sweeter, with tongue this time. Julian just had to turn his body inward and snake his arms around Jack’s neck, sighing through his nose as Jack’s tongue slid wetly against his own. When they finally broke apart, Julian was practically in his lap, their foreheads leaned together. “You up to a trip inside anytime soon?”

  “I could be persuaded,” he said, stretching a bit before climbing down off of the swing, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. He pulled Jack up beside him, noting absently how much time had passed since they had collapsed on the swing. There was still no sign of the truck in the driveway; to be honest, Julian wasn’t expecting to see Patrick before the morning. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I am,” Jack said seriously, hindering any progress at approaching the door by draping himself over Julian like a second blanket.

  “Good deal. Do you think we could maybe get inside before we both get pneumonia?”

  Jack poked his chin into Julian’s shoulder and planted his hands on his hips. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “In the bedroom,” Julian teased. “Come on, let’s—oh, your hands are freezing. I think you just proved my point, because you are not touching me anyplace fun until those are warm.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Oh, you love me.”

  “Yeah. Yes, actually, I do.”

  “Sappy,” Julian accused fondly as the front door closed behind them at last. He heard Jack engage the lock.

  Jack took the blanket and tossed it haphazardly onto the couch as they passed. “I’m guilty of that too.” He laced his fingers with Julian’s and pulled him close. With their bodies pressed together like that, Julian could feel a tension in Jack’s chest that he was sure had nothing to do with the tightness in his pants. Jack feathered a kiss over his neck. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. I thought it could wait, but I was wrong.”

  Julian squeezed his fingers and turned around so that his back was to the stairs. It had to be something good—Jack rarely ever got this touchy. “So talk.” He grinned. “You can walk and talk at the same time, right?”

  Jack didn’t move. “I’m not going up there, Julian.”

  That gave him pause. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s taken me this long to get up the nerve to say something, and if I go up those stairs, I’m going to let you distract me.” Jack’s green eyes were serious in the moonlit kitchen. “I need to do this here.”

  Julian took his other hand too. “Okay.”

  Patrick pushed open the door to the house and walked inside silently, toeing off his shoes as he went. It was almost October now, but he barely felt the cold autumn night. He was numb, just going through the motions. He barely remembered the drive home and had no idea how he’d unlocked the door. It felt like there was a giant hole inside him where something once had been.

  There weren’t any lights on in the house, but he could just barely hear a low murmur coming from the kitchen. If he squinted, Patrick could see Jack and Julian outlined against the moonlight filtering in through the patio doors, almost indistinguishable from one another.

  Feeling more alone than he had in years, Patrick took a step forward involuntarily. For a second he wanted to interrupt, but then Jack’s low rumble cut into the night. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

  Something about the tone or the way Julian’s body language seemed to just soften all over set the hair on the back of Patrick’s neck on end.

  “Come on, this is kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.” He raised a hand to Jack’s face. Patrick took a step back again, feeling like an intruder in their house for the first time. His stomach wrenched.

  “Me, too, I hope,” Jack huffed. Patrick could see him leaning into the touch; then he reached up to take Julian’s hand, pressing a kiss against the palm. “You’re not going to make me do the one-knee thing, are you?”

  “That would just be embarrassing for both of us,” Julian teased. They kissed again, obviously slow and tender, and Patrick frantically tried to back away but couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot, an unwilling spectator of what was turning into an increasingly private moment. “Now hurry up and ask me so I can say yes.”

  There was a suspiciously wet-sounding laugh. “Marry me.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Julian said tenderly.

  There was more kissing, and more of everything else. Whatever spell had been holding Patrick in place broke, and he eased quietly away, managing to close the door to the bathroom behind him before the nausea overwhelmed him and he sank to his knees in front of the toilet, only to find that there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. He heaved a few more times, the convulsions making his head spin, and then his body relaxed and he slid down to lay on the floor. The ceramic tiles were cool against his sweaty body.

  Brad had been cold lying in bed without him there, Patrick remembered dully. Like Patrick was cold now, goosebumps rising on his chest and arms. He curled himself up, pressing his knees to his chest, trying to fill the gaping wound there, but nothing worked. He closed his eyes when he decided he’d rather not know why his vision was blurring. He was only partially successful, since he could still feel the moisture on his face.

  Seeing Jack and Julian together tonight had brought the reality of how lonely his life was crashing down around him. Patrick finally admitted to himself what had been missing from his life for years. He could no longer hide what he wanted from himself, couldn’t keep pretending to be satisfied with one-night stands or shallow flings.

  Not after Brad. Not after seeing, knowing what it would be like, watching Jack and Julian dote on each other as they did. The longer Patrick stayed here, the more he had to admit to himself that he wanted someone to come home to. He didn’t just want a roommate. He didn’t want just another warm body.

  He wanted Brad, and he couldn’t have him.

  Shakily, Patrick picked himself up off of the floor and washed his face with warm water. Then he crept down the hall to Jack’s office and slipped inside, sitting down on the well-worn piano bench. He pushed back the cover on the keyboard and ran his fingers over the smooth ivory keys. He hadn’t played since he’d been shot, but he could feel the instrument warming to his touch, welcoming him like an old friend. Without really thinking about it, he began to play, softly, filling the house with the strains of a classical sonata.

  Patrick had no idea how long he sat there, notes sighing into existence around him. Sometime after the first four bars, his hands stopped trembling and the calm came washing over him like a wave, but his throat still felt tight. He was still swallowing with difficulty after the entire first movement, but he forced himself to keep playing, caressing the keys. Beethoven filled the room with sound, but unlike the other times he’d been able to lose himself in the music, this time Patrick still felt alone.

  A warm brush against his leg made Patrick’s hands falter. He looked down to see Robot sitting beside him, her head on his knee, looking up at him with actual puppy-dog eyes. She whined pitifully.

  “I thought music was supposed to soothe the savage beast,” Patrick said, ruffling her ears. His voice sounded rough and foreign. Robot leaned into the touch. “Not make it drool all over my jeans.”

  Robot didn’t answer, but then, she was a dog. “Not a fan of Beethoven?”

  She whimpered again, pushing her ears against his hand. Her tail wagged a little, sweep
ing against the slightly dusty piano leg. Then she sneezed.

  “I’ll play Mozart next time,” he promised, wiping his hand on his already dog-goobered jeans. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired. “What do you say; is it about time to turn in?”

  Robot stood up, nosing his leg. Apparently, that was a yes.

  “You can’t sleep alone, either, eh?”

  Patrick let her lead him down the hallway and into his bedroom. Without further prompting, she hopped up onto the bed and started burrowing at the covers. When she had pushed them down far enough for him to get in, she stopped and looked up at him pointedly.

  Sighing, Patrick shucked his jeans and crawled under the covers, tugging them up as he turned to face the wall. He felt the mattress move as Robot turned around to get comfortable, finally settling with her back pressed up against his. A few minutes later, he heard the deep almost-snore of her breathing, and Patrick let go of the tension that had been keeping him upright for the last hour and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 18

  “Hey, have you seen Patrick?”

  Julian looked up from toweling off his hair and frowned. “You mean this morning?”

  “No, I mean yesterday.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Yes, I mean this morning.” He snatched the towel and used it to snare Julian around the waist, tugging him in for a kiss.

  “He’s not much of a morning person,” Julian confided, reaching around to try to grab the towel back. “Except for lately. I don’t think he’s been sleeping very well.”

  “He certainly hasn’t spent much time with Brad this last week. You’d think, with him leaving and everything….”

  The towel fell to the floor. “Uh-oh.”

  Jack paused in his perusal of Julian’s neck and stepped back. “Uh-oh?”

  “Yeah.” Julian grabbed his sweatpants off the floor, struggling into them as he headed toward the stairs. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”