Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “You should be ashamed of yourself and if you’re here out of anything other than the desire to mend ties, then you can just get out right this minute. You’re not welcome here. And if your father is strong enough to be out of hospital, after all, we’re talking months since the so-called story that apparently caused his heart attack was released, then he can come up to Maine and do his groveling himself.”

  For the first time, the pasty gray sludge of Caroline’s skin turns a normal color. “Are you going to let this… this maid talk to me like that, Zane? And you, Stefan? Are you just going to sit there, while this woman insults both of us?”

  “Get real,” I snarl. “You’ve offended Zane and his husband in every possible way and that’s just in the few moments I’ve been in the damn room. If you can’t defend yourself or your family’s actions without relying on someone else, then you need to grow a backbone. Either that, or think before you start verbally attacking other people. After all, you’re not in the south now. The name Jefferson-Matthews means nothing, nothing up here. You might think your blood’s better than mine, but you’re nothing more than a spiteful bitch who doesn’t deserve the brother she’s rejected for the last four years.”

  On that, I sniff and spin on my heel and walk at a strident pace out of the sitting room. My cheeks are burning hotly with the indignation unraveling in my veins. Perhaps I’ve just unraveled any possibility Zane had of sorting out the tangled mess of his relationship with his family, but I couldn’t just sit there and let that bitch annihilate the man I love.

  Who the hell does she think she is?

  Just one glance at Zane’s despairing eyes and I had to speak. Had to react. I couldn’t just let her think she had the right to say that, and in her brother and his husband’s house too. She needed some annihilation of her own and as I’d expected, without her poisonous barbs, she was incapable of answering me.

  Toxic bitch.

  Mouth taut, I return to my bedroom, and with nothing else to do, take a shower.

  Not the most rational of things to do, but hell, I’m sweaty after work, I stink of hamburgers and fried onions, and I need a blast of cold water to drag my temperature down a notch or two.

  Nobody, and I mean nobody, can come into my house, and speak to my men like that.

  I won’t stand for it.

  I’m not the pussy of old, shivering and jerking back from confrontation. I love those two guys, and I’ll do anything, anything within my power to protect them.

  Even if I have to stare Medusa in the face to do so.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the time I got out of the shower, I was whacked. Still in the damp towel I’d used to dry myself, I clambered on to the bed and slept. When I awoke, Jake and Zane were napping beside me.

  Zane’s hand was bridging mine. Curled on his side, his knees half-tucked against his body, it was almost like he wanted to be in a fetal position but even in sleep, he was too me-big-man-no-need-comfort to do so. At my back, for I was also on my side, Jake was plastered to me. I didn’t know how long they’d been there, but I’d started to use Jake’s arm as a pillow—hence the reason I’d awoken in the first place. A crick in my neck.

  That was the first indication that I hadn’t ruined everything for Zane. Either that or they’d forgiven me for yelling at the sister from hell.

  The second was when Zane’s eyes blinked open and even dazed with sleep, he looked at me with the most heartfelt emotion I’ve ever seen.

  A heart-tugging blend of love, gratitude, respect, and honor.

  Even though, far too often that day, I’d been on the brink of tears, moisture gathered at the back of my throat again at such a look. And the tears had eventually fallen when he’d raised our joined hands and pressed them to his lips.

  Life wandered on as it has a way of doing so, but the smooth road of the past was no more. We weren’t sure if Caroline had said something to one of the locals, but suddenly they knew about the supposed surrogacy. Save Meg bringing up our living arrangements that one time at my interview, a part of me had always wondered why the rest of the locals hadn’t questioned or found it peculiar. I’d just thought the people of Bayling Cove weren’t big fans of gossip rags. Fisherman Weekly, or whatever it is that fishermen read, being a more popular source of reading material. But where once there had been no problem, an issue soon appeared.

  Two weeks into my job at The Pike, Meg asked me to resign.

  I can’t deny I was hurt. Disappointed and offended. Downright insulted, even. But there had been no malevolence in her eyes, nothing mean. I could tell she’d regretted the need to have to let me go.

  With a shrug, she’d said as much. “Folks round here, well, accepting Jake and Zane was difficult for some of these guys—they’re real old-fashioned up in these parts. But to think that you’re sleeping with them, that you’re trying to have a baby for them…?” She’d shaken her head. “It’s too much and I’ve had complaints. I’m sorry, I can’t afford to upset my customers.”

  She’d handed me the equivalent of a month’s wage and even though I didn’t need the money, I was pissed off enough to accept it.

  Because my private life and that of Zane and Jake’s is just that. Private. It has nothing to do with anybody else and never will.

  I think, in many ways, Caroline and the dim-witted narcissist that is her husband, as well as the disapproving town gave us an example of what being together truly meant.

  As soon as anyone came within an inch of being aware of what our relationship really was, we’d be ostracized.

  It could have pushed us apart, might have done if we weren’t all, in our own way, slightly reclusive. Not hermit-like, but not fans of big crowds, or of being in the center of the community. As it was, Jake and Zane had never had all that much to do with the town, but I had. I’d liked the idea of being here, in this small cove with the generous folk who inhabited it. I’d met people at the café, people who I’d believed, with time and with whom, I could be friends. The entire situation knocked it back completely.

  I stopped using the local stores and took over the weekly shop. The bag of groceries that appeared once a week, started to come three times. Bringing with it everything we needed from the nearest town, Brunswick.

  I got accustomed to being the filling in a Jake and Zane sandwich and I loved every moment of it, but I knew things, no matter how settled we all were, weren’t one-hundred percent right.

  Zane and Jake still hadn’t slept together.

  And considering there were very few moments where I wasn’t in the house or nearby, there was no way they could have sneaked off for a quickie.

  Anyway, Zane knew I was intrigued at the idea of watching the pair of them, so I saw no reason for them to try to hide that part of their relationship from me.

  For three weeks, we lived that way and then two things happened.

  Jake was called back to Europe. He had to fly into Copenhagen to tie up the Rousset-Bi case, finalizing the details of how the museum had been broken into and how Rousset’s goons had managed to pull the wool over the security guys as well as the local police’s eyes. He then had to ship in to Paris, still on the Rousset-rehoming case.

  At the same time, Zane’s family made contact again. I’m not sure who out of the three of us, was more surprised.

  Nothing had been said regarding my outburst that afternoon. My heartfelt defense of Zane had changed our status quo, and in more ways than one. I’d admitted to myself that I loved Jake. That no one could be allowed to hurt him or Zane if I was in earshot. Love is a strange, old thing. I can’t say it has appeared out of nowhere, nor can I say it was always there. But I do love them both.

  It’s strange loving two people. In a way, you’re putting yourself out there to be doubly hurt. But, on the other hand, there is double the protection. I might feel segregated as I’m the newest member of this little household, but I know that I bring something to each of the guys. I give them something only I can provide, just as they do
the same for me.

  The three of us seem to have grown ever closer since that day, even though my feelings for the pair of them have gone unspoken.

  I think that’s why, even though I insulted his family, Caroline and her spouse, Zane has decided to take me with him for this, the first hesitant meeting between him and his father.

  Am I uncomfortable at the idea of coming face to face with the people who have destroyed Zane’s self-worth?

  No.

  Am I pissed off at them?

  Yes.

  In fact, I’m going to have to hold my tongue, especially when it comes to meeting his horrid parents.

  How they could do that…? How they could sever the ties to such a good and decent man is beyond me.

  I know, coming from me that is peculiar. What have I done if not permanently sever the links between myself and my family? After all, I don’t know if my mother or father are alive or dead.

  But Zane didn’t come from an abusive background. He was the apple of his parents’ eyes. Probably spoilt and over-indulged because of that fact, but nevertheless, he went from hero to zero, and all because of their antiquated prejudice.

  There’s no place for that in today’s society. Oh, I know that seems like an idealistic viewpoint. After all, homophobic crimes occur every day in countless places around the States, but this, to outright shun their son? I don’t care if it is a common occurrence. It isn’t to one of my men.

  Even though the only flights I’ve ever been on, I traveled First Class, I still can’t get used to the luxury of it. I’ve seen clips of economy flights. Cramped seating, people sitting on top of each other like chickens in battery farms. And this is the complete antithesis of that.

  Space, not the final frontier in this instance, but still, I have ample leg room, a padded, leather seat, and with the running drinks service that comes as part of the ticket price, I can use a bathroom that is a thousand times better and bigger than the quarters I used to have in my old home. It’s amazing what you can do with a space smaller than a coffin.

  Apart from the awe I still find in most aspects of First Class, the flight down to New Orleans was uneventful. We slept mostly, because it was late and the flight ran over into the early hours. For a little while, the pair of us watched a movie, my head on Zane’s shoulder, before we fell asleep. The contact felt good and even though we’d only parted from Jake that evening, with him boarding a plane for Europe on the same day and at the same time as us, I felt his absence.

  That’s what happens when you’re with someone for nearly twenty-four hours a day for a few weeks.

  You get used to them being there, accustomed to always being able to call on them when you need them.

  In a way, it’s worse than having to do without Zane that first time, when he went searching for Jake after the publication of our so-called surrogacy story in the press. What I felt for Zane then is nothing in comparison to what I feel for the pair of them now.

  In fact, it’s rather frightening. The depth of emotion that can and does grow with time is a testament to what we will all be like, if our unit endures.

  That might sound negative. If. And not when. But I’ve learnt not to take things for granted and if you do, usually you pay the price of being optimistic. I prefer to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground. It means when disaster strikes, you can cope with it. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t appreciate my apartment burning down alongside every possession I’ve ever had as well as memorabilia that I’ll never get back. But after a good cry, I got on with it.

  That’s what happens when you escape an abusive household.

  You take each day as it comes and plan ahead to another time, when you can be free.

  Would I say that my parents’ relationship affects my own? Probably. I don’t think that Zane or Jake would ever beat me, so in that sense, it doesn’t. I’ve managed to find two men who are pretty damned honorable. Maybe this relationship isn’t the most orthodox and to many in the outside world, is probably repulsive. Lacking honor of any sort.

  But I know differently.

  This unit was founded on love. Jake’s love for Zane and my love for him too. Now, however, it’s developed into a three-pronged bond. Not that Jake’s said the words to me yet, but, guys don’t, do they? And hey, I haven’t told him how I feel for him either. That will come with time.

  Even Zane who has only said it the once, prefers to show rather than tell me he loves me.

  And Jake is the same. I’m finding that where the old adage ‘actions speak louder than words’ is concerned, it’s pretty damn right.

  Words can be thrown aside, dismissed.

  Actions can’t.

  Jake, for example is the first one up. Without an alarm, getting out of bed before nine is difficult for Zane and me, regardless of our past where early mornings were the norm.

  Even though I no longer work, no longer have any responsibilities, a steaming cup of coffee is always beside the bed, the aroma drifting up our nostrils as Zane and I awaken.

  He’s never there. Never says good morning. But the coffee cups are.

  Prior to our awakening, Jake was thinking about us. He took the time to prepare another pot of coffee and to bring it upstairs.

  It’s a small thing, something Jake would probably dismiss as nothing. In fact, as soon as he does it, he probably disregards it entirely and gets on with whatever he has to do that day. But to me, to a person who has learnt to expect little to no kindness from men, it’s huge.

  And Zane’s just the same.

  He isn’t touchy feely, a product of his home environment and Christ, what a lark that must have been if his sister is anything to go by. But even so, he nurtures this developing part of my nature. This affectionate side that has never before been encouraged and I love that. I really do.

  Maybe I should have leapt at the opportunity to join the Mile High Club. Maybe I should have had my wicked way with him, but the pair of us are tired, and personally, I’m not looking forward to the family reunion.

  How Zane feels, I don’t know. I imagine he’s nervous, and I can’t imagine how he’s going to introduce me to the fold.

  A part of me wonders why I didn’t go with Jake, that would have been no hardship. Hell, I’d have relished visiting Copenhagen and returning to Paris afterwards. Instead, I get to meet the Bigots from the Garden District.

  Yay. I think not.

  As much as I dread meeting them all, I’m glad I’m here for Zane. I think his family is his Achilles’ heel. I just can’t imagine anyone else speaking to him the way Caroline did, and actually getting away with it.

  By the time we disembarked from the plane, it was the early hours of the morning. New Orleans International was as busy as if it was two in the afternoon. It was a relief to get the hell out of there and be on our way to the Garden District where the Jefferson-Matthews lived.

  In the dark, even though N’awlins is a party place, there’s not all that much to see. Flashing lights illuminate the immediate sky above the buildings they’re advertising, a florescent glow encompassing it. Away from the main streets, they’re all that can be seen. Billboards advertise the regular stuff, local and national chain stores, but there are the unusual, like barbecue sauces and a few local restaurants that I’ve seen on TV a time or two. But nothing outrageous.

  No voodoo shops with a buy-one-get-one-free offer on gri-gris.

  Although I never really believed that.

  Grinning at the thought, I look over at Zane, and in the glare of the dash, I can see the tension on his face. It seems that ever since we’ve got together, mishap after mishap has occurred. I kind of wish that we could all lead regular lives for a little while. No house fires or journalistic attacks or painful family reunions.

  Maybe the life we’re choosing rejects the average and attracts the unusual.

  By the sheer addition of another member to the unit, I guess that’s an extra set of troubles and issues.

  The thought brushes upon so
mething that has occurred to me of late, but I’ve not had the chance to talk about it with either guy. “Jake never mentions his parents. Why is that, Zane?”

  The question has a frown flickering over his brow. “The same could be said for you. You’re hardly vocal about your home life.” He shakes his head, the gesture loaded with sorrow. “Jake’s parents are dead. They died in a car crash two years ago. Alex and Laura were a genuinely lovely couple in comparison to my parents. They accepted Jake. Warts and all. Me, too.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “It was a damn shame. Such a waste. A drunk driver swerved into their lane and they careened off road. Hit a tree.

  “Jake still can’t talk about it. It doesn’t help that the bastard wasn’t really punished. Community service, had to join an AA group, suspended sentence, and he lost his license. Nothing in comparison to what Alex and Laura suffered.”

  “Oh, God. Poor Jake.” My voice breaks at the idea of Jake’s silent suffering.

  Zane is gruff as he mutters, “Yeah. It was hard for a long time, but we made it through.”

  “I’m glad I asked you rather than him.”

  “Yeah, he’s better but I don’t think he’ll ever get over their deaths. It was so unnecessary. So futile.”

  As I bite my lip, out over the highway, cars interweave their way into different lanes in smooth maneuvers. Lights glare and flash, signs blink and flicker and through it all, I wait for what’s coming.

  “When I looked you up, I got an idea of your background.”

  “What? From the hospital records?” There’s no tension in my voice. I came to term with my abusive home life a long time ago.

  “Yeah. Some of it. You or your mom?”

  “Mom. For the most part, he left me alone. He wasn’t averse to chastising me with his fists, but he focused his anger mostly on her. He didn’t like me to be too happy, and enjoyed making my life a misery.”

  His hand shifts from the wheel and onto my lap. He squeezes and I let him comfort me as I turn my head to the side window. “Nothing—” He sucks in a breath. “—sexual?”