Free Hand (Irons and Works Book 1)

by E M Lindsey

  When he pulled back, he dragged his hand away from Derek’s face. ‘You ok?’

  Derek shrugged, his body going slack with a deep sigh and he rolled onto his back. Basil propped up to look at him properly as Derek struggled through his signs. ‘The meeting was long.”

  Basil reached out, rubbing his thumb gently over Derek’s wrist before pulling away. ‘Tell me.’

  Derek sighed. ‘I’m slow, sorry. Frustrating.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Basil insisted. ‘Please. I came here to help. Talk to me.’

  Derek licked his lips, then pushed his hands down onto the mattress and propped himself up, scooting back to lean against the headboard. He crooked one knee up, dragged a hand down his face, then finally met Basil’s gaze again. ‘There’s a lot of money. Almost three million in cash,’ he spelled the number out, and Basil’s eyes went wide. His parents had left a sizable inheritance, mostly from their life insurance policy, but nothing like that. Not even close. ‘More in property. He left it all to Sage.’

  At that, Basil felt himself make a noise—something of protest, maybe, or of sympathy. It got Derek’s full attention, and normally he would have been self-conscious, but not here. Not now. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Derek shook his head firmly, his eyes going hard. ‘I don’t want it. Sage wants us to use it to create a charity to help people like us. Homeless teenagers. It’s the only good thing we could do with that man’s legacy.’

  Basil felt the center of his chest go warm, and shit, he knew what that was. He might not have a lot of experience with love, but he was being bashed in the face with it. His fingers itched to form the sign, to place it against Derek’s softly beating heart because he deserved to know. But now was not the time.

  ‘He also left me a house,’ Derek carried on. His eyes closed a minute, like he was absorbing pain, or maybe old memories. ‘Remember that cottage by the lake I told you about? From my paintings?’

  ‘Yes,’ Basil replied.

  ‘He left that to me. I don’t know why, but Sage thinks we should keep it. Make it ours again. Make it something good.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ Basil asked.

  Derek looked at him for a long time, then a smile played at his lips. He didn’t answer straight away, instead reaching for Basil, drawing him forward and into a kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were a little clearer and a lot softer. ‘I think so. Would you go there with me someday? Stay a week?’

  ‘Yes,’ Basil said, because what other answer could he give. He would say yes to damn near anything Derek asked of him, without question.

  Derek swallowed thickly, then gathered Basil to his chest, and Basil didn’t hesitate as he let the other man pull him back down to the bed. He octopussed his arms and legs around Basil, pinning him there, and though Basil felt like he’d slept enough for the night, he allowed this moment to carry on for as long as Derek needed it to.

  18.

  The day of the funeral was tense. Basil went to breakfast with both brothers, and he could feel the silence between them as neither one of them bothered to communicate with each other. They got ready shortly after, but in the lobby, Basil watched as Sage stopped Derek with a hand to his chest.

  He couldn’t tell what was being said, but he knew they were arguing. When people started to stare, Basil realized it was getting kind of loud, but he made no move to stop them. After a beat, Derek wrenched himself away from Sage and stormed off, but before Basil could go after him, Sage stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  He held up his finger for Basil to wait, then began to type on his phone. I’m sorry. Derek’s not doing well, and I don’t think he should go to the funeral. It’s not going to do him any good. We need to get out of this city, and I told him he should go to our dad’s penthouse and finish signing off on what needs to be packed up and sold, and I’ll handle the service.

  Basil stared at the words and found he couldn’t disagree. Derek would hate it—only because he hated having control taken away from him, but Basil knew full well that attending the funeral wasn’t going to do him any good, wasn’t going to give him closure. The man was dead, and the only thing that would happen was Derek subjecting himself to the lies the community told about what a great man he was.

  Okay, Basil typed back. Order us a car and I’ll get him to go.

  Sage gave him a grateful smile, taking the phone back to do just that. Before Basil could walk away, Sage took him by the shoulder, then dragged him into a fierce hug. When he pulled away, Sage looked him directly in the eye and signed, ‘Thank you.’

  Basil gave him a stiff nod, then hurried out the automatic doors and glanced around for Derek. He assumed his boyfriend would have gotten further than the side alley, but he found Derek pacing, one hand in his hair, the other clenched into a fist. Basil approached slowly, not flinching when Derek looked up at him with fire in his eyes, his mouth set in a firm, angry line.

  He stopped pacing the moment Basil walked up, but he didn’t accept him into his arms the way he normally would. He put his palm out, then released his fist full of hair to sign, ‘Stop. Please, don’t.’

  Basil sighed, closing the distance between them, but respected Derek’s request not to be touched. ‘Your brother is right,’ he signed carefully, slowly, watching understanding and then anger dawn in Derek’s eyes. ‘You don’t need to go to the funeral. Go to the house. I’ll come with you and we can finish it together.’

  Derek shook his head, but Basil was pretty sure it wasn’t refusal, it was just the chaos swirling around his mind, and he desperately wished there was a way he could help soothe him. ‘I want,’ he started, but his hands just hovered there in the air between them.

  ‘I know,’ Basil replied. ‘I know, but it’s almost over. Sage ordered a car. It’s almost over.’

  Derek stared at him a long moment, then gave a stiff nod. When Basil reached for him again, he didn’t pull away.

  ***

  The silence was stony on the way to the penthouse, and he knew that was his own fault. He also knew how profoundly lucky he was that Basil wasn’t taking any of it personally and was still by his side. He didn’t try to communicate with Derek at all, instead keeping his hand in a firm hold, letting his thumb run soothing circles over his wrist.

  Derek kept his eyes fixated on the night bloom emblazoned across Basil’s forearm, and after a moment, he let himself reach over and touch it. The edges of the tattoo were fresh still and peeling a little, and the center skin was still raised around the lines. He traced them with the tip of his finger and let himself absorb just how important this ink was. They were tied together in a permanent way, and Basil didn’t seem afraid of it at all.

  Even after everything he’d been through, and the cruel people he’d known, he still trusted Derek enough for this. He still felt Derek was worthy enough to carry something of his for the rest of his life. Even if they didn’t work out, Derek would know he meant something to Basil once. Something important. He thought maybe, just maybe, if he leaned over right then and told Basil he was falling in love with him, he might get the same back.

  It wasn’t the right time, but he couldn’t help wondering if there ever really was one.

  Switching their positions, Derek took Basil’s hand and laid the back of it on his thigh, studying the lines of Basil’s palm. They were smoother than his own, and he had less callouses and a little more fat deposits at the base of his fingers. His skin felt so good under Derek’s rough fingertips, and he found himself wanting to strip Basil down and touch every single inch of his body with hands, with lips, with tongue.

  Their intimate time together was limited to their single night of mutual orgasms, and it had been enough, right up until this moment. Derek had been taking it slow for both their sakes, but he was ready for more. He fucking loved this man and he wanted to show him in more ways than one.

  When he finally glanced up at Basil’s face, Basil’s eyes were soft, but intense as they drank him in. His free hand lifted slowly
to his chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Derek couldn’t help his smile, in spite of the situation. ‘Nothing. I’m…’ He licked his lips and shrugged. He wanted to say he was happy, because in a way, he was. But he was afraid he didn’t have enough words to make himself understood and he didn’t want Basil to think there was anything superficial or light in this moment. He lifted his hand and traced his finger under Basil’s bottom lip, dragging it over his adam’s apple, feeling across his collarbone. ‘You’re beautiful. So beautiful.”

  Basil sucked in his breath, his cheeks going faintly pink, and he leaned in for a kiss. It had the promise of something deeper, hotter, the passion inside of him threatening to consume this moment if he let it. Instead he put a hand to Basil’s cheek and let the moment simmer gently in the background. There would be time for more. He just…he just had to do all this first.

  They reached his father’s building, a too-posh apartment he shouldn’t have been able to afford after being disgraced the way he was. But like any politician, he’d managed to claw his way up from the muck and remake himself because ultimately, no one cared about the fates of two gay boys who ran away from their good Christian father.

  Derek reached into his pocket and palmed the key to the lobby, then dug out his ID for the doorman who quickly gave him directions to the elevator. The keycard swipe got him to the top floor which led them to a short corridor. His father’s door was at the far end, and he felt his stomach twist as he put the key in the lock and stepped inside.

  The place was lit mostly from the floor to ceiling windows, and it didn’t smell musty the way it should have after three years of abandonment, but he supposed the cleaning services hadn’t stopped during his father’s convalescence. Derek had been power of attorney for two and a half of those three years, and he hadn’t known about this place, but he had ensured his father’s personal business was run as usual.

  He felt something ugly creeping up his spine—a sort of envy in a way, or maybe it was just fury that a man like Brian Osbourne had been subhuman and yet had lived with such luxury. Everything was new and shiny. He’d beaten his kids and driven his wife to an early grave, and he got to come home every night to a three-million-dollar penthouse. He’d never slept on a cold, concrete floor, belly empty, body filthy, unsure when the next time he’d eat.

  Derek let out a shaking breath, then jolted when he felt a warm hand touch the small of his back. He glanced over at Basil who was watching him carefully, and he gave a nod to let him know he was okay. It was a lie. He wasn’t okay. He was the furthest thing from okay. He was standing in his father’s home with no evidence that he’d ever existed. There were a handful of photos on the wall—his father meeting presidents, golfing, on a cruise ship with a blonde woman holding a pair of drinks, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. His bookshelves were filled with the classics he’d probably never read, his walls full of art he never bothered to appreciate. His bank account was filled with zeroes he’d amassed because his wife and children disappeared from his life and he only ever had to worry about himself. His liquor cabinet was full of the poison which eventually killed him.

  Derek broke away from Basil and walked to a closet door. He wrenched it open and found a set of golf clubs which looked well-polished and new. They’d probably seen courses Derek would never be able to afford, registered to country clubs who would turn Derek and Sage both away on appearance alone.

  He found his hand reaching for them, plucking one of the putters from the collection. It was heavy in his hand as he twisted his wrist, testing the balance. He moved away from the closet, to a tall shelf with the most important photos of Brian on display. One of him being sworn in years after Derek and Sage left. Another of him shaking the hand of the Secretary of State.

  He swung the golf club before he was aware he was doing it, not sure if the roar was coming from his chest or was in his mind. But he couldn’t stop himself. The rage was taking over, and the only thing he knew was the overwhelming pain that his father had ruined lives and destroyed his soul and had gotten to leave this earth without ever taking accountability for what he’d done.

  He could hear his father’s last words to him blaring in his head, so loud in his memory it made his ears ring. “You were fucking useless as a child and you’re even more useless now. I should have let your mother end the pregnancy before you even had a chance to take your first breath.”

  He was sobbing now, watching glass fall as the club made contact with figurines which crashed to the floor. The end of the club smashed into the face of the clock above the mantle, it hooked around the books in the shelf, sending them toppling to the floor. He crushed frames under his feet, tore at the curtains until the rod gave way and it all came crashing down.

  He wasn’t aware of when he’d dropped to the floor, or of when Basil had pulled the golf club from his fingers, but he came to with his hands pressed to the carpet, shards of glass cutting into his palms as his body was wracked with dry sobs. He didn’t fight Basil when his arms came around him, pulling him back, holding him like it was the only thing keeping it together—because it was.

  He knew there was no taking it back. He knew his father—dead or alive—didn’t deserve a single second of his energy, his rage, his sadness. But he couldn’t stop it. Now that the dam was broken, he was helpless against the flood. He turned, pressing his face into the crook of Basil’s neck and let himself cry. Real tears, real emotion, anguish for himself and knowing that nothing he did would take away his past. His father’s death didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He could probably move on now—he could let the past go and know that in the future, Brian Osbourne could no longer hurt him, but he would be forced to reconcile that the man had gone to his grave without a single second of remorse.

  Basil’s fingers drifted through his hair, and he was humming a tuneless, deep noise in his chest which brought Derek back from the edge better than anything ever had before. He pulled back enough to swipe his hand over his face, and then he looked up at Basil who was staring at him without judgement or fear or disgust. Just affection and worry, and it meant everything.

  When his hand lifted, fingers curled into a fist, Basil stopped him and shook his head. ‘Don’t apologize.’

  Derek was about to argue that he wasn’t going to, but he realized he had been, and he finally nodded, letting his hands drift back down to his lap. After a beat, he looked around at the carnage and found himself surprised he actually did feel a little better. ‘At least I can afford to have this place cleaned up.’

  That startled a laugh from Basil who shook his head and reached for Derek’s wrists. He pulled his hands up to survey the damage—superficial cuts, a little blood, but far less pain than even his kindest tattoo. ‘What now?’

  Derek sighed, shrugging. ‘I’m going to need to explain this to the agent coming by for me to sign papers,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t care.’

  Basil’s lips softened into a grin. ‘What can I do?’

  Derek shook his head, then dragged the tip of his finger across Basil’s jaw. ‘Nothing. You’re perfect.’ At the slight blush on Basil’s cheeks, he knew this was it for him. This was all he’d ever want, and he meant to do everything in his power to keep it.

  19.

  Collapsing on the couch, Derek wriggled and twisted until his head was firmly planted in Sam’s lap. Sam’s thighs had long-since atrophied, so what was left of the muscle was hard and stiff, but the comfort of being home and with someone he considered family was enough to soothe him. Especially when Sam gently put a hand through his hair and smiled down at him.

  “Was it seriously that bad?” he asked.

  Derek closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “Worse. I fucking lost it, man. We got to his penthouse and I started looking through shit, and when I realized he hadn’t bothered keeping any trace of me or Sage or my mom I just—I just went batshit on the place. I grabbed a fucking putter out of the closet and broke everything.”
r />   Sam jolted a little under him, and when Derek opened his eyes, he saw the guy staring down at him with a vaguely startled expression. “Der…”

  “I know,” Derek said. “I had a two-hour therapy session today to work through a lot of it, and I’m doing okay but…but fuck, man. This is going to take some time.”

  “You knew it would,” Sam reminded him gently, scratching at his scalp like he would a cat. “When you decided to take on his care, you told me yourself it was going to fuck you up in the end.”

  “I was hoping I’d find a way to forgive him,” Derek admitted. He turned to his side slightly and Sam’s hand dropped to the back of his neck. He wondered if other people got this kind of comfort from their friends and family. Or maybe he was just a freak. Maybe they all were. He realized even if that was the case, he couldn’t care less. “I told Leila today that I don’t want to forgive him.”

  “What did she say?”

  Derek shrugged. “She said I don’t have to, that people who are abused aren’t obligated to forgive their abusers, and that it’s not true that the only way to live a healthy life is if you can bring yourself to do that.”

  Sam’s mouth lifted into a grin. “I like her.”

  “Me too,” Derek said quietly. “If she wasn’t married, I might give her your number.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for dating right now, Der. And even if I did…” He trailed off, and by the tone in his voice, Derek realized he was keeping something back.

  Pushing up on his elbow, he lifted to sit and stared at his friend. “If you did?” he pressed.

  Sam shook his head, dragging both hands down his face with a groan. “It’s fucked up.”

  “Look man, unless you’re like in love with me or my brother which would be so weird…”