First Priority

by Este Holland

  “You have no peace.”

  His green eyes, bright in the morning sun, met mine. “Exactly.”

  “Look, we have weeks ahead of us to get to know each other. We can go at your pace.”

  His eyes turned glassy, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he reached for my hand. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  We went to clean up the breakfast dishes, and Adam looked at the toast triangles. “You didn’t eat any?”

  I shook my head. “Too many carbs.”

  He frowned, and said in a careful voice, “You’re in great shape.”

  “Yeah. Because I don’t eat carbs.” I smiled to soften the words, but he wasn’t fooled. “Obesity, and all the health issues that come with it, runs in my family.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded and started the hot water. “Both sides, actually.”

  “But you’re healthy, right? I mean like cholesterol, and blood pressure, and all that?”

  “Sure. Now,” I muttered.

  “Good.” He smiled and bumped my arm. My thoughts wandered to the past, and what Adam would say if I told him who I used to be. He wouldn’t care. But it was hard to let people see that part of me. Daniel knew. I hadn’t shown him, but I’d told him some of it. Angela knew the basics in case it ever got out. That was it.

  “I understand you more than you know, Adam.”

  He looked up from drying a dish. “About what?”

  “Your anxiety.” I concentrated hard on scrubbing dried egg off a plate. “I haven’t had the same experiences as you, except maybe with your stepbrother, and I don’t have anxiety, but I had…problems in the past.”

  “My stepbrother,” he said to himself. “You mean bullying?”

  I nodded once, feeling my cheeks heat, and attacked the frying pan.

  Adam shifted to kiss my shoulder and laid his head on it. “You can tell me whatever you want, or nothing at all.”

  I soaked up his warmth and filled my lungs, letting the air out slowly. “I think I want to, but later, yeah?”

  “Let’s go find something fun to do.”

  I smiled and kissed him, loving that he was there with me. This had been the right call.

  Chapter 15

  Fun Is a Boat Ride and Pub Grub

  Adam

  Truman sailed us to the mainland, and I loved it. I wanted to spend more time out on the water with the sun and wind on my face.

  “So, this is Westport?”

  “Yep. My ancestors are from here. Well, on my dad’s side. My mom’s side is from Northern Ireland. What about you?”

  “Oh, uh, I’m not sure exactly. I think we’re a mix of different Celtic backgrounds.”

  Truman took my hand as we walked off the dock. Marcel was close by with the car, and we got in.

  “How is everything, sirs?”

  “Great. How’s it going here?”

  “Satisfactory.”

  Truman grinned and they talked about someone named Brian and his pub.

  I’d brought my laptop to send some emails. Truman told Marcel to take us to a small building, painted bright purple, that housed a library and a post office. Marcel parked and we went inside. I got the password and logged into their Wi-Fi and emailed my dad, Jeff, Jay, and Dante, my editor. Dante had my next book, and I told him I’d only be reachable a few times a week for the foreseeable future.

  In the meantime, I’d write and make my book cover and some graphics for ads. Truman checked in with his team on his phone. He laughed and showed me a picture Daniel had sent. Riley, outside on the beach in his customary suit with a white stripe of sunscreen on his nose, glaring at the camera.

  “Looks like they’re having more fun than you thought.”

  “I hope so. Daniel needs a break.”

  When we were done, we walked out and waved at Marcel, but decided to explore on foot.

  “How’s everything going at home?” I finally asked.

  “It’s getting there. Angela said there are still a few paps hanging around your—Chad’s building, but not as many. And she’s still getting questions about us, but she keeps deflecting. I think by the time we return, it’ll have died down.”

  I blew out a breath. “Good.”

  There were small shops for tourists, and when I asked, Truman told me about the holy mountain, Croagh Patrick, and how people walked it on pilgrimage. I was enraptured by the story and bought a few local books about the history there.

  We stopped at Brian’s Pub for lunch. It was an old building, and Truman said it had been in their family for generations. It was hard to wrap my head around that kind of history. We walked in to the yeasty smell of beer and frying oil. The bricks in the walls and floors were mismatched gray and brown. There were faded rugs under the tables, and pictures all around the walls. The bar was the focal point. It had seen many people leaning against it and spilling drinks on the surface.

  “Adam, this is my…what, third cousin? Brian McCamish.”

  Brian laughed at Truman’s description and rounded the bar. Instead of a handshake, he wrapped me in a bear hug. He was a handsome man with large biceps good for lifting kegs of beer, I imagined. He was around the same age as Truman with smile lines around his mouth and eyes. The dark blue was similar to Truman’s, and his black curly hair was cropped short.

  “Where’s your da?” Truman asked as we settled at the bar.

  “Pulling in the fishing lines from this morning. Ma’s at the Manor.”

  “The Westport House,” Truman said to me. “It’s a famous manor around here.”

  “Oh, cool.”

  “We can go on a tour, but we have to be careful.”

  “Most of the locals don’t give this ’un a hard time, but the tourists…you understand,” Brian stated.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “So, you’re this ’un’s special someone, then?”

  I blushed and looked at Truman. He grinned, the bastard.

  “He is,” Truman said, putting me out of my misery. “Though, it’s very new.”

  “I can see that. He’s never brought anyone here but his friend. How’s Danny boy, then?”

  “He’s good. He’s at my house in Malibu. Just got back from Dubai.”

  “Now there’s a restless soul, if ever I met one.”

  Truman nodded thoughtfully and nudged me to order what I wanted.

  I had fish and chips, since it was a pub special, and Truman had shrimp and avocado salad. I drank water while Truman gave in and had a Guinness with Brian and Marcel. Marcel tried to do his vanishing act again, but Brian wouldn’t let him.

  I liked Brian a lot. He was well-read and knew about the politics of Europe. He didn’t speak ill of anyone but had a lot to say about the area and the peoples’ lives there.

  I hadn’t seen Truman bashful until Brian’s mother, Helen, came in and smothered him in hugs and praise. She was a large woman with a shelflike bosom, full of life and laughter. Her hair, once black like her son’s, wild with curls, was tucked up in various pins and barrettes.

  “Here he is, then!” Helen came to me and gave me a hug much like her son had.

  “Me?”

  “Surely! Marcel told us about ya.” She turned to Truman. “Son, you know the newest McCamish was named Truman?”

  “What? Really?” Truman’s grin grew until he shone with joy. “That’s amazing. I’m honored.”

  “Ah, well, we all hold you very highly ’round here.”

  “Thank you.”

  I smiled at how touched he was. He was still the same confident man I’d met at the Bissou, but he wasn’t the center of attention here because people wanted something from him, even if it was just to be seen. Here it was because they’d missed him and loved him. He soaked it up. I didn’t hear anyone even mention his Oscar win.

  Before, he’d been arrogant. Here, he was happy. That arrogance was still there under the surface. He needed it to be who he was among the millionaire producers and directors. They’d ha
ve eaten him alive long ago otherwise.

  As the afternoon wore on, I had a good time, despite the crowd. Their lyrical accents made me smile, and no one cared that I didn’t talk much and that I stayed by Truman’s side when he wasn’t being hugged by someone.

  Helen kept patting me on the leg.

  “Thank you for stocking the kitchen, Mrs. McCamish. I loved your soup.”

  She glanced at Truman, and said, “Oh, aren’t you a sweet boy.” She grabbed my face and turned my head down to kiss the top of my hair. “Best be careful, son. I’ll get rid of Mr. McCamish for you.”

  Truman and Brian laughed when I blushed. Truman put his arm around me and kissed my temple.

  “They don’t mind gay people here?” I whispered in Truman’s ear.

  “Some do, just like in the States. But not many will mess with the McCamishes.”

  Truman

  Adam was having a good time. At least, I thought he was. It was hard to tell, but he smiled often. The tourists were coming in, and the Irish music they expected to hear got louder, so I paid for most everyone’s drinks and food, and Brian shook his finger at me. I waved and said good-bye to some, but we slipped out before I was recognized.

  I didn’t get recognized often in Westport—people weren’t expecting to see me in a small Irish village—but every now and then, someone was brave enough to ask. So far, I’d been able to keep this haven a secret. It wouldn’t last forever, but I could hope.

  “Were you okay in there? If you ever need to leave a place because it gets too much, you can tell me.”

  Adam gifted me with a sweet, shy smile. “Thank you. It was good. I like them. Brian especially. There’s something solid and trustworthy about him.”

  “He’s my favorite relative.”

  “I’m glad you have this here with them. It’s a special place.”

  “It is.” We began to walk. “Tell me about your family.”

  Adam told me about his mother’s adultery and the sister he never saw, his stepmother, and of course, Chad. “His friends tortured me at school, but he was just as bad at home. I practically lived with my friends. We were in clubs together.”

  “And your dad didn’t do anything?”

  Resigned, Adam shook his head. “He always believed Chad over me. Chad would say his friends always ragged on each other and they were only trying to include me, but I was too sensitive.” He grew quiet, then said, “Dad doesn’t like that I’m gay. He’s never said anything mean or done anything to me; it’s just that look, you know?”

  “I know. I’ve seen it when I talked about guys with my mom.”

  “Your dad doesn’t care?”

  “I think he might be bi. He’s never said so, but there was a sort of recognition in his eyes when I told him.”

  “It would’ve been nice of him to tell you, so you wouldn’t have felt so different.”

  I smiled. “You have the sweetest heart.”

  Adam ducked his head, and I tucked him under my chin as we stood on the Old Bridge and watched the river. The scent of flowers filled the air and the birds and bees flitted around, looking for whatever they could find.

  We had to run inside the church when it began to rain, and Marcel came and fetched us with the car. I didn’t want the day to end, but I couldn’t wait to be alone with Adam at the house.

  “Can we ride around in the boat a little?”

  Or not. I was finding it very difficult to deny Adam anything. Not that he asked for much, or anything, really.

  “Of course.”

  He gave me his sweet smile again, the one reserved for me. At least I hoped it was. It fit. My God, it fit him so well. When we’d met, I’d backed him into a corner, trying to order him around like any other person, and he’d put me in my place. But underneath that spine of steel, he was kind and tenderhearted.

  Fucking hell, I wish he hadn’t had to face his troubles all alone. But that was his life; it was what made him and brought us to this moment, so maybe I didn’t hate it that much. I wanted him happy and safe.

  The rain had stopped, but more would follow. It always did. I made sure we had rain gear and waved Marcel off after he helped me untie the dock lines.

  “Go sit in the front chair.”

  Adam bit his lips and looked between the chair at the bow and the one behind me. I winked and nodded. He slipped a bit on the wetness as I got us underway, but he kept hold of the side, slid into the chair, and buckled the belt around his waist. He lifted his arms when I sped up and took us farther out into Clew Bay. The water was deeper out there, bluer. I couldn’t go too far, but the bay was safe enough.

  Once past the smaller islands, I sped up again until Adam’s hair whipped around, and the wind snatched his voice out of the air. He was laughing, lit up with joy. I slid my phone out and took a few pictures. He looked for me, and I zoomed in, capturing his green eyes with the scenery behind him.

  I brought us around and headed toward my island, slowing the speed. Adam came to me and encircled my waist from behind. He kissed the top of my spine under the collar of my black fisherman’s sweater and snuck a hand under the hem. I grinned wide but kept my eyes on what I was doing. I docked and jumped out to tie the lines, showing Adam how to as well. I promised I’d teach him how to sail the boat while we were there. It was a good idea, anyway, just in case.

  “Can we swim?”

  “We can. It’s a bit cold, though.”

  I’d had a small beach made on the side of the south dock, so once outfitted in swim trunks, we walked to the sand. Adam dug his toes in and sighed in bliss.

  “I love that you love the water as much as I do.”

  Adam’s eyes found mine, and he smiled. “Me too.” He stepped a toe in the water and grimaced. “Cold.”

  I laughed. “Come on.” I bent and splashed some water on my arms and legs, then walked out, careful of rocks. I showed him where to step, and soon we were deep enough to float.

  “So, c-cold.”

  “Poor baby.” Adam scowled at my grin. “Come here.”

  I lifted his hips in the water until he wrapped his legs around my waist. My feet touched the silty ground, so I stood us up and rubbed my hands up and down Adam’s back. We kissed a few times, but he kept glancing around.

  He blushed when I raised a brow. “I’m afraid of people taking photos of us again. I know no one’s out here, but…”

  I looked out over the water. I didn’t see anyone, but he was right. If someone had a telephoto lens or a drone, we’d be seen. I hated that he already had that awareness after being around me. I gazed into his eyes and kissed him slow and tender, dipping my tongue in to taste his every few seconds.

  “Let’s go inside. You’re turning purple.”

  We stepped out carefully, dried off, and walked to the house hand-in-hand. Adam took a long shower to warm up, and I boiled water for tea. I didn’t drink it that often, but it always seemed the thing to do in Ireland.

  Adam came out in soft black pants, one of my sweaters that was too big, and another pair of my local-made wool socks.

  I was smiling like an idiot when he stopped and tilted his head to look at himself.

  “Do I look ridiculous?”

  “No. You look adorable.”

  “It smells like you.”

  My dick twitched hard enough that I had to shift my hips.

  He smirked, the little tease, and climbed onto the couch with one of the books he’d bought, and I gave him his tea.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I kissed his cheek and sat. He put his legs in my lap and I stared out over the bay as he read. After a while, I picked up the script Kelly had sent with me and began to read as well.

  Adam transitioned from reading to writing on his laptop, oblivious to everything else. I got up to start a quick dinner. It smacked me in the face as I seared steaks, the domesticity of the evening. Both of us relaxing and working, not having to fill the silence with small talk.

  I liked it.
Loved it, in fact. Would I be so lucky to have this for the rest of my life? Because it was becoming clearer with every passing hour that this was what I wanted. He was my happy ending.

  Chapter 16

  It’s Not so Scary

  Adam

  I fell asleep on the couch after dinner, with my head pillowed on Truman’s leg and his fingers in my hair. Eventually he roused me, and we went to bed. I snuggled right up to him, one leg between his, and he accepted me wholeheartedly. There were no awkward advances, no wandering fingers trying to get my dick hard, or pushing on my head to give him a blowjob.

  It was, in a word, freeing. He let me be myself. I wanted to have sex with him. It was killing me not to, but he was right. I needed to go at my own pace, not rush into it to prove something to myself, or to make him feel desired. I fell asleep with a smile.

  The following day, I was making good progress on my next book when Truman popped up over my shoulder.

  “Can I read what you’re working on?”

  I hid my screen. “No way! I never let anyone see until it’s done.”

  He scoffed. “I’m not anyone.”

  I sighed through my nose. “I’m aware. It’s not you, it’s anyone.”

  He frowned. “I want you to feel comfortable with me.”

  I gaped. “I do. I just said, it’s not about you.”

  “Feels like it,” he muttered on his way to the kitchen.

  I set the laptop on the coffee table and followed. “You’re sulking.”

  He whirled around. “I am not.”

  “You are. Not everything is about you.”

  “I know that!” Truman’s face mottled as his voice rose. “I just wanted to exchange ideas or something.” He waved a hand in the air. “I was going to ask your opinion on the script I was reading. But if you want to keep things so secretive, then fine. Forget it.” He slammed the cabinet he was searching in.

  “Fine!” I went out the front and slammed the door behind me. “Jerk.” I walked to the dock, staring out at the bay.

  My anger was swept away with the wind, and I chewed on my lip. It had been a short fight. Not even a fight, more of a tiff. But one thing became crystal clear. I hadn’t panicked. I wasn’t worried Truman would hate me or abandon me.