by Carrie Davis
Lincoln was beautiful; there was no other way to say it. He was over six feet of muscle, rock hard and deliciously defined with golden skin that was smooth and warm. He didn’t look like a man whose career kept him chained to a desk for endless hours. He reminded Drake of a male model right from the pages of GQ.
The glow from the fireplace warmed them as Lincoln shrugged out of his shirt, finally allowing Drake to see chiseled abs and powerful arms. His long legs were still encased in jeans, but Drake had no doubt they were powerful, just as powerful and beautiful as the rest of the man looking at Drake with desire burning in his eyes so intensely Drake could hardly draw in a breath seeing it.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.”
With a smile, a real smile that made his eyes crinkle, Lincoln tossed aside his shirt and stepped into the arms Drake opened for him.
“Drake...”
“Just kiss me again, Lincoln. Please. Let me taste you.”
He moved his hands to cup the older man’s face, feeling the five o’clock shadow stubble scrape the palms of his hands and that aroused him more.
Coffee.
He clearly remembered it. Lincoln had tasted like coffee.
Rich, warm, expensive coffee.
Blinking the memory away and cursing himself for having indulged in it at all, he looked up as the side door leading into the courtroom opened and tension settled in every muscle at the sight of Jeffrey Shipman being ushered quietly into the room.
He was in a suit, an ugly gray, and his blond hair had been chopped short, to give him an aura of respectability but his eyes were still hard and cold and laced with anger and hate.
The same hate that had driven him the night he beat Nelson to death.
The D.A had painted it as a hate crime and it had been just that.
Letters found in Shipman’s apartment had made it clear that he was a bigot, that he especially hated homosexuals, and his killing Nelson had been premeditated.
Watching as Shipman was taken to his seat, the handcuffs removed from his wrists, Drake wondered what Nelson would say about his killer.
Knowing Nelson, he would want people to forgive the bastard.
He had never been as forgiving as Nelson and he never would be. He knew he wasn’t alone in feeling that way.
The courtroom was packed with people who had loved and respected Nelson Bradshaw.
Shipman’s lawyer leaned over to say something to him and Shipman nodded, looking cool and calm.
Drake hated him.
For a moment, he almost wished the man dead, which made what happened next all the more eerily surreal.
Sitting in his seat, watching Shipman talk to his lawyer, Drake didn’t pay much attention to the man who walked slowly past him, but later he would realize he had seen the young man before.
Noah Walker.
Another kid, no more than seventeen, that Nelson had been trying to help right before Shipman killed him.
Later, Drake would be able to compare himself easily to the angry but silent young man who walked to the front of the courtroom and calmly called Shipman by name. When the smug bastard turned and looked, Noah Walker easily pulled a gun from his jacket pocket.
Without hesitation, he fired his gun four times and each shot struck Jeffrey Shipman.
Two bullets to the head.
Two bullets to the heart.
Shipman was dead before he hit the ground.
Walker allowed his gun to fall to the floor. As the room erupted into panic, he lifted his arms and held them directly above his head, allowing three uniformed police officers to tackle him to the ground.
There were screams, shouts, police everywhere suddenly, and people calling for medical help even if it was obviously too late.
Standing, Drake watched everything unfold as if he were in a dream that turned cold when he saw Shipman on the floor, covered in blood, and he felt sick at the sight when a hand suddenly came to rest on his arm and he looked to see Lincoln.
“Let’s get out of here. You don’t need to see this.”
Numbly, Drake nodded, following Lincoln from the room, needing to escape the sights and sounds, the smell of blood, and the nagging guilt that came with the realization that seeing Jeffrey Shipman dead didn’t upset him as much as it should.
Chapter Two
Lincoln
Drake didn’t say much on the cab ride back to his apartment and Lincoln didn’t push him. He knew what they had just witnessed was a shock. He could hardly believe it himself and he had no doubt the sight of Jeffrey Shipman dying was an image neither he nor Drake would ever be able to put from their minds.
For Lincoln, it was just one more horrific image to keep company with those that already occupied his nightmares, but he felt sorry for Drake.
Until today, Drake had never seen a man die.
The man sitting beside him had certainly never taken a life, but Lincoln couldn’t say the same.
Casting a glance at Drake, who stared aimlessly out the window as the familiar city sights passed slowly, he wanted to say something to comfort him, to reassure him, but the words didn’t come and Lincoln sighed.
He had so many, many things he wanted to say to Drake, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know where to begin and, honestly, he wasn’t certain he had any right to say what he wanted to say after the way he walked away from their night together.
He knew that night had been more than casual sex to Drake. He knew Drake didn’t do casual sex. Drake had put his heart on the line that night and Lincoln had rejected it because he was a fool, because at the time, he had still been running scared from who he really was. In the year and a half since that night, he had come to terms with a lot of issues. He had faced a lot of his demons. While he knew he wasn’t completely healed, he could honestly admit to himself that he had come a very long way.
Nelson would be proud of him, Lincoln knew.
He really wished he could talk to his friend and mentor and ask him what now, what did he do to get what he wanted, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve what he wanted.
I love you, Drake.
Saying that…it seemed simple enough, but it wasn’t.
Despite the progress he had made, he couldn’t help but wonder why Drake would want him, if Drake would still want him, once the truth finally came to light and like it or not, Lincoln knew he owned it to Drake to tell him everything.
The decision will be his, then, if he can accept me or if he can’t.
If he couldn’t, Lincoln wouldn’t be able to blame him, but God it would hurt when Drake Cooper was all he had ever wanted, ever longed for, what he had dreamed about for years.
Twenty-five to Drake’s seventeen, when Nelson first introduced them, Lincoln didn’t see Drake in a sexual light. All he saw was a terrified kid trying to appear more confident and cocky than he really was, but like Nelson, Lincoln knew the score.
He knew the bravado was an act, and not a very convincing one, but it took a while, to convince Drake that the act wasn’t needed, that he could trust someone and not regret it.
A year on the streets had left the kid pretty jaded and learning that his mother and stepfather had kicked him out went a long way in explaining why he had such a difficult time believing anyone could actually care about him. If his own family didn’t give a damn, why should anyone else?
Lincoln knew what it was like to be faced with that question, something Nelson knew, but Lincoln didn’t share the darker details with Drake. He only told the kid that he knew what it was like to be tossed aside and forgotten.
How different his circumstances had been from Drake’s was something Drake didn’t need to know anything about.
Until now.
Because now, Drake wasn’t a kid. Hadn’t been for a long time. Lincoln had watched him grow into a mature, brilliant, beautiful man with a razor sharp wit, a creative mind for business, and a real desire to truly matter to someone.
And he did.
He just didn�
��t know how much.
He didn’t know that Lincoln had been drawn to him from the beginning, but the true physical attraction didn’t begin until Drake was in his twenties and as incredible as he had been back then, Lincoln had to admit he was even more so now.
In fact, it seemed to Lincoln that each passing year added to Drake’s appeal.
He was about an inch shorter than Lincoln, with unruly black hair and eyes that were the purest shade of green.
Emerald green.
Those eyes and his quick, dimpled smiled had haunted Lincoln’s dreams for years, but more than ever during the last year and a half.
Since the night he and Drake made love.
Firelight bathed them in gentle warmth as Drake lay beside him, finally sleeping, and Lincoln allowed himself a moment to savor being so close to the younger man.
He was so damn beautiful.
Simply perfect.
His full lips parted slightly in sleep, still red for the force of their kissing, and his dark hair tangled, looking almost blue black in the flickering flames.
Even now, knowing he had made a mistake, knowing he had crossed a line he should never have crossed, Lincoln couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over the hard, defined chest, the washboard abs and narrow hips.
Drake was built like a jock, like the basketball player he had been years ago, and Lincoln wanted to touch him again, to hear the sound of his name as Drake came in his mouth, to feel Drake’s body around him as he came.
Closing his eyes, Lincoln turned away from the memory, knowing he couldn’t let it cloud his judgment now.
He had to keep a clear mind. Even if Drake didn’t realize it, he needed a friend now and Lincoln wanted to be that.
The rest had to wait until they were both ready for a long overdue discussion.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Hearing Drake’s voice, he opened his eyes and turned to find the other man still staring out the window as the sky opened and a heavy rain began to fall.
“Do what?”
“Go back to my place. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe. Maybe you could use a friend. Or maybe I could.”
Drake turned to look at him and for a moment, their eyes locked. “Are we friends?”
“I like to think we are.”
“Friends don’t…” He cut himself off and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Listen, Drake...”
“Let’s not do this. Not now. Or ever.”
“I can agree to not now, but I can’t… We need to talk, Drake. If not now, later.”
“We can discuss business at the office.”
“I don’t want to talk about business.” I want to talk about us, what we can have.
Drake didn’t react to that. He just looked back out the window and Lincoln sighed, knowing this wasn’t going to be easy, but he hadn’t expected it to be and, in all honesty, he knew Drake had every right to be angry with him.
Maybe even hate him.
God, please let me still have a chance.
Turning back to the window, watching the rain fail in waves, he mentally prepared himself for an uphill battle.
One that just might end with him not getting what he wanted. If that did happen, he could only blame himself.
Chapter Three
Drake
Despite his protest, Lincoln insisted on following him into his apartment and Drake found he didn’t have the strength to argue.
He was tired, still in shock, trying to sort through a tangle of emotions, some of which he didn’t want to deal with at all. Being this close to Lincoln again was unnerving. He feared that at any moment he would say or do something that would make it clear he still wanted him, still loved him, and that would not be good.
If he and Lincoln were going to work together, he had to keep his feelings under control.
Shrugging off his jacket, Drake tossed it onto the sofa before pulling off his tie, turning to look at Lincoln, who was looking around the apartment.
“You want something to drink?”
“Yeah. Have any beer?”
“I’ll grab some.”
“You sit. I’ll grab a couple.”
Drake started to protest, but then he shrugged and sank to the sofa as Lincoln disappeared into the kitchen. Drake closed his eyes and dropped his head back.
He could feel the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes, which meant a beer likely wasn’t a great idea, but he needed something to take off the edge. It was obvious Lincoln had it in mind to stick around for a while and Drake didn’t feel like arguing to get him to leave. Maybe, despite the mood he was in, they needed to say what needed to be said and get it over with once and for all, for the sake of the business.
But having him here…
This was where their night together had happened, right beside the fireplace, just feet from where Drake sat now.
Nelson had tickets to a basketball game, but business called him away and when he offered the tickets to Drake, he happily accepted them. Knowing Lincoln was a fan, it made perfect sense to ask him to go along.
He hadn’t considered it a date. He didn’t let himself hope for that. Despite his attraction to Lincoln, he knew Lincoln wasn’t ready to face certain truths about himself and Drake didn’t intend to push, that had been the last thing on his mind, even when Lincoln returned to his apartment after the game for a drink.
Sitting on the sofa, they had talked for hours, comfortable with one another.
And then Lincoln leaned close and without warning, kissed him, softly at first, almost hesitantly. The hesitation faded when Drake responded, tangling a hand in Lincoln’s hair and pulling him closer.
“Drake?”
Pulled from his thoughts, from the memories he had no right indulging in, he looked up to see Lincoln standing beside the sofa, watching him with curious eyes as he extended a beer.
Taking the bottle, Drake forced a smile. “Thanks.”
To his relief, Lincoln sat down on the far end of the sofa from him. Drake was grateful for the physical distance as he took a sip from his beer and Lincoln did the same, each seemingly uneager to break the silence.
Finally, unable to just sit and listen to the rain splattering against the roof of the brownstone that housed his second floor apartment, Drake sighed.
“What happened today… I had just been thinking how much I hated Shipman, how he deserved to die and then...” He shook his head. “I know Nelson wouldn’t want me to feel that way. I know he wouldn’t have wanted Noah to take justice into his own hands, but I’ve got to say, I’m not sad that Shipman is dead and I know that’s wrong.”
“I’m not suffering any heartbreak myself, Drake. And it’s natural to hate the man.”
“But Noah...”
“He’s a kid and he’s in a lot of trouble, but he’ll get a good lawyer. I’ll see to that.”
Drake glanced at him. “You mean that?”
“I think Nelson would want it. And I know about being in trouble...”
“Yeah. Same here.” Drake leaned forward and set his beer on the coffee table. “It all happened so damn fast. I don’t even know how he managed to get a gun in the courtroom.” He supposed the how of it didn’t matter. The fact was, Noah Walker had done it, had murdered the monster who had taken away a man they had all loved and admired. Now, the poor kid would pay a hell of a price.
Drake was sorry for him, sorry for the mess he had made of his life, and like Lincoln, he would go to bat for the kid.
The way Nelson had for him and so many others, Lincoln included.
“I’m sorry you saw it. It’s not a pretty image.”
“No, I can’t say it was.”
“If you want to talk about it...”
“There isn’t anything to talk about, is there?” Standing, Drake crossed the room to look out the window into the still rainy afternoon.
“What you saw...”
“Everyone in th
e courtroom saw it. Including you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I saw it, but I… I’ve seen things like that before.”
“You’ve seen someone die?” It was a morbid question, but he asked it without thinking.
“My stepfather.”
Turning, Drake frowned, but didn’t move from his perch beside the window as he watched Lincoln picking the label off his beer bottle. “You saw your stepfather die?”
“He was stabbed.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know...”
“I know you didn’t and you don’t have to be sorry. It was a long time ago.”
“Still, that had to be hard.”
Lincoln looked at him then and Drake was startled to see his eyes burning with emotions, more than Drake could begin to name and it puzzled him.
“I never told you a lot about my life, did I?”
“Not a lot. I just figured you were a private person.” But he knew it was more than that.
“I’m private because…because I don’t enjoy talking about the past, about what I’ve seen and what I’ve done, but keeping you closed out, not opening up to you, was wrong on my part and I want you to know I’m sorry.”
“Lincoln, you don’t have to apologize to me for anything...”
“But I do. I...” He shook his head, setting his beer on the table. “I’m making a mess of this. I told myself I could handle this, that I owed it to you to tell you everything, but it’s just…it’s hard for me just to push open doors that have been closed for so long.”
It was impossible not to sense his stress as he raked a hand through his hair. Drake wanted to say something comforting, but he didn’t know what because he really didn’t know what was wrong, why Lincoln was suddenly so upset and agitated.
“Linc...”
“Do you remember telling me I needed to get help?”
“I remember.” Recalling the words made him wince. “Look, I had no right saying that...”
“No. Please, don’t apologize, Drake. Please. Because you were right.”