Jack called for another round plus a couple shots of whiskey. When the fresh drinks were delivered, Jack smiled grimly. “I figured we can sit here and drink ourselves into a stupor.”
Garrick had no complaints with this plan, but he was curious. “Why would we do that?”
“It’s the only cure I know for a broken heart.”
Rhian stared at the entire contents of his life stacked in one corner of his ugly living room. Had it not been for the TV in its box, it would have fit in the miniscule front hall. Had it not been for the length of time it took to call Mike and give him his contact information in Boston, Rhian would have hit his ninety minute ready-to-go requirement, and not taken a whole hundred and two minutes instead.
He could draw it out further by calling a few other people, but ultimately, Mike and Alexei—and Garrick of course—were the ones he’d take with him when he left. At least with Mike and Alexei, he could reach out as soon as he got to Boston.
He wouldn’t be able to do that with Garrick. Not for a while. He’d get over it eventually. In the meantime, being faced with Savannah every day would be an excellent reminder of why there was no place for Garrick in the next iteration of Rhian’s life.
So this was it. A couple boxes, a couple suitcases, a hockey bag. All that there ever was and all that there ever would be.
He hoped someday he might find comfort in that again, but he suspected he’d gone and fucked it up. For almost twenty years he’d known and understood he wasn’t someone other people kept. That hadn’t changed. What had changed was that for the first time, he wished like hell things were different. For the first time in more years than he could remember, he wished that just this once, someone would fucking keep him.
He jumped when the doorbell rang, then went to greet the shipping company and help load everything into the truck. There was no point hiring a mover when he didn’t have anything to move and no address to move it into. Hell, he’d even sold his car back to the dealership he’d purchased it from little more than a year before. A nice, clean exit.
He planned an equally simple arrival in Boston. He’d found an extended-stay hotel for the first couple months and would see where things went from there. In the meantime, the post office would hold his belongings until he claimed them in a few days.
Clean and simple. Just the way he liked it.
Right?
Garrick fell out of Jack’s pick-up truck and barely avoided face-planting on the gravel. Jack laughed from behind the wheel, cheerfully sober and enjoying the show.
At some point, Garrick had realized Jack was pouring liquid medicine down his throat while only sipping his own drink. Garrick hadn’t cared. If nothing else, he’d needed a sober ride home.
“I’ll come get you in the morning,” Jack said as he leaned over to slam the door shut. He idled in the driveway until Garrick made it into the house.
Wishing he could go straight to bed, Garrick did the right thing and detoured to the kitchen to get some water and ibuprofen. He was almost done chugging the second huge glass when his computer chimed in the corner.
He checked the time. One o’clock in the morning? That couldn’t be good.
After almost missing the stool all together, he managed to plant his ass on the seat and hit the button.
Savannah’s face popped up on the screen.
“What’s wrong?”
Her smile faded. “What the hell happened to you?”
He looked down at himself and didn’t see anything wrong. “What?”
“Are you drunk?”
He smiled. “Very.”
She rolled her eyes. “Celebrating your near miss with the law?”
He fiddled with the mouse. “Yeah. Something like that.”
When she cocked her head and studied him through his monitor, he tried to sit up a little taller.
“What are you doing up at this hour? Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine. I just thought I would check in after my game. I got your texts while I was trapped in meetings and pre-game prep. I’m sorry I couldn’t call.”
“It’s cool. I was out drinking with Jack most of the day anyway.”
“I can see that,” she said with a smirk. “How’s Rhian?”
Garrick slumped. “I wouldn’t know.”
“He didn’t go out with you tonight?”
“He had his last game… Oh shit. I missed it. Some friend I am.”
“I’m sure he understands.”
Garrick harrumphed. “I’m really sure he doesn’t. I told him to stay away from me. Yelled at him for giving me an alibi.”
Savannah grimaced. “Ouch.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” he mumbled.
For a long time, she just stared at him. He tried to find comfort in those familiar smoky green eyes. He loved this woman with all his heart. Which was a funny thing, since it turned out all his heart had room for two.
“Savannah?”
“Yes, Garrick?”
“I love you.”
“I know. And I love you. It’s how I know you’re going to do the right thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m just as certain you know the answer to that.”
“But—”
“Goodnight, Garrick.”
In a blink, she was gone.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Garrick woke at dawn, certain of two things. One, he needed more painkillers. Two, he needed to get to the Moncton Airport. Now.
He called Jack to ask for a ride. Jack laughed. “Look out your window, asshole. Your truck is in the driveway.”
Garrick did, and sure enough, it was. “How did you—”
“I figured once you sobered up and stopped feeling sorry for yourself, you might have somewhere to be.”
Garrick grinned even though it hurt his face. “Jack, I fucking love you.”
He chuckled. “That seems to be going around these days, huh?”
Garrick started to protest, but Jack cut him off.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Garrick was tearing out of his driveway before he’d even come up with a plan. All he was going on was must see Rhian.
Rhian staggered along the concourse of the Moncton Airport, numb with exhaustion. He’d sat up all night, alone on his couch, staring at the wall. His sheets were packed. The TV gone off to Boston. He’d had that new couch the landlord had delivered the week before and his thoughts for company, and that was it.
Neither had given him any comfort.
Restless, he checked the departures screen again. His flight wasn’t boarding yet. Not that he wouldn’t have heard the announcement over the PA system. The Moncton airport only had a handful of gates, so even now, when he was as far from his gate as he could get without leaving the building, he would have heard.
He needed to get on that plane and fly away. He was almost gone.
Turning, he paced once more past the café and bookstore, his face blank and his eyes down. He ignored the bite of his carry-on bag’s strap on his shoulder and focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other.
When he heard Garrick call his name, he thought he might actually be hallucinating.
He turned and blinked at the sight of Garrick running toward him. Hope flared, but Rhian squashed it ruthlessly.
Garrick skidded to a stop at his side. He looked at shitty as Rhian felt.
He strongly suspected he did not want to hear whatever had driven Garrick out of bed—given the wild case of bedhead he was sporting—and directly to the airport. When Garrick continued to do nothing more than stare at him, Rhian caved, deciding he’d rather just rip the Band-Aid off.
“What do you want?” His voice rasped like his throat was lined with sandpaper.
Garrick gazed down at Rhian’s mouth like he wanted to attack him. In a good way. Which was bad.
Rhian would fucking punch the guy in the nose if he ev
en tried it. This was hard enough.
Garrick grabbed Rhian’s arm and dragged him to the bookstore. “Come here.”
Rhian let himself be towed along.
They approached the register and Garrick turned on his mega-watt smile. “Lisa, could I borrow your stock room for a couple minutes?”
Lisa returned his smile and led the way to the steel door in the back corner. “Sure, Garrick.”
Rhian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Garrick knew her. And she knew him. He knew everyone in this damn town.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Rhian stepped as far away from Garrick as he could, let his bag fall to the floor, and crossed his arms over his chest.
He waited for Garrick to say something. Rhian had nothing to add to their final goodbye.
Garrick’s huge frame consumed the small space. Rhian was reminded of an elevator ride just a few short week ago. If he’d known then that they’d end up here, he might have done things differently.
No, that was bullshit. He wouldn’t change a damn thing.
“Was it just sex?”
Rhian blinked. “What?”
“Was it just sex, Rhian? Just a fling?”
God, that was all it was supposed to have been. Rhian knew he should lie, but he couldn’t. “No.”
“You felt it too, didn’t you?”
Rhian’s heart kicked, but he tightened his arms across his chest and looked away. “Whatever.”
Garrick shoved back into the door and Rhian threw his hands out to steady himself. Garrick smashed their chests together the minute his arms were out of the way, his nose almost bumping Rhian’s.
“Tell me the truth, Rhian.”
“What does it matter?” He turned his head and stared at Garrick’s shoulder, not up into those soft brown eyes. “You have Savannah.”
Just saying her name firmed his resolve.
“I do,” Garrick agreed.
Rhian wondered if Garrick had come all the way to the airport just to make him feel like total crap.
“And she knows,” Garrick finished.
“She knows what?”
“That I love you.”
Rhian looked up, pinned under Garrick’s direct gaze as amber turned to chocolate and the earth tilted on its axis.
“What?” His lips formed the word but almost no sound came out.
“I love you.”
Rhian shook his head. “No.” He shook his head harder. Faster. “You can’t love me.”
“I do.”
“But not like—”
“Just like. Just like I love Savannah. More than I’ve ever loved anyone else on earth but the two of you.”
Rhian swallowed hard. “It’s not possible.”
Garrick’s mouth kicked up on one side and he shrugged. “Two weeks ago I would have agreed. But then there was you. And I’m telling you it’s not just possible, it’s the truth.”
Rhian didn’t realize he was still shaking his head until Garrick’s hand cupped his cheek and stilled the movement.
“I love you.”
“Stop saying that.”
“No.”
Rhian stared at Garrick, mute, horrified to discover that knowing the man he loved, loved him in return, was actually worse than believing it couldn’t possibly be the case. Because it didn’t matter. Garrick could love Rhian as much as he wanted, claim to love him as much as anyone in the world, but in the end, Rhian knew the truth.
Garrick wouldn’t keep him.
Garrick stared down at Rhian’s stricken face. Grief unfurled in his belly. He’d done the unthinkable and declared his love, and poor Rhian looked terrified.
Hindsight was a bitch. He should have told Rhian somewhere else. Somewhere Garrick could lie on top of him until the raging anxiety ran its course and there was only the peaceful, easy Rhian who looked at Garrick with trust and—he hoped like hell—love.
But it was too late for that. He had to work with what he had, which was a storage closet and less than five minutes. Sliding his hands down Rhian’s arms, he circled both wrists with his thumb and forefinger, then pressed his arms, torso, hips, and legs against Rhian’s, pinning as much of his lover as he could against the door.
“Please say something,” he murmured.
Rhian’s panting breaths blew across his lips.
When Rhian shook his head, Garrick stopped him by pressing their foreheads together. He swallowed against the lump lodged in his throat and offered Rhian an out. “I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way—”
Rhian’s body jolted against his.
Garrick eased back. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid. I can go—”
Rhian halted his awkward apology by tilting his head and bringing their mouths together. Calling it a kiss would have been generous, but hope surged through Garrick.
Rhian pulled his lips away before Garrick could do more than murmur his surprise.
“I’m scared.”
The whispered admission tore at Garrick, the crack in Rhian’s voice revealing how much the truth had cost him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Rhian didn’t say anything.
Garrick sighed. “Would you like me to leave you alone?”
“No.”
The immediate denial was some comfort, but Garrick thought he’d already pushed way past Rhian’s limits.
“It’s okay. Maybe you can think about it. If you, you know, want to be in touch, or we can talk sometime, maybe—”
“Garrick.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Garrick slumped against Rhian. “Oh, thank Christ.”
Rhian’s voice was little more than a whisper in his ear. “I’ve never said that before. To anyone. Ever.”
He released Rhian’s wrists to wrap his arms around Rhian’s rigid torso. What the fuck was wrong with people that a man as gentle and beautiful as this had been left alone his entire life?
Garrick pulled back to look into Rhian’s wide cobalt eyes. “I promise you, Rhian, I will cherish it. Always.”
“Really?”
Something about the disbelief on Rhian’s face, the surprise in his voice, helped Garrick connect the dots. He wasn’t angry or surprised Rhian doubted him, but didn’t the stupid man realize what Garrick was telling him?
He was about to give him a detailed and thorough explanation, emphasized with long, hard kisses, when the faint sound of the public address system made its way through the heavy door.
“This is the last call for passenger Savage, on Air Canada flight 8937 to Toronto. Please check in at gate three immediately.”
“Oh shit!” Rhian yelped.
Garrick jumped back. By the time the tinny voice was repeating the request, they were hauling ass through the bookstore and down the main concourse at full speed.
Rhian waved to the attendant at the gate as he staggered to a stop at the security checkpoint. He threw his bag onto the belt and turned to Garrick.
“So where do we go from here?”
Garrick laughed. “Boston.”
Rhian grinned and ran to his gate.
About the Author
Samantha Wayland has always dreamed of being a novelist. She wrote her first book as an escape from the pressures of her day job. That fascinating piece of contemporary erotic mystery/suspense with elements of paranormal, international intrigue, and god only knows what else is safely tucked under her bed, where it will remain until hell freezes over. Since then, she’s learned a lot about the craft and turned her attention to writing contemporary MM and MMF ménage erotic romance.
Sam lives with her family—of both the two and four-legged variety—outside of Boston. She used to spend her days toiling away in corporate nerdville but was recently sprung from that hell. Now when she’s not locked away in her home office, she can generally be found tucked in the corner of the local Thai place with a few beloved friends (and fellow authors).
Her fa
vorite things include mango martinis, tiny Chihuahuas with big attitude problems, and the Oxford comma.
Sam loves to hear from readers.
Email her at [email protected] or find her on Facebook (Samantha Wayland) or Twitter (@SamWayland).
Also by Samantha Wayland
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Destiny Matthews is not a woman who is afraid to ask for what she wants, and when she sees her two best friends kissing, she knows just what she's going to ask for. Before she can convince Patrick that he's not as straight as he likes to protest, Brandon is attacked by an unknown enemy.
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Hat Trick Book One
Savannah Morrison is the new athletic trainer for the Moncton Ice Cats, a professional hockey team in the wilds of New Brunswick. It’s a good thing she’s got plenty of knowledge and grit, because as the only woman trainer in the league, she has to work twice as hard to win the players’ respect. The last thing on earth she would do is date one of them.
Two Man Advantage Page 19