by Elle Keaton
They lay together, breathing hard. This time Sterling got up for a towel. Weir was going to need to do serious laundry. Soon.
Sated, they fell asleep again, wrapped around each other, waking hours later without having moved.
Weir’s stomach growled, giving him away. He’d been watching Sterling sleep, something he had never witnessed before. At the faint noise, Sterling’s eyes fluttered partially open. At first glance they seemed cold, but Weir knew this particular shade was the hot blue at the base of an acetylene torch, so scorching your body confused it with ice. Never again would Weir make that mistake.
“Mmmm. Somebody needs to eat.”
“All that sex and no dinner.” Weir pouted.
“Growing boy.” Sterling palmed Weir’s morning erection, making him shiver.
“Dude,” he rasped out, “I need fluids. Food.”
Apparently he also needed one more blow job.
The morning light sneaking past his curtains caressed Sterling as they lay in his bed savoring what they had just done. Weir could see the fresh, pink scar on Sterling’s bicep. He stroked his index finger across it. What if the bullet had been farther to the right or higher up? He had done that—he had almost gotten Sterling killed. Weir shivered, feeling like he had been doused in ice water.
“Hey.” Sterling’s bright, laser-sharp eyes were intent on his face. “You didn’t do that. Stephen did that. First, what kind of bottom-feeder releases the safety while he’s running—that’s what happened, right? Second, he pointed that gun at you. At you, Weir. I saw the look in his eyes; he didn’t care that you were a federal agent. He was—is—so caught up in his own fear that he was instinctively lashing out, like an animal. I hope he rots in hell.”
“I shouldn’t have gone there without backup,” Weir whispered. “I wanted to be a hero; I wanted to be the one… the one who brought your sister back to you. I was being selfish. Instead I got you hurt.”
“I would have gone by myself, you know—if I’d found out you were calling Adam or whoever, I wouldn’t have waited—and then what would have happened?”
They were both quiet for a few moments. Weir turned on his side, burying his face in the curve of Sterling’s neck. “I’m always scared. I’m scared this isn’t real, we aren’t real, or that I’m going to mess it up, because it’s something I’ve always wanted and couldn’t have. I hate being scared all the time. Running, surfing, being so focused on something that I can shut the world out… those are the only times I’m not afraid.” Since he was mumbling this into Sterling’s skin, Weir didn’t know how much he had understood.
“What’s your middle name?”
“What?” He sat up a little bit to look Sterling in the eye.
“What’s your middle name? You don’t want me to call you Carroll; I can’t keep calling you Weir, so what’s your middle name?”
“Uh, Evan?”
“Evan. Mmm, I like the sound of that. Plus, I’m the only one saying it. No one else gets to call you that. When you hear ‘Evan,’ you need to remind yourself who is saying it: me, Sterling Thaddeus Bailey. That I have your back. You don’t need to be scared anymore, because I love you. Evan, Evan, Evan… Should I keep saying it? You’ve been scared because you didn’t have anyone. Now you have me.”
Weir had to clench his eyes shut to keep the tears from squeezing out. Sterling seemed to understand; he murmured nonsense and ran a soothing hand across his back until he got himself under control.
“Thaddeus?” Weir finally asked.
“Shut it. Sybil must have been reading a bodice-ripper when she named me.”
Weir loaned Sterling an extra pair of ratty cotton sleep pants and a T-shirt. Walking around naked was too distracting. If they were going to eat breakfast, they both needed to be dressed. As it was, dressing took far too long; both their stomachs were rumbling before they made it out of the bedroom.
Unfortunately, the contents of his fridge were meager at best. Living on takeout and fruit smoothies, easy when he was alone, meant he had next to nothing to eat in the condo. Somehow he didn’t think Sterling would appreciate a kale omelet.
“Not much in there,” Sterling said over his shoulder.
Weir turned, kissing him quickly but soundly on the lips.
“Mmmm.”
“If I’d known you were coming, I would have bought groceries.”
“You do know that whether I was here or not, you still need groceries? Scrambled eggs. Then we can go to lunch.”
They ate at the tiny kitchen table, knees bumping underneath it. Yeah, they, he, was going to have to go to the store. Weir was bemused that Sterling had come all the way from Skagit to find him. It felt weird, and right, to have him in his condo.
The weird part made him want to keep touching Sterling to make sure he was really there. It made him nervous, the wanting to touch, but he couldn’t help himself. Or maybe that was just the part where he knew more words needed to be said. The right part… that scared him, too, but it did feel right and Weir wasn’t going to discount that.
Sterling must have sensed his rising anxiety, because he snaked his hand across the table to twine their fingers together. “We don’t have to figure everything out today, Evan. Or even while I’m here, okay?” It was kind of pathetic how much he loved hearing the name Evan fall from Sterling’s lips. Evan was someone with more possibility and future than Weir had ever envisioned for himself.
“Yeah,” he answered, nodding around the lump in his throat. He was afraid he was going to mess this up. He wasn’t sure how he would mess up something he’d never had before, but he could find a way to do it.
“Hey.” A gentle finger lifted his chin. Caught in the calm promise of Sterling’s eyes, he found courage.
“I do, too, you know. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.” His world fell away with those words, out in the open for anyone to hear.
Sterling smiled at him and tugged his chin. “Aren’t we a messed-up pair? We’ll be good, okay? Coming here and finding you has already gone beyond what I imagined could happen.”
“Yeah, okay.”
The words were sealed with a kiss. It should have gone on longer. Weir welcomed that kiss forever, a promise.
They were interrupted by the harsh ring of Weir’s cell phone, blaring from the entryway where their clothes were still strewn in chaos. He picked up his board shorts and shook them, and the phone fell out of a back pocket. He recognized the number as the same one he’d been getting a lot of calls from over the past few weeks. Whoever it was never left a message, Weir debated not answering again, but it seemed like they were going to keep calling until he told whoever it was to fuck off.
“Weir here.”
There was silence on the other end. He checked the screen; maybe the call had dropped.
“Um, am I speaking to Carroll Weir?” a hesitant female voice asked.
A frisson that could have been dread, or maybe anticipation, ran down then back up his spine. Goosebumps popped up on his arms, making him shiver, despite the warmth of the spring day. “Yes.”
The line went quiet again, but he could hear faint breathing, so she was still there. When she began to speak, Weir only heard the first few words before her voice turned to a white-hot slurry of noise. He had no idea what else she said.
Sterling came up behind him, his hand to Weir’s lower back, a question in his eyes. Weir didn’t know how to answer it, Sterling or the voice on the other end of the line. Mutely, he handed the phone over.
Thirty
“Hello?” A woman’s voice crackled across the connection.
“Hello? This is Weir’s boyfriend, Sterling.”
He watched Weir—Evan—walk slowly to the couch and slump onto it. He kind of crumpled, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He was trembling. Sterling followed closely behind, the phone to his ear.
He stopped in front of the sliding glass door and stared out at the sliver of sand and ocean while the woman on th
e other end of the line explained she was Amanda Smith, formerly Amanda Weir, Carroll Weir’s mother. She had been looking for him for several years. Was hoping they could meet so she could explain. Get to know each other.
The words were hurried and breathy. It was obvious she had been practicing them.
He turned to see Evan still shaking, the magic of their morning dissipated by the call. “No; I don’t think he is ready.”
“Oh.” A pause. “All right. Would it be okay if I left a number? Or an email? I could try calling again?”
Grabbing a pen from the tiny counter that divided the living room from the kitchen, Sterling scribbled down a phone number and an email before clicking off the call. He carefully tucked the slip of paper into his wallet before sitting next to Evan on the couch.
“Sorry to make you deal with that,” Evan muttered in the direction of his bare feet.
“I’m glad I was here.” He really was. “Let’s go for a walk. Get out of this place a for a little while.”
“All right. Beach?” When Evan looked at Sterling like that, hope in his eyes, he had no chance.
“Yeah, beach.” After he put on a gallon of sunscreen.
The beach had way more people on it now than it had the evening before. Evan tugged on Sterling’s shirt, indicating the direction he wanted to go. Silently but companionably, they walked down to the tide line. Sterling had borrowed a spare pair of flip-flops but resisted shorts or a short-sleeved shirt. Not only would he burn, he would blind anyone not wearing sunglasses.
Evan sat down on the sand. Sterling stared.
“What? You’re not made of glass, we can shower later.”
Against his better judgment, he sat next to Evan. They watched the waves come and go and listened to the crashing surf. A few seagulls overhead flew closer, hoping for a snack.
“What did she want? My mother?”
“She wants to meet you, explain, get to know you again.”
“Yeah, very much not ready for that.” He ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “Maybe a few years ago, or when my dad went to jail, I would have been more forgiving, but not now. Not anymore. Where was she when I needed her?”
“You don’t have to forgive her,” said the man who had a very complicated relationship with his own mother.
“I know. But I bet she wants it.” He chuckled darkly and looked over at Sterling. “Until she called, and I heard her voice for the first time since—” he rolled his eyes up, calculating, “—in seventeen years, I had no idea how angry I was. Still am. Very fucking angry.”
Sterling nodded like he had an inkling of how Evan felt.
“Thanks for bringing me out here.”
“Hey, it’s what boyfriends do. I read up on it, since I don’t have any actual experience.”
“Yeah? Boyfriend, huh? Me either—no experience, I mean.” Evan bit his lower lip, looking more vulnerable than he had… maybe ever. His world had changed a lot in the past twenty-four hours. Sterling couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him soundly, sucking in that abused lower lip and stroking it with his tongue.
“I’m sorry,” Evan said when they broke apart.
“For what?” They were still close enough for Sterling to feel the thrum of Evan’s skin, the beat of his heart.
“For leaving when I did, leaving Skagit without saying goodbye. Or anything. I was scared.”
Sterling cupped Evan’s cheeks, the rough stubble chafing his palms. “Apology accepted. It gave me time to think, to realize I missed you and want you in my life. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’ll mess up sometime soon with the whole relationship thing.” Fuck, just saying the word out loud was enough to give him dry heaves.
“Aww.” Evan bumped him with his elbow.
“Asshole. I’m pouring my guts out right now.”
Evan shifted closer, leaning his head on Sterling’s shoulder. Sterling put an arm around him, pondering the magnificent perfection of the moment.
“We should go,” Evan said. “You’re going to get sunburned. Besides, I’m still hungry and, regardless of the neighborhood being awesome, some asshole from the Inland Empire—which is a fancy name for way too far from the beach—here with his impressionable kids will get his boxers in a wad if we start macking again. Which I want to.”
“Yeah, all right.” Sterling still held Evan’s hand all the way back to the street.
They stopped to eat at a little place just off the beach Evan said had a pretty good menu. There was a patio not too packed with late brunchers and, thankfully, an umbrella-covered table so Sterling could stay out of the sun.
Putting off difficult conversation for a while, they sat and enjoyed their food, which for a touristy neighborhood was surprisingly delicious. Sterling took note of the chicken sandwich. Maybe Mac could put something like that together for the bar.
“So, the money?”
Evan immediately looked guilty. Swallowing his bite of salad, he replied, “Yeah, complicated. But, fuck, I wasn’t going to let that asshole steal everything from you. I followed where some of it went, found a loophole. That’s what I was doing before Adam got back that day. My worm followed your money and wherever it is now, when that balance goes above a certain threshold, the worm kicks the slush back to you. Through a very circuitous route. It should have stopped, though?”
“Yeah, it stopped, right at the balance I had before shit happened.”
“Good.” Evan beamed, pleased with himself.
“So I guess I was right not to mention it to Adam? Probably not within your scope of work?”
“Yeah, no.” Evan put his fork down. How that meager salad satisfied him, Sterling had no idea. “If Adam finds out I could get in big trouble. Who am I kidding? He probably already knows, or suspects.” he said glumly. “Mohammad asked me to think about whether I want to keep doing this job or not, if this is really what I want to do with my life.”
“Is it?”
“Maybe?” Evan winced. “How long can you stay?”
“Probably not long enough for you to decide what you want to do. I’ve got a flight out tomorrow afternoon. Can’t leave the bar for too long, no matter how responsible Kent and Kevin are.”
“Are you still going to buy it?”
“Yeah, thanks to a certain federal agent. Rick and I pushed it back a bit, though. It probably won’t happen until summer.”
“Will you wait for me?”
Sterling frowned. “What do you mean?”
“While I figure stuff out?”
“You know where I live.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Evan pointed out with a smile.
“Ha. I have an apartment above the bar. It’s about as big as your condo.”
“Will you?”
Sterling wished they weren’t having this conversation in public so he could pull Evan close, reassure him the way he deserved. Because yes, Sterling would wait. He had waited this long for someone without realizing it; he could wait a little longer. Besides, he figured it was close to a sure thing.
Thirty-One
Sterling left too soon; the condo was barren without him. Emptier than it had been before. They had managed to have sex on almost every horizontal surface before he left for the airport. Now all Weir had to do was look around his home to be reminded that Sterling was in Skagit and Weir was alone with decisions he needed to make. Because Mohammad was right. Weir didn’t know what he wanted to do.
Weir hadn’t wanted him to go, but he did have some thinking to do.
Sterling had left the scrap of paper with Amanda Smith’s phone and email address tucked under a magnet on his refrigerator.
Weir had not been tempted to call or email.
All these years and now she shows back up? He had zero interest in hearing her “side” of the story. What kind of person, grief-stricken or not, abandons their family? As far as he was concerned, she had left them and never looked back. Still, he didn’t toss it away. He let it sit there. Instead he went and visited his father�
��s grave.
He’d laid his father to rest at the Rose Hill Memorial Park in Whittier. Located on a nice hill, the site looked westward, with a view of LA. Weir thought his father would have liked the aloe and yucca that dotted the landscape, as well as the open sky.
Forgiving, or at least coming to terms, with his father hadn’t been easy, but Weir had eventually come to understand that the sheer weight of it all had been too much for him, that he had broken. When his mother walked out on them to make her own new life—and, for all Weir knew, an entirely new family—his dad had died. Even before he’d been sentenced, he had withered inside.
“Hey, Dad, I think I’m going to move to Skagit,” he said. “I thought you might want to know. I met a guy, Sterling, who gets me. It’s a little weird, actually. I never expected to meet anyone like that. I think you would be happy for me.” The wind was blowing, as usual, making his jacket flap and chinos press against the back of his legs. “If it works out, I won’t be able to visit you as often, maybe only in the winter.” A particularly strong gust of wind pushed against him; he chose to take it as a sign his dad was okay with the arrangement. “Amanda called a few days ago.” He refused to call her Mother, or Mom. “She wants to see me and explain. I think you’d understand why I can’t do that. You and me, we don’t owe her anything. Maybe someday I’ll change my mind, but I don’t think so. And, hey, I’m going to see about doing something with my degree.” A second gust pushed even harder against his back. Weir couldn’t help smiling a little as he turned to make the walk back to his car.
It took him a month to tie up all his loose ends in LA. Thirty days longer than he wanted. He decided against selling his condo yet; he could drag his boyfriend down in the dead of winter for some sunshine and beach time. In the meantime, he would rent it short-term.