by J. M. Dabney
Chance at the Impossible
The Men of Canter’s Handyman Book 2
J.M. Dabney
Hostile Whispers Press
Copyright © 2018 by J.M. Dabney
Hostile Whispers Press, LLC
Cover by: Hostile Whispers Press
Edits by: AlternativEdits (Laura McNellis)
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
REMEMBER:
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.
PLEASE BE ADVISED:
This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It may contain scenes of a sexual nature and/or violence.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by J.M. Dabney
1
“He’s so fucking hot.” Longing thickened Miller's voice and the soft pads of his slim fingers stroked along his full lower lip. He didn’t even try to suppress his low purring whimper. Salt and pepper hair curled across rounded, powerful pectorals thinning out between the deep valley of perfect six pack abs and disappearing beneath the waistband of low-slung worn jeans. Fifty shouldn’t look so lick-able—especially not Brent Canter, his best friend’s dad.
The crush wasn’t recent, and the feelings hadn’t lessened—they were probably even stronger. Miller had met Troy over a decade ago in their junior year of high school. He’d been the new kid and worn the label gay like a flashing neon sign or a target. Even when he tried to pretend to be one of the popular ones, he hadn’t quite fit in and that had only grown worse when he’d started at his new school. Unlike him, Troy fit, the rumor had been Troy’s dad wasn’t a man to be messed with, and that included his kid. Even the jocks walked a wide circle around Troy, and by association when they’d become friends, he was off-limits for bullying as well.
Yet, he hadn’t met the force that was Mr. Canter until he’d been friends with Troy nearly three months. He’d put off spending the night at Troy’s house so many times until Troy started catching onto the problem. When Troy had called him on it, he’d felt stupid. That didn’t change the nerves he felt. The feelings were clear just like they’d been that Friday afternoon. He had felt terrified, and when the door opened to over six-feet of Muscle Bear, he’d damn near fainted.
“Miller,” Troy bellowed in his ear, and he turned to find his best friend glaring at him.
“What?”
“Could you not watch my dad like he’s an ice cream cone you want to lick?”
He smirked, he couldn’t resist because the disgust in the other man’s voice wasn’t new.
“But he’s so fucking hot,” was his only answer.
Troy threw his arm across his shoulders. “And very much straight.” The man’s tone held an edge of pity.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t try to date other men, but none of them ever made him feel like Brent did. He felt as if he belonged and wasn’t intruding—mostly he felt safe. Miller was able to be himself, all annoying quirks and flighty attitude. The older man never made him feel lesser than for what he couldn’t help.
“We also thought Win was straight.”
At the sound of his husband’s name, Troy’s face lit up. Even after a two-year relationship Troy and Win were sickening, and he was jealous.
“Win is bi, and my dad isn’t, you know that.”
He didn’t want to argue, so he kept quiet. Propping his elbows on the picnic table, Miller rested his chin in his cupped palms. “Don’t remind me,” Miller pouted. His gaze kept roaming over Brent’s large frame. Two years passed since Brent received the news that he was cancer free, and he’d packed on the muscle he’d lost during the year-long battle.
Sweat glistened in the thick mat of Brent’s chest hair Miller longed to press his face into and rub his cheeks over the curls he knew were strangely soft. Wanting the man he knew he couldn’t have tortured him on a daily basis. Could that be his curse? To always want the one he couldn’t have and sleeping his way through the assholes of Clifton, North Carolina. He had the worst taste in men. Apparently, he couldn’t hit on one that was single either. He didn’t want to be the other man, he wanted to be the only one, but so far no one took him seriously. It wasn’t like he meant to date all the wrong ones. Unfortunately, it seemed to be his bad luck.
He continued to stare, but the shrill familiar ring of his phone jarred him out of his contemplation of male perfection. He groaned and reached behind him with his right hand to take his phone from his back pocket.
“Yes, Gertrude,” he answered.
The middle-aged queen of society was never without an errand for him to run or party to help plan. As her personal assistant of seven years, he was used to the calls at all hours of the day or night.
“Miller, my beautiful boy, I need you to come to the house.”
He loved the older woman to distraction and could never deny her anything. “I’ll be there in thirty, do you need anything?”
“No, just you and that creative mind of yours, this dinner party planning is slowly driving me batty.”
Her put-out tone made him smile. She thrived on being the example for every socialite on the east coast. So, he’d learned to ignore her pitiful whining because he knew she loved every second of the parties and sitting on the boards of every charity in the city.
“I’m on my way.” He quickly said his goodbyes and stood from the hard bench seat. “Duty calls, I’ll call you later.”
“Text me. Win and me are meeting with the real estate agent tonight to look at a few more houses.”
“Got’cha.” Miller kissed Troy’s cheek quickly and strode across the yard. “I’ve got to head to work, I’ll see you two later,” he said as he hugged Win and then turned to lift onto his toes to press a quick kiss to Brent’s mouth. Miller forced himself to pull away when all he wanted to do was nuzzle Brent’s rough cheeks.
“Flirt,” Brent rumbled.
His pants got a little tight when Brent gave him that sexy, smirk of his. The man had no idea what he did to him. Years of unrequited love was slowly driving him insane.
“You know it, old man, men shouldn’t look so irresistible.” He raked what he hoped appeared to be a playfully hungry look up and down Brent’s body. The older man just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Miller knew what the man saw when he looked at him. A diminutive, pretty-boy flirt, and it broke his heart Brent wouldn’t ever see him as a man. He’d always be just a friend. Over the years, Troy and his friendship expanded to where he and Brent had become close.
“Get out before that boss of yours thinks you’re slacking.”
The sharp tap to his ass when he turned away sent a shiver up his spine. Pleasure teased along nerve-endings inflaming them with a need to climb the big man.
He threw a
flirty glance over his shoulder and made his feet keep moving to take him to emotional safety.
Miller reached his car, and his phone chirped, he slid it once more from his pocket and checked the text message.
Troy: I’m sorry I was an ass.
Miller: It’s okay. He’s off-limits.
He opened the door and slid behind the wheel. As much as he hated the reminders, they were for the best. Fantasies were safe enough—everyone had them. Unfortunately, all his were about the handsome older man. In his heart, Brent had been his forever, but he understood he couldn’t claim Brent for his own. He had his fantasies and his dates with men who didn’t do a thing for him. Shoving the thoughts aside, he started his car and headed to work, maybe a night of clubbing would distract him. Not that he held out much hope, he could wish though, right?
2
Brent turned his back to the sight of a cute, denim-covered ass and resisted the urge to growl. He sucked his lips between his teeth and tasted the sweet wine Miller favored. Miller rarely drank, and when he did, it was those lightweight fruity mixed drinks or wine, or Miller occasionally grabbed his beer for a sip.
Reaching out, he jerked his ratty t-shirt with the cutoff sleeves off the tailgate of his work truck. He rolled his shoulders to try to ease the tension. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed that Miller was an attractive man, cute and sweet. Three years ago, his forbidden attraction—he was able to ignore most of the time—changed. He’d never deny his bisexuality, but he also hadn’t announced it. He dated women and a man or two in college. But being a single dad, he hadn’t made much of an effort to date at all. One-night stands with women on his rare night out was all he allowed himself. He hadn’t thought about commitment, not until Miller.
The change in his feelings hadn’t turned drastically but was more of a subtle shift. Brent noticed how Miller’s long lashes fanned across his high cheekbones and how soft the young man’s skin felt against his. Miller always smelled of sweet vanilla and musky sandalwood from the little man’s favorite lotion. All that could be pushed aside and explained off, attributed to mere innocent observations, but realizing how soft Miller’s lips were couldn’t be ignored.
The kisses were always playful as was the flirting if only Brent’s body thought the same.
“You okay, Brent?” Win, his son-in-law, asked.
“Yeah,” Brent answered. It sounded unconvincing even to him but hoped Win would leave it alone. Luckily Win wasn’t the prying type. Brent couldn’t say the same for his son.
“Dad, you’re lying.”
It was his lack of luck his son would call him on his lie. There wasn't much he could hide from Troy. It had always been the two of them. Brenda, his college girlfriend, tried to keep in touch, but as a surgeon, she was always working or traveling.
For a few months, he and Brenda had tried to make it work, pretend that they could love each other, but quickly they realized it was forced and wouldn’t be more than friends with the occasional benefit. They'd discussed adoption yet he couldn't imagine not raising his kid. So, he and Brenda decided he would take the baby when it was born. He'd never regretted his decision even though it had changed the plans he'd made for his life. His parents hadn't supported him, and they'd cut off contact not long after Troy was born.
“Troy, I’m fine, really. I need to hire another guy or two. The boys are pulling overtime to keep up.”
“What about Clay?”
Win brought up an old friend of his who just moved to town with his daughter. He’d already set up the interview for the beginning of the week. Win had vouched for Clay, so mainly it would be a job offer and not an interview. Win’s friend lacked a few skills but nothing that couldn’t be learned on the job or the training he’d pay for him to take. If his guys wanted to become certified, he offered them incentives—raises.
“Already done, he’s coming in Monday. When do you two have to meet with the real estate agent?”
They’d been looking for the perfect house for a year since they got married. Troy wanted to live close to the school where he worked and didn’t want to live in a suburb outside the city. He’d almost offered to sell them his house. It was too big for just him, and he could do well in an apartment. Yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t give the place up. He’d worked his ass off on his house, between work and raising Troy, he’d completely redone it. He loved everything about it.
“In an hour, we have to get going, Win has to change, and we have to pick Bella up from her playdate.”
He smiled at the mention of his granddaughter, Win’s biological daughter, and Troy’s stepdaughter. It was past time for a Grandpa day, just him and Bella. The little girl had filled something inside him. She was smart and funny, sweet and he enjoyed his time he spent with her. She filled his weekends so they weren’t so lonely.
Brent hid his relief during the goodbyes and the reminder of Sunday dinner. He strode towards the deck, ascended the steps and fell into one of the rockers. His cooler was next to the chair, and he grabbed a beer. Twisting off the cap, Brent let out a heavy sigh.
Miller had been there every day after Brent’s diagnosis. They’d removed half his right lung and months of Chemotherapy and radiation preceded and followed. Through the surgery and the side effects of the treatments, the young man spent every hour he wasn’t working by Brent’s bedside. He’d complained, and sometimes he’d tried to push the younger man away, but Miller just kept coming back. He had to admit he’d lived for those hours he and Miller had spent together.
As the days turned into months, he’d quickly fallen in love with the younger man. He’d savored every embrace and kiss—the times Miller cuddled him while watching movies. Until then he’d tried to see Miller as a kid, a party boy with a different man every month and simply his son’s friend. He’d attempted to credit his strange feelings to being grateful for the time and attention. Yet nothing had changed when he was well and back to work. He craved Miller’s affection and time. Brent couldn’t shake it, as wrong as it was to want the younger man, part of him didn’t want to ignore it.
It was only getting harder not to touch or turn one of Miller’s playful kisses into something hotter—deeper—but taking that next step terrified him. What would the gorgeous, younger man want with a graying, middle-aged man: Nothing. He didn’t know the type of man Miller preferred, but he’d heard enough stories to figure out they were cultured. Probably didn’t understand anything blue collar. He was a simple man. He had his business, and he loved working with his hands. It gave him a sense of accomplishment even when he came home most nights exhausted. His daily workouts kept him in shape. He’d missed that simple act of taking a run or lifting weights. Spending time with his family.
From the minute the doctor told him the results from his yearly physical, he realized everything he’d taken for granted. The things he’d missed weren’t major things. His loneliness turned out to be more than a habit he’d grown used to, and he realized he missed the little things. Kisses. The act of making love. He’d no longer felt like a man. Everyone had looked at him as a patient, his needs reduced to being treated as a disease and not a person.
Miller had made him feel like that desirable man again. It was all just Miller being Miller, but it was amazing to be flirted with and feeling loved. He was so scared that he’d skewed friendship for something else and he was lusting after Miller—that he loved Miller in a non-friendly way and it wouldn’t be returned. His fantasies as he laid in his bed would have to sustain him. He’d tried to find a hook up when his body was back to pre-diagnosis and quickly learned no one would compare to his beautiful boy.
Brent took a long draw off his cold beer and tipped his head to rest on the back of the rocker. Just a mid-life crisis, that’s all it was and one day soon he’d come to his senses—hopefully.
3
Miller cursed under his breath as he reread the guest list for the twentieth time and lingered on one name. Porter Dorsey, one of the few dicks he’d give his sou
l to forget. He hadn’t thought the wealthy and model-handsome man was even back in town. A party Miller looked forward to just turned into his worst nightmare. He’d never wanted to revisit spending time in the company of that man. Some of it was his fault, but he mainly blamed Porter.
Porter and he dated, Miller snorted at the thought, briefly for a few months. He’d almost made the mistake of thinking it was serious until he met Mrs. Dorsey. The other man had the nerve to say his wife didn’t care, he could fuck as many men as he wanted, but women were off-limits. Porter told him nothing would change. Miller wasn’t the other man, and if he ever found out he was, he didn’t stick around. He hadn’t even told Troy about that.
He told Troy everything, but unfortunately, that was the one mistake that he wanted to keep to himself.
He needed a buffer, someone to go with him, but who? Other than Troy, he only had acquaintances. He groaned as Brent’s face popped into his mind. No, explaining this one to the man he was already hopelessly in love with wouldn’t paint him in a mature light. Maybe he could borrow Win, complete with neck and knuckle tattoos. Miller wasn’t snobbish, Win was a great guy, but his best friend’s husband would knock Porter’s teeth out.
Checking the time on his phone, five-thirty, Brent was his one option to make it through the party without major embarrassment. Shutting down his laptop, straightening his papers and grabbing his phone, he pushed up from his desk chair.
Leaving his apartment quickly, he ran to his car and hopped in to make the fifteen-minute drive to Brent’s place. His stomach knotted with nerves as he parked behind Brent’s truck. Turning off the engine, he leaned forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel.