by E M Lindsey
Lorenzo stared at him, a small scowl on his face as he took a cautious step forward, then another. The man was watching him—brown eyes wide, shoulders tense like he might need to spring into action. “It was four steps. I think I’ll live.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall like that before in my life,” the guy said with a small laugh.
Lorenzo’s scowl deepened, and he walked over, laying one hand on the desk. “Is humiliating guests your thing?”
“Depends on why you fell,” the guy said with a shrug. He bit his lip, then extended his hand with a grin. “I’m Raphael.”
Lorenzo took his hand without thinking, then flushed that he’d let the man get the best of him. “You know…”
“There’s a doctor up the road,” Raphael went on, like Lorenzo hadn’t started speaking. He took his hand back and laid it on the desk. “He’s kind of a mess, but he’s actually good at his job if you need him to look at your ribs.”
Lorenzo considered it for half a minute, but he wasn’t sure he wanted some small-town MD fucking with his body. As it was, he really didn’t think he was hurt—apart from his pride and maybe a little bruising. “I think I’m good.”
“His name is Parker Alling,” Raphael went on. “If you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Lorenzo backed up, then patted his pocket like maybe he’d be able to feel through his jeans if he’d cracked his phone screen. “Uh…see you.”
The guy didn’t respond, and Lorenzo rolled his eyes before he headed out the door, trying desperately to ignore the burning ache in his side. At least it had been a single person who had seen his mortifying fall, but he also had a feeling this Raphael person wasn’t going to hold his tongue for long. And that was all he needed—a place that should be his sanctuary looking at him like he was some bumbling moron who didn’t know how to walk down stairs.
Lorenzo kept his blushing to a minimum as he found the store, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the lack of artisan and organic. But they had a decent produce selection, and considering it had been actual years since he’d made pasta by hand, he scoured the dry aisle and found what he needed to get him through at least the next week then hurried through the self-check.
He took the long way back to Hopewell, mostly to avoid the inevitable long evening by himself in a strange place because he’d yet to meet anyone but Gwen, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that in a place like Cherry Creek. But he knew he had to be an adult about it, so he forced himself back to that little dirt parking lot and turned off the car.
Hooking all the bags on his arm, Lorenzo managed to get to the front porch before letting half go. They dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, and he nudged the Manor door open with his knee, coming to a stop in the doorway. The salon’s open sign was dim, but Raphael was still there behind the desk, a pen in his hand, a smirk on his face.
“Successful trip?”
Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “Something like that. I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to be useful for once in your life and help me upstairs?”
Raphael hummed, then pushed back in his chair, and it took Lorenzo only a second to realize that it was a wheelchair. And he wasn’t going to be helping him up the stairs, because there was no elevator. “Tell you what,” Raphael said with a tiny smile, “I’ll guard the rest of your groceries if you do the leg work.”
“I,” he started, but the way Raphael’s brows furrowed stopped him.
“Yeah, I get it,” Raphael said with a touch of impatience. “You didn’t notice, you’re sorry, you feel bad. I might not be the nicest guy, but I’m not an asshole. If Cherry Creek adhered to ADA rules better, I probably would be able to help you, but,” he gestured toward the banister and shrugged.
Lorenzo bowed his head, then took a breath. “Just make sure no racoons take off with my shit?”
Raphael chuckled softly. “Go. You look like you could use the work-out anyway.”
“Wow. Thanks for that.” Lorenzo’s cheeks heated, but he took the stairs—one at a time this time and dropped the bags on his little scrubbed wooden table before heading back down. Raphael wasn’t in the foyer anymore, but when Lorenzo stepped out, he found him parked by the side of his car.
“Are you rich?” Raphael asked as Lorenzo approached.
He gave him a pointed look. “I drive a Bentley, and I rented the whole top floor of this place. Yes, I’m rich.”
Raphael blinked in surprise, then threw his head back and laughed. “I kind of expected you to say something like, I’m not rich, I’m comfortable.”
Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “I am comfortable. And rich.” He bent over for the last of the bags, then held the door with his hip and waited for Raphael to wheel back up the ramp and roll past him back into the foyer. “Is that going to be like a thing here?”
“A thing?” Raphael repeated.
“I’m a dickhead because I have money?” He was being overly defensive—and he was well aware. Mostly because he did feel like the dickhead with money. He was a dick, he had money, he was trying to figure out what the fuck life meant in the place that offered his brother happiness like Lorenzo had never seen in his life.
He just didn’t know how to get started.
“If you’re a dickhead, no amount of money is going to change that,” Raphael told him, then winked. “Just like how I’m an asshole and the fact that I have cerebral palsy doesn’t make it worse. Mostly. Depending on the person.”
Lorenzo allowed himself a tiny snort. “Fine. Fair enough. You win.”
Raphael gripped his wheels and pushed back, then grinned. “You should come get a beer with me tonight.”
Lorenzo stared at him. “A what?”
“Oh, sorry. Is that a rich people thing? So, beer is this process where they ferment…”
Fighting off the urge to flip the man off, Lorenzo dropped the bags again and leaned against the desk, and Raphael rolled behind it. “I know what beer is. I just uh…guess I didn’t expect an invite.”
Raphael shrugged. “It’s nothing formal. A few people usually go after work. You met Gwen, right?”
Lorenzo nodded. “She rented me the place.”
“She’ll tag along. We drink at the Tavern, but it’s more than just booze. I usually get there around eight. You can’t miss it.” Raphael gripped his wheels, gave himself a push back, then turned and wheeled all the way to the back where he disappeared around the corner.
Standing there confused and unsure, Lorenzo stared at the salon until the lights went out, one by one, and the hallway darkened. The conversation was clearly over, especially when Raphael didn’t reappear, so he gathered up his groceries and hooked them all back on his arm. It was silent then and oddly lonely as he made his way to the apartment where the last of the evening light filtered in through the window.
The view was gorgeous, and he set the bags down and turned to admire it for a moment. California had mountains, but nothing like this. The way they surrounded him no matter which way he turned was both majestic and claustrophobic all at the same time. He felt like he was on some alien planet, trying to understand a culture whose language and customs he couldn’t comprehend.
Raphael didn’t seem to have invited him out of menace or mockery—but Lorenzo wasn’t used to it. He had carefully cultivated his circle of friends—he was adored, used for his money and his name, and sometimes for his brother. And he was liked because of it, but none of that was truly him. Now, if he wanted people to like him, he’d have to be himself.
He just had no idea who the fuck that even was.
Chapter Four
Wilder stood beside his short Greek friend, near the edge of the bar, his foot tapping in an unheard rhythm as they watched Theo try to charm the bottles of wine out of Sonia, who looked more amused than she did anything else.
“Why are we here, exactly? The Lodge has wine.”
Leonidas snorted a quiet laugh. “It does, but after last Fourth of July, Charlie’s started hiding the liquor
reserves. And anyway, I overheard Theo and James talking—they have a bet going about whether or not Theo can get Sonia to give in.”
Wilder sighed, not quite in the mood to be in the Tavern at all. He looked forward to their wine nights, because it meant getting away from town and lying out at the Lodge pool under the stars without strangers staring at him. He was surprised to see Leonidas there at all, though, since he didn’t usually join them. But Wilder didn’t really mind. Leonidas was nomadic, ebbing and flowing into Cherry Creek whenever his mood struck, and sometimes Andy Motel would follow, and sometimes he would stay behind. But Wilder found Leonidas’ presence to be calming, even in the midst of the evening Tavern crowd, and his voice was a deep rumble and easy to understand, even with his heavy Greek accent.
He opened his mouth to suggest they go tell Theo it was a wash—Sonia looked unmoved and the bet was obviously lost—but the door to the Tavern swung open and a group of people entered, Raphael leading the way in his wheelchair. Raphael was one of the reasons Wilder was glad he’d branched out with his bakes. His cerebral palsy had come with a side of epilepsy which made his diet complicated. Wilder didn’t entirely understand Keto, but he knew it was no carbs and no sugar, so he’d spent time perfecting a few treats that Raphael could indulge in, and the two had become something like friends over the past few years.
Wilder’s circle of friends was still small, but knowing people like Raphael, even as acquaintances, only made him feel more at home. He looked past him to see Raphael’s other friends, people who didn’t shop at Indulgence, who rarely looked his way—and then he saw someone new.
Someone very new, in fact, and very out of place. The stranger hung back, looking awkward with his hair impeccably styled and a thin, gauzy scarf wrapped around his neck in spite of the summer evening heat. He wore a white tank-top with a jean vest, and his legs were perfectly outlined in his artfully torn jeans. Wilder might have guessed he was in college if it weren’t for the faint crow’s feet at the edges of his dark eyes, and just a hint of grey at the temples of his near pitch-black hair.
He looked a bit lost, his eyes wide behind his glasses, darting around, almost like he was searching for an exit. Wilder felt sorry for the man—in all honesty. He was tall, and he was gorgeous, and he looked like he would never, ever belong in a place like Cherry Creek.
Wilder knew what that felt like—those achingly long weeks as he scrubbed all traces of the Kadish brothers from the shop. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to preserve something old and important to the town. He had been just so damn desperate to have something that belonged to him—and only him.
It had taken a while—it had taken blood, sweat, tears, and shouldering the comments that his cupcakes were good, but Levi’s food was better, and how much they missed Simon’s face in the window. He sucked it up and went by each day with a smile and a straight back, and suddenly Cherry Creek became home. People stopped comparing him to what was, and people started treating him like he belonged. He felt wanted—as himself—for the first time in his life.
“Do you know who that is?” Wilder asked as Theo slid up to them with two bottles of wine. It wasn’t enough for the night, but it would get them started.
Theo’s eyes followed Wilder’s gaze, then his mouth stretched into a grin. “Yes. I told you about him.”
Wilder frowned until it dawned on him. “Oh my god, that’s…”
“Right?” Theo asked. “God, their entire family is fucking delicious.”
Wilder rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Theo he was wrong—because he wasn’t. Rocco was sculpted beauty, which came with the territory of making adult films. His body was for sale, and he kept it pristine. But even under the weightlifting and strict diets, Rocco had a sort of simmering allure—hot and almost untouchable.
Of course, Wilder knew that was just his look. Simon touched—a lot. And most people who saw them together didn’t totally understand, but the more Wilder had gotten to know them over the years during their visits, the more he had come to understand the appeal of both sides.
His brother, though, looked nothing like him. There was a passing resemblance in the cut of his jaw and the brown of his eyes, but he didn’t have the same confidence. He held his head up like owned the place, but Wilder had been good at reading body language for years—and he knew false arrogance and insecurity when he saw it. The poor man was teeming with it.
“What’s his name again?” he asked, stealing another long look before turning his attention back to Theo.
His friend lifted his hand to spell, ‘Lorenzo,’ in painfully slow letters.
Lorenzo. It was fitting. He looked like he belonged in an art gallery sipping wine and staring at a canvas with a piece of string tied to a nail or something. It almost made him laugh, but he knew that wasn’t fair. Lorenzo and Rocco both came from very different worlds—just like Wilder had. Wilder’s upbringing just helped him fit into a place like Cherry Creek a little more than the streets of Malibu.
‘Ready?’ Wilder signed.
Theo nodded. “I won the bet.”
“Does that really count?” Leonidas asked, and Theo simply grinned and held the wine bottles up by the neck.
Leonidas muttered something in Greek as he held the door for them, and even if Wilder could have heard him over the crowd, he wouldn’t have understood. Theo replied with a snappy tone, but Wilder missed the conversation as his eyes trailed back over to Lorenzo—who was hovering in the back of his booth. He had his hand around a martini and a smile on his face. But though he was surrounded by people, he looked absolutely and completely alone.
“You’re irritated.” The words slipped out before Wilder could stop himself, but instead of James getting annoyed, he just let out a small snort of laughter and shook his head.
They had been sitting side-by-side with their feet in the pool for a while, sharing the last dredges of Theo’s winning bottles, not saying much. Andy had disappeared early on, and then Theo got bored and went to hunt down his boyfriend, which left Wilder and James who were only just starting to creep into friendship.
James was, by nature, an acerbic person. He hadn’t warned Wilder off his tight-knit family, but he hadn’t been entirely welcoming at first, either. Wilder understood—on some level. Whatever else his family had taught him, it was the importance of staying close and having each other’s back. And if his own hadn’t been so vicious and toxic, he might have had something good.
Something like he was building there in Cherry Creek.
“I had a meeting with Charlie this afternoon and—” James rubbed his fingers through the back of his hair, and he huffed through his nose. “We’re not seeing eye to eye on an issue right now.”
Wilder cocked his head to the side, putting his right ear a bit closer to James since he could hear a fraction better that way. “Do you want to talk about it?”
James turned his face up toward the sky. “Have you met Kyle?”
Wilder wrinkled his nose, because yes, he had. Simon had cautiously suggested Kyle as an employee when he was taking over the business, but at the interview, something didn’t sit right in his gut. He couldn’t put his finger on it—and it was more than the fact that Kyle got a little too friendly during their meeting. Wilder generally followed his instincts when it came to who he trusted, though, and it was an easy pass.
He knew Kyle had gone on to work for the Lodge, but he wasn’t surprised that James took issue with it. “I have. He applied to work at my shop but I turned him down.”
“Smart,” James murmured, almost too low for Wilder to hear. He seemed to catch himself, and he cleared his throat and turned toward Wilder. “Sorry.”
Wilder waved him off. “It’s fine.”
Rubbing a hand down his face, he let out a small frustrated sigh. “Charlie thinks his flirting is harmless, but I’ve watched him. He’s…targeted. He was crossing lines with Levi about two years back, but I set him straight.”
Wilder’s
mouth stretched into a small grin. “Did he learn his lesson?”
“I don’t know,” James said. “He’s left us alone. He asked Charlie out a couple of times, but he knows he’s married. I don’t understand why,” he stopped and looked away for a second. “I heard a rumor about a year ago—I don’t know if you remember that guy getting fired from the paper.”
Wilder’s brows dipped. The details had been vague, and he’d been trying not to involve himself in town gossip, so he avoided it. Cherry Creek was sweet, but they could jump into mob mentality a little too quick for his tastes, and he wanted no part in it. “Not really.”
“The details were private because I guess it involved a minor. Anyway, Kyle seemed to uh…know more than he should?” James grimaced. “Sorry, this is so fucked up. I have a problem with this kind of rape apologist shit.”
“Did he…”
“He just went off about how maybe the kid was leading the guy on,” James said, his voice almost a low growl. “When I confronted him, he waved me off and said he was just joking, but I don’t think he was.”
Wilder’s stomach twisted, the idea of it hitting too close to home. He got lucky after he escaped Scott—most of the people in his life believed him, but not everyone. He knew that fear. He knew what it was like to face the idea of sharing his trauma and then being told he was a liar. Or that it was his fault for not leaving sooner. He rubbed at the scars on his arm through the sleeve of his shirt and allowed himself to feel grateful he had gone with his gut about Kyle.
“What did Charlie say?” Wilder finally asked.
“He said he’d keep an eye out. He doesn’t like to make waves,” James answered, then leaned back on his arms. “He will—when it’s important. He would never let anyone get hurt, but sometimes I think he goes too far.”
“And he thinks you go too quick?” Wilder offered, and at that, James gave a genuine laugh.
“You have siblings?”