Love Him Steady

by E M Lindsey

  Gabby’s eyes went wide. “How bad? Like no internet bad?”

  “More like, I made a fool of myself from the moment I got there, had a goat almost break my dick, and…” He bit his lip as her mouth twitched into a half smile. “I think I fell in love?”

  He knew it sounded like a question even though his feelings were the only sure thing about him in that moment. But he wasn’t quite sure he felt worthy of it right then. Not after being such a moron.

  “Who is she?” Gabby asked quietly.

  “His name is Wilder. He’s Deaf. He owns a gluten-free cupcake shop, and he runs a stall at the farmer’s market on the weekends,” Lorenzo closed his eyes to avoid her gaze, because the weight of it was heavy. “He took me on a dinner date at an aquarium and kissed me next to the stingray pool.”

  “He sounds like some indie movie character,” she complained, but something about her relaxed, and she took another drink before settling back against the cushions. “You’re not going to fuck me tonight, are you?”

  He shook his head. “No.” Then his breath halted in his chest, and he waited, because he wanted—so damn desperately—to believe she was more than he let himself think, but he couldn’t be sure. “I’m sorry.”

  She waved him off. “I don’t care. I’m kind of getting serious with someone right now anyway. He works at this little bookstore like a mile from my apartment.” She sighed, and he saw something reflect in her eyes that he now understood profoundly. It was a look she never gave him, but that was okay, because he was realizing they had something more. Like he had with Raphael. Like Wilder had with Theo. “Tell me about your guy,” she said as she settled deeper into the cushions.

  “There’s not much to tell.” Lorenzo smiled as he realized how simple and easy it was to love Wilder. How he existed, but didn’t consume. “He’s good looking. He’s smart, and he’s funny. He’s kind of an asshole.” Lorenzo sighed and stole the wine back. “I’m trying not to suffer too much from the irony of falling in love with a man in the same place Rocco fell in love with Simon.”

  She laughed, then pushed herself up. “Maybe it’s the building. Or maybe it’s the Morettis.” Walking to one of his wall mirrors, she reapplied her lipstick, then sighed. “When do you go home?”

  Home. She was talking about Cherry Creek, not Malibu, and suddenly it felt impossibly and overwhelmingly real. He stood, setting the wine on the table, and he dragged her back into his arms, holding tight. “Promise this isn’t it for us.”

  “Why would it be?” she demanded, holding on just as fierce. “I’m supposed to be your personal attorney when I’m done with school. Which still means no fucking up until I pass the bar.” She stopped, then groaned. “Does it have to be Colorado?”

  “Probably,” he told her, then pulled back far enough to kiss her forehead. He thought about Raphael—about how Raphael would love her to pieces, and how she’d fit in there. “I love you.”

  She looked started, then bit her lip. “I’ve been waiting a long fucking time to hear that from you.”

  He cleared his throat. “I was afraid. I’m still terrified, but…I should have said it years ago. I love you.”

  She laughed, then kissed the corner of his mouth. “Wish me luck. I’m going to get laid, and I feel like you have a lot of packing to do, which is not my thing.”

  It wasn’t a lie. “Tell him if he hurts you…”

  “You have enough money to make him disappear. And you have brothers on your side who will make sure no one ever touches you,” she finished for him. He’d used that line before—just never on her. Not until now. “I know. Call me?”

  “Yes,” he promised, and this time he meant it.

  Lorenzo was slightly drunk and halfway through clearing out his closet when the doorbell rang. He barely heard it, buried under a pile of old hoodies, but he noticed the flashing lights he’d installed for Rocco. At the door, he found his brother, Simon, and a few bags of what smelled like the good Chinese take-out hanging from their hands.

  ‘What’s up,’ Rocco signed, pushing past him. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get you earlier.’

  Simon smiled, all shy dimples and soft freckles, and he offered a slight nod as he followed Rocco to the kitchen to set everything down.

  ‘I don’t remember inviting you,’ Lorenzo said when he had his brother’s attention.

  Rocco rolled his eyes, then grabbed Simon and kissed him under the ear before murmuring something. Simon nodded, then went back out, and Rocco turned toward him. ‘You weren’t going to eat.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  ‘I know you,’ he signed with an easy grin. ‘You were going to get drunk and wallow because your boyfriend’s gone.’

  ‘He’s not gone,’ Lorenzo answered, his face sullen. ‘His dad died.’

  At that, Rocco’s expression dropped to something like sympathy. ‘Is he okay?’

  Lorenzo busied himself with the bags of food just to avoid answering right away, because the truth was, he didn’t know. Wilder had texted just the one time, and then there was silence, and Lorenzo wasn’t sure he had the right to disturb him.

  Rocco tapped him lightly on the arm to get his attention. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Waving him off, Lorenzo grabbed plates, staring down at the hideous, thin gold pattern and resolved to get rid of them. Everything, actually. Apart from his clothes, he didn’t want any of his old crap. It wasn’t him. Hell, it was barely the man he had been pretending to be.

  Rocco touched his arm again, and Lorenzo looked up with a sigh. ‘It’s going to be fine. By the time he gets back to Cherry Creek, I’ll be there.’

  Rocco’s eyes widened. ‘You’re going back?’

  ‘I like it there. It feels…’ But he didn’t quite have the words, in ASL or English, but Rocco’s face softened like he got it.

  ‘We’ll be back soon.’

  ‘To live?’

  Before Rocco could answer, the door opened again, and Simon walked back in wearing a small grin. ‘My brother says hi.’

  Lorenzo groaned. ‘Great.’

  Simon and Rocco both laughed, and they carefully dished out food and moved to the sofa to sit and eat. ‘Levi said you’re going back,’ Simon signed with one hand as he forked rice into his mouth.

  Lorenzo shrugged. ‘I am. Gwen’s finding me a real apartment to stay in, and I told Dmitri I’d help him with the accounting books when I got back so the shop doesn’t fall apart before Wilder gets home.’

  Simon blinked, and for a second, Lorenzo swore he saw tears. ‘How is it? I heard about the fire.’

  Lorenzo shook his head. ‘I don’t know how different it is from when you were there, but the bakery repairs are done.’

  ‘I’m glad. I was worried,’ Simon answered, and Rocco set his fork down so he could pull Simon into a kiss. When he pulled back, the tension in Simon’s grin had eased. ‘I’m glad he’s happy there. I’m glad it’s doing well.’

  ‘They all miss you,’ Lorenzo told him, and that much was true. It was hard to go ten feet in that town without hearing about the bakery that was, even if they loved the bakery that stood there now. ‘They’re proud of you.’

  Simon flushed, and Rocco grinned at Lorenzo. ‘Me too. And I’m proud of you. I didn’t think you’d find anything there.’

  ‘I had to find something somewhere,’ Lorenzo answered, biting his lip. ‘Couldn’t be a waste of space forever.’

  Rocco’s face hardened, and he shifted closer to his brother. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘I—’ Lorenzo began, his finger hovering pointed at himself.

  Rocco made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. ‘You spent your entire childhood taking care of me. You were the only one who really learned my language. You stood up for me, fought for me. Taught me how to fight…’ His fingers hovered as he trailed off, then he shook his head. ‘How can you think that?’

  Lorenzo’s cheeks were hot, and his throat felt tight. ‘I never did anything meaningful with m
y life. All of you had goals. You had passion. I never did.’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure what the hell I was looking for, but I think I found it.’

  ‘In Wilder?’ Rocco asked.

  Lorenzo shook his head. ‘He’s part of it, but he’s not everything. He helped me see that, though. That Cherry Creek could be good for me.’

  ‘Wilder’s a good man.’ Simon set his plate down and swiped a napkin over his mouth before he went on. ‘I think you two could make each other happy. And I think that matters—even if it isn’t everything.’

  It wasn’t what Lorenzo was expecting, and he took a minute to make sure he’d read the signs correctly, but the looks he was getting from Simon and his brother said everything. They saw his worth—even if he wasn’t much more of anything but a man sitting on the couch of an apartment that was about to be sold.

  He was still a person worth loving.

  ‘I hope so,’ was all he could say.

  But Rocco nodded, and Lorenzo realized he was making the right choice. Even if it crashed and burned in the end, he wouldn’t regret it. Wilder was worth this fight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was almost comical that Wilder woke up the morning of the funeral with vertigo so bad, he could barely stand. He went through his routine of lying on his back, of putting his feet on the floor, and a towel over his face, and breathing through his nose. All of his usual techniques only took the edge off, though, and it was a struggle to walk in a straight line. He made his way to the kitchen, hoping some caffeine would help, and his fingers itched to reach for his phone and text Lorenzo because all he wanted was to be home with him.

  But Lorenzo wasn’t home. At least, not the last time they spoke. Wilder was holding himself back only to preserve their fragile beginning, because he was in a place that brought out the worst in him, and the last thing he wanted was to take these angry, ugly feelings out on the man he was falling for. He didn’t want Lorenzo to know this side of him. Ever.

  This side of him only existed here, in this place, and he was ready to leave it behind.

  After he’d gone to meet his family, his mother had all but ignored him other than to hand him a list of people to call for funeral appointments. He didn’t bother trying to remind her he couldn’t, and instead went upstairs to get his best friend on Skype for the help. It was a mark of Theo’s love that he didn’t ask questions, just made all the appointments and got it all settled.

  He managed to find interpreting services for last minute, but only after his mother demanded that he interpret the services instead of hiring someone.

  ‘He can still hear enough,’ she said, narrowing her eyes at him and reminding him that even Deaf, he would never be enough. ‘I don’t see what the problem is.’

  He wanted to defend himself, but he was just tired. His heart was battered, and all he wanted to do was go home and shut down.

  Willow, however, took his side for the first time that he could remember. ‘His dad just died. He’s not going to interpret.’ Her fingers were angry, slapping, reflecting the frustration on her face that he rarely saw directed at their mother. She had been the obvious favorite, and as a kid seemed to relish whenever their mom had been cruel to him. She enjoyed her privileges, and she wasn’t shy about admitting it. And maybe it was different. Maybe she’d matured. Or maybe she was just feeling the loss of their father more profoundly than either of them expected to.

  His mother relented about the interpreter eventually, but it was up to him then to find someone decent, and it took nearly the entire day to track someone down that last minute. There wasn’t enough in his mother’s savings to cover it, and his father’s policy wasn’t paying out right away, but Theo told him not to worry, and the next day he got the invoice that was marked paid in full.

  Wilder: I can’t let you pay for this.

  Theo: Yes, you can. Millionaire boyfriend. Please don’t sweat it. I love you. Come home.

  Wilder didn’t have the strength to respond, but he held the phone to his heart like maybe he could imprint that text and keep it with him when the day got harder—and he knew it would. His mother was calm, which meant the storm was on its way. He’d never trust her, and he didn’t want to be here when she broke and unleashed her hell on whoever was around.

  His mother had loved the man she married, and in a sort of dark, unfair way, he understood her pain. Someday, he might know it. Someday—if he and Lorenzo made it as far as his parents had—he might know what it was like to lose him, and the thought of it made him sick.

  As he stood there, staring at the coffee machine and waiting for it to finish brewing, he let himself think of Lorenzo without restraint. He let himself feel the empty, gaping hole that came with missing him and fearing he wouldn’t actually come back. Lorenzo hadn’t said much in his last text, just that he’d talked with a few friends and spent the night with Simon and Rocco, and Wilder hadn’t asked for assurances or promises. He was afraid Lorenzo would remember he liked it back in Malibu. He was afraid he’d miss his life of luxury too much, and that Wilder wasn’t enough to come back to Cherry Creek for.

  It was ironic, in a way, because he had begged Lorenzo not to need him. He’d told Lorenzo he couldn’t shoulder that burden of being the one he stayed for, and now that was the only thing in the world he wanted.

  He startled a moment later when he felt the counter under his hand vibrate, and he looked over to see Willow leaning against the cabinet with a frown on her face. Growing up, everyone always said they could see the resemblance, but Wilder had never been able to. She favored their dad, with coarse curls and darker skin and rich eyes, and Wilder had inherited almost everything from his mother. And maybe that was why she despised him—he had been her protégé who failed at birth. And maybe that’s why Willow hated him, because the one thing she could never give her mother was proof on her face that she had come from her body, because Wilder had stolen it all.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked her, then reached for a mug.

  Willow crossed her arms, and then his eyes went wide when her lips moved. She had never voiced—ever in her life, as long as he could remember. Laughter, screams, but never words. His mother had put her foot down at even the slightest hint of speech therapy. Willow was Deaf—totally and completely from birth, and sign would be her language, and she would never have to accommodate a hearing person.

  And to this moment, she never had.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You can’t hear me, can you?’

  He turned his face away and sighed, the feeling ragged in his throat.

  She tapped his arm hard, and he looked over. ‘How long has it been since you lost it all?’

  With a shrug, he poured his coffee and took two long drinks of the bitter liquid before he answered her. ‘I haven’t lost it all. With my hearing aids, I can still hear some.’

  ‘Your eyes are dancing,’ she pointed out. ‘That happened after you got out, but I thought it was from the injury.’

  Wilder shook his head. ‘The vertigo is bad today.’

  She hooked a finger over her ear. ‘Where are your hearing aids?’

  ‘In my bag.’

  ‘Are you going to tell mom how much you’ve lost?’

  At that, he laughed hard enough he heard the sound, full and robust against the inside of his skull. ‘Fuck no. She won’t care. She’ll never care. She’s going to hate me for the rest of her life.’

  Her eyes went soft and filled with a profound sort of grief before tears spilled. It was startling, and more so when she threw herself into his arms, and he was forced to wrap his own around her to keep from falling over. He was dizzy, but she was steady, and up to this moment, it had always been the other way around with them.

  ‘I hate that you left,’ she said after pulling back, swiping her hand under her nose. ‘I was so scared.’

  Wilder frowned. ‘Of what?’

  ‘Scott,’ she spelled his name with a look of such utter vitriol, he found somet
hing inside him that was able to love her again—just for that. ‘He got out of jail so fast, and then he disappeared, and I thought he went looking for you.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of him,’ Wilder told her, fingers sharp, face even sharper.

  Willow shook her head, then reached out and ran her thumb over the scar on his arm. ‘You could have died.’

  And that was also true. The stabbing itself had come too close, and then the risk of infection after. Scott was let off easy for mental health—for him being unable to control his feelings, but Wilder knew that wasn’t the case. He was a sociopath. He saw Wilder as a possession, not a person. He wanted him—he had never loved him—and Wilder trying to leave had threatened his control.

  It wasn’t a crime of passion. Scott was just evil, and Wilder had paid for it dearly.

  ‘I’m safe in Cherry Creek,’ he told her, then sipped his coffee again. His head was starting to calm down, even though the stress of the funeral was growing heavier. ‘He doesn’t know where I am, and I have family there who will take care of me. People I chose, who love me no matter what.’

  He saw the hurt that caused, and he wanted to care, but Willow had been too much like their father. She enjoyed her power, and she was too afraid of losing her mother’s favor to ever stand up for him. It was easier that way—it was safer that way. He understood it, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive it.

  And it didn’t look like Willow had any intention of apologizing. One small gesture wasn’t enough.

  ‘Are you going to speak at the funeral today?’ she asked when the moment passed.

  Wilder sighed into his coffee. In truth, he wasn’t sure. He had a speech written, because for all his suffering, any of the love he had known growing up had come from his dad. He hurt—a deep, visceral sort of ache knowing that they’d never have a chance to make it right. And it wasn’t the sharp pain he might have felt if he’d grown up with someone who openly cared for him, but he would grieve. And he would miss him.