Saturday's Series Spotlight: Man Up by Felice Stevens Part 2

Cort - Unbreakable #4

Summary:

Cort

I spent years waiting for someone who never put me first.

He took my love, took me for granted.

Took my heart.

Now I’m on my own.

Living life my way.

The crowd only sees my smile.

Never my loneliness and pain.

I need someone to need me.

When I meet another lost soul my friends try to warn me.

He’s a liar.

A user.

Homeless.

Heartbroken.

He’s all that and more.

He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

Harlan

I’m king of my world.

Untouchable.

Then it all comes crashing down.

My secrets are exposed.

I’m cut off from my family.

Unrecognizable from the man I used to be.

Barely surviving, living day-to-day and out of control.

Nothing to hold on to.

I let go and fall so far there’s no way up.

Until a cowboy reaches into my darkness and brings me back to the light.

With him I can breathe.

I can be who I am.

Who he needs.

He gives me hope

To find myself.

To find love.

James - Uncontrollable #5

Summary:

It's time to travel with James and Malcolm through their twenty year history as they battle each other and struggle to hold on to a lifetime of secrets.

James

Never good enough.

Not the real son.

I will prove him wrong—prove everyone wrong.

I am someone.

I will succeed.

I don’t need my brother to help me.

I don't need anyone.

My enemy holds my secret.

He teases me.

Taunts me.

Follows me with his eyes.

Our hot, angry kisses keep me up at night.

I don’t want him.

I hate him.

But I can’t stop thinking about him.

That there's more to him

I want to discover him.

The truth is unexpected.

My enemy might not only be my friend but the love I never thought to have.

Malcolm

Live, love, laugh.

Life is too short to worry when you don’t know how long you’ve got.

I want every day to be my best.

Like it’s my last.

My friends see what I let them.

Not the real me.

Only one man has ever crawled beneath my skin.

He drives me crazy.

Makes me wild.

Makes me care.

A night of bad decisions changes the course of my life.

Everything I've known no longer makes sense.

My enemy now stands by my side.

I’m no longer running.

I want to stay.

I want a future.

Hate has changed to something new and wonderful.

Something terrifying.

Uncontrollable.

Love.

James's Birthday Party #5.5

Summary:

When Malcolm discovers James has never had a birthday party, he's determined to make it a night James will never forget.

The bonus audio of the story is included.

The Secret #5.6

Summary:

When James can't get in touch with Malcolm he fears the worst. But Malcolm has a surprise in store for James that will change both their lives forever.

A link to the FREE audiobook of this story is included.

Cort - Unbreakable #4

Prologue

HARLAN

A few months earlier

Icouldn’t take another step. My head spun and my legs trembled with fatigue. I’d walked all the way downtown from Penn Station, where I’d been chased out after spending the night dodging cops and other homeless people. The brick wall was the only thing preventing me from sliding to the ground. Lights glowed inside the store I stopped in front of, and I watched people moving back and forth, carrying books. My gaze caught the platters of cheese and crackers and bottles of water, and my stomach gave a vicious growl of hunger. I hadn’t eaten since the day before—the vodka I used my last ten dollars on, more important to my numb brain.

The sign on the window stated a reading of Jane Austen was being held inside, but I was more interested in the light refreshments. I smoothed my hair and rubbed my bristly jaw. I hated the beard but didn’t have the means to shave. Besides, it had protected my face during the cold of winter. I pushed open the door, and a wave of warmth hit me in the face. Hunching my shoulders, I dragged my feet to the back, where a small crowd had gathered, and found a seat nearest to the food.

In high school I’d studied Jane Austen and enjoyed Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, so I kept a half-trained ear on the reading and discussion while planning how I could slip the cheese and crackers into the pocket of my jacket without being noticed.

A tall, husky blond man caught my eye and smiled. Oh, hell no. Did he know what I was planning? I ducked my head but studied him from beneath lowered lashes, noticing the way his sweater clung to his bulging muscles. A thrill ran through me, and I shifted in my chair. Survival, not sex, was the number-one thing on my mind, and I forced my thoughts away from what his strong arms would feel like around me.

After the reading, a short discussion was held, and I tapped my foot impatiently, wanting it to be over so I could take some food. Being this near was excruciating, and I imagined what the cheese would taste like, melting sharp and creamy on my tongue. Saliva formed in my mouth, and I swallowed. When the speaker finally stopped talking, the blond man stood.

“If y’all are interested, we have signed best sellers for sale, and please feel free to have some cheese and crackers. If you have any questions, ask me or Race, and we’ll be happy to help.”

That was my cue. I sprang out of my seat and took a small plastic plate. I held back, only taking six crackers and three big hunks of cheese, along with the cluster of grapes piled in the center. I snagged a copy of Sense and Sensibility and headed to the corner where I’d spotted some armchairs. I balanced the plate on a small ledge and sat down with a grunt, hoping the store stayed open long enough for me to rest my feet and warm up a bit. I opened the book and began to read, trying to nibble the cheese and crackers to make them last, but my hunger was too strong. Within several minutes I’d demolished everything, yet the emptiness inside me remained. I ran my finger along the plate and licked it, hoping to pick up any stray crumbs.

“Excuse me.”

I glanced up, my finger caught in my mouth, to see the good-looking blond guy standing in front of me. Did he see me take all the food and scurry away like a mouse?

“Yeah?” I tensed, expecting him to tell me to get out and not come back.

“Do you want some?” He held out a plate filled with more cheese, crackers, and fruit. “I, uh, took too much and don’t want it to go to waste.”

He knows.

I could see concern in his big blue eyes. I wondered if I could hit him up for a few dollars. He seemed like the do-gooder type.

“Uh, I guess. If you’re sure.”

A warm smile broke out over his face. “Yeah, I sure am. Here.” He shoved the plate at me, and I took it while he sat in the club chair opposite me. “I’m Cort, by the way.”

Of course you are, with that accent.

“Harlan.” I crunched on a cracker, trying not to look too eager. Too hungry.

“I ain’t never seen you here before.”

“I, uh, came in for the reading.”

His eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, and I slowed my eating so as not to expose the real reason I came to the store.

“Do you do these readings often?” I hoped they did, so I could plan when to come and fill up on the snacks.

“Once a week, usually.”

Disappointment flared. That wouldn’t be enough.

“But I’m here almost every night until closing. It’s a good place to come and hang out and read. And”—he leaned over like a co-conspirator—“I make the coffee and usually bring some cookies to go along with it, so stick with me.” He chuckled. “I take care of my friends.” He picked up a copy of Pride and Prejudice and began to read.

The crowd had dwindled until only three or four of us remained, and I wondered when the store closed. I still needed to find a place to sleep tonight. I nibbled a grape and watched him, wondering what his story was. He sure wasn’t a native New Yorker, not with that twang. His muscles bunched under his tight blue sweater, and again I felt that pull toward him. As if sensing my interest, Cort glanced up and smiled.

“I gotta go, but I hope I get to see you again.” He closed the book.

“I don’t know…”

“Do you got someplace else to be?” His words challenged, as though he knew the answer.

“N-no.”

“Then come tomorrow.” He stood and collected the empty plates.

“Maybe.” But probably not, although those big blue eyes were nice. Cort might be the soft touch I needed to get through the rest of the winter.

CORT

Damn. Who was he? I never had trouble concentrating on the readings before, but the moment he entered the store, I spotted him and couldn’t look away. I’d been in New York long enough to recognize a homeless person, having given my fair share of dollars to the regulars I saw on a daily basis. As I understood it, we were all one step away from falling on hard times, and I had no reason to punish anyone for being unlucky.

But this guy—Harlan—he seemed different from the people who hung out in the subway station or stood on the corner of Second and Houston, panhandling. He didn’t look comfortable in his own skin. Almost as if he wasn’t used to being homeless. I knew one thing for certain: he hadn’t been homeless for long. Not with the way he gobbled up the plates of cheese and crackers. I could tell that was the real reason he came in, but I didn’t begrudge him. The world was a hard enough place without strangers judging each other.

“It went well tonight, don’t you think?” Race, the owner, leaned on the big wooden desk he used as a sales counter. It was original to the store, he explained to me on the first night I came into the bookstore. As he saw me on a more regular basis, we got chummy, and I started hanging out there. After a few months, I offered to help him with the setup for the readings, since he mentioned he had a bad back.

“Very. I had to read a Jane Austen book in high school and never thought much of it, but I’m enjoying hearing it read to me.”

He nodded. “It can be heavy to read but enjoyable to hear. Like Shakespeare.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t get into that at all. Maybe if you had someone come read that too?”

“Perhaps.” The overhead lights gleamed off his glasses. “You met a friend tonight, I saw. First time I’ve seen him here.”

Instantly, I wanted to hide the fact that Harlan had been sneaking cheese and crackers all night. “Uh, yeah. We were talking about Jane Austen.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow, and I heard the skepticism in his voice. “He read Austen?”

“Now, now. Don’t go makin’ those assumptions again. Remember what you thought when I first wandered in here.”

His laughter filled the store. “Do I ever. I thought, Holy hell. How did this bull in a china shop ever find his way in here?”

“Uh-huh.” I leaned my forearms on the desk. “From the questions you asked, you thought I couldn’t even read. Bet you figured all I was interested in was comic books.”

A telltale blush stained his cheeks. “Well…you got me there. Either that or muscle magazines. Who could blame me, with the way you’re built? But you’re right. I made a snap judgment, and I’m sorry.”

I waved him off. “No big deal now—but it goes to show not everyone is what they seem on the outside. Harlan might be well-educated and down on his luck. Who knows?”

Again, that skeptical expression crossed his face. “Doubtful. But I see your point. All I’m saying is to be careful. You’re a trusting person, Cort. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your concern.”

No one could hurt me more than I’d already been, so I wasn’t too worried. Home had never seemed as far away as it did when I lay in bed alone every night, listening to the sounds of traffic rolling past my window. Sometimes I wondered if I’d made a mistake, walking away from my family and the life I left behind in Texas, but then I remembered my daddy’s face, so hard and angry, and I knew there was never going to come a time when I would be his son again. Not if I wanted to be the real me.

Besides, after tonight, I doubted I’d see Harlan again.

James - Uncontrollable #5

Then

JAMES

Twenty years earlier

My first memory was of my mother holding a cigarette, the swirl of smoke drifting upward, masking her eyes. I didn’t ever recall seeing her without her Virginia Slims, either between her fingers or her red lips. I thought she was so elegant…until I was old enough to realize they were killing her, and by then it was too late.

At bedtime, my mother would tell me stories about my older brother in New York. We couldn’t meet because my father had sent him to school in England, but I hoped we would be able to one day. I had a feeling we’d be friends.

“His name is Rhoades, and he’s two years older than you.” I’d dream of us playing games or going to the movies together. Things brothers do.

Everything I knew about New York City I’d learned from television, newspapers, and what our neighbors Lola and Samuel, who had once lived there, told me. When it became apparent that my mother wasn’t going to recover from lung cancer, she told me I was to go to my father in New York City, and he’d take care of me.

“When I die, you’ll go to New York to live with your father. You should have the life you deserve as his son. Maybe you and Rhoades can be friends, and you’ll finally have the brother you always wanted.”

By that time, I’d grown from an idealistic little boy into a resentful thirteen-year-old. What I wanted was a mother who hadn’t allowed her lover to rule her life. She’d met him when she was a cocktail waitress in one of the hotels he developed in Fort Lauderdale. I knew she dreamed he would marry her, but that was never his plan. Men like him don’t marry women like her. They just make babies with them and walk away. Whether she knew that and hoped to change his mind or didn’t care, she stayed with him anyway. He was an obsession she couldn’t shake. Not that she wanted to.

Still, I loved my mother. What I didn’t understand was her not loving herself enough. When William wasn’t around, she’d make dinner for us, we’d see movies together, and when I was younger, she’d take me to the park and play with me. I had the most beautiful mother around and I never wanted to let her go, but the moment he called and said he was coming for a visit, everything else ceased to exist.

I chose to focus my anger and hatred on where it belonged: William MacKenzie. The man who refused to admit I was his son until he saw the DNA results. The man who never sent me a present for my birthday or called me on Christmas. The man who made me feel unwelcome in my own house the minute he stepped through the door.

After we buried my mother, Lola bought me a plane ticket to New York City and made me promise to call her when I got there.

“Keep in touch with us, baby. Don’t forget about us.”

I clung to her as my eyes burned. “I won’t. Why do I have to go? I don’t want to. Can’t I stay here with you?”

“Honey, your mama made us promise to send you to your daddy. That was her dream.” Her lips thinned to a white, angry line. “Whether or not he deserves you, you’re his son, and you deserve what he can do for you. So you go there and make us and your mama proud. But if things don’t turn out well, you come home, here with us. There’ll always be a place for you.”

A week later, I was on a plane to New York City, going to live with a man I knew hated me, or, at best, didn’t care about my existence because I wasn’t his “real child.” For the first time in my life, I was afraid. William didn’t know I was coming; he had no idea my mother died. Once she couldn’t hide her illness from him and became too sick, he stopped coming by.

Her death certificate stated she died from advanced lung cancer, but I knew there were other complications as well. My mother died of a broken heart.

The flight attendant stopped by my seat. “Do you have someone coming to meet you, honey?”

“Oh, definitely.” I put on my most winning smile, and my face hurt from using those underworked muscles. My fingers curled around the piece of paper in my jeans pocket with my father’s address scribbled on it. I’d looked it up the night after my mother’s funeral. “My dad. He can’t wait to see me.”

“Summer vacation?” She handed me a bottle of cold water.

“Yeah. We’re going to all these cool places.”

“That’s wonderful, honey. Make sure you have your seat belt on, okay? We’re landing soon.”

“Okay.” My smile faded when she walked down the aisle, and the paper crumpled in my fist. I’d never realized what a tremendous liar I was capable of being.

The plane bumped down. I only had one suitcase, so within an hour I was on the highway, racing into Manhattan. The skyline I’d only seen on television unfolded before me, and my pulse quickened. I knew my father was a building developer, but I wasn’t really sure what that meant exactly. What I did know was that I wanted to be successful and make lots of money. So successful that I would never need to rely on him or anyone else.

The taxi door slammed behind me and sped away. I could see a green slice of Central Park at the end of the tree-lined block. Children screamed while they played on the sidewalk.

I’m really here. I’m really doing this.

A shiver ran through me, and I stiffened my spine, picked up my suitcase, and trudged up the stairs of a large brownstone. I rang the bell set in the wooden frame. The door swung open, and a man—not my father—answered.

“May I help you?” He had a slight British accent.

“Uh.” I licked my lips, my heart pounding so loudly, I thought I might faint. “Um, yeah. I need to see William MacKenzie.”

The man’s gaze raked me up and down, and I knew I didn’t measure up to living in this fancy house. I straightened and lifted my chin.

“Come inside, please.” He held the door open, and I swallowed hard and walked past him. The entrance was a huge, airy space with high ceilings, shining wooden floors, and a sweeping staircase. I set my battered suitcase at my feet, and the man placed himself in front of me as if worried I might make a run for the upstairs or grab a priceless antique.

“Now. Why don’t you tell me your name and why you need to see Mr. MacKenzie?” He had kind eyes, and he didn’t seem mean or like he’d throw me out on the street, but I was wise enough to know looks could be deceiving.

“Um, is he here? I mean, no offense, but I really need to talk to him.”

“Mr. MacKenzie is a very busy man as I’m sure you can imagine.” He blinked. “Is your mother with you? Surely you aren’t by yourself.”

Beginning to feel a little bit desperate, I pushed the hair off my forehead. I’d begun to sweat, and the wet strands stuck to my skin.

My voice rose. “I really need to speak with him. Please.”

Before the man could respond, I heard a door open and a man’s voice call out. A voice I’d heard for years in my house.

“Edgar? What’s all the commotion? Is it Rhoades and that friend of his? He knows better than to make noise while I’m working.”

And just like that, I was face-to-face with my father for the first time in almost a year. He stopped walking, turned white, and his eyes popped out of his head.

“Hello.” I refused to call him Father, Dad, or anything really.

“What are you doing here?”

Now that was the response I’d expected.

“My mother is dead. You’re my guardian.” I wanted to shock him and see what he’d do. What he’d say to me.

The man my father called Edgar coughed, then cleared his throat. “Well. Sir. Perhaps you wish to take this into your study?”

My father’s left eye twitched, but that was his only reaction to the news that my mother was dead. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his face, and walked the rest of the way down the hall to join the two of us near the entrance. That space could fit my mother’s entire house.

“You have nowhere else to go?”

I shook my head. “No. The landlord rented the house, and I need somewhere to live.”

He continued to stare at me, and for the first time I was uncertain. Would he send me away? Force me to live in a shelter?

I’ll run away.

Before he had a chance to speak, the front door opened, and two boys, who looked only a couple of years older than I, walked in, laughing. They grew quiet when they saw us gathered all together. The taller of the two stared at me with a curious but friendly expression, but the other boy, who had the same dark-blue eyes as my father, walked up to William and began questioning him. That must be Rhoades. My brother.

“Who’s he? What’s going on?”

William’s gaze flicked over to me, then back to Rhoades. “Come inside with me. Both of you.”

“But Mal’s here.”

“He needs to leave. Let’s go.”

Rhoades’s mouth tightened, and he turned to his friend. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mal said. His unblinking stare remained on me, sending hot-and-cold shivers through me, but as I had nothing to say, I followed my father’s retreating back and left them in the hallway. I heard whispers and then footsteps behind me.

I entered a room like I’d seen in the old movies my mother used to watch on late-night television. It was all dark-wood walls, old furniture I knew was expensive, and those long, fancy curtains you see in magazines but no one in real life has because they cost too much. Only, I knew my father didn’t care how much anything cost. It even smelled rich, like no one would dare sweat or fart. It was like a museum, all look-but-don’t-touch.

“Sit down, James.” He pointed at the sofa. “Rhoades.” He turned to my brother, who stood at the door. “You sit there.” He indicated the club chair. My father didn’t sit with us but took his place behind the desk, as if he was holding a business meeting.

Maybe Rhoades and I could be friends. Maybe coming to live here wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

“James showing up here today is a bit of a surprise, but one we’ll deal with. Rhoades, James is your half brother. His mother died, and I expect you to behave as an older brother should and watch out for him.”

A bit stunned by the coldness of the speech, I stared first at my father, then at Rhoades, who, white-faced and wild-eyed, looked like he was ready to puke.

Oh, my God. He never told him I existed.

I remained silent, waiting.

“I-I don’t understand. He’s your son too? But…he’s almost my age.” I could see the horror in Rhoades’s eyes. “Jesus Christ. Mom was still alive. You were cheating on her all the time? And you had another kid and kept it all a secret?” Rhoades had turned red in the face; he stood up, breathing heavily. “You can’t just bring this person in and say, ‘Here. He’s your brother. Now you have to love him.’ It doesn’t work like that. What about me? How am I supposed to feel?” By this time Rhoades was yelling, and he picked up a vase and threw it against the wall. “I don’t want a brother, and I don’t want you as a father.” Without giving me a backward glance, Rhoades ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

My father said nothing for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I’ll have Edgar show you to your room. I have work to do.” He picked up the phone and spoke into it softly. Within a minute, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Edgar walked in, sympathy written all over his face.

“Take James up and find him a room. He’ll be staying here. I’ll have to get him enrolled for school in the fall. Get me the number for the headmaster at Dalton.” For the first time, he glanced at me. “He needs new clothes. See that he gets some, please.”

“Of course.” Edgar beckoned me. “Come with me. You can pick which room you’d like.”

I didn’t care but nodded, and without another word to William, left the room with Edgar, who apparently thought if he continued to speak to me about how wonderful living there would be for me, everything would be all right. We walked up the wide staircase to the second floor, where I was faced with a line of doors.

“I think this way would be best.” He pointed to the left of the staircase. “There are rooms with a nice view of the city, and it’ll be more private for you.” Instinctively, I knew Rhoades was on the right side. We walked down the hallway.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Edgar’s face fell. “How inconsiderate of me. You must be hungry and tired. I can send you up something to eat on a tray, and you can relax and watch television.” We stopped before a door. “Here. Tell me what you think.”

“It’ll be fine.” I didn’t care where I slept. I was here, and he didn’t kick me out. I entered the room, which was a nice size with a big window and a double bed. I sat on the bed and made a show of being grateful. “This is good. And you’re right. I’m tired.”

“I’ll let you rest. When you want something, pick up the phone and push 1, and I’ll answer.”

“Okay, thanks.” I waited for him to leave, and a few minutes more, then jumped off the bed and opened the door a crack to make sure he was gone. Before leaving the room I kicked off my sneakers, knowing my bare feet would make less noise as I crept down the hallway, past the staircase, to the other side of the house. I heard a voice behind one of the doors and stopped to listen.

“I don’t fucking believe it. A half brother. Yeah, him. Obviously my father was cheating on my mother, and this kid is my half brother. It’s like he was living this double life.”

My breathing quickened, and I inched closer.

“I don’t care what my father says. I’ll never accept him. He’s nothing to me. Are you serious, Mal? Make the best of it? No, I can’t forget. I’ll never forget. Every time I see his face, it’ll remind me how my father cheated on my mother with some slutty woman.”

I blinked, hoping my eyes would stop stinging.

“I didn’t say it was his fault. But it’s not mine either. Why would he think I’d be okay with this? What am I supposed to do, introduce him to everyone? ‘Here’s my half brother, who popped up out of nowhere. While my mother was sick and dying, my father was screwing around and had this whole other life, including this kid.’ ”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from flinging open the door and rushing in to punch Rhoades. I wanted to hurt him as badly as his words hurt me. Instead, I walked carefully back to my room and flung myself on the bed, making myself a promise: I’ll never love them. I don’t need them. I don’t need anybody.

* * *

MALCOLM

Seven years later

“I’m so sorry, Rhoades. Do they know how long he has left?”

“Hours, days…who knows? I wish you weren’t so far away.”

It hurt me to hear how my best friend struggled to pretend his father’s impending death didn’t affect him. He was only twenty-two and about to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I can be on a plane tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to. I’ll see you soon.”

I was in Switzerland when I got the call from Rhoades, so I immediately packed my bags and kissed my friends Sophie and Luca good-bye with the promise that if I ever made it their way again, I’d come by. Finding them had been an unexpected bonus to my ski vacation. They were my first married couple, and my après-ski was spent in their chalet, being made love to by them for hours. They were insatiable with me and each other.

I took an overnight flight and went straight to the brownstone upon arrival, ignoring my jet lag. Edgar greeted me at the door, his face gray and his eyes dark-ringed with fatigue. William’s illness had taken a toll on the entire household.

“Malcolm, I’m so happy you made it.”

“Where is he?”

“In the study. He won’t speak to me, or anyone. I’m worried about him.”

“He’ll talk to me,” I said grimly. Edgar had just taken my parka, gloves, and scarf when I heard a noise and glanced upward. James walked down the stairs. I hadn’t seen him in over five years, and I couldn’t help but stare.

Whoa.He’d changed from the skinny high-school kid I remembered, who walked through the brownstone like a wraith, shooting dark looks at everyone in the house. Now at twenty, James was damn gorgeous—slim and tall with his hair waving around a proud but angry face. His assessing, pale eyes swept over me as if I were a stranger, and with his head high, he walked past me toward the front door.

“James.”

He stopped, turned around, and cocked his head. “Yeah?”

“It’s Malcolm.” I gave him what I hoped was a friendly smile. Despite his and Rhoades’s rocky relationship, I’d always believed that James was as much a victim in the fucked-up MacKenzie family dynamic as Rhoades and that Rhoades was harder on him than necessary. It wasn’t James’s fault William was a lying, cheating bastard, any more than it was Rhoades’s.

“Yeah?” His gaze expressed a distinct lack of interest. “So?”

Rhoades hadn’t been kidding when he’d told me James barely acknowledged anyone. But I wasn’t just anyone. He’d listen to me.

“I’m sorry about William.”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “You are? Why? I’m not. He’s a bastard.”

Well, damn.“You don’t sugarcoat things, do you?”

“No. Did you expect me to? I don’t believe in laying down bullshit to make it seem better than it was. He hated me, and I felt the same way about him.”

There was no pretense with James. He spoke as if William was already dead, which in fairness to James, perhaps he already was. In the doorway, off to the side, Edgar stood waiting. He gave a small shake of his head, and I could tell this was a painful subject for everyone in the house. Rhoades had spoken to me about it over the years. The tension between him and James swung a bit from left to right, but the middle remained firmly the point of dislike and mistrust.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“I’m busy.”

He turned to go, but I caught his arm, and he froze. I could feel the hardness of muscle beneath my hand. Little James had certainly grown up.

“Come on, it’ll only take a minute.” I used my most persuasive voice—the one that had gotten princes into my bed.

He glared at me but gave a jerky nod. “Fine.”

“Edgar, can we use the living room?”

“Certainly.” He opened the door for me, then slipped away, leaving us alone.

“This way.” My hand still gripped his arm, but he came, a willing if sulky participant.

“I know where to go. I live here, remember? Although I think everyone except Edgar wishes I wouldn’t.” He pulled away from me and flung himself onto the sofa, deliberately putting his sneakers on the pale-yellow silk of the furniture.

“You know, acting like a spoiled child isn’t going to work with me.”

“Fuck off.” He stood. “I don’t need this shit.”

“Sit down.” I pushed him to seated again, and his eyes flared. “You’re going to listen to me because whether you believe it or not, I agree with you.”

“Oh.” Color tinged his cheeks, and he bit his lip. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He tried to play the part of the tough guy, but I remembered that scared little kid I saw for the first time standing in the foyer. It was enough for me to think about giving him a hug to let him know I understood. I couldn’t pinpoint when it became imperative that James knew he had an ally in me, but I wanted him to realize he wasn’t as alone as he might think.

The best way to deal with someone suffering anger issues is to take the wind out of their sails. By validating James’s anger, I put myself on his side. It wasn’t a ploy. He was right.

“William MacKenzie is a shit human being. I’m not here to try and get you to make peace with your father before he dies. I think that ship sailed a long time ago.”

“It was the Titanic, and it sank without ever leaving the dock.” James sat back onto the sofa, but I noticed this time he kept his feet on the floor.

“Yeah, well, I was never his favorite person. He didn’t like what he thought was my bad influence on Rhoades.”

“You mean my perfect half brother wasn’t so perfect after all?” I could hear the bitterness choking him.

“Look.” I joined him on the delicate sofa. It wasn’t a big piece of furniture, and it forced me to sit closer than James liked. His eyes widened, and he inched away from me to press up against the ornately carved wooden armrest. “I’m Rhoades’s best friend. You have to know this hurts him as much as you. You were both put in the same position. Wouldn’t it be better to try and be friends and not enemies?”

James studied me, and I could feel him grow cold, the distance between us widening. “Oh yeah. Rhoades and I are the same. Right. He grew up with a father who never acknowledged his existence even when he stood in front of his face, right? He never got birthday presents or Christmas presents either, I’m sure. He was called ‘him’ and never ‘son,’ right? I’m sure. Yeah, Rhoades and I are exactly the same. Rhoades grew up in a two-room house and slept on the sofa his whole life, right? Eating boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner four nights out of seven? Why don’t you tell me more about how similar Rhoades and I are?”

Shit.I had no idea. I thought William was a bastard, but he really was heartless.

“I’m not saying you were the same people literally. I meant that neither of you knew of the other’s existence, so maybe you can use that as a starting point.”

“Look. Like I said, I’m busy. I don’t care anymore. Alive or dead, William meant nothing to me, and I meant the same to him. Rhoades was all he cared about. And for the record”—James stood again, but this time I didn’t bother to stop him—“I knew all about Rhoades. My mother used to tell me I had a brother and that one day maybe we’d meet and be friends. When I came up here, I had the crazy thought that maybe we would.”

“You can, that’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“No.” He cut me off with that one vicious word. “I heard him back then. I know how he feels about me. So fuck him, fuck William, and screw you too. I want nothing from this family. Leave me the hell alone.”

He stormed out and slammed the door behind him, leaving me in a room filled with the echoes of his anger. Funny thing was, I couldn’t blame James for his hatred of William or even Rhoades. The guy had been dealt a shitty hand in life. All I wanted him to know somehow was that I understood, but I’d failed miserably.

A wave of dizziness hit me, and instead of going after James, I remained seated. All the excitement of the past few weeks spent with Sophie and Luca, then the frenzied rush to get here to be with Rhoades, and now this emotional argument with James, played havoc with my head. I pressed a button on my watch to check my vitals.

The door opened, and without looking, I pulled down my sweater to hide what I was doing. Rhoades entered, a grim look on his face.

“I heard yelling, and Edgar said you were in here with James. I’m glad to see you, but why were you bothering with him?”

I sprang up, hoping to feel steadier on my feet, and ignoring Rhoades’s question, hugged him tight.

“I’m glad to see you. I was worried about you. Edgar said you’ve holed yourself up in that room and barely talk to anyone.”

And damn, he did look terrible. Thin, pale, hollow-eyed. Until the day James showed up, Rhoades had idolized his father. I knew how that ideal had come crashing to the ground and how it messed with his head and heart.

“Edgar is terrible at keeping my secrets.”

“You don’t need to hide from me.” I was such a con artist, considering everything I hid, but that was different.

“You weren’t here. What should I do, call you up in Paris or Berlin or wherever you were for the weekend and spill my guts?”

“I’d listen. You know that. We made a pledge when we left university to always be there for each other, no matter what.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to bring you down. Not when I saw the pictures of you having such a great time, meeting so many different people.”

“You know whenever you call, I’ll always come back to you.”

I hugged him, his body, smell, and touch as familiar as my own. We’d been each other’s first lovers—it was natural, but we both knew not forever. When the sex fizzled out after a few times together, we remained as close as ever. We were so different, yet we complemented each other. I never let him get away with bullshit, and he kept my feet on the ground, as best he could. Rhoades would always be my best friend, my brother.

We were only twenty-two, but those days seemed a lifetime ago.

“Were you arguing with James? I heard his voice and then, true to form, a slamming door. He excels at that.” With his arm still around me, we walked to the sofa. I leaned on him, letting him take a bit more of my weight. Maybe all the running around had taken a greater toll on me than I’d imagined.

“You okay?” He watched me with a frown when I let out a huge sigh as I sat down.

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “See?” I was counting on Rhoades being too caught up in his own grief to concentrate on me, and I was right. “And we weren’t really arguing. I was trying to understand him and his feelings.”

A grim smile thinned Rhoades’s lips. “It’s pretty clear. He hates me and my father.” A pained expression crossed his face. “Our father.”

“I understand his feelings toward your father. From what I learned, William did the bare minimum for James. But you never really accepted him as your brother either. I think that’s where the problem is. I said it the first day he came here. It wasn’t his fault. You two are more alike than different.”

“You’ve been away and don’t really know what James has been up to.”

I’d really hoped I could end this conversation, go home, and get some sleep. But Rhoades’s words intrigued me.

“What? What has he done? Taken William’s Ferrari and trashed it? Spent his allowance on drugs?” God, I hoped not. The last thing we needed was another poor little rich kid hooked on drugs because no one loved him. And James, even though I didn’t know him, didn’t seem like the type.

“I don’t know, but every night he sneaks out of the house and doesn’t come back until before dawn.”

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”

Rhoades made a disgusted sound. “He waits until he thinks everyone’s asleep to leave. But there’s more to it.”

My head hurt, and I stretched out, hoping my lying still would help lessen the pounding. “Go on.”

“He’s got money. Lots of it.” A dark expression settled on Rhoades’s face, and he tightened his lips. “I don’t think he’s taking drugs. He’s too smart for that. I think he may be selling them.”

“What?” I struggled to sit up. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it?” Rhoades stood. “Why? Where else could he make so much cash? And it would be just like him to do something so risky and stupid to bring shame on this family.”

I found myself once again defending James, even though he’d probably snarl at me to fuck off. “Is that all you care about? If it is true—and for the record, I don’t think it is—shouldn’t you be concerned that James might be using the drugs himself? Or that he’s involved with something illegal that could be dangerous to him and get him arrested? Have you become as selfish as your father?”

“That’s a damn low blow, Mal. It’s not like you.”

Maybe so. But this wasn’t the same Rhoades I loved either. “You’re accusing your brother of being a criminal. Have you even tried to talk to him and ask him what he’s doing or why? Because all I’m hearing is how this might affect you and your family’s reputation, and that’s not the Rhoades I know and love. You show all this concern and give charity to the less fortunate, yet when your own brother might be sending out signals and crying for help, you ignore it and only think about yourself.”

Pale-faced, Rhoades clenched his hands into fists. “I did. I tried to talk to him. He said his life is his own business and he’d do what he needed to get money.”

That sounded like a typical James non-answer. “And you simply accepted that without even trying to dig further, right?”

“He wouldn’t talk to me.” Rhoades flushed a deep red, understanding I’d called him out on his behavior. If it had been me, I’d have pushed and pushed to get answers.

“Didn’t William give him anything? An allowance?” The man had money; he certainly wasn’t stingy with Rhoades, who had anything he wanted.

“Yes, of course, but it wasn’t enough. It never is. James wanted more. He’s always involved in these schemes to make money. The last time I asked him what he planned to do with the money, he told me he was going to invest it in the stock market.”

“Has he?”

Rhoades shrugged. “Again, he won’t answer me when I ask. Tells me it’s none of my goddamn business.”

Waves of exhaustion rolled through me. I needed to go home and sleep.

“It’ll work out, but you need to make more of an effort to stay connected with him.”

“I’m trying, dammit. I’m dealing with my dying father first.”

Shit.I’d forgotten the real purpose of my trip home. “I’m sorry, Rodeo. How’re you doing?”

“Fine.” He stared out the window.

But he wasn’t. Not really.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“You really want to know? I’ve spent the last seven years angry and hurt. He never apologized for what he did to my mother and me. After James showed up, I only spoke to my father when I needed something, except for one thing—when I told him I’m gay.”

For all that we were close as brothers, I’d never asked him if his father knew. “He didn’t support you?” I wished the bastard would recover so I could kill him all over again for what he’d done to both Rhoades and James.

“He never said anything. It’s like he ignored the most vital part of me. All he said was that he hoped I could handle it. He said the business required a man to be tough and sometimes heartless.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. I waited, knowing how much he needed to express everything he’d kept inside. “He said he hoped I was man enough.”

My headache worsened, and the nausea rose while my heart broke for Rhoades.

He continued, “When he got sick and I came home, I had to take responsibility for the business. I’m only twenty-two and had to jump in and basically take over the reins of his company, so I made my peace with him. Not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice. All the while feeling like a traitor to my mother because of what he did.”

I felt for Rhoades. He was in a hell of a situation, one I was thrilled never to have to be in myself. I wanted as little responsibility as possible in life. The less stress the better.

“You aren’t a traitor. You’re doing what you need to survive. Your mother, from what you’ve told me of her, would want you to have done exactly what you did. But now I’ll be blunt. He’s gone and you’re in charge. Don’t make his legacy yours. You’ve got a heart, and I know you’ll listen to it when it comes to doing the right thing. Including trying to make up with James.”

A few heartbeats passed before Rhoades answered. “It’s good to have you back. I’ve missed you.”

“Same. I’m here for as long as you need me. But I have to go home and sleep before I fall over.”

“Let me get Felix to drive you home.”

Where I would normally refuse, exhaustion made me agreeable. “Thanks. I’ll speak to you later.”

By the time I put my coat on, Edgar had put my bags in the car, and I waved good-bye to him and Rhoades. We drove along in peace. For the first time today I was basically alone. I took out my phone and called my parents.

“Hi. I’m coming home.” I had no desire to go to my empty apartment with no food. And I missed my parents.

“When did you get in? Why didn’t you tell us so we could come get you? Is everything okay?”

When my mother eventually ran out of air, I spoke. “I came in because Rhoades’s father is dying. I took the red-eye. There wasn’t time to call. I left his house and I’m on my way to you.”

“And you’re well?” She sounded guarded.

“Just tired.”

“Okay.” Her voice took on that brisk, efficient tone it always did whenever she thought I was overdoing it, which was most of the time. “I’ll have breakfast waiting.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“And,” she continued, “I’m setting up an appointment with the doctor. You haven’t been home in almost a year and it’s time.”

Knowing it was useless to argue, I could only laugh. “Yes, Mother.”

“It’s not anything to laugh about. You might think I’m being overly cautious, but I know you don’t take care of yourself.” Her voice hitched. “We don’t want anything happening.”

“I knew when I called you’d say this. I think it’s a good idea.”

“Which means you feel something. Are you getting headaches?”

It was useless to lie to my mother. “Yeah. A few. But I’m sure it’s because I’ve been running around.”

“Then stop and sit awhile,” my father broke in. “We miss you.”

Thanks to the miracle of science and good health care, my father beat his cancer, and it made me realize even more how fragile life was and how tenuous and fleeting our time on earth. It made me acutely aware of the importance of the people in my life and how I should stop and let them know I cared about them before it became too late. Despite my mother’s overprotectiveness and hovering, I missed her and my father.

“I plan on it. I’ll see you in a few.”

I disconnected and leaned back on the soft leather seat of the car. My temples throbbed, and I took a bottle of water from the little shelf in the back and popped two aspirin. When I had my stroke at five, we moved from Dublin, Ireland, where I was born, to New York City for treatment. It took me almost a year of daily physical therapy to get fully up-to-speed. The operation afterward to remove the affected blood vessels had been considered a success, but I lived with a hammer hanging over my head.

It could happen again. There’s no guarantee.

Back then my mother still had the power to control me and my actions, but once I hit puberty, all she could do was stand by and watch me make my own decisions, whether she agreed with them or not. At my graduation from college, she’d burst into tears and hugged me.

“I’m so helpless, Malcolm. I feel like I’m always waiting for something bad to happen.”

“Stop, Mom. One thing I’ve learned is, you can’t control everything. Life is wild and uncontrollable, and good or bad, follows its own path. All I can do is roll with it and see where it takes me.”

Living with the knowledge that if I had another aneurysm, I most likely wouldn’t survive, I vowed two things: First, I’d make sure to live life to its fullest, enjoying every day as if it was my last, and every person was a friend to be made. Second and most important, no one aside from my parents would ever know. I’d successfully hidden it from Rhoades, which I knew would hurt him, but I refused to have him look at me with pity and think of me as sick.

It was a secret I planned to take with me to my grave.

* * *

Later that afternoon, after receiving the all-clear from my doctor—with an admonishment to “take it easy”—I slept for the rest of the day and into the evening. I awoke near eleven, refreshed and anxious to escape my parents’ house, so I decided to hit up my old haunts. Rhoades’s story had depressed me, and I figured getting out in the scene and being with people would put me in a better mood.

I hit up my favorite club and sat at the bar. I was sipping a scotch and watching people on the dance floor when I did a double take. At a table for four sat two couples. Three of the men looked to be in their late thirties or early forties, dressed in business suits. It was the fourth man who caught my eye, and when he stood and whispered into the ear of the man next to him, I saw his face.

It was James.

Unashamed, I stared at them, watching as the older man caught James’s face in his hands and kissed him deep and strong. It was a mark of possession. James broke the kiss, not protesting when the man cupped his ass and squeezed, but his face hardened as he walked through the crowd on his way to the restroom, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

I broke out of my trance. “I’ll be right back,” I said to the bartender and hurried through the crowd to the restroom area where James had disappeared. I didn’t have to wait long.

“James.” I took his arm. “What are you doing here with those men?”

He pushed my hand off his arm. “Leave me alone. Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. Why did you let him grab you like that?”

The hazy light made it difficult to pick up on his emotions, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable. “I don’t owe you or anyone an explanation for what I do. I’ve told you before, it’s my life. Now leave me the fuck alone. I have to get back. I can’t waste time talking to you when I’m supposed to be with him.”

An unpleasant thought crossed my mind, yet it made sense after the conversation Rhoades and I had earlier.

“Is he paying you to be with him?” Horrified, I grabbed him again. “Are you sleeping with men for money? Is that how you’re earning all that cash? Are you crazy?”

James’s pale eyes blazed in his face. “If I am, it’s none of your fucking business. And you’d better not tell Rhoades. If you do, I’ll make sure everyone knows William MacKenzie’s other son is fucking men for money.”

I opened my mouth to snap back at him, when someone walked down the short hallway. When he drew closer, I saw it was the man James had been sitting with. His date.

“What’s going on?” The man—tall and with a paunch, planted himself in front of us and scowled.

“Nothing. I was on my way back to you.” James stepped away from my side, and the man pulled him close. Annoyance mixed with a touch of fear flashed in James’s face, and my hands balled into fists, wishing I could punch the man’s face in when I saw his pudgy fingers tighten on James’s arm, pressing into the flesh.

“Good. We need to leave.” His small dark eyes narrowed when he faced me. “What do you want? He’s busy with me tonight.” He squeezed James’s arm again and pointed his finger at me. “Tell your friend here, if he wants time with you, to make an appointment like everyone else.” He glared at me. “Got it?”

With my eyes fixed on James’s pale face, I answered. “Yeah. I got it.”

Oh, James, what the fuck are you doing this for? Is hating William really worth it?

My temper flared as he continued to manhandle James, pulling him along. I took a step toward them, but James’s eyes widened, and he shook his head slightly, his lips forming the word “no.” Respecting his wishes, I let them go, but my heart hurt for James, knowing that fierce pain and anger he held so tight drove him to this desperate point. He was in so far over his head, and I couldn’t bear to see him drowning. I didn’t question why I needed to insert myself into this family drama, but it was more than my friendship with Rhoades. Finding James tonight so lost and vulnerable yet pretending to have a hard, invincible shell broke my heart. The thought of that pig touching him enraged me. I didn’t want to think of him lying with someone who didn’t care. It wasn’t right. Somehow I had to make things right between him and Rhoades.

* * *

JAMES

When I came home that night, I wondered if Malcolm had said anything to Rhoades. As much as I wanted to hurt my father, I couldn’t tell Rhoades I was barely one step up from a street hooker. Maybe in some crazy way, I held out hope we could still be friends. I passed Rhoades in the hall, and when he merely nodded, I gave an enormous sigh of relief. I walked up the stairs to my father’s bedroom and without knocking, pushed open the door.

I’d never been in his sanctuary before, and it was as opulent as I’d imagined. Above the four-poster bed hung a large portrait of William and his wife and Rhoades. William lay in the bed, his eyes open, watching me.

“That’s right, old man. It’s me. I finally made it up here.”

I walked over to his side. “I’ve got a few things to say, and I know you can’t answer, so the floor is mine.”

He blinked and coughed.

“I’m not here to tell you I feel bad that we never had a relationship.” I laughed. “On the contrary. I’m happy to hate you and have you hate me. I wanted to make sure you know before you die that I’ve been sleeping with men for money.” His eyes widened and his face flushed before going pale. I leaned in close to his face.

“You heard right, William. I’m a hooker. I get paid lots of money for letting men fuck me and suck their cocks. William MacKenzie’s son sleeps with men for money. You did that to me. You taught me the only thing important in life is money and power. They’re more important than anything, more than family or your children. But I’m done now. I wanted to make sure you heard it from me.”

I could’ve let him die without knowing all this, but I wanted him to hear everything I’d kept inside for years.

“You hurt my mother so badly,” I whispered. “When she got sick, you let her die as if she were a stranger. And still she loved you. She promised you’d take care of me, but did you think putting a roof over my head was good enough?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I leaned forward to make sure he heard every word I said.

“I hate you. I hate that you never loved me and that you treated my mother like she was only there to serve you. Most of all, I hate how she thought she didn’t deserve better than you. Well, you know what? You might have all the money in the world, but you’ll never be anything but a big nothing to me.”

I walked out, my chest tight and tears burning my eyes. When I reached my room, I took my laptop and deleted all my escorting accounts and wondered how the hell I was ever going to talk to Malcolm again. When I saw him tonight, I knew he was too smart not to figure out what I was doing. Would Malcolm hold it over my head? Oddly enough, as much as I wanted to hurt William, I didn’t want Rhoades to know. I fell asleep with Malcolm’s face in my mind.

* * *

For whatever reason,I thought when William died I’d feel a great rush of remorse that we’d never gotten close. Instead, I felt nothing at all. I was in my room, awaiting Malcolm’s response to my email asking him to forget what he’d seen, when I heard tapping on the door.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

Rhoades.

“Yeah.”

He entered but left the door open. I knew right away, without him even having to say it.

“He’s dead, right?”

Rhoades nodded, and an awkward silence grew between us. “I’m sorry.” Not really, but it seemed the only thing to say.

His eyes met mine. “He was your father too.”

“No,” I said swiftly. “He wasn’t. I had no father.”

I challenged him to deny my words, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. “The funeral is set for Saturday.”

Without anything further, Rhoades turned around and left.

My email dinged. It was Malcolm.

Don’t worry. I don’t plan on saying anything, but please tell me you’re stopping.

I didn’t answer him.

The next several days passed in a blur, with people coming and going to pay their respects. I stayed home, not out of respect for William’s memory, but because Edgar had taken me aside to talk.

“If I were you, I’d take this opportunity to try and forge a relationship with Rhoades. I’m sure he’d like that as well.”

With Rhoades spending every waking moment with either Malcolm or the attorneys, I knew nothing of the sort. The days passed with little to no communication, and the divide between us widened from a river to an ocean.

The night before the funeral, I wandered into William’s library and stood staring at the large oil painting of him that hung on the wall. I recalled the second painting with William, Rhoades, and his mother in William’s bedroom. The door opened, and Malcolm walked in, his jaw hard and mouth set in a harsh line. I glanced at him, my body prickling with awareness. He held power over me, and I hated that, but there was something more, and I refused to acknowledge it. I set my jaw in a hard line as well and ignored the quickened thumping of my heart.

“Good,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad you’re here. We should talk.”

“Should we? About what?” I tried to pretend none of it mattered to me. William’s death had little impact on me personally, but I knew Rhoades hurt. I wondered why he clung to this image of his father as a man worthy of his love.

“The other night. You never answered my email. I hope you use this as a chance to stop the escorting. You don’t need to do it.”

Malcolm didn’t need to know I’d already made the decision to do so.

“I’ll stop when I choose. But thanks for your concern.”

“I am concerned for you. I hope you see that. It can turn very bad, very fast, and I’d hate for you to get caught up in something you can’t handle and get hurt.”

When he spoke like that, his eyes pleading and so sincere, I could almost believe him. I wanted to. Being hurt and angry all the time bogged me down like I was walking through the thickest quicksand, every step harder and harder to take. For once I wanted someone to care about me, for me. I wanted a friend. I’d seen some horrible things in the year I’d been escorting, and I was afraid.

From the first day, Malcolm had been the one person to stand up for me and see my side. I’d imagined him to always be in Rhoades’s corner, but it was nice to see that maybe I had someone in mine.

“I…I appreciate your concern. I really have decided to give it up. I’m not going to do it anymore.”

The tension drained from Malcolm’s face, and he smiled. “I’m glad. Really. I hope this can be a whole new start.”

Caught up in his approval, I warmed, the blood rushing hot through my body, aware of Malcolm as a man—a very attractive man—and not simply Rhoades’s best friend. A bit disconcerted by the momentary attraction, all I could do was nod, my tongue refusing to work. Maybe things would be different from now on. Maybe it was a new beginning. For all of us.

The funeral was packed with William’s many business associates, and as his eldest son and his successor, Rhoades stepped into the role seamlessly. Malcolm hovered at his side, always with a reassuring or comforting smile or to give him a glass of water. I’d gotten one quick nod from each of them earlier in the morning and then nothing. All of Malcolm’s attention was saved for Rhoades while I remained in the background, the outsider looking in, unwanted and unnecessary. Gone were the good feelings from our talk, and I once again saw Malcolm as someone who knew my secrets and could use them against me. He was firmly planted by Rhoades’s side, as if he was part of the family and not I.

When the time came for the service, I walked in with Edgar. I’d expected to sit next to Rhoades, but he took the aisle seat with Malcolm at his other side, usurping my place as Rhoades’s only other family member. My black mood deepened as I faced their backs; I should’ve never let Malcolm’s good looks and smile trick me. He didn’t care. Not about me. Only about Rhoades. Always Rhoades. I looked away as Malcolm slid his arm around Rhoades’s shoulder.

The eulogy was brief, and since he was cremated, there was no burial service. We were back at the brownstone by early afternoon, where Edgar served a light lunch and the crowds ebbed and flowed until the evening when all that remained was the awkward triumvirate of Rhoades, Malcolm, and myself in the library.

“So that’s that,” Malcolm said and poured Rhoades a scotch. “Are you okay?”

Rhoades took the glass but didn’t drink, his eyes remaining downcast, and he gave a shrug. “Fine.”

“At least it was quick.” I felt I had to make some contribution to the conversation.

At my voice, Rhoades shifted his gaze from the floor to my face. “I hope this didn’t interfere with any plans you might have had for the day.”

“What?” I asked, confused as to what Rhoades meant.

Malcolm sent Rhoades a sharp glance.

Rhoades set down the glass Malcolm had given him and rose to his feet. He undid his tie and the top button of his shirt. “I have to admit I was surprised to see you at the funeral. I didn’t think you’d bother.”

“Rhoades.” Malcolm frowned. “Come on.”

“Come on and what? He hated William. Maybe with good cause, but—”

“Maybe?” I jumped out of my seat to stand face-to-face with Rhoades. I could see a muscle tick in his jaw. “Maybe? He hated me. He barely acknowledged my existence. All either of you cared about was the precious family name.” Any tentative thoughts of us forging a relationship vanished.

“Which you’re happy to drag through the mud, aren’t you, with your secretive little disappearing act at night?”

Did Malcolm tell Rhoades? I had to refrain from glancing over at him. “News flash, Rhoades. It isn’t always about you. Sometimes I do things just for me.”

He jabbed my shoulder. “It was always about you. You’re selfish. You’ve never tried to be a part of this family.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me,” I shouted and pushed him back.

Malcolm stepped between us. “Come on, you two. Stop it.”

Rhoades shoved him. “Get out of the way, Mal.” His eyes spit fire at me. “Come on, James. You’ve wanted this from the start. You want to hit me? Try it.”

“You hated what I stood for. His lying and cheating. You hated me and my mother. It wasn’t her fault your father was a dog. A dirty, lying dog, who wouldn’t stop sniffing around my mother’s skirts. From the minute he walked into our house he didn’t leave her alone.”

“Jesus,” I heard Malcolm mutter, and I knew I’d gone too far when Rhoades whitened.

“You fucker,” he growled and took a swing at me, which I ducked with ease.

Malcolm grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the way. “What the hell are you doing? Why don’t you go cool off?”

“Now you’ve appointed yourself my guardian? Who the hell do you think you are?” I tried to pull away, but he held on tight.

“Someone should’ve taken you in hand years ago and taught you how to behave like a man and not a child.”

My blood ran cold, and in that moment I hated him even more than Rhoades.

“What are you here for, Malcolm? Don’t you have a family?”

His face darkened with anger. “I’m trying to help salvage yours, you idiot.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not worth it to either of us.”

“You stupid, spoiled little brat,” he snapped at me. “Grow the hell up and stop whining about how sad your life is when you have everything you want now. All you do is set out to destroy everyone with your miserable behavior.”

With Malcolm’s hard words, my heart felt like it exploded in my chest. The room turned black, and I launched myself at him. My fist connected with Malcolm’s jaw, and he crumpled to the ground.

“Shit.” I shook out my hand and watched Rhoades kneel beside him. “He really should’ve been your brother. Both of you leave me the hell alone. I don’t ever want to talk to either of you again.”

* * *

JAMES

Two years later

“Stuart Whitman. Nice to meet you.”

I gave him a slight smile. These fund raisers were always a hardship for me since I was the worst at making small talk. “James Rutledge.”

“Isn’t this awful? I hate being in crowds of strangers, pretending to smile when I’d rather be home.”

That bit of truth sparked my interest. “I agree. But the cause is a good one, so I’m here to lend my support.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied hastily. “I’m very involved in charity. What do you do, by the way?”

“I’m in the entertainment business.” No need to elaborate.

“Oh, wow. That’s cool. You must meet some famous people. Or at least interesting ones. I’m in boring computer technology.”

“Everyone’s job serves a purpose. I’m sure yours helps countless people without you even realizing it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He finished his drink. “Would you like another?”

“Why not? It’s Macallan 18.”

Stuart called over the bartender and gave him our order. He handed me my drink, and we clinked glasses, our eyes meeting over the rims. While his expression warmed, I remained disconnected. Sex had never brought me anything but a momentary rush of pleasure, so it wasn’t high on my list of needs. Making money was. Still, it was nice to be with someone instead of being by myself. I wasn’t always the best company.

“Are you here with someone?” Stuart sidled closer, and his shoulder rubbed mine.

In most cases, I’d brush off a man who came on as strong as Stuart. But I’d already had two scotches and was feeling a bit reckless. It was the two-year anniversary of William’s funeral—and since I’d last heard from or seen Rhoades. After that horrendous fight, I stayed long enough to get the little money William left me, then packed my bags and left, never bothering to say good-bye to anyone but Edgar. I rented the cheapest studio I could find and set out to make my fortune, and with the help of Derek, the fifty-year-old investment-fund manager I’d started having an affair with, I achieved that quicker than I imagined. But his fist in my face quickly ended that arrangement, and I’d had little desire to start with someone new. Except tonight, the memory of that fight with Rhoades and Malcolm loomed large in my mind. I was so damn tired of chasing shadows from the past.

“No. I’m all by my lonesome.” I swallowed a hefty gulp of scotch. “How about you?”

“The same.” His thigh pressed against mine, and I had to hold back from moving away. If I continued the dance, we’d wind up in bed tonight. Sleeping with a stranger would be a fitting tribute to commemorate the anniversary of my separation from the MacKenzie family. “We don’t have to be, though. I hate sleeping alone.”

Stuart had nice, even features and soft-looking lips. For the almost two years I was with Derek, I’d suffered him to kiss me, but Stuart might be different. I hoped so because I yearned to know desire. At the age of twenty-two, it was about time. Incredibly, it was Malcolm who last sparked my interest, the night before William’s funeral, but he too had betrayed me by always siding with Rhoades. Over the years I’d wondered about Malcolm—where he was and if he’d met someone who finally reined him in. Malcolm didn’t seem like the type to settle down. I also regretted my harsh words to both him and Rhoades but couldn’t make myself take that step toward reconciliation. Maybe one day, but not yet.

I downed the rest of my drink. “What are you suggesting?”

Before I could take a breath, Stuart kissed me and I allowed it. His lips were as soft as I’d imagined and his tongue insistent. I gave him entrance and even pushed myself to meet his tongue with mine. His breathing grew labored, and he put his hand on my neck, but I shook him off and stepped away.

“If you want to fuck, we’re going to have to take it somewhere private. I don’t put my personal business on display.”

Seeing me remaining unsmiling and serious, Stuart gulped down his drink. “You really turn me on.”

“Why?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, you’re good-looking, a great kisser, and you’ve got class.”

“You’re good for my ego.” I tossed two twenties at the bartender, and Stuart watched, then gave me a smile.

“I can be good for a lot more than that.” He touched my cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

I took him home with me that night, hoping he’d flip the switch that would lighten my soul, but while he was a vigorous lover and whispered all the right things in my ear, I remained dead inside.

“That was wonderful.” He sighed and kissed my shoulder. “You’re amazing.”

All the right words, but none of them moved me. Still, I held on to him. It wasn’t unpleasant. I could send Stuart home and stare at the walls or let him stay with me and have someone to hold at night.

“You can stay if you want.”

“I’d love to. You know, James, I could become addicted to you very easily.” He put his head on my shoulder and caressed my stomach. “I knew you’d be a wonderful lover.”

I wondered how experienced he was or if he was faking it to make me feel good. “Let’s get some rest.”

Stuart never went home. The following week he moved in.

* * *

MALCOLM

Seven years later

I sat in the second row of the Hugo Boss fashion show in Paris, grateful for the dark sunglasses that hid my bloodshot eyes. I’d rather be in bed but had promised Brock, the model I’d been sleeping with, I’d come and watch him walk. I closed my eyes to stop my head from spinning, the result of too much champagne and too little sleep the past week. Paris fashion was notorious for its pre- and after-parties, and Brock, in an effort to create as much buzz as possible, insisted on going to them all and dragging me along with him. I was feeling each of my thirty-one years at the moment.

Yawning behind my hand, I took out my phone to text Rhoades, only to see a text from him waiting in my unread messages. I clicked on it and read: You won’t believe who I heard from. James. He said he thought it was time to put the past behind us and maybe try to reconnect. Can you believe it? After all these years.

The music played, signaling the start of the show, but I barely registered it. This news from Rhoades was momentous. Over the years I’d asked him if he’d heard from James or if he’d ever made the attempt to reach out to his brother, only to receive a one-word answer before changing the topic: No.

Time may have passed, but the brutal words flung about by all three of us that night remained on my mind. I might’ve hurt for Rhoades, but he’d gone on with his life. James had lost everything.

And? What are you going to do about it?

Do you think I should get in touch with him?

Rhoades might put together multimillion-dollar real-estate deals, but he had no idea how to handle his personal life.

Are you an idiot? Of course you should. This could be the breakthrough you’ve been waiting for.

A throat cleared next to me, and I glanced up to catch some well-dressed elderly man giving me the evil eye.

“Sorry,” I said sweetly. “My boyfriend texted me to say how much he missed me and sent a video to show me.” I rubbed the pad of my thumb over my lips. “In full color.” The man turned bright red and opened his program, burying his pointy nose inside it.

I pulled up my messages again to read a string from Rhoades.

I’m not sure. What’s the point? I can’t forget what he said that night.

Why? Because you know it’s true? The point is, you’ll have a brother. The last piece of your immediate family. Don’t hold on to petty fights that mean nothing anymore.

Since when are you the smart one? You’re right. I’ll tell him yes.

I chuckled and caught sight of Brock walking down the runway. His golden hair waved over his brow, and his light-blue eyes glowed. With a shock, I realized Brock looked like James. Most of my male lovers did, now that I thought back on it. I seemed to have a weakness for the tall, lean, and sulky type with sun-streaked hair and eyes that could pierce right through to your soul.

What had James been doing these past nine years? He’d up and disappeared like a thief in the night. Whenever I was in New York, I searched for him in the clubs but never spotted him. I wondered if he’d said to hell with all of us and gone back home to Florida. But now he’d reappeared, and my curiosity was piqued.

Rhoades texted me again. Tomorrow. Let you know how it goes.

The music swelled around me, the clapping intensified, but I remained staring at my screen. The letters blurred and nausea threatened. Something wasn’t right. I closed my eyes and hoped for it to pass.

It didn’t. Terrified, I pushed past people and ran out of the show. I needed to call my doctor.

* * *

Later that afternoon, my packing was interrupted by furious knocking at my door. I opened it to find an angry Brock on the other side.

“Where were you? How come you didn’t make it to my after-party?” He stormed past me, and like a dramatic princess, threw himself on the bed, next to my suitcase. “What’re you doing? Are you leaving? Where are you going?”

God, I wanted to stuff something in his mouth to shut him up. He might be pretty, but damn, right now his voice went through me like a knife into soft butter. I mustered a slight smile, even though it sent needles of pain through my head.

“I got a call from home and have to rush back. I didn’t want to spoil your good time.” I watched his face fall.

“But you promised to introduce me to people. Why can’t you stay for two more days?”

Because I might be dead, I wanted to snap. The pain in my head had intensified as the hours passed, along with my fear that I was having a stroke. I called my neurologist, who advised me to go to the hospital here in France, but I didn’t trust anyone but him, so against his wishes, I booked a flight to come home. I’d already checked my blood pressure with my personal machine and winced at the sky-high number.

“I’m sorry, but something important came up at home and I have to leave.”

“More important than me?” Brock jumped up, and with his famous hip-rolling stride, crossed the room to wind his arms around my neck and rub against me. “I’m going to be all alone, and someone might try and take advantage of me.” He kissed my ear and down my neck, but it did nothing for me. My body was in overdrive, and all I wanted was to get away.

I removed his clinging arms to finish packing and zipped up my last suitcase. “We’re not committed. If you want to be with someone else, it’s fine.”

“Oh.”

That one word stopped me more than any of his practiced moves and kisses.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to lead you on into thinking we were a couple.”

“I like you. A lot. I thought you liked me too.”

“I do.” I forced myself to kiss him and give him a hug. “You’re incredibly sexy and gorgeous and a great lover.” The truth was, he was no different than any man I’d been with. They helped pass the frightening emptiness of my nights when all I could think about was closing my eyes and not waking up. “But I need to go home.”

“Will I see you again?” He pushed the hair off his forehead, and once again I was reminded of James and that vulnerability he didn’t often let break through.

“Sure. When you’re back in New York look me up, and hopefully we can get together. You’re going to have a wonderful career. And before I get on the plane, I’ll text some of my contacts and make sure they look out for you.”

“Really? Thanks.” A huge smile wiped away the sulkiness, and when he hugged me, I was glad I didn’t feel too guilty. Brock was using me for who I knew as much as I was using him to stave off the loneliness.

I called for a cab and a bellman to help with my luggage. Once I’d made my promises to him, Brock saw I was of no further use and left with an over-the-top good-bye full of kissing and a few well-placed tears. I slammed the door to the cab and forgot him as we drove off.

Twenty-four hours later I was in the hospital, having every vital sign and bodily function checked.

“I haven’t been poked this much since I was in a threesome in Cannes,” I muttered. At the sound of a smothered laugh, I glanced up to see a nurse at the door to my room. “Oops. Did I shock you? Sorry.”

“Honey, I’ve been working in this hospital for over thirty-five years.” She handed me my medicine in a cup. It was the new blood-pressure pills my doctor gave me, now that we knew my “episode” was the result of my blood pressure spiking too high and not coming down. “There is nothing I haven’t heard or seen, trust me.”

I popped the pills and took a cup of water from the little table next to me. “I can only imagine.”

“You know what?” Her smile flashed bright and wide. “I’m not sure you can.” Laughing to herself, she walked out as my doctor walked in.

“How’re you feeling? Better? Your last blood-pressure reading showed you’re slowly getting back to normal.”

I felt light-headed from the relief pouring through me. “So that’s all it was? A blood-pressure spike?”

Dr. Borenstein fixed me with a glare. “Don’t you make light of this, Mal. I’ve told you at every checkup, but I’m insisting now that you slow it down and take it easy. It can’t hurt to stay in one place for a while.”

I contemplated his words on the cab ride back to my apartment and concluded he was right. I texted Rhoades.

I’m back in New York.

His response was immediate.

I’m meeting James.

When?

Tonight.

I’m glad. Really glad.

So is Lance. He said you can never replace family.

Rhoades’s boyfriend was the best thing to ever happen to him. He was the light to Rhoades’s dark and the only one who could coax him out of the black moods he’d fall into when I knew he was reliving the past and his father’s betrayal. I’d only met Lance a few times, but I could see how much they loved each other. I wondered what it would be like to have someone who knew all your faults and didn’t run away.

Most likely I’d never know.

* * *

JAMES

One year ago

Standing by thesofa, I waited for Stuart to come out of the bedroom. Hearing him moving around, opening and closing drawers, I remembered that first night we spent together and the plans we’d made that somehow never came to pass.

He walked into the living room, wheeling a large suitcase behind him. His computer case with his laptop was on one shoulder, and he had a backpack over the other.

“I think I got everything.”

“If I find anything, I’ll send it over to you. Don’t worry.”

Neat, clean, and impersonal. Sort of how our lives had become over the years. I couldn’t reconcile the confusion in his eyes with the greedy sounds of him sucking off my brother’s best friend in a bathroom stall at the Lincoln Center.

“James—”

“Yeah?” I cut him off. “I hope you aren’t going to try and explain, once again, how it didn’t mean anything. Sucking someone’s dick should always mean something.”

Color flooded his face. “I wasn’t going to say that. I just thought maybe you’d want to talk. I mean…” He set the computer case down, and to my surprise, sat down on the sofa. “I think after almost ten years, we owe each other that much.”

“What we owed each other, I thought, was fidelity.”

“How could I be faithful to a man who’s never there? We haven’t had sex in months. All you do is think about making money and being a success. You’d rather make love to your bank account than me.”

“That money pays for everything you do love—dinners, plays, clothing.” I paused. “Subscriptions to the ballet and the opera.”

At least he had the decency to blush.

“Look. I’ll admit I enjoy all that. But I enjoyed it more when we used to spend time doing things we both loved, like when we first got together.”

“Spare me the trip down memory lane, please. When we first met, we were twenty-two. All we thought about was sex. We were young and too stupid to know better.” All Stuart thought about was sex. I pretended along, hoping one day I’d feel the same, but it never happened. I supposed I was as guilty as he in trying to force a relationship that should never have begun in the first place.

“It wasn’t stupid. I thought we were in love. But all you do and think about is work and climbing higher and higher. Your whole existence is getting back at your dead father. Let it go already. You’re successful. You make a lot of money. When is enough, enough?”

Not yet. Never.I remained silent, staring at him.

“You changed, these past years,” Stuart said. “You’re so bitter and cold.”

No, I haven’t. That’s the real me. I’m a very good actor.

I struggled to maintain a blank face. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to leave me. Tell me something, though.” It was stupid of me, but I had to know. I couldn’t help it. “Was it the first time?”

I could see him working out in his head whether to tell me the truth. He shook his head. “No.”

I blinked. “I see. How long?”

“About six years.”

Pain shot through me. “That long? How did you arrange it?”

“Why does it matter?” He stood and lifted his computer case.

“I think you owe me that at least.”

“Online, mostly. Sometimes guys I met at after-work parties or charity events.”

“And you couldn’t wait to give to charity, could you?”

“Come on, James. If you’d only paid attention to me, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Really? So your cheating is my fault.” I pressed on. “And Malcolm?” Even saying his name made my stomach turn. “How did you arrange that little get-together?”

“I met him a few days earlier at the Waldorf at a charity dinner. You didn’t want to go with me. Again. You said you were too busy. When Malcolm and I discovered we were both going to be at the ballet, we agreed to meet. I knew you’d be going home to work, so I figured why not?” He shrugged. “We ended up running into each other in the bathroom, and one thing led to another.”

“How sweet. You got carried away by lust. And even though this time I was with you, as you wanted, you still cheated.”

He reddened again. “I feel sorry for you, James. I thought you’d be able to move on and live your life, but I see you won’t. What I can’t understand is whether you enjoy being a miserable, unhappy person, or if you’ve been like this so long, you don’t know any other way. You don’t know how to love anyone. You’re an emotional ghost. Barely here. Even when we were in bed together, it was like you weren’t with me.”

“Don’t let the door slam when you leave, please.”

His cruel words stung, and I turned my back on him and walked into the kitchen to make coffee, but when I heard the door pull shut, I stopped and began to shake. I was thirty-two and had no one. Again. I turned the water on but couldn’t trust myself not to drop the glass carafe. I braced my hands on the sink and watched the water run, swirling down the drain. In truth, there was little left to mourn in our relationship, as Stuart and I had been dead for years. For some incomprehensible reason, I was angrier with Malcolm than with the man I’d lived with. What did that say about me?

The phone rang. I picked it up from the handset on the counter.

“Hello?”

“It’s Rhoades.”

“I know.” I bit my lip, waiting. Wondering what he’d say.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Alone and fine.”

I heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. “You really kicked Stuart out?”

I was surprised at his shock. “Did you expect me to stay with someone who’d been unfaithful? Turns out he’d been screwing around for years. So no more Stuart.”

“Are you okay?”

“I said I was fine.” Now that my hands had stopped shaking, I tucked the phone in the crook of my neck and picked up the carafe to fill it and make my pot of coffee. “I hope you finally see your friend Malcolm for what he is.”

“Aren’t you glad in a way to find out that Stuart was such a shit?”

The carafe slipped, and I jumped back, the water spilling everywhere. “What?” I gripped the phone tight in my wet hand. I must’ve misheard him.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry and upset, but Mal shouldn’t be your intended target. He didn’t know Stuart was your boyfriend. How would he? Until recently, you and I barely spoke. We certainly didn’t travel in the same social circles. And Malcolm’s been away for most of that time. You never see him.”

Listening to his quiet voice explaining my life away with such dry precision set me on fire, and I lashed out. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me how lucky I am to find out my lover had been cheating on me for years.” What I didn’t say was what I always kept bottled up inside: Thanks for making this not about me, but about you taking your friend’s side. As expected. Malcolm came first with Rhoades, not me. Not his brother.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I said nothing of the sort. I meant that Stuart is the one you have the relationship with. Not Malcolm.”

“Had. He’s gone.”

“You don’t forget so easily someone you loved,” Rhoades said quietly.

Unaccustomed shame burned through me. Maybe everyone was right and I really was a very shitty person. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think of Lance.”

Three years earlier, Rhoades’s fiancé had been killed in a hit-and-run, and it almost killed Rhoades as well. In a bizarre twist of fate, I’d swallowed my pride and resentment to reach out to him and reconcile only a few months before Lance died.

It was the day of Lance’s funeral, and Rhoades hadn’t moved from the casket in the front of the church. Everyone had taken their seats to wait for the minister and for Rhoades to sit.

“Rhoades.” I touched his shoulder gently, and he turned to me, his eyes brimming with tears of desolation. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve gotten to meet him more than once.”

“What am I going to do now?” He put his arms around me, and I held him tight, feeling him shake. “I can’t sleep without him next to me.”

“It’s all so fresh and new. Take the time you need to mourn. Whatever you need. There’s no limitation on grief. Whatever you need from me, I’ll be there for you.”

Wiping the tears trickling down his face, Rhoades gave me a tremulous smile. “Lance would’ve wanted that. He’d always hoped we’d become friends.”

“Lance might’ve been overly optimistic, but this time I’d have to say I agree with him.”

Surprise wrestled with the pain in Rhoades’s face. “Thanks, James. I’m glad you’re here.”

Rhoades’s words—words I’d longed to hear since I’d stepped foot in the brownstone—filled me with the unexpected and unfamiliar warmth of acceptance.

“Me too.”

“Rhoades.” Mal rushed up the church aisle, breathing heavily. “I’m so glad I made it in time.”

“Mal, thank God you’re here.”

Rhoades stepped away from me and into the arms of his best friend, replacing me as if I no longer existed.

“I’m so sorry, Rodeo.” With his arm around my brother, Malcolm steered him toward the front pew. Rhoades sat on the end, with Malcolm at his side. Not me. Not his brother. Always Malcolm.

Ignoring Malcolm, I sat behind Rhoades and whispered to him, “If you need me, I’m here.”

In life’s bizarre way, where tragedy can sometimes also lead to better things, it had been the start of a new beginning for the two of us, and I refused to let Stuart or Malcolm ruin what had been waiting in the wings for almost twenty years. I’d finally acknowledged to myself that what our father did wasn’t Rhoades’s fault. It wasn’t either of ours. We were merely collateral damage.

“You didn’t. Everything still reminds me of him.”

I couldn’t imagine that level of numbness and pain over the death of a lover.

“I don’t want to continue this conversation anyway. Stuart is gone, and that’s that. If you want me to absolve Malcolm for not being able to keep it in his pants in public, that’s a different story. He’s your friend, not mine. I don’t have to see him. Personally, I don’t know why you’re friends at all. He’s a spoiled rich brat who wanders the world, as far as I can see, doing nothing.”

“He’s been a good friend to me. I’ve known him almost my whole life.”

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. I knew what he was thinking: I’ve known him longer than you. You may be my brother, but you’re not Malcolm.

My throat closed up.

I would’ve been there for you. I thought maybe you’d come to me after we hugged at Lance’s funeral, but you still chose him, not me. It’s always been Malcolm. Why am I never enough?

“Sure, I get it. I have to go. I’m interviewing dancers for the club later today.”

“Oh? The strip club you mentioned to me?”

“Yeah. It’ll be open in about a month. Once the dancers are hired, I’ll have a firm date.”

“Where’s it going to be? Downtown?”

“No, too many clubs there already. Midtown, 51st Street.”

“Did you come up with the name yet?”

A smile thinned my lips. “Oh yes. I had the name before anything. The club’s name is Man Up.” I wondered if Rhoades would get the reference.

“He would’ve hated it, but you knew that.”

“Oh yeah. I know.” I could almost see Rhoades frowning and shaking his head. He should only know I’d used some of the money our father left me to start my businesses. A fitting tribute.

“Good luck with it. Let me know when it opens, and I’ll be there.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The apartment sounded…quiet, if that made sense. Usually Stuart was watching something on television or listening to music while I worked. I might not have paid attention, but it was background noise to my life, and for the first time since that plane ride I took right after my mother died, I was completely alone. I looked down at my hands, surprised to see them trembling. I fumbled for the phone and called the only person who truly cared about me. “Hello, Lola?” I slid down to the floor. “I…I miss you.”

* * *

MALCOLM

Later that day

“It wasn’t my fault.”

I must’ve said it at least ten times, but Rhoades still sat across from me, unblinking and silent.

I tossed my napkin on the table. “Okay. What do you want me to say?”

“I think you know.”

No one ever called me on my bullshit better than Rhoades. “All right. Yeah, it was dumb. But in my defense, he came on to me. Like he wanted it right then. I told him to wait until we got back to my place, but he couldn’t.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Come up with something better at least.” Irritation creased Rhoades’s brow. “He made me. I didn’t want it.” He pushed back from the table and glared at me. “None of that excuses it. None. What did he do, rip your zipper open? Did he rape you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then you should’ve had the brains to think with the right head and wait.”

“Why?” I glared right back. “As far as I knew, he was as free as me. So it was in a bathroom stall. Big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done it. It’s hot. Like the Mile High Club.”

“I don’t understand you. You have so much to offer, and all you think about is sex.”

“That’s not true. I think about pleasure. There’s a difference.”

“But why? I know you don’t need to work at a desk job, but don’t you want to do something meaningful with your life?”

I couldn’t blame Rhoades for his opinions. All he saw was my flitting around the world having fun, going to endless parties without any responsibilities. But there was a method to my madness. Over the past several years, I’d involved myself in various charities out of personal interest, including one for brain-injury victims and treatment. I became a fund raiser and traveled all over the world, meeting with heads of international corporations for which my family name made it easy to get an audience.

But I couldn’t tell Rhoades that.

Instead, he saw me at parties and fashion shows, the openings of galleries, at theater premieres, in the company of world-famous movie stars, sometimes heads of state and Fortune 500 companies. I skied with them, sailed on their yachts, and attended their fabulous parties. I’d made sure to keep my name out of the press as to my involvement with the charity aspect of the events. No one would know it was me raising and donating money to help.

“I’m enjoying myself, and I’m not hurting anyone. I don’t see why what I do with my life matters so much to you.”

“Because you’re my best friend, and I don’t think you’re happy.”

Damn.That hit a bit too close to the mark. “Why would you say that? What’s not to be happy about? I wake up in a different time zone every week, meet famous people, and don’t have to punch a time clock.”

“A happy man doesn’t have sex with random men in bathroom stalls.”

“I’m spontaneous. What can I say?” My joke fell flat. “James is still upset, huh?”

That night my head might’ve been foggy from my orgasm only moments earlier, but I didn’t miss the absolute devastation on James’s face when he saw Stuart follow me out of the stall, wiping his mouth. Being completely unaware, I gave him and Rhoades a brilliant smile and tucked in my shirt.

“Upset isn’t a word I’d use to describe his feelings. You know him. He keeps his emotions pretty well hidden.”

“James guards himself tighter than the fucking Pentagon.”

“The good thing is that we’re slowly starting to talk and chip away at all the anger.”

“You guys still haven’t gotten past your father?”

A bit embarrassed, Rhoades shook his head. “After William died, I poured myself into the company. For two or three years I did nothing but that. Then I met Lance and—”

“You don’t have to justify your life to me. I tried for years to break through to James, and he pushed back. The only reason I did was because he’s your brother and I thought he got a raw deal. But at some point, you get tired, you know? There has to be something there worth fighting for.”

I didn’t tell Rhoades that underneath it all, James and I had this strange tension between us. I couldn’t turn my back on him completely.

“Funny you should say that,” Rhoades said. “I always found it interesting how you tried so hard with him when no one else ever did. He was so damn prickly. Still is in many ways.”

“With good reason, don’t you think?”

“Of course, but you had no skin in the game. There was no reason for you to try so hard.”

“Except that I felt sorry for him. Between your father being a bastard to him and your anger, he had no one on his side.”

“And now I think you burned that bridge. He kicked Stuart out.”

“No shit?” But I shouldn’t have been so surprised. James dealt in absolutes. Black and white. Hurt him, and he cut you from his life. There were no second chances. I was shocked when Rhoades told me that Stuart and James had been together about ten years. “I can’t imagine him with anyone, period. He doesn’t seem like the type to even have sex.”

The incident with Stuart reared its ugly head again. James had stared at the two of us, nonresponsive to Stuart’s babbling excuses, then left without saying a word, Rhoades on his heels. When Stuart tried to rush after them, I called out, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Panting with frustration, Stuart stopped in his tracks. “What are you talking about? That’s my boyfriend. We live together.”

Shit.James with a live-in boyfriend? I eyed Stuart, wondering what he had going on to make a man like James let down his guard.

“You have a boyfriend, yet you flirted with me and had sex in a bathroom stall with a virtual stranger? What the hell is that about?” Angry for James, I wanted to smash this fucker in his face. Over and over, it seemed life kept knocking James down.

Red-faced, he tucked his shirt into his pants. “We haven’t had sex in so long, I didn’t think he’d care.”

“You’ve obviously been cheating on him awhile. This wasn’t your first time.”

At the shake of his head, I pushed him up against the wall, ignoring the throb of a headache coming on. “Don’t fuck with people. If you’re unhappy, break up with them. James deserves more than that.”

“You know him?” Stuart pushed away from me and splashed water on his face. “How do you know James?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t think anyone really knows James. Not even James.” I walked out and left Stuart standing there with water running down his face.

Saturday Series Spotlight

Part 1  /  Part 2

Felice Stevens

Felice Stevens writes romance because what is better than people falling in love? Her favorite part of a romance novel is that first kiss…sigh. She loves creating stories of hopes and dreams and happily ever afters. Her stories are character-driven, rich with the sights, sounds and flavors of New York City and filled with men who are sometimes deeply flawed but always real.

Felice writes M/M romance because she believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after. Having traveled all over the world, she can safely say that the universal language that unites people is love. Felice has written in a variety of sub-genres, including contemporary, paranormal and has a mystery series as well.

Felice is a two-time Lambda Literary award nominee, and Lambda award winner for Best Gay Romance for her book, The Ghost and Charlie Muir.

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