Page 3 of Protecting his Secrets

“Here we go,” Nick said. “The best cure for a broken heart.”

“My heart’s not broken.” Rye rolled his eyes and reached for the mug.

“Well, in that case…” Nick took the drink way before Rye could take it.

“Hey!” Rye snatched it back, barely keeping everything inside the cup. Though Nick’s carpet was brown, so it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Nick settled beside him, tucking one leg beneath him, and leaned his elbow on the back of the sofa, the mug resting carefully on his knee. “Is it just that he was an awful guy, or is something else bothering you?”

The fifteen-year age gap between them wasn’t an issue. They were as close as if they’d been born as twins—or he supposed quads because he was as close with all three of his siblings, but there was something between him and Rye that just worked. If Nick was being honest, he could see Rye was at the same crossroads in his life that Nick had been at his age. It was as if Rye was a younger version of him, and he could see where Rye was going and what mistakes he would make along the way. But it didn’t matter. Mistakes were there to be made, and if he warned him away too much from a certain path, Rye was stubborn enough to do it, anyway. Better that he found out for himself, even though he would get hurt before the hurt got better.

Rye sighed and stared at his mug, swirling one marshmallow through the others as he spoke. “I’m just sick of the duds. I’m tired of playing the waiting game. I have a job I love, a family I get on with and friends I enjoy hanging out with, but I want someone to share it all with. Is that too much to ask?”

“Not at all. I don’t have an answer for you, Rye. As you can see, I’m hardly living my dream.”

Rye scoffed. “You have everything you love except a partner, too.”

“Exactly my point. If I knew the answer, you’d be the first I’d tell, but I don’t have a clue.”

“Life sucks and then you die,” Rye muttered.

“Don’t say that,” Nick said. “Life doesn’t suck. Only one part of it does, and not for the right reasons.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Rye let out a burst of laughter, which was what Nick had hoped for. They drank their rapidly cooling hot chocolates, and Nick asked if Rye wanted to stay for a movie.

“Nah. I’m going to go home and sleep it off. Tomorrow is another day, and the sooner it gets here, the better.”

Nick hugged him tightly before he left, making sure it was the best hug ever, because he always wanted to have his hugs remembered if there was ever a time he didn’t come back to them. Simon’s, Selena’s and Jared’s deaths had made it more than clear that there was always a chance the same would happen to him. So from that moment, he had given “goodbye” hugs to every member of his family every time he left them. It was a morbid thought, but no more than making a will in the event of his death or writing down exactly what songs or poems he wanted at his funeral.

When he locked the door behind his brother, he exhaled and scrubbed his hands over his face. With nothing he could do to help, he paced, looking at the problem from every available angle. But no. It was Rye’s life, and he had to live it himself. Nick’s protection could only go so far, and putting them all in bubble wrap wasn’t an option, unfortunately.

He climbed into the shower and washed away the day before dragging on some pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt. Venturing into the living room, he grabbed the remote, pulled the fluffy throw from the back of the sofa over his legs and scrolled through the endless list of movies and TV shows. It would probably take him longer to choose something than it would to watch it, but decisions were hard sometimes. When it came to his life, anyway. He could make decisions with his job in milliseconds, but that was it.

Rye had hit the nail on the head when he’d said everything in his life was perfect except for finding a partner. It was the same for Nick. Thinking back to Club Royal, he wasn’t averse tothe kinks and lifestyles he saw there. He loved watching, which might make him a voyeur, but he didn’t get off on it. He wasn’t into bondage. The pet play was cute, but again it did nothing for him except think they were adorable. He couldn’t see himself being a handler. He loved the community aspect of the club and that was the main reason he went—if he excluded that he had to be there whenever he was on duty and the king went.

He had no idea what he wanted. He only knew when he met someone and they didn’t click. The only person he had a remote interest in—and nothing romantic at all—was Malachi Sanders. That reporter was a thorn in his side, and one day, Nick wouldn’t be able to hold back his opinion of the lying asshole. He didn’t begrudge anyone trying to pay their bills, but that man took it to a whole other level of mean.

What confused Nick, though, was that Malachi didn’t seem to be the same person he was in person. Whenever he’d overheard the man talking, he was polite, well-spoken and kind. It didn’t mesh with the tone of his writing, but who was Nick to argue?

As the chosen film wore on, Nick found his thoughts reaching for the enigma that was Malachi regularly, as it had done for many months. If Nick couldn’t have someone to share his life with, he could use that space to fixate on something else. What else did he have?

****

Chapter 2

Malachi

Malachi Sanders strained his neck over the crowd of reporters following Prince Consort Kendal as they entered Windsor Hospital. Luckily for him, the royal family had allowed only two reporters to enter with them, and one of them was him. So, when the bodyguard called Nick waved him and another reporter forward, he squeezed his way through to the grumbles of the many surrounding him. He followed them at a sedate pace, not wanting to seem as excited as he was.

The Sutcliffes allowed a select few reporters to accompany them, depending on the event type, and they were fair about who they chose. Every credible reporter—no matter the tone of their reports—was allowed to accompany them. For example, there were two reporters for this event because it was based at a hospital, and the royal family didn’t want to overwhelm the patients in attendance. At other events, such as dinners, more reporters could be selected. But each reporter would get the chance again when the other reporters had received their chance. Fair, but it took far too long for his turn to come around each time.

It had taken him by surprise when he’d received his first invitation to join them because they hated him—and Malachi couldn’t argue with them. The tone of his reports was argumentative and aggressive, and he hated every minute of writing them. So why did he? Because he had no choice.Being the reporter for Windsor Chronicle came with certain contractual obligations, and since he hadn’t worked his way through his five-year contract with them yet, he still had to abide by the original terms. No amount of negotiation had worked to get the terms changed, so Malachi was stuck.

Having to write each report in a negative light took a little more of his soul each time, but there was light at the end of the tunnel. As long as Tucker didn’t go back on his word, Malachi would be free of the old contract in a year, and a new, better-tasting one would take its place.

Refocusing on the corridor they walked down, Malachi forced himself to listen to what the hospital administrator was saying to the king’s partner.

“—the blood donor unit within the hospital is busy, but we need more donors all the time. As you can understand, blood is essential for many parts of the hospital, from transfusions to surgeries to accidents. There is always a need for it.”

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