Page 9 of Hot Chicken
I’d been so excited I’d wanted to talk to Gage about the job offer right then and there, but once again, the timing was off. I didn’t want to have a choppy, five-minute conversation while Gage was running around, and just as we were ready to leave, my brother Webb had called to say his husband, Luke, was in a tizzy, and could I pick up some things they’d forgotten at the farmhouse? And… well, long story short, I’d decided the subject of Boston could wait until later.
Except by the time later came…everything had gone pear-shaped somehow.
I’d been helping Betty Ann Wolff at the library table, hauling heavy boxes of books around, when she’d sighed. “Did you hear my grandson Charlie’s moving to Arizona for his job, Knox?”
Since I was trying to be a more patient person these days, I’d nodded sympathetically while unpacking a stack ofdonated romance novels I’d swear had once belonged to my brother Hawk.
“I did hear. Big change, huh? But sometimes change is good, right?” I’d been thinking about my own life when I said it—about my finance career and the panic attacks that ended it, about Gage coming to town and remaking my life for the better, about the simple, elegant platinum ring that had been hidden behind the dress socks in my top drawer for ages. “I didn’t use to believe that,” I told Betty Ann, “but I’ve recently realized just hownecessarychange can be. Painful as it is, moving might be the best idea.”
I’d heard a noise—a choky, coughing noise—and I’d glanced up to find my gorgeous boyfriend wearing faded cargo shorts, my old Hannabury T-shirt, and a look of mingled shock and disappointment. “You really think that?” Gage had whispered.
I hadn’t known Gage and Charlie Woolf were close friends, so I’d been surprised that Gage wasso torn up about it, but I’d shrugged and answered honestly. “In my experience, yes. You were the one who helped me see that, Goodman.”
Gage had nodded once. Then he’d thumped a water bottle on the table, muttered, “Don’t die of sunstroke, asshole,” and stalked off.
This had been odd behavior, even for Goodman. One of my boyfriend’s top three pastimes (along with eating dessert and having sex) was arguing with me, so he never flounced away when he was upset. And while he’d called me an asshole more than once—and I’d occasionally deserved it—it wasn’t one of his usual endearments. Naturally, I’d called after him and tried to follow him, but he’d quickly gotten swallowed by the crowd.
I’d tried to chalk up this weirdness to the heat, which was making pretty much everyone in town cranky, and sure enough, he’d been much calmer by the time we’d gottenhome. But when I’d tried to talk to him, he’d responded with distracted hums and nods—not a single dry, teasing comment or rolled eye to be found—which was when I’d gotten truly worried.
“Goodman,” I’d said, drawing him into my arms once we’d gone to bed. “What’s wrong?”
To my surprise, Gage had pulled away slightly. “Well, for starters, I’m hot and tired.”
He’d sounded truly exhausted—and no wonder, between the heat and the exertion of the day—so I hadn’t asked follow-up questions the way I usually did. “Right,” I’d said. “Sleep, then, baby.”
But worrying about him meant I hadn’t been able to get to sleep, myself. It was a bit lowering to admit, but I, a man who’d gone decades without discussing his feelings, had forgotten how to compartmentalize in the four years I’d lived with someone who insisted on open, honest communication.
I’d lain awake beside Gage for hours before finally getting up, taking a cold shower, and flopping on the sofa in the living room so I wouldn’t disturb him. I’d finally fallen asleep sometime after midnight, and now, for the first time in ages, I was waking up without Gage’s flushed cheeks and bed head beside me.
I didn’t like it one fucking bit.
The sound of the shower running meant Gage was awake, though, so I figured there was no time like the present to sort out whatever was bothering him. I levered myself off the sofa, headed to the kitchen, and had just gotten the coffee maker going when a knock at the back door startled me.
My youngest brother waved excitedly through the glass panel. Behind him, my soon-to-be brother-in-law wore a shit-eating grin while cradling something in a brown paper bag.
I threw open the door and stepped back with my arms crossed over my chest. “What?” I demanded by way of greeting.
“Always so polite and welcoming, Knox,” Hawk said. “Might be my favorite thing about you.” He narrowed his eyes and reached a hand toward my face. “Hey, why do you have weird creases on your cheek?”
I smacked at his hand and scowled. Figured the fucking sofa had left a mark.
“Hawk, it’s not even nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, and it’s five billionty degrees outside. Unless you’ve won the lottery—and I don’t mean like the time Porter won a year’s supply of pie; I’m talking enough cash money to fly us all to the Arctic Circle for an ice bath—I’m not in the mood for whatever you’re peddling.”
“Like golden sunshine,” Hawk sighed happily. “Pure, unadulterated sunshine.”
Despite the shitty sleepless night and the sweat rolling down my back, I found my lips twitching. I directed my next words to his fiancé. “I swear my brother didn’t use to be this snarky. I blame you for this development, asshole.”
Jack snickered. “Oh, no, he’s always been exactly this—” He shot Hawk a look, then closed his mouth and shook his head. “You know, on second thought, I think I like my balls exactly where they are, and I’m going to ignore your statement.” He hefted the paper bag a bit higher and stepped past me. “Now, where should we put your present?”
“Present?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously as he set the object on the center island. “What for?”
“Because I’m a generous individual who finds joy in giving things to people I love. Obviously.” Hawk’s brown eyes blinked up at me innocently. Too innocently.
“Try again,” I instructed.
“Jack and I found an amazing, whimsical antique at the rummage sale yesterday?—”
Jack made a sound of disagreement, and Hawk shot him a look.
