Page 3 of Lover
Rand scooted down, laying his head on her shoulder, sticking his bottom lip out, and batting his eyelashes. “Pwease Claire, say you’ll stay wif me.”
His sister chuckled, shoving him off. “Fine. I’ll stay, but only if you cut that shit out.” She stood and headed into the kitchen. “Where did you put the menu for that Thai place on the corner? If we’re ordering takeout—that you’re paying for, by the way—I want the good stuff.”
While they waited for dinner to arrive, Rand hooked up the TV and DVD player, and Claire dug out sheets and made up the couch. He rummaged through the box of movies until he foundMy Big Fat Greek Wedding, one of their favorite movies, and they curled up with crispy spring rolls, pad thai with shrimp, and steamed dumplings, eating until they were stuffed. It was just what he needed: a night spent with someone he loved where he could shut everything else out. They laughed, fed each other dumplings, and polished off the rest of the twelve-pack in the cooler before passing out on the sofa bed.
Rand woke a few hours later, bladder screaming for release, and turned the TV off on his way back from the bathroom. “Whas wrong?” Claire asked, groggy from sleep, as he climbed back under the blanket.
“Nothing, had to take a piss is all. Go back to sleep.” He kissed her forehead, loving the sleepy smile he was awarded.
“Love you, big brother.” She yawned, rolling over.
“Love you too, little sister.” He lay there, watching her chest rise and fall, his mind racing as it often did, keeping him awake.
“Jesus, I can hear your mind cranking, and it’s giving me a migraine. Shut it off, Rand, and get some sleep.” He chuckled. No one knew him as well as Claire, and he doubted anyone ever would. If he could just findthat guy, one that could read him, one that could stand up to him, one he could trust implicitly, life would be golden.
Rand had once thought he’d found that person in Grant. Boy, was he wrong. Regardless of the outcome, there were fond memories of their years together that Rand didn’t want to forget. When Grant made partner at the architectural firm he worked for, he took Rand and Claire on a three-week jaunt through Europe. They stayed in quaint little hotels in Paris and Switzerland, dining in back-alley restaurants that served the best food—as well as hiking, visiting castles, and touring some stellar wineries. The highlight of that trip had been the five days they spent in a small medieval town and commune in the Aude department in the Occitanie region of southern France, Caunes-Minervois.
There were blatant and obvious signs that Rand had ignored over the past few years though, little things here and there that had shown the fabric of their relationship was unraveling. With them both having demanding jobs, Rand was able to brush off late nights that became all-nighters and quick overnight trips to bid on projects that became weekend stays.
Then there was the afternoon he stopped to pick up dinner for them at one of Grant’s favorite Italian places. Rand took a picture of the restaurant sign and texted the image to Grant with the caption,Dinner for two headed your way, open a bottle of bubbly and light some candles, babe!The detective in him recognized a rent boy when he saw one, and Rand would put money on the guy that shot past him as he headed into their apartment building being on the job. He grinned, shaking his head and climbing the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Grant showering in the afternoon when he normally did in the morning, two bottles of water half-full, condoms and lube already on the bedside table—Rand dismissed all these things at the time. Looking back with fresh eyes that had cried genuine tears after their breakup, he realized the young man that brushed his arm in a rush to exit the building had been in his apartment, being fucked by the man Rand loved, in his goddamn bed. And just to be a dick, when he moved out, Rand took the bed. He then drove out to a solitary campground he and Claire had visited several times over the years. He poured gasoline over the mattress and box spring and set them on fire, watching the flames rise then fall, dissipating before flickering out, much like his love for Grant.
Claire rolled over, curling up beside him. He pulled her close, kissing the top of her head, her five-foot frame easily fitting under his arm. It was just the two of them again—as it had been for more than half their lives. “Someday, Sis, we’ll find the right ones,” he promised before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Chapter Three
Shannon 2013
––––––––
“Oh come on, PrettyBoy. Just one more dance, please?” Shannon begged.
Rolling his eyes at the nickname, Taylor finally caved. “Fine, but ten minutes from now I’m walking out that door, with or without you.”
Shannon wormed his way through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor, pulling Taylor along behind him. They’d met the year before on Grindr. Hooked up and had hands-down the single most satisfying sexual experience of Shannon’s life. Alas, they were destined to be best friends, not lovers. Taylor was crushing hard on an older man in his life, Frank Moore, a cop with the Dallas Police department. Shannon would sometimes tease him and tell Taylor that he’d ruined him for all other men. And while it truly was meant to tease, sadly, it was also the truth.
After escaping the hell he’d lived in for three years with Bruce, Shannon had locked himself away when he first arrived in Austin, fearing that his abusive...what—ex-lover? No, that wasn’t right; there was no love there whatsoever. Bruce treated him like an object or an abject thing and not a person. Still, he’d lived those first few months in Texas with a cloud over his head, jumping at every noise, terrified that Tuan would pop up around every corner and drag him back to the condo in Washington.
Surrounded by sweaty, gyrating bodies on the dance floor, people touching, groping, and bumping into one another no longer sent Shannon running for the door. Three years of freedom had lightened his mood. “Okay, time’s up, Tinkerbell. Let’s jet!” Taylor shouted in order to be heard over the disco music and loud bass thumping in the speakers beside them that were almost as tall as Taylor.
Now, whereas many a twink would take offense to being called Tinkerbell, Shannon fucking loved it. It stemmed from a conversation they had one night over pizza a couple of months after they’d met:
“What the hell is that supposed to mean—I remind you of a three-inch flying fairy?”
Taylor choked on the beer he was drinking. “I’m not calling you a fairy, you ass. All I meant was, Tink is this tiny little bundle of energy, a ball of light that lights up any room she’s in. That describes you perfectly, Shan.”
“Oh, well, that’s...kinda sweet, Taylor.” He grinned.
As much as Shannon longed for someone to make him feel the way Taylor did the night they hooked up, honestly, it wasn’t Taylor that he wanted that type of relationship with. He’d listened to his friend talk about the man he was in love with on more than one occasion. What Shannon wanted was for someone to love him the way Taylor loved his cop. All he’d ever known was the abuse Bruce tried to disguise as love and the guys he’d met either online or at school.
When they exited the club, Shannon turned left only to be jerked back to the right. “I’m parked over here, Shan. Come on, I’ll drive you back to campus—unless you want to stay at my place?” Taylor clicked his key fob to unlock the doors, and Shannon climbed in.
That was another thing that slowly evolved between them: Taylor sharing his past, his parents’ murder, and the recurring nightmares he often had about that night. It only strengthened their bond, and with time, helped Shannon to share some of his troubling past with Taylor. “Yeah, your place sounds good.” He yawned.
When they walked into the apartment, Shannon saw a pillow and a blanket sitting on the couch, and he laughed. “Wow, so certain I’d be coming home with you, Pretty Boy?”
“Oh you wish, Tink. Now shut the hell up, get on the couch, and get some sleep. I’m exhausted.” Taylor yawned, scratching his belly as he walked into the kitchen, coming back out to the living room with a couple of bottles of water in his hand. He tossed one toward Shannon, thankfully hitting the sofa cushion and not his head. After spending ten years playing baseball, Taylor had a wicked throw. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Taylor waved before heading into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
