Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (25 page)

“Rory taught me a little about those things, but I even kept him at a safe distance most of the time. So when Justice finally did hit town, I felt like I was losing my only real friend, my love, the only person I could even begin to be myself around—to some kid who hadn’t been here.

“I know that doesn’t make it okay…” Rich sighed and ran a fretful hand through his unkempt hair. Somewhere along the line, he’d allowed himself to adopt a relaxed look, if only around Patrick, but it was doing nothing to relax him now. “I was angry.
So
angry. Not just about Justice, but about the fact that I’d never really let myself be who I was—meaning a gay man—because I thought it would be a roadblock to getting my life back together—and getting the fuck out of Skyway, my old neighborhood. I was losing Rory before I ever got the chance to even
think
about telling him how I felt. The first day I considered it was the day he brought Maia home.

“When Justice finally did come to Seattle, along with Lara and all of Rory’s other old college buddies, he started introducing me around as his roommate. It stung more than I wanted to admit—it felt like once Rory’s ‘real’ friends got there, I’d been demoted to being just the roommate. I know—I
know
Rory doesn’t have a mean bone in his body; it wasn’t something he was doing intentionally. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to lash out at Justice, and at Rory through Justice.

“All that said, I don’t know why I chose those anti-gay comments to hurt Justice…they just sort of popped out. I guess I was just spouting all of the stuff I thought I’d hear from everyone if I started living openly—just taking out my insecurities on Justice.”

Rich chanced a look at Patrick, expecting to see the disgust he felt inside reflected back at him. But Patrick’s expression held nothing but calm encouragement. He gave Rich a small, reassuring smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. That gesture above all gave him the courage to continue…because it was the next part that was the hardest to get out past his filter of self-preservation.

“You know when you’re walking on the beach and you see something off in the distance, and you think ‘that’s not so far, I can make it.’ Then you walk and walk, and then you realize it was a hell of a lot farther than it looked?”

He paused and waited until Patrick nodded. “You finally get there, and you’re like ‘holy shit, I just walked like five miles.’ But then you look back and the tide’s come in and washed away all your footprints. It’s like you were never there, like it never happened.”

Patrick made a strangled sound deep in his throat and clenched Rich’s hand even tighter. “I think that’s how I felt about Rory. After all the shit with Mom and the drugs and the men, and John-Michael and the fosters…I really was completely alone. And then Rory was there, and he was like the footprints. Like if I disappeared, I knew there was at least one person on this earth who’d look for me. If I died, at least one person would miss me. And I guess when Justice came and I was just the roommate again, it was like the tide rolling in. Those footprints were disappearing, and no one would ever know I was there.”

Rich took a shuddering breath, because he’d let the explanation tumble out without stopping to breathe during it, for fear that he’d clam up. He was shaking all over, and when he reached up to rub a hand over his face, his hand came back wet. When he looked over at Patrick, he noticed that Patrick was wiping away a few tears of his own.

Then Patrick pinned him with a fierce look that he hadn’t seen from him since they’d first met and Rich was being such a tool. “But now you have me.
I’m
here.
I’ll
know.”

“I know. That’s why I needed to tell you all of this. That’s what I realized at the burn. John-Michael, Jos, and I are building something—it’s in the works—but you’re part of it too.
You’re
my family. You’re my safe place now. I just hope you’re okay with that.”

Patrick’s brows furrowed, and he looked genuinely confused. “Okay with it?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I know we’re not, like, boyfriends or anything, so this might freak you out for all I know. But ever since that day, I’ve been agonizing over how to tell you I love you without sending you running for the hills. I know we’ve been dancing around this thing for a while.”

Patrick stared blankly for a few excruciating moments before he threw his head back and started laughing. “Are you off your bloody nut right now?” He sobered quickly and engulfed Rich’s face with his big callused paws. “
Tá grá agam duit
, you silly git.”

Before Rich could even begin to decipher what that was all about, Patrick seized him in a fierce kiss. He wrapped himself around Rich, pulling him in and demanding entry. It was over as quick as it began but left them both panting. Patrick’s eyes were wide, and a smile was teasing at his lips.

“I…uh…” Rich temporarily lost his train of thought when he locked eyes on that gorgeous mouth, imagining having another go at it. “Uh…I still don’t speak Irish so…what’s happening?”

Patrick laughed and planted a smacking kiss on his forehead. “
Tá grá agam duit
means I’m in love with you, ejit. I can’t imagine how you’d think I wasn’t. We’ve been together for ages.”

“Well, not
together
together.”

“Yes,
ghrá,
we have been.”

“Oh.” Feeling like an utter fool and the luckiest man alive, Rich could do nothing but grin.

* * * *

The way Patrick undressed him that night was nothing short of reverent, worshipful. Rich had been desired, sure. He’d been fucked. But he’d never been cherished. That was the only word he could give to how Patrick peeled the shirt off his back, kissing every inch of skin as it slowly became exposed. Doing the same with his shorts, Patrick found erogenous zones Rich never knew he had: the arches of his feet, the backs of his knees, the inside of his thighs—okay, maybe he knew about that one.

Rich wanted to return the favor, but he was too caught up in the sensation of his body being so thoroughly
loved
that Patrick had gotten himself naked before Rich could form a coherent thought. His mind floated; his limbs felt light lying atop Patrick’s pillowy mattress and feather duvet.

His skin tingled. His breath sped up. He opened his eyes to stare into a stormy sea of gray. Patrick covered him with his body, swooping down for a kiss. He teased Rich’s lips open until his silken tongue could sweep inside. Patrick sucked on Rich’s tongue, nipped at his lips, and Rich could feel every ounce of his desire pouring into the kiss. Patrick kept him so busy kissing that Rich barely noticed him wedging one of his thighs in between his legs.

Suddenly there was a new sensation—rough calluses stroking the hard ridge of his erection. The combination of hard and soft pulled a whimper out of Rich from somewhere deep in his chest. He was ready to roll over and beg, to raise his ass in the air and invite Patrick to fuck him within an inch of his life. But Patrick seemed content with his lazy strokes, those whispers of touches, both from his tongue and his hands.

Rich’s own hands roved over Patrick’s broad back. It was one of his favorite parts. He kneaded the muscles there, eliciting a purr from Patrick that went straight to his dick. Shifting slightly, Patrick moved his hand so that he could capture both of their cocks in one big paw. It was exquisite, heavenly—it was yet another thing he’d never bothered to try with another man.

Warm silky skin over all that hardness, coarse palms, slick precum, it was almost a sensory overload. Rich’s head whipped back and forth on the pillow, his hair already curling from the dampness of his sweat. He broke the kiss because he could no longer summon the brain cells to concentrate on anything other than that perfect feeling of his dick sliding next to Patrick’s.

He panted against Patrick’s ear and thrust into the grip of his hand. “Close,” he murmured. Patrick didn’t answer, but his breath had quickened too and Rich felt him nod against his neck. When Patrick’s hand tightened on them and his breath hitched, Rich felt the tingling start in his balls. Almost done now, but he couldn’t help but wish it would go on forever.

“Patrick,” he breathed. That seemed to be all it took. Patrick bit down at the point where his neck met his shoulder, and then he was pouring out his essence between them.

The feeling of that white-hot liquid flowing over Rich’s cock and Patrick’s whispered “love you” sent Rich following over the edge. His hot seed pumped over the grip of Patrick’s hand, which had eased slightly. A long keening moan tore from his throat, a sound he’d never heard himself make before, but he was too sated to be embarrassed.

When they were both spent, Patrick collapsed on him, just as slick with sweat and breathing just as hard as Rich. Rich sighed, drifting back and forth between a pleasant state of fucked out exhaustion, dozing, and total awareness from one moment to the next. Giving in, he just relaxed and let the feelings wash over him. He smiled when he felt Patrick press a kiss just below his ear.

“So that’s what it’s like.”

“Hmm? What what’s like?” Patrick asked, his voice already thick with sleep.

“Making love.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

This was the day. It was time to drop this tub in the water and pray she didn’t sink. Patrick didn’t usually get so nervous at the end of the job, but his family’s acquaintance with Rory’s, his feelings for Rich, and the timeline for the project were all wrapped up in a quivering ball of anxiety in his stomach.

It was so important for all parties involved that this boat be seaworthy. Justice and Rory hadn’t left a lot of breathing room for the big unveiling. Justice planned on giving the boat back to Nic as a wedding present…and the wedding was in two days.

Patrick had brought in some additional muscle in the form of Donal and Douglas. Neal and Bennett were on board, tossing out bumpers to keep the boat from scraping the dock once she was floating—God willing. Donal had his hands on the switches that controlled the left and right sides of the hydraulic lift, waiting for the signal from Patrick. The lift was an older model so it had separate winches, which meant Donal would have to be very careful to lower both sides at the same speed. The kid might be a complete dope a lot of the time, but he had a steady hand. Douglas…not so much. He was down on the dock with the rest of the crew, waiting to catch the ropes Neal and Bennett would throw down to secure the vessel.

Justice was off to the side, gearing up to take pictures of the launch for Nic, and Rich was hanging back toward the storage shed. Patrick had taken his place facing the sailboat head-on so that he could judge how level she was while being lowered, and Rory was standing beside him—supervising, he guessed. Rory didn’t really have a specific job; he just squinted at the boat, shading his eyes with a hand.

The wait for the boys to finish prepping onboard seemed endless, so Patrick found his eyes drifting over to where Rich stood leaning against a light post. Thankfully, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a look Patrick had seen him in more and more in the time since his meltdown—but it looked as though he was doing his best to avoid attention. Patrick couldn’t really blame him, what with Justice and Rory both there.

Rich noticed Patrick’s eyes on him, and he gave him a shy smile, the seldom-seen dimple in his left cheek peeking out. Patrick nodded and waved inconspicuously before turning his attention back to the boat. When he did, he noticed Rory had been staring hard at him.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Donovan?”

Rory nodded at Rich. “You two have a thing going on, right?”

“Yeah, and what of it?” Patrick hadn’t talked to Rory much on a social level in years, and he certainly hadn’t had a conversation with him about Rich. He wasn’t sure what kind of vitriol on behalf of Justice that he was about to be a party to, but his muscles tensed in preparation of possibly having to defend his boyfriend.

Rory was still looking off into the distance; he opened his mouth and started to say something. Then he stopped, exhaled heavily through his nose, and his gaze snapped back to Patrick.

“Just don’t hurt him, all right? He’s had more than his share of that.”

Patrick had to clamp his jaw to keep from going off about who exactly had hurt whom, but he kept it inside for Rich’s sake. It was good to find out that Rory still cared—but he should know how much he was still hurting Rich with this little stand-off.

Patrick gave Rory a hard look and turned to face him, getting up in his space. “I know exactly what he’s had. I know all about what he’s been through. But the only one who’s hurting him right now is you, boyo.”

Rory’s brows drew together, and Patrick swore he looked genuinely confused. “What did
I
do?”

“You cut him out. Look, Rich told me every horrible detail about what he said and did to Justice and to you. But didn’t you ever stop to think about why?”

The look on Rory’s face told Patrick that he hadn’t. “Seems to me that you got so wrapped up in your wedding and all your friends coming to town, and then your best friend moving here, that maybe you weren’t paying much attention, yeah? I know you’ve got your own life to deal with—where
is
your wife, anyway?”

Patrick gained a small measure of satisfaction by the way Rory swallowed and looked away, but harassing the guy wasn’t really his goal. “All I’m saying is, maybe you were so caught up with your own stuff that you never bothered to figure out what would make Rich—a tough sonofabitch to be sure, but a guy you’d considered a close friend before all this happened—go so far off-book. You didn’t stop to think that maybe some serious shite could be going on with him. You just wrote him off out of loyalty to Justice.”