Unfortunate Son (3 page)

“I’m so sorry, honey,” the kid said, and Evan thought he couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Never mind that they were in a bar; it wasn’t like a fake ID was hard to get. “I don’t know what happened there. I was just coming over to get another club soda and,
bam
, there went my feet, right out from under me.” He smiled, teeth bright white against his lightly tanned skin and full, deep pink lips, and held out a hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Riley Yeats.”

Without conscious thought, Evan found himself sliding his fingers around Riley’s, feeling long, fragile bones beneath soft skin. “Evan,” he said. “Evan Day.”

In his peripheral vision, he caught the widening of Tony’s eyes. He
never
gave out his real name to strangers. He had no idea why he’d done it now, but it wasn’t like he could take it back.

“Well, Evan Day, I’m very glad to meet you.” Riley gave Evan’s hand a quick squeeze and then climbed onto the next barstool—climbed quite literally, since the dang things were difficult for Evan to handle, and he was nearly six feet tall. Riley couldn’t be more than five-foot-six in his bare feet.
Or in flip-flops
, Evan thought as he glanced down at Riley’s feet, now hooked on the rail that ran around the chair a foot off the ground. Metallic gold flip-flops? Evan didn’t even know they sold such things. And was that glittery pink nail polish on his toes?

“So let me buy you another of whatever it is you’re drinking there, Evan,” Riley was saying when Evan tore his gaze away from Riley’s tiny, shiny feet. “It’s the least I can do after throwing myself at you.” Riley smiled at Tony. “I’ll have a club soda with two lemon and two lime slices, please, and whatever the gentleman wants.”

Tony nodded toward the beer, a question on his face, but Evan decided he was about done for the night. “I’ll have the same as him.”

Riley gave him a long, appraising look. “Don’t think you have to not drink on my account, honey. Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I mind if others do.”

Evan blinked. “No, I—I didn’t know you don’t drink. I’m just done drinking for tonight.”

Riley studied him for a few more moments before turning back to the bartender. “Okay, then, make it two club sodas, please.”

Tony nodded and started on the drinks, and Evan pulled out another cigarette, figuring he’d get one more smoke in with the soda. Riley shook his head.

“Those are bad for you, you know.”

It was all Evan could do not to crack up. Shit, on the list of bad-for-you things he’d done, cigarettes barely broke the top ten.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Don’t do it a lot. Probably should quit.”
Probably won’t
.

He lit up and took a good, deep drag, aware of Riley’s gaze still on him. He blew out the mouthful of smoke—considerately away from his unexpected companion—and knocked the ash into the glass dish that already contained his previous butts. “So if you don’t drink,” he asked, “why are you hanging out in a bar?” He lifted the cigarette back to his mouth, held between two fingers, and raised an eyebrow in question.

Riley shot him a grin. “Believe it or not, I like the music.”

Evan’s other eyebrow shot up to match the first. The country-gone-dance (or was it dance-gone-country?) fusions the bar preferred were an acquired taste, to put it mildly. The current soundtrack to their conversation was some kind of club version of Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like A Woman,” and before that had been a mash-up of a classic twangy hit he didn’t know the title of combined with Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Riley headed off his comments. “It’s not
all
I like, not by any means. But it’s certainly unique, wouldn’t you agree?”

Their club sodas arrived just then, and Riley smiled at Tony before lifting his glass from its napkin coaster and toward Evan. “To being unique?”

Evan couldn’t help the smile. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and they did.

The song changed as Evan swallowed, this time into something both straightforward and easily recognizable, at least to anyone with any knowledge of modern country music: Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places.” Every bar or group Evan had ever been in when this song played had turned it into a sing-along, and tonight was no exception. Voices of varying quality rose around them, including a not-bad baritone from Tony, but Evan and Riley sat it out in silent agreement. Evan smoked between sips of his lemon-lime flavored soda. Riley just sipped his drink, one leg bouncing incessantly, though not in time with the music in any discernible way.

What with all the singing, the noise level had risen much too high for conversation, so they didn’t talk. Their eyes met occasionally in the mirror behind the bar, but unless Evan’s instincts were deserting him—not entirely out of the question—the interest in Riley’s never strayed past the friendly. It felt… well, it felt strange, actually. Not only had Riley shown no sign of recognizing him by his profession, he’d shown no sign of coming on to him, either. Those two things nearly always went hand in hand, and that was a big part of the problem. Trevor could bed any guy he wanted anytime he wanted, but Evan? Evan rarely even got the chance to be himself, much less try to figure out if another guy was after him, or looking for the guy they thought they knew from his films.

By the time the song ended, Evan had finished his cigarette and his drink, and his eyelids were starting to sag. He didn’t often go out after shoots, which took a lot out of him, but he’d needed the unwind time today. He turned toward Riley and smiled.

“Think I’m ready to head out,” he said. “Thanks for the drink.”

Riley tipped back his glass to drain the last of the liquid and then set it neatly back on the napkin. “I think I’ll walk out with you, if you don’t mind.” He slid down from the high stool and extracted a bill from the front pocket of his skinny jeans to toss on the bar. “Thanks, Tony.” He gave the man a bright smile and turned back to face Evan. “Shall we?”

It appeared they would.

A
NOTHER
REASON
Evan spent time at Logger’s was that he could walk there from his apartment. The streets even had sidewalks all the way, and in good shape, which was by no means the usual even in the relatively walkable neighborhood of Midtown.

What Evan didn’t know was how far Riley had to go.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” The question was out before Evan knew it was coming. He didn’t know what he expected to do about it. Call a cab, he supposed, although he also supposed Riley could handle that on his own.

“No, I’m parked just around the corner.” Riley pointed that direction and smiled up at him. “Would you like a ride? While I don’t mind other people drinking, I do have a problem with them then driving.”

Evan had to smile at the teasing note behind the clearly all too serious words. “No worries, I’m on foot.”

Riley touched Evan’s forearm with cool fingers. “Well, then, I’d be all too happy to see you home safely.” And really, how could Evan say no? Even if he’d wanted to, as tired as he suddenly felt, a ride would be fantastic.

That kicked up a few notches when he got a look at Riley’s car, a shiny-new deep blue BMW coupe. Evan couldn’t help a low whistle, and Riley gave him a pleased smile before pulling away to walk to the driver’s side. He clicked open the locks and paused as he opened his door to catch Evan’s eye. “No smoking inside.”

Evan nodded his agreement, not that he’d planned to light up in the five minutes it would take to get to his place, and slid into the passenger’s seat. Soft, cushiony leather caressed his body, and he sighed at the unaccustomed luxury. He didn’t live big, and he made enough money from his jobs, but he traveled so much that he hadn’t bothered to upgrade his car accordingly. Not that he’d spend quite this much, but if he’d cared to, he could do better than his six-year-old sedan.

“It would help to know where I’m going.”

Evan had already gotten used to the seemingly constant teasing tone in Riley’s voice. It made him wonder if the man ever got angry at all.

“Eleventh off Juniper. Straight up Piedmont and to the left.”

“I’m familiar.” Riley backed out carefully and started in that direction. “I’m not that far myself. Piedmont Lofts.”

“Wow.” Those were the priciest lofts in the area by far, right on the edge of the sprawling urban park that sat at the center of Midtown. Not surprising, considering the luxury of the car they sat in, but it made Evan wonder how a borderline-legal twink came into that kind of money, at least without a sugar daddy hovering nearby.

“Wow indeed,” Riley said, gaze staying on the road in front of them. Streetlights flashed like lightning across his pale skin. “All inherited, I’m afraid. I can’t lay claim to having earned it, unless growing up with my family counts.”

Family
. That flipped the switch for Evan. Yeats Arts Center. Yeats Boulevard. The Yeats Business School at one of the local universities.
That
Yeats. One of the old-line money families whose legacies were tightly woven into the tapestry of the city.

“Oh.” Evan wasn’t sure what else to say that wouldn’t be trite, or stupid, or both. Riley had been the one living with that family name all his life. He’d surely heard it all.

“Yeah,
oh
. Mason O’Reilly Yeats III, at your service. I’m the black sheep, but the only scandal worse than having a flamingly gay heir would be the publicity fallout kicking him out of the family might cause.” He shrugged one shoulder. “So I got my trust fund on schedule, and for the most part, they pretend I don’t exist, and I return the favor.”

Riley’s voice was matter-of-fact, but even though the teasing tone never dissipated, the underlying tension was obvious. Evan wasn’t about to dig deeper into that, though. He’d just met the guy.

“Trust fund?” he asked instead. “Don’t you usually have to be, like, twenty-five for those?”

“Twenty-one for mine,” Riley replied. “But either way, I’d be covered.”

Evan stared at his profile. “You can’t be over twenty-one.”

Riley laughed. “Try twenty-seven. Guess that skin-care regimen really
is
doing the trick.”

Evan shook his head, still staring. “I never would have guessed you were older than me. Seriously. You should share your secrets for staying young.”

“Moisturizer, sunblock, clean living, and daily orgasms.”

Evan almost choked. “One of those things is not like the others.”

Riley had relaxed by then, and his grin was decidedly wicked this time. “Oh, but it is. Endorphins are very good for you, and what better way to get them pumping?”

“I hear some people work out.” Including Evan—not that he needed them to replace orgasms most days, but even acrobatic sex wouldn’t give him the cut hips and abs gay porn viewers wanted to see.

Riley pulled up at the walk-in gate to the side of Evan’s apartment building. “I hear some people sleep with the opposite sex too, but that doesn’t mean I’m tempted.”

Evan reached for the door handle, but Riley stopped him, again with a hand on his arm. “I’m having a picnic in the park for lunch tomorrow. You’re welcome to stop by. I’ll be near the dog parks.”

Evan shrugged. “Sure.” Not like he had a packed schedule. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just your smiling face, honey.” Riley’s hand slid away. “Sleep well.”

W
HEN
THE
blast hit, Evan didn’t have a chance to move or to think before he was flying through the air, ears ringing. He landed on his side in the sand with enough force to push all the air out of his lungs, and it seemed like an eternity before he could make himself move enough to look back toward the road.

The transport was on its side, fully engulfed in flames. Bodies lay in all directions, some moving, most not. Men swarmed the scene, from the transports that had been in front and behind them, a few scrambling toward the vehicle itself, where Evan could see at least one more body still trapped, flames licking all around.

He dragged himself up and limped toward the transport as fast as he could, gaze roaming wildly, searching for Lucas.
He’s fine, he’s fine
, his mind chanted.
He’s got his breath knocked out, like you did, but he’ll be up and moving soon. He’s fine, he’s—

Desperation for breath dragged Evan out of the nightmare of a memory. He gasped in air like he was the one dying. Trembling, covered in sweat, Evan tried to slow his breathing and his heart rate. He looked at the clock, saw that it was only fifteen minutes before his alarm would go off, and reached with a shaking hand to turn it off.

He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the shower, leaving his grief to the night.

B
Y
THE
time Evan stepped outside, he’d nearly shaken off the residue of his nightmare. The weather helped. In contrast to the gloom of the day before, it was one of those rare, glorious late May days in Atlanta when the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky but the heat and humidity stayed under control. The front that had brought in the previous day’s rain had left this in its wake, and as Evan walked down Eleventh Street from his apartment toward the park, he could almost feel his skin soaking up the sun. His last spray-on tan had faded—gay porn viewers liked their guys cut and tanned, but Evan didn’t relish the idea of skin cancer—so he’d have to be careful to keep from ending up a lobster. He had an appearance tentatively set up in Boston in a month, but he didn’t think they’d like him to take it
that
seriously.