No Regrets (2 page)

"Working, working." A giant grill was opened and Scotty turned food. "The big barn there is my studio. The little barn in the back has the horses."

"Studio? You still painting?" Too cool. He breathed in deeply. "Smells great, Scotty." His growling stomach agreed.

"Yup. I do good for myself." Why wasn't he surprised? "Saw you and Laura broke up. That must've sucked."

He grimaced. "The break-up was actually a relief--we both got married for the wrong reasons." They'd been using each other.

"That happens to the best of us." Scotty didn't look a bit surprised. "She came to see me at my last big gallery show."

He might not have surprised Scotty, but the man had definitely surprised him. "Really? Why?"

"She's looking for a piece for her new house. Bought a big old thing for a nice chunk of change. She told me how to get a letter to you." The artichokes got turned again.

"Well, that was nice of her." Nicer than she'd managed from about one month into the marriage on. Though to be fair, he gave as good as he got. He sighed and rubbed his face. It had been his own damned fault, living in denial, thinking marrying a hot chick would get him a get-out-of-gay-free card.

It had sure covered him with the media, but his personal life was a joke.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your work." To having time to.

"Thanks, man. I've got some stuff I'm working on. Some stuff I'm reworking." He plopped the food onto a platter and eased the lid of the grill shut. "Come on in, honey. You look tuckered out. I'll feed you and point you toward a shower and a nice, soft bed."

"Hey, you promised me the tour." Not that food, shower and bed didn't sound like a dream come true. But he didn't want to be rude and just show up, eat and fall asleep on Scotty.

"I guess the chicken can rest. Come on." The kitchen was open and bright, all glass-door cabinets and lemon yellow walls with cobalt blue tiles and floor. Two dogs looked up as they walked in--a huge bloodhound and what looked like a Great Dane puppy, both tails wagging.

"That's Lord and Lady."

Drake held his hand down in front of them in a fist, grinning. He hadn't had a dog since he'd started out on the road. It just wasn't fair. They both sniffed and eagerly accepted the attention as he gave them pats and scratches. "Which is which?" he asked, laughing as the Great Dane licked him.

"Lady's my pup. Lord's the old man of the family." Scotty scratched and stroked both dogs, then pulled biscuits from a huge container. "Careful, Lady likes to snuggle in the bed and Lord can sniff out
anything.
"

"I'll be okay--I've gotten good at tossing ladies out from between my sheets. You would not
believe
the things groupies will do to get in your pants." His cheeks colored a little--he let most folks believe he liked the ladies and let them stay. It made great cover. He figured he didn't need to pretend with Scotty.

Scotty hooted, clapped him on the back. "Well, honey. I ain't any different than I've ever been. You won't find any ladies here."

He chuckled and nodded. "You're lucky, you know," he said softly. "Being truthful with yourself from the start." He should have been. He had been for the last five years or so, even if no one, not even Molly, knew what that truth was, at least he did now. "You'd better show me this house of yours before I become maudlin and start in on my poor little old me routine--it isn't pretty."

He got another, sudden hug. "You just need some peace, honey. You'll find it here. I won't crowd you none."

Then his ass was patted, and Scotty headed through a doorway. "This here's the front room."

The house was hilarious--pure Scotty. The walls were covered in art and paintings, the furniture overstuffed and leather. There were bunches of tiny rooms, each one a different color, a different theme. They headed up the stairs, Scotty giving him a little two-room suite, painted a deep, rich blue. The bed was huge, the chifforobe for his clothes just as big.

The window looked out onto a pond, a pasture. No houses, no buildings. Just freedom. He stood there for a long moment, looking out and breathing, wonder holding him in its grasp.

"I'm not sure how to thank you, Scotty. This is exactly what I needed." He'd been this close to breaking, to losing it, he'd felt it, felt his skin getting stretched tighter and tighter and had been just waiting for it to snap.

Hell, it still might, but he knew if it did Scotty'd be there to make sure he knew where all the pieces were.

"You just keep me company a bit, honey. I've been feeling the urge to see folks again. Your bathroom's through there. I'm across the hall."

"Oh, my keeping you company will cure you of that urge if nothing else does." He gave Scotty a wink and peeked into the bathroom. Not too shabby. It boasted a huge old-fashioned tub, as well as a little shower.

"What's your room like?" he asked, not wanting to pry if Scotty wanted to keep the space private.

"Come on over." Scotty ushered him across to a decadent room painted maroon, the bed piled with quilts, one entire wall covered in photos.

"Wow. It's gorgeous." Beautiful, yet homey. He was drawn to the pictures, crossing over to give them a closer look.

There were pictures he remembered--of him, of Scotty, of Scotty's folks. There were pictures of strangers, some of Scotty and someone who had to be a lover, leaning close, holding each other.

He felt a pang go through him and didn't want to look too closely at that. "Who's this?" he asked. If Scotty hadn't wanted to talk about it, he wouldn't have shown him the room.

"His name was Nick MacGeorge."

"Was?"

Scotty nodded, put his hat on an old hat rack. "Yeah. He got cancer five years ago and he passed away about eight months after that. He was a songwriter. You'd've liked him, I think."

"I'm sorry, man." There wasn't really anything else you could say to that.

He always felt awkward though, always felt like people expected him to have poetic words to make them feel better. Well, not Scotty, but the fans... He went over and patted Scotty on the arm.

"Thanks, honey. It was good while it lasted and he never hurt, not even a day." Scotty leaned toward him a minute, then chuckled. "Come on. Food. It's calling my name."

"Oh, now see, I knew there had to be something wrong with coming here. You've got talking food."

Scotty's laugh rang out, as familiar as breathing. "Yep. It's a magical place I got here. Pure magic."

He chuckled and followed the man back down the stairs, admiring as he went. Admiring hard enough that Lady nearly tripped him up when he didn't notice her getting underfoot. He wound up careening into Scotty's back. "Oof. Shit. Sorry."

Scotty stumbled a little--fuck, the man was solid, for all he was skinny--but held his weight. "You got to watch her, now."

He nodded, resting a moment against that solid strength before righting himself. "Yeah, sorry. I just wasn't paying attention." He'd been more than a little distracted.

"'S okay. You don't have to apologize, man. Just think of this place as home, huh?"

"Home." He shook his head. "I have a place, you know? I don't think I've spent more than four days in a row there since I bought it." He'd hired some fancy designer to decorate the place. It felt less like home than the tour bus. "It'll be nice to stay put a little while."

"I hope so, Dee. I've been missing you." The words, for once, didn't sound like a con job.

"I've been missing me, too," he admitted. "Now where do I sit? I could murder that chicken."

"Pick a chair. You want beer or tea?"

"I think I'd better have the tea." Tired as he was, if he had a beer, he'd be out face-first in his dessert.

And the way that carrot cake looked on the counter? That would be a damned shame.

* * * *

Scott got Dee settled in bed and then went out to the studio.

The man was worn out.

Tired.

Exhausted.

Not someone a decent man would lust after. Or seduce. Or anything.

Man, that was a fucking shame because Dee was still beautiful.

He laughed at himself, turned his stereo on loud, and got to work. Dee needed a friend and he needed company. That was good enough.

The next thing he knew it was dawn and he was panting, covered in paint and exhausted.

There was a knock at the door, a tousled blond head popping around the door. "Scotty? I hate to bother you, but I'm starving and I really am crap in the kitchen."

"Huh?" He blinked over, trying to figure out what Dee was talking about. "Let me turn down the music."

Lord, he hoped his series of Drake portraits were draped.

Dee came all the way in, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, looking just fine from that messy hair to the bare feet. "I thought you painted the
canvas
, not yourself." Dee chuckled.

"I do." He waved over to the eight-foot tall canvas, the colors bright, fierce.

"Wow. That's..." Dee walked slowly from one side to the other, really checking the canvas out, moving in closer. "It's something. Something powerful."

"Thank you." It was. It was part of a series. It was his lifeblood. "It's called Fantasy."

"Yeah? Are there more yet? This one makes me want to sing. Hey, was that a piano I saw at the back of the front room?"

"Yes and yes. Feel free to bang away." Oh, did that come out badly?

"Cool. Can I see the others?" Dee turned to him, giving him a fine view of those pretty abs, a touch of hair just above the low slug sweats.

"Sure." He wondered back through the studio, pulling out three huge canvasses--Fear, Fury, and Fucking.

"Oh, man." Dee examined them each, fascinated especially by Fucking, eyes drawn to it and then back to Fantasy over and over. "Powerful, Scotty. Amazingly so."

"Thank you." Scott yawned and stretched, back popping. "How do you feel about blueberry muffins?"

Dee's stomach growled, and he chuckled. "Just what the doctor ordered."

"Well, there you go. Come on, let's go up to the house. Can you make coffee?" Christ, he was tired.

Dee stretched and yawned, nodded. "Coffee I can do. I've spent months living off the stuff." Only one night but Dee looked better already.

"Well, there's hope for you yet." He stopped at the little tub outside the studio, stripped down and washed off in the cold water, gasping and shivering as he did.

He could feel Dee watching him, but when he turned around, Dee's eyes were looking out over the fields.

"'S pretty out there, huh? I'll have to feed the horses after breakfast, you can go look." He grabbed a pair of shorts off the clothesline as he walked by.

"I'll give you a hand," Dee suggested, falling into step beside him.

"I'd like that." He rubbed shoulders with Dee as they went up the stairs. "You sleep okay?"

Dee smiled brightly. "I did. Best sleep I've had in months. It's quiet out here, Scotty. Real quiet. Peaceful."

"It's the best place on Earth." And his, free and clear.

"Not to mention no one knows about it. I love that there's nobody with a camera about to jump out of your bushes."

Dee made a beeline for the coffeemaker, nearly tripping over Lady again.

"Lady!" She was always underfoot and just fascinated by new people.

Dee shook his head and petted her. "You're just a big dog, aren't you? With those paws you can't help being underfoot." Dee flashed him a smile. "I knew you'd have dogs."

"Yeah, they're just big spoiled babies." Hell, he'd always had dogs.

"That makes you the momma."

He looked over and butter wouldn't melt in that mouth. But then Dee's eyes flashed up to meet his, dancing wickedly.

"Bitch." He grabbed a towel, swatting Dee good and hard on the butt, laughing.

Dee jumped about a foot and grabbed a tea towel, turning to retaliate, grinning like a fool.

"Oh, you think you can take me?" He spun his towel around, ready to play.

"Long as you don't cheat." Dee snapped his towel experimentally, and then again.

"I don't have to cheat to take your ass, Dee." He got ready, laughter bubbling out.

"I'm thinking my ass is safe." Dee danced around a little, trying to get around him, face lit up.

Dee's towel snapped, hitting him in the hip.

"Come on, Rock Star. You can do better than that..." He caught Dee's thigh, snapping with the end.

Dee jumped and feinted left, then went right, snapping him good and hard on his ass cheek. "Yes! Got you!"

"Oooh. Ow." He bounced, hands on his butt. "My poor butt."

Dee laughed, making a fist and pumping it in the air. "Yes! I win!"

"Dork." Scott snorted, laughing hard enough his stomach hurt.

Dee collapsed into one of the chairs, grinning like crazy. "Maybe. But I got you." Dee sobered suddenly. "You didn't let me win, right?"

"Come look at the bruise on my ass and ask that again, shithead." If Dee got close enough, Scott'd whap the living shit out of him.

"You need me to kiss it better, Scotty?"

"Like you'd know what to do when presented with my gorgeous hiney."

Dee leaned back in the chair, head tilting. Checking his ass out. "I don't know if I'd say
gorgeous.
Not bad though."

"Hey!" He grinned and headed to get a box of muffin mix.

That chuckle was sweet. Dee stretched out on the chair. "You pull a lot of all-nighters like that?"

"Mmhmm. I work whenever I can." He grabbed eggs and milk, turned the old stove on.

"Well, don't let me cramp your style--I don't want to be in the way here, Scotty."

"You're not, honey. You're here because I missed you and because you wanted to come. Grease the muffin tins?"

"Sure." Dee got up and came to stand next to him. "How exactly do I do that?"

"Grab the Crisco and a paper towel and rub it in the holes." God, he could just kiss the clueless son of a bitch.

"You make it sound so easy." Dee reached past him for the paper towel.

"You'll figure it out, honey. Just imagine rubbing grease into somebody beautiful."

"I don't know, Scotty. Been awhile since I did anything like that." Dee grabbed the muffin tin started rubbing the Crisco into it.