Rainbow Hill (17 page)

“I wouldn’t know what that looks like.”

“Me either,” Quinn added from behind and Ethan felt a bead of sweat running down his spine.

“I don’t like inhospitable guests in my home.”

“He’s not a guest because he’s not staying.” The words came out like machine gun fire.

“That packed bag sitting in the hallway says something else.” That bead of sweat turned into a river.

Ethan shifted his towel. “Please go downstairs and keep him company while I get dressed.”

“He’s not sitting down there alone. He’s having a drink with Frank.”

Quinn moaned as Ethan gripped the doorframe. “Of what?”

“Whiskey.” Tucker shrugged. “Maybe gin?”

“It’s not even nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Randall didn’t seem to care,” Tucker returned. “He poured three fingers himself. No one twisted his arm.”

“Can’t you offer him coffee like normal people?”

“Firstly, I did but he turned it down. Second, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is hardly anything normal around here these days.”

Tucker leaned in and whispered, “So you two boys have finally got together.”

Ethan wanted to disappear into the floorboards. “Yes, we are,” he paused, completely uncomfortable with where the direction of the conversation was headed, “hanging out.” Ethan knew his description was lame, but what exactly was he going to tell his father? That they had each other every way imaginable and Ethan couldn’t wait to do it again? Feeling a little lame was fine for now. “Please go take that drink away from Randall or at the very least don’t let him have another. He gets haughty when he drinks.”

“Is that a nice word for asshole?”

“Pretty much,” Ethan admitted.

Tucker grumbled something that Ethan couldn’t understand, but whatever it was, he didn’t care because Tucker turned and headed for the kitchen.

Ethan closed the door, his heart wedged in his throat. “R-R-Randall’s never visited before. Why in the holy hell is he here?”

Quinn stretched and rested his hands behind his head. “Can’t be good. Ulterior motive perhaps?”

“Why would you say that?” Ethan felt anger bubbling just below the surface, but didn’t understand why. He promised himself that he wouldn’t defend Randall’s actions anymore, that he wasn’t responsible for him. Ethan made a move for his clothes. He didn’t care if they were still damp from last night’s rain, the sooner he got dressed and downstairs, the sooner he could send Randall back to DC. Ethan wasn’t ready for whatever motivated Randall to make the hour journey to Jefferson, and he didn’t have the patience for any more excuses and lies.

“I don’t know the guy, I’ve only formed an opinion of him with what you’ve shared. My opinion of him is: he stinks.”

Ethan dressed quickly, almost slipping on a condom that was thrown to the floor in a fit of passion. He retrieved the prophylactic and tossed it in a small wastebasket beside the bedside table.

“Get rid of any of the evidence.”

“Evidence?" Quinn scoffed. “We made love, not committed a crime.”

On hearing the words ‘made love’ come out of Quinn’s lips, Ethan paused before coaching himself to regroup. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to explain. “You’re right, wrong choice of words.” He walked toward the bed, feeling a swelling warmth inside his chest, Quinn’s naked body covered only by a sheet, a breathtaking vision. “I need to wrap my head around what happened between us last night, and having Randall here—downstairs, with our dads, drinking—isn’t helping me grasp the situation.”

“I can understand that.”

If he could, all Ethan wanted to do was slide between the sheets and into Quinn’s arms to hide from the world, postponing the inevitable. He couldn’t.

Checking his zipper and hiking his pants higher on his hips, Ethan turned to head downstairs.

“Ethan.”

Ethan paused but did not turn around. He waited to hear what Quinn had to say.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Ethan returned.

“And don’t feel you shouldn’t have a drink yourself, some Dutch courage might make whatever you need to say a little easier.”

Chapter Twelve

“Baby!”

Ethan hated when Randall called him anything but his name. He didn’t know why exactly, he just did. Ethan walked into the kitchen but refrained from giving Randall a friendly welcome.

“What are you doing here?” He could hear the impatience in his voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Randall’s slurred words betrayed his drunkenness. “It’s where you are, and I wanted to be with you.”

Ethan forced a smile, more for his father’s benefit than for anyone else’s. “How nice.” He eyed the glass of liquor clenched in Randall’s hand. “Isn’t it too early for a drink? Why don’t I pour you some coffee instead?”

Lifting a tumbler of what looked like bourbon to his lips, Randall sipped before answering. “I had coffee at home. This seems to be hitting the spot just fine.”

“Did you add bourbon instead of cream to that coffee? You appear to be…foggy.”

“Baby, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he returned almost too quickly. “When did you turn into a teetotaler anyway?”

In one swift movement, Ethan stalked up to Randall and took the drink out of his hand, discarding it into the stainless steel sink behind him. “I see that you’ve met my father, Tucker, and his friend, Frank.”

Randall looked at Tucker, then to Frank, and back to Tucker. “Ethan, did you forget to tell me something about your family? The proverbial fruit not falling far from the tree.”

“Frank’s a neighbor, but he lives here now” is all Ethan felt like explaining at the moment.

“Neighbor?” Randall said. “Where? I don’t see another house for miles. How have you survived being out here as long as you have? The word remote comes to mind.”

“We like it that way.” Frank might as well have said fuck off, his tone bordering on surly. Tucker followed up with a derisive sound that sounded like an audible exclamation mark.

Randall lifted both hands in a gesture of peace. “Oh don’t get me wrong, this place is charming.”

“You already said that.” Tucker crossed his arms over his chest, opting to stand rather than sit at the table with Randall and Frank.

Randall shot a look of disdain toward Tucker but refrained from commenting. Instead, he gave Tucker a close-lipped smile. “Ethan, can you help with the bags outside in the car?”

“Bags?” He looked at the Vuitton duffel on the floor by the door. “How many do you have? How long do you intend on staying?”

“Are you not happy to see me, baby? I thought you would be after our last chat.”

You mean the time you told me that we were over and you had moved on, so I might as well accept it?
“I’m always glad to see you,” Ethan responded through a clenched jaw. “We just didn’t expect you, that’s all.”

“This house looks pretty big, certainly enough for another guest.”

Frank fiddled with his bourbon, ice cubes clinking against the glass. “All the rooms are full. Quinn’s here too.”

“Quinn?” The mention of a male name made Randall’s voice pique with interest. He sat up straighter in the chair. “And who is that? Let me guess, another neighbor.”

“My son,” Frank said, his breath smelling of liquor. “He’s staying in one of the guest bedrooms, and I’m staying in Ethan’s old room, so we’re full.”

“And where is Ethan staying?”

“There was some talk about some bags,” Ethan said, already moving toward the door to the outside. The sooner he got out of this room and away from Tucker and Frank, and the conversation, the better. He couldn’t take one more second explaining himself in front of them. He realized how fucked up everything sounded, and watching Tucker’s eyes ping-ponging between him and Randall was unnerving to say the very least.

The scraping of the chair’s legs against linoleum told Ethan that Randall was following behind him.

After walking through the screen porch and then jogging down the short flight of stairs to the lawn, Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. Parked by his Range Rover was a slate gray Mercedes E-class Sedan that still had that new car smell even from fifteen feet away.

“Whose car is that?” He already knew the answer but hoped he was wrong.

“Mine.” Randall slid up beside Ethan, placing a proprietary hand on the small of his back. “You like it?”

“Why didn’t you call, telling me that you were coming? I know that car has blue tooth. You were never one to buy a stripped down version of anything.”

“Why should I get a lesser model? I deserve only the best.”

Randall’s hand slid lower, coming to rest on Ethan’s buttocks.

“So you decided to take a spin all the way out here, drunk as a skunk?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Maryland State Police are known to be ballbusters so if you’re planning to drive anytime soon, you had better sober up first.”

“I’m not afraid of a couple of country bumpkin cops.” Ethan stepped away from Randall, disgusted. The last thing he wanted was to get fondled in his own yard while his father peered through the kitchen window. Ethan swore he could hear Tucker cursing under his breath now.

“You have to take risks,” Randall continued. “That was always one of your problems.”

“What are some of the others?” Ethan narrowed his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest, mainly to keep himself from wiping that self-righteous smirk off Randall’s face. “Being gullible, or trusting, or foolish enough to believe that we had a committed partnership?”

“Look—” Randall took a tentative step forward.

Ethan stood his ground, balling his fists against his body, his nails cutting into the palms of his hands.

“Ethan, I’m here to make up, not fight,” Randall began to explain. “What happened with that guy is over. He wasn’t for me. Never was. You’re the only man for me. We have too much to lose if we break up. The house, the business, our fabulous lifestyle.”

“Our lifestyle might be fabulous,” Ethan spat out, vitriol in his voice, “but our life together is not.”

“It was once.” Randall risked placing his hand on Ethan’s forearm. He began to stroke. “Remember how much fun we had in the beginning? How we loved each other?”

Ethan could feel his steely resolve lessening. “That was a long time ago. I’m tired of your affairs.”

“Affairs?” Randall scoffed. “I would hardly call them that.”

“Then what would you call them?”

“Mistakes.” Both of Randall’s hands moved to cup Ethan’s face. “I love you and want you to come home so we can be together. So we can get past this.”

“Yeah, until the next time.”

“There will be no next time.” Randall came a little closer and dropped his chin to look into Ethan’s eyes. “I promise.”

“And why should I believe you?” Ethan jerked his head to free himself of Randall’s unwelcomed grasp.

“Because we belong together. Our life can be perfect again.”

Randall was right. In the beginning, they were perfect.

The excitement of a new relationship mixed with a new business was intoxicating. They traveled to all the gay meccas—Key West, Provincetown, Miami, Palm Springs—as the business grew profitable. They bought original art for their townhouse in the toniest part of town, and shopped at Neiman’s and Saks, places Ethan had only dreamed about when he was a young boy, mucking stalls and bailing hay.

Ethan turned his attention to his Range Rover and Randall’s Mercedes parked side-by-side, gleaming in the morning sun, the two vehicles complementing each other. They spelled success, accomplishment, and triumph to anyone who saw them. He was now like the people in the magazines he had once combed over, and he intended to stay that way.

Sadness tugged at Ethan’s heart as he swept his gaze from the vehicles to Randall’s hazel eyes, tears brimming soulfully in the corners. He took Randall’s hands in his. “If I agree to this, agree to take you back, will you promise me that you’ll never cheat again?”

“I can’t believe that you’re asking me this.”

“Believe it.”

“Never.” Randall touched his lips to Ethan’s, soft and gentle. “Ever.”

Ethan kissed back, believing Randall’s whispered promise. They wrapped each other in a loving embrace, but for Ethan it lacked the passion he had experienced just a few hours earlier with Quinn. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing Quinn out of his thoughts, and focused on the man in his arms. Ethan tightened his embrace as if to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m having difficulty breathing.”

Ethan loosened his grip. “Sorry.”

Randall smiled, the scent of bourbon lingering between them. “Would you like to take a look in the car?” He waggled his eyebrows. “The leather seats smell divine.”

“What did you do with the other Mercedes?”

“Traded it for this one?”

“Why? The other car was only a year old.”

“I was depressed and needed something to help cheer me up.”

“Did it work?”