“Son of a bitch! Stupid, fucking box!” Owen hopped on one foot, grabbing his throbbing toe and cursing the box of pots and pans sitting on the hallway floor that he’d just walked into. Limping, mumbling a stream of curses under his breath, he made his way to their makeshift kitchenette in the living room. The damn thing consisted of only a microwave, coffee maker, and paper products on a card table in the corner of the room, with a mini fridge underneath―and it was all they’d been using as a kitchen for the past three fucking months. Why had he ever agreed to this renovation?
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Jonah came out of their bedroom and stumbled down the stairs, his voice groggy and barely heard in his half-asleep state.
Owen squeezed the back of his neck and took a deep breath, swallowing his anger as best he could.
“I can’t live like this anymore, that’s what’s fucking wrong.” So much for swallowing that anger. Those words ran deeper than either of them wanted to admit at this early hour. Most of the town wasn’t even awake yet, and here Owen was, already showered and ready for the day. It was only four in the morning, and looking at Jonah, Owen started to feel guilty for waking him with his temper tantrum. “Sorry, I walked into that fucking box,” he said, waving his arm at the thing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He sighed, closing his eyes as he took another deep breath.
Owen looked up at Jonah across the room with his blond, short hair a mess, boxer briefs and tank top clinging to his muscular body, those blue eyes―and wondered what the fuck had happened to them. They were living as roommates, not lovers. He wished like hell he still felt something stronger than that.
Jonah had been in Owen’s life for over three years and had changed him for the better, helping him through some pretty deep shit. They were both living in New York when they’d met. Owen had gone to a party an old friend from college was throwing—instead of ditching at the last minute like he usually did—when he inadvertently met the man that would work him out of his standoffish attitude. Well, for the most part anyway. It didn’t take long for their friendship to turn into something more. Jonah was determined to break through Owen’s wall of protection that no one else bothered to try and demolish. And he’d done something no one else had managed—help Owen trust someone, wholeheartedly. He was one of the most important people to Owen, but the passion had taken an indefinite leave of absence. Somewhere along the way, they’d just gotten comfortable with each other, which of course you needed in any good relationship.
It wasn’t supposed to be all there was.
Fuck, Owen could remember a time when one look from Jonah had his cock so hard, pants were a daily inconvenience. Now, neither one of them even bothered to make it interesting. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Jonah, because he did. In love though? If he was being honest, he hadn’t been for a long time, and no doubt Jonah wasn’t in love with him anymore either. Yet, they stayed. They stayed because it was comfortable. They stayed because it was safe.
They stayed out of gratitude.
But it was too damn early to try and figure all that shit out, so Owen brought his thoughts back to the immediate problem. “Jonah, will you please just admit this is too much for us to take on? I need my fucking kitchen back and every other goddamn corner of this house that’s been taken over with boxes. I don’t know how you convinced me this was something you could handle while working and taking classes.” Owen picked up the gallon of water and poured some into the coffee machine. He couldn’t stomach the idea of filling the coffee pot in the bathroom sink.
Jonah scrubbed a hand over his face then through his short blond hair. Again, that guilt slammed into Owen, reminding him that this was not an argument to have at four in the morning. He knew once he calmed down though, he’d let it go just like he always did.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m in over my head.” Jonah yawned, his shoulders rounded as he leaned against the back of the couch, clearly fighting the urge to go back to bed. “I really thought I could do it and save us some money, but I’ve just been so burnt out with work and class.”
Owen saw the exhaustion in Jonah’s eyes so often lately. The guy was too hard on himself. He never took a damn break, and he sure as hell never put himself first.
Owen crossed the room and leaned on the couch next to Jonah. Softly, he said, “I know you wanted to do it. I appreciate it, but it’s too much.” When the silence between them stretched, Owen sighed, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Turning his gaze back to Jonah, he said, “Your day doesn’t start for four more hours. You shouldn’t be up this early. Go back to bed, and when I get home later, we can talk about hiring someone. I think we need to at this point.” He nudged Jonah’s arm and smirked. “You’re not superhuman, Jonah. You’re just a mere mortal like the rest of us.” Owen winked, trying to lighten the mood.
Jonah nudged back against Owen with a mischievous grin planted on that dimpled face. “How do you know it’s not all part of my plan? I don’t want to show you up too much.”
“How considerate of you.” Owen shook his head and laughed. Slapping a hand on Jonah’s thigh, he stood back up. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” Owen filled his travel coffee mug, stopped by the door and slipped his sneakers on, and grabbed his keys off the hook on the wall.
“See ya,” Jonah said through a yawn, already making his way back up the stairs to their bed.
There was no kiss goodbye; no I love you before Owen left. Those things people take for granted all the time—like Owen once had—had disappeared from any hello or goodbye. Besides sharing a bed, living with Jonah really was like having a roommate. Owen didn’t want to fall down that sad rabbit hole right now or dwell on the fact that he had once felt whole and now something was missing. He never thought they would come to this point, never imagined there wouldn’t always be heat between them. Words didn’t need to be said to see the same emptiness in Jonah. Owen had no idea how to walk away though. How do you leave someone who has changed your life for the better? How do you leave someone who is so deeply a part of your life in every way?
Except Jonah wasn’t anymore.
Owen headed out the door and breathed in the damp, early morning spring air. As he drove through town, he felt relieved about the idea of hiring someone to finish the kitchen. Maybe they could even get the second bathroom updated and the deck built in the back. Who knew how much fucking money that would be? However, his bakery was doing well, and he had that small cushion in the bank that his great-aunt left him in her will along with the house. It might be worth it to just get it all done and not have to think about it anymore.
Owen loved this town early in the morning, so calm and quiet with no one on the streets. Haven’s Cove was like some small town pulled out of a TV show. When he was younger, it felt like a prison. Like he was under some kind of magnifying glass and certain people in the town had no problem aiming that thing at the sun and burning him every chance they got. But, somewhere along the way, he started to miss Haven’s Cove, miss his family.
Though the drive was short, it was the best time for him to think about his life with some kind of clarity. God knows, he had a lot of shit to think about lately. Besides the massive project he was about to hire someone for at home, he was also training his cousin to be a new employee at the bakery. That should be interesting.
He was living with a man he was no longer in love with, making his relationship a platonic joke. No, that wasn’t fair. Jonah was his best friend, regardless of their romantic situation, and he always would be. He owed Jonah more than he could possibly repay.
But holy shit did Owen need to get laid.
It had been months. In fact, the last time was about five months ago, and something had been so off between them that they hadn’t had sex since. That definitely was not a fucking normal relationship. There was no way in hell he would ever cheat on Jonah, even with his starving libido. So there he was, a thirty-three year old man, horny as a fucking teenager, who rekindled a romance with his right hand―but man that old flame never let him down.
The sound of tires screeching snapped Owen back to reality, and he slammed on his brakes on reflex. Owen braced himself for the impact that never came then pried his eyes open. Heart pounding, hands shaking, he looked up to see a red truck stopped in front of him on Main Street. Shit, that was a close fucking call. His bright headlights reflected off of the shiny red finish of the truck, blinding him.
Owen jumped out of his car, realizing instantly he’d been in the wrong. He totally blew the stop sign when he got to Main, so used to being the only one on the road at such an early hour.
“Shit! Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” Rushing around his open door to the front side of his car, he watched the other man get out of his truck, the hood of Owen’s car between them. A little further to the right and the guy’s door would’ve been completely blocked by the front of Owen’s Civic. Owen ran around the back of his car to the passenger side, needing to make sure the other driver was okay.
He saw the beat up work boots first, followed by blue jeans that showcased thick, muscular thighs underneath. The guy wore a plaid flannel over a T-shirt stretched across his broad, muscular chest. What guy wasn’t hot in plaid? The deep voice of the guy vibrated through Owen, telling him that he was fine.
Owen’s eyes landed on the man’s face. It was scruffier, less groomed—the clean-cut baby face from fifteen years ago a mere hint. Still, recognition knocked the wind out of Owen.
“Fuck,” Owen growled, both in shock and with a boiling anger he hadn’t felt in years. He flexed his fingers, squeezing them into fists.
“Dicky―”
“Don’t fucking call me that. That’s not my fucking name. Never was.” Blood rushed in Owen’s ears as a fierce rage surged through him. Damn, he wished his brakes had given out and he’d hit the fucker. All the shit that had been weighing on Owen that morning didn’t compare to the rock suddenly sitting on his goddamn chest.
“Owen, I―”
“Save it.” Fuck. If this was the way his day was going to go, he should’ve stayed in bed.
Walking back around his car, Owen got in and slammed his door. He threw the car in reverse, moving far enough back to get around the truck. Kicking it into drive, he avoided looking at the massive roadblock as he swerved around it. Owen took a few deep breaths, trying not to think about shit that went down so long ago—or the fact that he was gripping the steering wheel to settle his shaking hands. Most of them had gone to college and never came back or moved to neighboring towns. It was like he conjured that asshole up. Hell, how many times had that jackass held the fucking magnifying glass while Owen burned?
Doesn’t fucking matter. A lot had changed in the last fifteen years. He wasn’t that gangly, quiet, ashamed-to-be-gay teen anymore, shoved into lockers and harassed on a daily basis. No way in hell his life was going to be affected just because one of the assholes was back. Owen could fucking take care of himself now. Nothing scared him anymore.
And he sure as hell could take on Brody Walker.
~ɤ~
That went well. “Fuck!” Brody yelled, kicking the front tire of his truck. That wasn’t exactly how he wanted to make an entrance back into the town he hadn’t seen in thirteen years. Brody slammed his fist down on the hood and started pacing, squeezing his hips tightly.
Brody had a bad feeling about coming back here, but he’d had no choice. Life led you in weird directions―sometimes completely fucked-up directions―but he had learned the hard way not to mess with what was meant to be. Coming back here had not been an easy decision for him to make. But it was the right one.
Still, Brody would’ve liked a day or two to adjust to being back before he had to face the scared-shitless bastard he used to be.
The look in Owen’s eyes.... Man, if pure hatred had a face, Brody just saw it. And who could fucking blame him? “You called him Dicky. Brody, you are such an idiot!” And now…he was yelling at himself in the middle of the street. All he needed was for some early morning busybody to see, completing his grand arrival back into Haven’s Cove.
Dicky. The name just came out. A stupid play on the nickname for Richard, cleverly thought up in the brilliant minds of immature teenagers. It was like time-warped diarrhea of the mouth. His name was Owen Richards; Brody knew it, and still, that fucked-up name they’d given Owen long ago spewed out of his mouth.
Brody slammed his hand on the truck again before finally getting back in it. Settling into his seat, he dropped his chin to his chest and took a deep breath. He had to focus on what he came here for. Slowly, he began to drive. He didn’t want to remember how to get there so clearly, but his hands turned the wheel automatically, his foot pressed on the gas as he headed in the direction of his mom’s home. He couldn’t even say it was his home. It hadn’t been since he’d left all those years ago. It was too early to stop there now, but he couldn’t head to the hotel without at least driving by the house first.
Brody tried clearing his mind, because he was going to need his sanity intact if he was going to make it through however long he needed to be here. He couldn’t even wish for this to be over quickly, because getting back to his life in Boston meant someone else’s life had ended—someone who used to mean the world to him. He’d already dealt with enough guilt and pain in his past; there was no fucking way he wanted anything else weighing on his conscience.
Thirteen years. Thirteen long years—fifteen, if you counted when he first left for college—and this town still looked exactly the same. Same old green, wooden Haven’s Cove sign as he drove in. Most of the stores hadn’t changed; Max’s still sat on the corner—and he’d bet money the food still tasted the same.
Owen Richards, however, had changed tremendously. Brody didn’t recognize him at first and still couldn’t blend the angry man he just saw with that lanky kid from high school. His hair was a darker brown than it used to be, though he still wore it short. Man, the guy must have put on at least twenty pounds of muscle.
But then, Brody had changed too. Brody could hear that punk kid he used to be howling in the wind about what a fucking cocksucker he’d become.
And damned if he couldn’t disagree. Ain’t that some hypocritical shit, Brody?
He’d come to terms with many things in his life. Some of them were like ripping a Band-Aid off, and some were like ripping off a fucking limb. He laughed to himself humorlessly. He wasn’t proud of the things he used to do or say, or of the person he was when he lived in this town all those years ago. He wasn’t proud of the people he used to call friends, either. Separating himself from all that and going to college in Boston was the best decision he’d ever made, even if he’d never gotten his degree. Didn’t stop him from making a few more huge mistakes, but those also made him the man he was today. He wouldn’t apologize for that; he was done apologizing for decisions he’d made in his life.
Well, almost.
Brody needed to make one more apology. One long overdue, heartfelt apology to someone that he’d hurt a long time ago—and just witnessed how much. Brody had been a scared teenager with no fucking backbone, doing everything he could to hide who he really was. At the time, he didn’t care who got hurt along the way as long as no one—namely his dad—found out the truth about him.
That wasn’t who he was anymore. Brody had faced his demons head on and won. Not without a few bumps and bruises along the way, but here he was. That meant that he could and would try to make things right with Owen. It also meant that he would be honest with anyone here about the man he’d become. No more hiding.