Manny Get Your Guy (Dreamspun Desires Book 37) by Amy Lane (3)

Faith and Fighting

MORNING came too soon—they had just enough time to wake up and dress. The scent and texture of sex still lingered on their skin as they donned their new sweatshirts and ventured to the hospital.

The following wait tried everybody’s patience. At one point Taylor slipped down to the gift shop to buy a phone charger just so he could text Jacob and make sure everything was okay.

It was and it wasn’t. Nica and the baby were fine, but Nica was stuck in bed for a while.

Jacob was trying hard to manage things, but just like Nica, he needed some help.

Taylor needed to be home.

Brandon watched the text storm, leaning against his shoulder, commenting softly when Jacob replied to Taylor’s questions. Taylor closed his eyes between texts, savoring Brandon’s warmth, his smell—the knowledge that he’d been inside Taylor, and he was still there, no sign of bailing, no sign of regret.

Then Jacob hit them with a bombshell.

Brandon’s boss called to say he was supervising the new addition while Brandon stayed with his family. We didn’t know that.

Neither did we, Taylor texted grimly. Gimme a minute.

“I did what?” Brandon asked, shaking himself awake. Taylor had brought them big coffees when he’d come back from the gift shop, but they were still tired.

Go figure.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Beavis and Butt-Head.” Taylor wrinkled his nose at Brandon’s brothers, who had spent the whole wait glaring at the two of them like they were the reasons Brandon’s father had needed the damned bypass surgery in the first place. “They look like they have something to hide.”

In fact, they looked like they had something to gloat over—they were smirking in Brandon’s direction. Wonderful. Taylor spent his days taking care of children—watching grown men act like infants held no appeal for him whatsoever.

“Oh Jesus,” Brandon muttered, standing up. He turned and offered Taylor a hand. “We need to put a stop to this right now.”

Ann-Marie was curled up like a little kid, sleeping on a hospital-issue pillow, but she straightened groggily and watched with interest as Brandon neared.

“You guys called my boss and told him I was staying up here?” The outrage in Brandon’s voice was understandable. “My boss. The guy who just put me in charge of a project because he thought I was a fully fledged adult who knew what I was doing. That guy?”

“Gar understands,” Garrett said dismissively. “This is your family.”

“Since when?” Brandon asked, and Taylor winced. Oh God, no, kid. Don’t get into that argument. “No, don’t answer that. The point is, you had no right. Nobody asked me.”

“Nobody asked Dad if he wanted to come to the hospital,” Cliff pointed out.

“Well, nobody asked him if he wanted to die and rot in his recliner like roadkill, but we assumed the answer was no!”

Taylor sucked air through his teeth, and Brandon turned to him.

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“That’s okay, sincerely. I’m starting to take it as a good sign.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you thought there was something seriously wrong about me, I don’t think I’d be left in any doubt.”

Brandon smirked at him, and that bubble—the one that circled them intimately, that left Taylor with no question that Brandon would be the man he needed—was back. It felt unassailable and definite.

Like they’d forged the invisible walls out of heart muscle, and it would beat forever.

“We’re not trying to kill you, Brandon—we just want you to move back home!”

Brandon gaped at them. “I’d rather you were trying to kill me. I have a job. I have people! I have a boyfriend—and none of those things are here.”

That bubble wasn’t going away. Taylor tried not to bite his lip like a teenager writing in her diary. He said boyfriend.

“This guy?” Garrett eyed Taylor up and down. “Brandon, if you have to be gay, I really think you can do better.”

Taylor waited until Brandon rushed forward before wrapping his arms around that massive chest and holding on. “No, no, no, no—hold on, cowboy! He’s trying to be an asshole. Don’t let him get under your skin!”

“Brandon!” Ann-Marie stood up and put herself between the brothers. “Garrett, I’m not proud of you right now.” She fixed her oldest with a level, sorrowful look.

In Taylor’s house it wouldn’t have worked. Taylor and his brothers would have kept going until his father’s fist or his mother’s broom handle broke them up. By the time Taylor was twelve, they’d learned not to fight each other—the real war was with the adults in the household, and getting away from the parents was a win.

But for all their faults, Brandon’s parents must have done some good things—some gentle things—because Garrett turned away from his brother and muttered, “Sorry.”

Brandon stopped fighting against Taylor’s arms, but his glare stayed fixed on his older brother. “I’m not,” he said clearly. “Nobody says shit about Taylor. That’s a rule. Even Dustin knows that, and he’s nine.”

Garrett shot a quick look at them from under a brow flushed red with anger. “You let this guy around your cousin’s kids?”

Brandon opened his mouth, but Taylor wasn’t going to make him say it. “I’m the manny. And Nica’s oldest friend. If you’ve got a problem with that, take it up with Nica’s family. I think that would be hilarious.”

Brandon’s strained chuckle echoed oddly in the room. “Can you see Tino dealing with this? That would be great!”

“I’d rather see Nica’s mom,” Taylor said, but then, he was biased. To him, Nica’s mom was everything from cookies to Band-Aids.

“Yeah, well, Mrs. Robbins is some pretty serious magic.”

Another layer to their bubble. Please, please don’t break.

“Brandon,” Ann-Marie broke in—not strong enough to make their bubble pop, but enough to keep it from spinning. “Brandon, I know your brothers did it the wrong way, but… but we were talking to the nurses last night. Even if everything goes well, I’m going to need some help getting your father home and taking care of him. Just for the first couple of weeks.” She glanced at Taylor and smiled uncertainly, then looked back at her son. “I… I was really hoping you could… you know. Go back to Sacramento and settle your things and then move back here—”

“No,” Brandon said firmly, grabbing Taylor’s hand. “No. Not moving. I’m signed up for next semester, and I’m changing my major, so I’ve got another three, three-and-a-half years.”

Ann-Marie nodded, looking uneasily at their joined hands. “But… could you just think about, you know, coming up for a week or two? If all goes well, he’ll be coming home on Friday. That’s what they said. Garrett and Cliff, they’ve got families in Tahoe and Auburn—”

“Which are both not as far away as I live!” Brandon protested. “Nica and Jacob need us!”

“Oh really? How much use could he—” Garrett caught Taylor’s glare and almost choked on his tongue.

“Would you like to see me change a diaper?” Taylor asked him. “Or balance a schedule? I’m hell in the grocery store. And to a woman stuck in bed while her kids go on about their day without her, I’m the difference between a new baby in seven months or heartbreak, so you’d better shut your damned mouth.”

“I didn’t know Nica was on bed rest,” Ann-Marie said uncertainly. “I’m… I’m sorry. But… but see? They have, uh, Taylor, uh, your friend, and… we just need you for a week. Please, Brandon. Your father… he’s—” She smiled weakly. “—not the greatest patient when he’s sick. Could you—”

“No—”

Taylor grabbed his bicep and pulled him away. Brandon went unwillingly, glaring over his shoulder so often he almost ran into the door as they left the waiting room.

“What?”

“You need to stay.” Taylor hated himself for saying the words even as they left his mouth.

“What?”

The betrayal in Brandon’s eyes actually hurt his chest. “No, not for good!” Taylor’s voice cracked. “Dammit! I’m not saying that.”

Brandon glared, and Taylor rubbed his sternum, wondering if an actual bruise could appear after a look like that.

“Then what are you saying?”

“Look, Brandon, my family doesn’t want me. Even a little. You’ve got a life in Sacramento—I don’t want you to leave that.” He swallowed. “Even if… you know… you and me, we didn’t… I wouldn’t want you to leave that. But there is you and me. So, you know. Staying would be great.”

To his relief, Brandon rolled his eyes. “That was eloquent.”

“I’m sure there’s a college boy with a pretty mouth who could do bett—”

Brandon kissed him hard, without mercy, pressing him back against the glass window of the waiting room, and Taylor opened, easy, like butter for a hot knife, just that anxious and desperate to feel Brandon’s possession again, to know he was owned, had a home in a good man’s arms.

The kiss ended and Brandon moved back just far enough to lean their foreheads together.

“That wasn’t rejection,” he said.

“No,” Taylor panted.

“You’re not breaking up with me.”

“Right again.” Oh God, he really wasn’t.

“Then what’s this about?”

Taylor closed his eye and blocked out the world. “Family. Duty. Doing what’s right even if it sucks. It’s a week. Maybe two. We go home, you finish up the room addition this week, finish your promise to your boss, and come back up Friday night.”

“And you?”

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. “Jacob and Nica need me. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be there when you come back.”

Brandon sighed, tilting his head back and studying the blank white wall over Taylor’s head. This hospital—it was spit-shiny and pretty, but not counting children’s wards, Taylor hadn’t seen a single hospital that couldn’t benefit from a crapload of rainbow paint and some good motivational posters.

But something up there sure did seem to fascinate Brandon.

He turned back to Taylor and narrowed his gaze. “You move into my apartment,” he said seriously.

Taylor opened his mouth. Closed it. Squinted. Stopped. Mouthed “What the fuck?” to himself several times.

And gazed back at Brandon in shock.

“I’m sorry?”

“My God, you’re a drama queen. You heard me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Taylor lied.

“My apartment. Yours is furnished—you’ve got clothes, a weight set, and a cat. I’ve got plenty of room in the closet, and you don’t have that many clothes.”

“Enough for the cat to poop on,” Taylor told him, heart racing. This was not going how he’d planned. He was going to make the noble sacrifice, send his young lover back to his family. And maybe when Brandon came back, he would have come to his senses, and Taylor wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing him.

Taylor could live with disappointment—he was pretty sure.

Brandon’s hand against the roughness of his scarred cheek melted that barrier, that anticipation of the hard blow, the bad thing.

It’s going to decimate me when it hits.

“That’s the deal breaker, Taylor. I’ll believe you mean it—that I’m coming back to an us—if you move into my rooms above the garage.”

“Tino’s getting me an apartment—”

“We’ll both move into it.”

Taylor laughed. “Getting ahead of our—”

Brandon kissed him again.

Oh dear God—the bubble, it was a real thing. Their whole lives, their hearts, their bodies, their minds—all of it existed in this very real bubble, and inside that bubble, there was Brandon with his kisses, his strength, his warmth, and his indomitable heart.

Fall in love in two weeks? Give away the rest of your life for two nights and a back rub? In the bubble, it all made sense. In the bubble, Taylor was the kind of man who could grab this kid’s hand and skip gaily into the future without a look back.

Brandon ground up against him, erect and needy, and Taylor whimpered, pulling back, because they couldn’t do that here.

“Yes,” he said, leaning his head back against the glass and gulping for air. “Yes. I’ll move into your rooms. Yes, I’ll move in with you when the apartment is ready. Just… just come back here for a week.” He took a heaving breath, shaking with the effort of saying that. “Be your parents’ little boy again. Make things right while you have a chance. I’ll be waiting.”

Brandon smiled, bright and glorious, and Taylor couldn’t dampen that glow of hope, couldn’t resurrect the barriers of doubt that had kept him safe for so long.

“You’d better. We’ll move you in this week. You’ll be in my apartment, in my bed.”

Taylor tried hard to keep his jaw square, his gaze narrow, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the tremble that racked him. “Kid, you had better not be bullshit.”

Brandon’s smile went crooked. “I’m not bullshit, and you’re not chicken feed, and last night wasn’t a fluke.”

Taylor swallowed, and swallowed again, and Brandon cupped his jaw and took his mouth and kissed him softly, teasingly, until their bubble stopped spinning and hung suspended in space again.

Every moment they touched was a perfect moment.

Taylor had never had perfect moments before. He was going to hold each one in his mind like a spinning crystal in the palm of his hand.

“Hello!” The sound penetrated the bubble, but the bubble held.

“Is Dad out of surgery?” Brandon asked Garrett without turning his head.

“They just took Mom in to see him.”

Brandon actually looked at his brother. “I’m glad he’s okay. You need to call Garland and tell him you were mistaken. I’ll talk to him later today when I get home.”

“But Mom—”

“I’ll come back Friday, if we’re far enough on the room additions, and I’ll stay for a week. The end. A week. After that, if Dad still needs help, we’ll….” He floundered, obviously at a loss for a plan.

Taylor helped. “Hire a nurse.”

“Well, don’t you always have a plan,” Garrett said sourly.

“He’s smart,” Brandon said, looking at Taylor again with that cheerful worship. “He’s going to school in the winter and getting his degree and his teaching credential.”

“Yeah?” Oh, Taylor had planned it, but it sure was nice to hear someone else believe in him.

“Damned straight.” Brandon dragged a soft knuckle down the side of Taylor’s face, where the mirror had showed him a sweet yellowing bruise around his eye. “’Cause he’s like an old-time knight in shining armor.”

“A paladin,” Taylor said, pleased.

“Yeah.”

“Whatever.” Garrett’s snort still couldn’t shatter them. “So we can count on you in a week—”

“And for a week,” Brandon said seriously. “I have a life. I’m not leaving it—not even for Mom.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that.” Garrett spun on his heel and left.

Brandon buried his face against Taylor’s shoulder and sighed. “You really want me to be a part of this family?”

Taylor grimaced. “Your mother seems okay?”

They laughed then, and Taylor leaned his cheek against the top of Brandon’s head. I’m going to let him go in a week? I should get a medal for this.

No medal was forthcoming.

THEY went into the waiting room, and Brandon eventually got to go talk to his dad. He came back out looking subdued and unhappy, his jaw locked mutinously.

“Brandon,” his mother said, holding on to his elbow, “I’m sure he didn’t mean that.”

“Mom, he said it.”

“But he was just coming out of the anesthesia—the last thing he remembers is Taylor yelling at him—”

“To get him to get in the ambulance!”

“Brandon, please. Taylor saved his life. Don’t think I don’t know that. Don’t think I’m not grateful.”

Brandon scowled. “Mom, I was going to come back on Friday when he came home, but—”

“Oh, please do. Please? Your brothers are going home—just for a week, Brandon? Please?”

Taylor caught his eye from the far side of the room and nodded, and Brandon sighed.

“You’d better send me a damned Christmas card. And put Taylor’s name on the envelope. And maybe send him a present too.”

His mother cast Taylor a grateful smile. “That’s a deal. Thank you. I’ll call you Thursday night—Cliff works down there on Fridays, so maybe he can give you a ride up?”

“And a ride down!”

“Well, of course, sweetheart.” His mother kissed him on the cheek, and together they walked to where Taylor was doing his stretches. “So, you two are on your way back down?”

“Home,” Taylor said briefly. “We’re going home.”

AND home felt good.

They climbed up to Taylor’s apartment building and found Marilyn on her back on top of the kitchen table, bloated white belly swollen too big for her to move. Taylor walked up to her and scratched her abdomen, and she just curled her paws against her chin.

“What in the hell did Nica—”

“Sammy—Sammy did it, remember?”

“What did Sammy do to my cat?”

Brandon opened the garbage and chuckled. “Two cans of Little Friskies Buffet.”

“Oh God. Marilyn, you big moo-cow, you need to learn how to not eat me out of house and home!”

“What she needs to do is stay away from the bed,” Brandon moaned. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his shorts as he walked into the bedroom. Taylor followed after him, picking up his clothes with a sigh of exaggerated patience. They’d driven down not long after Brandon saw his dad, and got lunch on the way. Garrett and Cliff had protested, but Brandon had claimed he had shit to sort. Closer to the truth was that he’d wanted to be alone with Taylor, period, the end.

Taylor wasn’t going to protest.

“Are you a neat freak?” Brandon asked, falling facedown on the bed. “I mean, I’m not usually a slob. I just need to know.”

“Army,” Taylor said briefly. “Six years.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Brandon yawned. “I’ll step up my game. Just as soon as you put that crap down and come lie next to me.”

Taylor put Brandon’s clothes on the dresser and dropped the shoes next to it, then took off his own shoes and shorts and limped to bed in his T-shirt.

Brandon sat up, pulled his shirt over his head, and threw it near the dresser. “Yours too. I need a nap before sex, but I want to touch you.”

Taylor shook his head, feeling sore and scarred. “Under the shirt,” he said quietly. Light poured in through the thin curtains.

Brandon’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, okay. But come lie down.”

Taylor did, stretching out on top of the cover like Brandon. “Where did you get the bossy streak?” he wondered, yawning. “Your mom’s not great at it. Your dad doesn’t seem to be this together. How did you happen?”

Brandon chuckled. “Jacob’s family. I mean, I know they’re sort of overshadowed by the Robbinses, but his dad is a character. Rides motorcycles, works on cars—and he’s a dentist. He’s sort of a crack-up.”

Taylor thought of Nica’s husband—how steady he was with their kids, the way he’d forgiven Taylor. “Well, Jacob’s a good man. It shows.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened with my dad. It’s like… I don’t know. Jacob’s dad was me, and my dad was Garrett.”

“Whose dad was Cliff?” Taylor yawned as he spoke, his eyes closing.

“Cliff was found under a mushroom,” Brandon said through another yawn. “He had to make his own father.”

Nonsense. But it was whimsical and not sad or worried nonsense, so it could stand. Taylor chuckled under his breath, and when Brandon’s hand slid under his shirt, he didn’t make a move to shake him off. Gentle and reassuring—more touch, more skin to skin. He fell into dreams that were as painless as silk and warm water.

HE woke up with Brandon’s mouth traveling down the soft skin of his stomach.

“Mm?”

“I woke up with wood,” Brandon murmured, his voice stirring the silken hairs below Taylor’s navel.

“That’s my problem wh—ai?” Oh yes—Brandon found Taylor’s own wood and mouthed it through Taylor’s boxers. “Shower?” he mumbled, because they were both still wearing the dust of the road and the sweat of the summer heat and…

Oh God.

Last night’s sex on their skins.

The thought did nothing but wake the heat slumbering in the pit of Taylor’s groin.

Brandon sucked hard on Taylor and then pulled back and blew lightly while Taylor fought the shivers of sudden, brutal arousal.

“I like the taste.” Brandon’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth slightly parted, feline, tasting and scenting in the same breath. “I liked it last night when you came in my mouth.”

“Nnnn….” It was a terrible sound—an unmanned whine—but Brandon was honest and crude and he wanted Taylor, wanted his body, and wasn’t going to retreat from this, wasn’t going to get shy.

Brandon laughed softly, all power, and shoved himself up so he was whispering in Taylor’s good ear. “Would you like me to come in your mouth?”

“Yes….” Taylor rolled over and kissed him, desperate for him, but more than that.

Desperate to take him.

Brandon gave back, dominating from the bottom, threatening to roll over and steal the kiss from Taylor, but Taylor didn’t want to give it up.

He slithered away, kissing down Brandon’s collarbone, the smooth skin of his broad chest, his flat pink nipples.

Oh, he’d forgotten the joys he could take in a partner, in pleasing himself by pleasing someone else. He pulled Brandon’s nipple into his mouth and teased the sensitive tip with his tongue, enjoying the tug of Brandon’s hands in his hair.

With a pert little nip, he moved to the other side, sliding his hand down Brandon’s flat stomach to flirt with the elastic edge of his boxers.

Brandon’s low chuckle told him the teasing worked, and Brandon moved one hand from Taylor’s hair to help shove his boxers down. “You may know some tricks after all,” he taunted. “I was starting to wonder.”

Taylor glared at him lazily. “Wonder?”

“All this talk about being a bad boy… and last night you were so awfully, awfully gooooood….”

Taylor lunged down his body, taking his erection into his mouth with a little groan of satisfaction. Like the rest of Brandon’s musculature, this muscle was long and broad, and it filled him, filled his senses, drugged him on the taste and smell of blatant sex.

He couldn’t pull it far enough back in his throat.

“Ah yeah,” Brandon urged, massaging Taylor’s scalp again. “You are… ungh… good at this….”

Taylor pulled back, swirling his tongue at the head, using his free hand to massage all points south. He stayed there, tormenting, until Brandon got less chatty.

“Ahh… Taylor, please!”

That’s my boy! Taylor thrust down to the back of his throat again, taking Brandon’s unwilling microthrusts as a challenge.

Brandon whimpered without shame, using Taylor’s mouth as Taylor used all his skill to make him crazy. Hands, chest, tongue, palate, clever fingers—everything working in conjunction, until Brandon tugged at his hair, raising his head so they could lock gazes across the broad expanse of Brandon’s chest. “Do you want it?” he taunted. “Tell me yes.”

“Yes….” Taylor stuck out a tongue and lapped, offering a tormenting little smile.

“Beg me,” Brandon ordered huskily.

“Please,” Taylor whispered before playing the taut string of flesh on the underside, the little bundle of nerves that had such a huge impact.

“Please!” Brandon’s voice cracked, and he gave Taylor’s head a little shove.

Taylor didn’t need any encouragement. He abandoned himself to the task, the worship of Brandon’s body, the taste and sensation of another man’s cock. Too soon Brandon started to beat his open palms against the bed, and Taylor laughed, the sound resonating on Brandon’s sensitive flesh.

Without ceremony Brandon wiggled, lifting Taylor’s backside and moving under it. Before Taylor could reposition himself to finish his job, his own boxers had been shoved down his thighs and his cock…. Oh Lord. What Brandon lacked in practice and finesse, he made up for in enthusiasm and the lack of a gag reflex.

Taylor cried out, burying his head against Brandon’s thigh, shoved to the knife-edge once again.

Oh no—not this time.

Brandon was so close! Taylor upped the stakes, using his fingers to dip between his thighs, between his cheeks, to play with the tight entrance hidden in the shadows.

His fingers were wet enough, his aim was true enough—he slid in to the first knuckle, and Brandon cried out, arching, thrusting into Taylor’s mouth, spilling his seed as Taylor drank greedily.

Oh… oh yes! This was what lovemaking felt like. This was having a lover at his mercy, and—oh God! Yes!—being at a man’s mercy, trusting he wouldn’t shove a knife in your back while he was sucking your cock.

He didn’t. He just kept sucking, playing, pleasuring, until Taylor buried his face in Brandon’s thigh and cried out. He bit softly, completely vulnerable, completely helpless, as his body turned itself inside out in climax.

When it was over, he collapsed limply, legs splayed on either side of Brandon’s head. “This is so undignified,” he said when he could talk again.

Brandon laughed, the sound rusty. “I need you to move. I’m starving.”

Carefully Taylor put all his weight on his good side and rolled to his back. “I don’t even want to know how that happened in your head.”

“Well, my balls were empty and so was my stomach?” Brandon sat up, looking puzzled. “Doesn’t that happen to you too?”

Taylor just chuckled, closing his eyes. “Uh, no. Not even when I was young. But yeah, it’s….” He pushed himself up and squinted at the light. “God, it’s getting late. Sixish?”

At that moment his phone buzzed in his shorts, and he scrambled to get off the bed. “Tino?”

“You’re coming to dinner, right? You told Jacob you guys would be home tonight, and we need to plan.”

“There’s dinner tonight?” Taylor scrolled through his phone. “I had no idea. No, Jacob didn’t mention it.”

“Well, then, we’ll save you a plate. Can you be here in half an hour?”

Taylor grunted. “Make it forty-five minutes. We just woke up from a nap and we need to shower.”

“Together?” Tino asked, but politely, as though simply wondering.

“Not in my bathroom,” Taylor told him, thinking about the odds of falling through the floor. “But save us a plate.”

He rang off and set his phone on the charger, then turned to Brandon. “You heard?”

“Yup. The family hamster wheel—it’s time to get back on.”

Taylor thought about it and realized that “I sort of miss the kids. Is that weird?”

Brandon walked naked to where Taylor stood and rubbed his lower lip with a thumb. “No. You love them. It’s family, Taylor. It’s the whole reason I’m leaving in a week, right?”

Taylor’s heart fell. He’d managed to forget that. “Yup. All my idea. It’s awesome. So glad you’re going.”

He pulled away from Brandon’s caress and stepped toward the bathroom only to be seized from behind by a behemoth with more muscles than sense. “I hate going,” he whispered, brushing Taylor’s ear with his lips.

Just like that, their bubble was back.

“I’m… not excited about it,” he said softly.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re having a powwow, then. We’re going to need some help moving you in.”

Taylor closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Brandon, shamelessly using his strength and vitality because his own body felt stripped of any sort of volition. “You know, we don’t have to—”

“Stop,” Brandon whispered. “Stop. You promised.”

Rashly. Uncharacteristically. Wholeheartedly. “I promised,” he conceded.

“Now go take care of your cat and I’ll shower first.”

Taylor started to pivot toward the bed, but Brandon didn’t let go. “Let me imagine you naked,” he said with an evil little flick of his tongue in the whorl of Taylor’s ear. Against Taylor’s backside, Brandon’s impressive erection stirred.

Taylor stepped away and scowled, grabbing his underwear. “Get in the shower,” he ordered gruffly. “We’re late.”

Brandon stroked him up and down with the power of his gaze. “We are going to have so much fun,” he promised. “You and me—I don’t see ever getting bored.”

He was trying to promise forever, but Taylor couldn’t do it. Not when he was leaving in five days. “Go,” he said gruffly. “Promises to keep.”

And he went.

THEY made it in forty minutes, and Tino’s mom had saved plenty of food for them.

To Taylor’s surprise, the kids all rushed them as they walked through the patio.

“Taylor! Mom was sick—we were so worried!” Taylor gave Dustin a one-armed hug and bent to scoop Conroy up, since he seemed to want to cling.

“Taylor, Dad says you’re going to live at the house and we’ll have you all the time and you’re going to work your ass off!”

“Belinda!” Jacob trotted over from the pool, where apparently he’d been swimming when all his kids bailed to rush Taylor and Brandon. “You’re not supposed to—”

“Use Daddy’s words,” Belinda said dutifully. “But Taylor uses it all the time, and apparently he’s got a pain in his.”

Taylor and Jacob both looked at Belinda, at a loss.

“You’re a pain in his ass, kid,” Jacob said after a moment, scooping her up and sending her laughing to the pool, where Sammy was still playing with Keenan and Letty. Brandon gave Taylor a look, then bent and scooped up Melly, blew bubbles on her tummy to make her squeal, and ran her to the pool with the others.

Conroy refused to move, clinging to Taylor’s neck in a way that sent a surge of protectiveness through him: this was his little boy too.

“So,” Jacob said, looking out at the pool where Brandon and Sammy were doing a hand-clasp exchange and talking. Sammy cast Taylor a veiled, aching look, and Taylor sighed.

“So,” Taylor answered. “Where’s Nica?”

“Literally in bed. We left her at home, sleeping, with a Tupperware container of steamed veggies and balsamic vinegar next to her. She’s exhausted.”

“Well, uh, Brandon talked to you about me moving in over the garage. I can be full-time now.”

Jacob clapped him on the arm. “You were full-time before. Now you’re family.” He paused and searched Taylor’s face carefully. “You’ll be good to my family, right?”

Oh God. Taylor felt the flush from his belly to his forehead. “Yeah. I, uh. He’s sort of… irrepressible, isn’t he?”

Jacob nodded soberly. “He is. And frankly, I’m more worried about you than him. But I still worry.”

Taylor’s eyes stung, and he gave the toddler in his arms a little squeeze. “You’re a good dad,” he said, voice taut.

“And you’re a good brother.” Jacob’s sunshine smile—the one that Nica probably fell in love with—lit up his still-bruised face. “Not even Tino could get me into a bar fight. It’s like now I am a man!”

Conroy’s sweet weight on Taylor’s shoulder almost broke him. “You were a good man—the best—from the very beginning.”

“You were too,” Jacob told him. “You just needed to see it. I’m glad Brandon let you see.”

Stacy Robbins called out to them then, before things could get awkward, and they settled down to plan.

A WEEK later, Taylor was as tired as he’d ever been in his life.

They’d moved Taylor in after dinner at Tino’s, using Brandon’s truck for the few big pieces and collapsing at one in the morning in Brandon’s sturdy four-poster bed. Taylor tried to sleep the night on the far end, because he didn’t want to get too accustomed to Brandon’s warmth, his weight, his smell, if he was leaving at the end of the week. Brandon rolled over and dragged him until they were spooning, and Taylor pondered with baffled surprise that he’d always assumed he’d be the big spoon.

Brandon was simply larger than life, and Taylor had fallen eagerly into his shadow. He was warm here, and safe. Having his shelter taken away was going to hurt.

In the morning Brandon beat him to the shower and left him to feed a puzzled Marilyn, who had spent the night tucked under Taylor’s chin, disdainful of Brandon’s possessive hand on Taylor’s hip and of Brandon pretty much in general.

“You have to get used to him,” Taylor told her, stretching as he stood. “I think he’s keeping us.”

She meowed, head-butting his stomach, and he scratched her behind the ears.

“Well, maybe when he leaves next week, he’ll….” Taylor couldn’t finish that.

He was counting on Brandon coming back.

And that’s when he knew he was in trouble.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Brandon emerged from the bedroom in his 501s, pulling his T-shirt over his head, and all thoughts of trouble fled. Taylor and his boyfriend had things to do, a productive life, a family to tend to.

That morning he was downstairs and in the kitchen an hour before usual, sending Dustin to find Melly’s other shoe—because every single time, dammit—and holding Conroy on his good hip while flipping pancakes with his weak arm and hoping one didn’t end up on the wall.

“I miss Mom doing this!” Belinda stood in the middle of the kitchen, stomping her foot. “You’re good for driving us around and lunch, but I want her for breakfast.”

“You can’t have her for breakfast,” Taylor replied absently. “She’d taste awful.”

Belinda burst into surprised laughter. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Well, she would,” Brandon said, walking into the kitchen. He’d been making calls while Taylor got breakfast ready, and he stopped and greeted Taylor with a kiss on the cheek before he started setting the table. “Your mom’s not that sweet. It would be like… like dead frogs.”

“That’s gross, Brandon,” Belinda said, titillated.

“The dead frogs or the kissing?” Dustin asked, setting Melly’s shoe down in front of her chair. “’Cause Dad kisses Mom all the time, and it’s really disgusting.”

“They’re gonna make a baby,” Melly said soberly before sticking her finger in her nose, then her mouth.

“Two boys can’t make babies, Melly.” Belinda looked at Brandon and Taylor with apology in her eyes. “She doesn’t know about the stork yet.”

“Stork,” Brandon mouthed. “The stork.”

“There’s no stork,” Dustin told his sister. “You have to watch the puberty video—then you can have babies.”

“Have you watched the puberty video?” Taylor asked in horror.

“No.” Dustin’s shoulders sagged and he slumped next to Melly at the table. “I don’t get to see it until the end of the fourth grade. I’ll be ten by then.”

“You can’t have a baby after you watch the puberty video!” Belinda protested, running two grubby hands through fine brown hair that now stood on end in syrupy spikes. “Brandon will have to build another room! It’ll go on top of the two rooms they’re building now, and the house will go up and up and up, and where will we put the babies?”

“I’m not a baby!” Conroy wailed, almost shattering Taylor’s good ear. “I’mma big boy!”

“Course you are,” Taylor soothed, kissing the little boy’s forehead. “You’re a big boy, Brandon’s making rooms to fit all the babies, boys can’t have babies from kissing but they can go through a reputable adoption agency, and somebody has to eat all these pancakes. Who’s on?”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Belinda, wash your hands. Dustin, wash Melly’s hands—and your own—and Brandon, please move Conroy’s chair and take off the tray so he can sit at the table with us?”

Brandon laughed. “Do I get pancakes?”

Taylor looked at the last bit of mix and grimaced. “No, big boy, you and me are doing granola bars today, and I’m going to the grocery store while the three big kids are at ABC Club.”

“Why do they call it ABC Club when everybody knows it’s just summer sch—”

Taylor loved Brandon, but he absolutely had to kick him in the ankle. “Fun,” he said staunchly. “It is summer fun for little boys and girls who ordinarily might forget completely about the fun and games offered to them by the California public school system, and thus begin the school year deprived.”

“It’s summer school,” Dustin told them flatly, wiping Melly’s hands on a rag. “But we get out by the time it gets hot enough to swim, so that’s okay.”

Taylor grabbed the plate of pancakes and got a tighter hold on Conroy and swept them both to the table. “Thank God. Brandon, I need you to leave before you say something that’s going to haunt me for the rest of the summer.”

Brandon guffawed and gave him another buss on the cheek. “Sure. Bye, guys! Be good for Taylor. Bye, Taylor. Love you!”

And then he was gone out the door to meet his crew in the bright hard rays of the July morning.

And Taylor was stuck in the kitchen, staring after him. “It’s a gift,” he muttered to himself. “How does he do that?”

“Do what?” Dustin asked, grabbing a pancake with his bare—and hopefully clean—fingers. “Build the room? ’Cause it’s cool. First they pour concrete, and then they have to use plans, and then they have to make a frame, and—”

“No, not build the room.” Taylor turned to the table and made sure everybody had a pancake, especially Conroy, who didn’t like syrup or butter, bless his little heart.

“Then do what? Can I have syrup? And blueberries? And jam?” Belinda was slathering enough butter on her one pancake to stop a horse. Or at least make it slip on the floor.

“Syrup,” Taylor muttered. “And it doesn’t matter what he’s talking about. How does he say the most disturbing thing in the world without even thinking?”

“What’d he say?” Belinda asked, not objecting when Taylor started cutting up her pancake.

“He said Mommy smelled like dead frogs!” Melly blurted. Taylor had almost forgotten that, but he was grateful.

“Yes, yes he did.” Except the dead frogs part wasn’t what Taylor found so disturbing, and Brandon probably knew it.

It was the I love you that stuck in Taylor’s chest, lingered, and haunted him for the rest of the day.

“HERE, Princess. I went shopping, so we’ve got fresh bagels, garlic cream cheese, and deli-sliced turkey with tomatoes and pickles. Please tell me that’s something you can have.” He had no idea where he should stand on the whole “prepared meat” part of the pregnancy diet. On Jacob’s advice, he planned to simmer ten pounds of chicken that night and use it for lunch and dinner for the rest of the week, but since he hadn’t done that yet, he was going to hope deli turkey would be okay.

“It sounds awesome,” Nica said, setting her laptop aside. She was supposed to be doing nothing but resting and watching television, at least for the first week, but Taylor had a sneaking suspicion she was working on her husband’s business instead of playing Candy Crush. “Thanks, Taylor. How goes things?”

“Well, kids are at ABC Club, Conroy is down for his nap, whatever magic they’re working outside does not include loud noises, and I have time to eat lunch with my friend.”

She smiled at him, a rare sweet smile, and pushed her long dark hair out of her eyes. Back in high school, when he’d known she was picking out curtains and writing their names together in her notebook, he’d always thought that if he could like girls, she’d be a good choice. It was the hair, he’d thought back then. Silky and blue-black with enough wave to make it unpredictable. Her brother had the same stuff, just cut short.

Now he thought it was the cheeks, and the smile, and the way her eyes crinkled up in the corners.

And the way she’d forgiven him for not being able to love her that way, even when he’d lied.

“Sit,” she murmured, patting the bed next to her. “I miss grown-ups in here. Jakey’s going to be killing himself for the next two weeks, so I’ll take you instead.”

Taylor laughed like he was supposed to. “What’s Jacob doing?”

“Selling one of the shops,” she said, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal. “One of his guys has worked for him awhile—he’s trying to get up the capital, and Jacob’s having the place assessed and inventoried so he knows what the guy’s getting and what’s a fair price.”

“Why? I mean, uhm, why? You guys worked so hard for those businesses!”

She laughed, her voice richer than he remembered. Maybe it was the living, the husband, the children, the commitment to building a family and keeping the people you loved in your life happy. It gave her a timbre, a substance she hadn’t had when they’d been in high school, or even in college.

“Because we worked hard for the lives we have,” she said, amused. “Not the businesses. I mean, the businesses were fun, and they earn a good living. But we’ll do more than fine off the income from the two businesses if we invest this money wisely. And we can slow down, have more time with the kids and less time with the office.” She shrugged. “I like the kids. I mean, I didn’t plan on quite so many, but I love the ones I have. I’d like to be here for them more.”

Taylor propped his foot up on the bedframe, wrapped his arms around his bent leg, and rested his chin on his knee. “You have a good family,” he said thoughtfully. “I hope even when you don’t need a nanny anymore, I can still hang around with them. Your kids are a trip.”

Nica’s low, throaty laugh reminded him so much of her mother’s. “Yeah. Well, I’ll have five. You and Brandon can come over and babysit anytime.”

Taylor couldn’t look at her. “You know, it might not always be us together.”

Nica reached out and touched his shoulder. “C’mon, Tay. Remember when we used to lie on my bed and tell secrets?”

They’d been in fourth grade, but yeah. He turned around and faced her, and she set her plate down and curled up on her side.

“Now tell me your secrets,” she said softly, touching his face like he was one of her children. He’d used to think he was so much older than her, so much more sophisticated. He’d had all the sex in the world, and she didn’t know a queer when one bummed a ride to school and snuck a place at the family table.

She might not have known a queer, but she sure did know a friend.

“I’m falling in love with the kid who hated me when I first became the manny,” he told her.

“I know who Brandon is.”

He grinned and touched her nose. “Of course you do. He’s the insane one drilling holes in your house right now.”

“Yup, and doing a damned fine job of it.” Her smile was tired but sound. She knew what was going on. If nothing else, Jacob would have told her about Taylor jumping to Brandon’s honor the other night.

“He’s scary competent,” Taylor admitted.

“And he picked you,” she said, her smile no less gentle. “Why do you suppose?”

Taylor tapped his eye patch. “Makes me look like Kurt Russell in Escape from New York.”

“Yeah, Taylor. That’s why he decided to fall in love with you. The eye patch.”

Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “Well, if it’s not that, I got nothin’, Nica. I’ve got no idea why he’d want to risk his whole life ahead of him for me.”

She kissed his forehead. “I know you don’t. Would you just believe me that whatever it is, I saw it back in high school, but it’s bigger now?”

Taylor’s evil chuckle made her smile. “I hope so.”

“Stop it—I didn’t see that in high school.”

“Nope, but not for lack of dreaming, you shameless hussy.”

They laughed together, and then she sobered. “Conroy’s going to wake up in ten minutes, so I need you to listen to me.”

“All ears, Nica.” His friend—his best friend in all the world.

“I loved you back then because in spite of the whole double-life thing, you were a better person at seventeen than the whole rest of your family. Remember, I knew. I didn’t tell my family, but I knew. And you could have been horrible. You know that happens—the kid who gets hit grows up to keep hitting. But you grew up to protect everyone else. You grew up to be funny and to want to go to college. And when you told me—who you were, what you’d been doing—you told me thinking I could never forgive you, but you told me anyway. And when I did forgive you, I realized that, so what. You weren’t perfect. But you were always my friend.”

He swallowed. He knew this, but God, hearing your friend say she loved you in spite of your shortcomings—sometimes it could be the most powerful thing in the world.

“Always,” he said huskily.

“And in the hospital,” she said, her voice breaking, “you were so happy to see me. You could have… you could have been bitter or angry. But you just lit up. You lit up when you saw Melly. You lit up when I brought Conroy. And I realized how much I’d meant to you. All through high school, through college, through your deployment. I used to write you letters thinking, ‘Oh God, he probably thinks I’m still the same goofy kid who thought I was in love with him,’ but when I saw you in the hospital, I knew that wasn’t true. You were happy to see your friend. And I realized what a fine human being you were, and how lucky I was….”

He grabbed one of the paper napkins he’d brought up with lunch and wiped under her eyes.

“I was so lucky God brought you back to me, Taylor Cochran. I took it for granted you were coming back—I learned never to take anything for granted again. This baby? Before I saw you in the hospital, I might have assumed, you know? That I would carry this pregnancy through because I just wanted it, and that’s how it was going to be. But now I know. The people we care most about, the things we assume will just be there—they can get taken away from us.”

“I’m here,” he told her, to calm her down.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered. “Don’t take yourself for granted. Be grateful Brandon knows what a good man you are. Believe he knows you for how I know you, okay?”

He couldn’t talk—and he couldn’t refute her. He could only nod.

“Say it,” she told him. “Say you believe it. That you’re a good man and you deserve what this boy has to offer.”

“I believe I’m blessed,” he said after he could speak again. “By your friendship. By your family. And I’ll count him in my blessings. How’s that?”

She grinned, tears not slowing down. “You’re a good man, Taylor. And you’re not even a little bit stupid.”

He could grin back. “That’s high praise indeed.”

He had to get up shortly after that and get back on the family hamster wheel, but he replayed that conversation a thousand times in his head.

That night, after dinner—and Jacob shooing him off so he could teach Dustin how to load the dishwasher—he told Brandon he was taking a walk around the neighborhood before going upstairs.

“I’ll come with you.”

His chest warmed as he thought of the solitary ventures he’d made outside his apartment, trying to get in some cardio, trying to be comfortable in his own skin again. He’d learned to like walking, the way it cleared his head, the way it gave his body something to do without hurting too much.

For a few minutes they trotted side by side, until Brandon broke the silence. “You go really fast. Next time I’m taking off my work boots and putting on my tennis shoes.”

“I like walking,” Taylor said in defense. “Keeps you fit, doesn’t pulverize your body the way running does.”

Brandon caught his hand as it was swinging backward and twined their fingers. “You can do this.”

Taylor tugged gently. “I can’t—I need to let my arms swing so they both get the use and the stretch. Sorry.”

“No, not at all.” Taylor felt his sly look, the wheedling pull for the compliment. “You wanted to hold my hand, right?”

“Course.”

“Good.”

Taylor had to laugh. So much arrogance—but he used his powers of assumption for good, so it was okay.

“What?” Brandon said after a few more quiet footfalls. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking….” Taylor looked up at the sky, still light although it was past eight. Jacob, after a day at work, had come home, played with the kids while Taylor made dinner, and called the housekeeper so Taylor didn’t have to go shopping again. Then he’d sat at dinner and talked to his children some more, was now teaching Dustin to do the dishes, and would probably fall asleep in front of a Disney movie before going upstairs to talk to his wife.

Just the thought of Jacob’s day exhausted him, but he didn’t think Jacob would want to do anything else with his life.

“I’m thinking that the best thing for you isn’t always the easiest,” he said after a few moments. “And that it’s not easy for me to trust.”

“You know, I think I figured that out.” Dry as dust.

“You only think you’re cute.” Sometimes Taylor thought he missed his left eye most when he was trying on an expression of disgust.

“So do you,” Brandon shot back smugly. “Think I’m cute. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing.” But he felt the corners of his mouth pulling up, because, oh God, he really was. “Except….” Could he say it?

“Except what?” They’d reached the end of a block and stood underneath a mulberry tree, the sweet green of the leaves against the darkening sky as pretty a picture as Taylor had ever wanted to paint.

“Except I’m going to have faith,” he said at last. “That you’re not bullshit. That this can work. ’Cause… I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m tired. I’m worried for Nica. I think the life you and me have planned—being working students, living together—it’s not going to be easy. But… I mean, I’m pretty sure I can do it. And I know you can do it. So I’m going to believe it when you say we can do it together.”

Brandon drew even with him and kissed him softly in the quiet summer evening. Taylor closed his eye and trusted.

They pulled back, and Brandon said, “Tay, open your eye.”

He did, and Brandon’s face, broad and earnest, happy and dear, filled his vision, his green eyes the exact color of a peaceful sea. “Yeah?”

“You heard me this morning.”

“Yeah.”

“I meant it.”

“I know. I mean it back.”

The smile widened until his dimples popped. “You ever going to say it?”

Taylor scowled, not ready to be that naked. Not today, not here. “Maybe.” He pulled away to resume the walk.

Brandon’s low chuckle followed him, as did Brandon himself. “Now you’re just playing hard to get!”

“How can I be hard to get when you’ve got me?” Taylor took another couple of steps and then stopped. “You’ve really got me. You need to know that.”

And the play drained out of Brandon’s body. He didn’t reach for Taylor’s hand again, but he did place a work-roughened, square-palmed hand in the small of his back.

“I do now.”

A walk together—it was all Taylor wanted.

And lovemaking afterward. He wanted that too.

BY Friday night the kids were used to his pancakes, Nica was still on bed rest, and the room addition had another three days of drywall before it could be painted and carpeted. Brandon was pleased, though. He told Taylor that he and his team had done a good job—work they could be proud of—and that Jacob’s house had just doubled in value.

Taylor didn’t know a damned thing about construction or housing, but he did know Brandon. He took him at his word.

Brandon’s duffel sat ready at the door, and Brandon was arguing with his brother on the phone. “No. I said no. Cliff, I said no, I’m not staying another week. If you can’t bring me back down, I’ll drive up myself. No, I don’t care if it’s a stupid waste of gas. I have a life, do you understand that? I work as many jobs as I can during the summer so I can afford part-time in the winter, and since nobody there has offered to pay for my schooling, I need to get back. No, I don’t want your money—not now. I’ve got a boyfriend here—do you not get it? Yes, that guy—remember, the one who saved Dad’s life?”

Brandon’s sudden scowl and growl made Taylor wince. Obviously he just got an earful about why Taylor Cochran was not good enough for Brandon Grayson.

“You take that back or I’m not going. I don’t care if you’re a mile away. You take it back or I’m not getting into the car with you. You heard me.”

Brandon waited, tapping his foot, shaking his head, until the reply on the other end of the phone appeased him somewhat.

“Now listen to me. I am coming back next Friday. Tell me right now if you can get me back or not.” He grunted and looked over at Taylor. “Saturday morning,” he mouthed.

Taylor grimaced, but he’d been deployed for years at a time. He knew how to wait for a boyfriend and be faithful. “If I haven’t heard from you by one in the afternoon, I’m coming up to get you.”

Something like relief relaxed Brandon’s shoulders. “You’d better.” Then all his attention was back on Cliff. “Yeah, that’s the street. We’re the only house on the block with a raw wood second-story house addition, Clifford—not even you can miss it. I’ll be out in five—no. Don’t come up. Because you embarrass me. Seriously. I’m embarrassed. Yeah, the snazzy car is part of the embarrassment. Now give me five. So I can kiss my boyfriend goodbye—did you want to see?”

He hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket, shaking his head. “I’m serious, Taylor, if you don’t see me, it’s because I’m tied up in the basement. I don’t want to spend another minute with those assholes.”

Taylor thought of his family—his father, rude and violent, his mother, drunk and sad. Thought of his brothers, who were probably just like their dad.

“I totally believe you,” he said mildly. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

Brandon came into his arms and hugged hard, sighing in his ear. “Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Taylor buried his face in Brandon’s neck, saw only darkness, and took a leap of faith. “Love you too.”

His reward was the low rumble of laughter from Brandon’s chest. “So, did a black hole open up and swallow the sun?”

Taylor backed up enough to glare. “No.”

“Then would it kill you to say it sometime when I’m not leaving for a week?”

“Possibly. Go away. I’m going to remember what it’s like to sleep on the edge of the bed.”

“Lumpy. The best part of the bed is in the middle with me, when you can’t roll off and bonk your head and die in a coma of blood. Everybody knows that.”

Taylor covered his face with his hands. “No, Brandon, only you.”

“Yeah. That wasn’t romantic at all, was it?” His voice fell, and for a rare moment, he sounded young.

“No.” Taylor cupped Brandon’s cheeks with his palms. “But it sounded very uniquely you.”

Brandon’s irrepressible smile popped right back out. “Say it again,” he ordered.

“I love you.”

“Love you back.”

One more kiss and he was gone.

Taylor closed the door behind him, wandered to the couch, and almost sat down. He needed to work out today, and he needed to stretch and then shower and then fall fast and hard asleep. Even though he officially had the weekend off, he was still going downstairs sometime the next morning to help herd children, because Jacob was exhausted and Nica was prickly and all the kids were a massive handful.

And they were family, and family helped. At this point, even when he got his loan and started school and turned the job of nanny over to someone else, he couldn’t imagine not coming by to help when he could. Conroy depended on him to find the woobie, and who was going to deflect Belinda’s clever mind when it saw way too much? Melly could never keep that one shoe, and Dustin was going to learn sex ed from a puberty video and his father? God no.

So he was officially sucked in. Just like when he was a kid and dreamed of being part of the Robbins clan—he was their manny, their Uncle Taylor, Brandon’s boyfriend, Nica’s bestie, all in the same guy, in their lives.

He had a purpose in the morning.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss the hell out of Brandon right now.

He stood by the couch for a moment and let the ache wash over him.

Of course he was strong enough to wait a week. He was strong enough to wait a year or three or five. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He could have faith in Brandon—that was no problem. But faith didn’t keep you warm at night, and even if the thermometer said 103 for the whole next week, that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be chilly in Brandon’s little garage apartment.

Carefree Highway

BRANDON glared at the long shadows of the trees and tried to guess what time it was. Four? Five? He’d left the house at three, fed up and pissed off, and with a dying phone.

Oh, he’d known this was coming.

So had Taylor, for that matter. During their last phone conversation—and the bad coverage had made them damned rare—Taylor had asked if Brandon wanted him to drive the truck up after Jacob got home on Friday.

Brandon should have said yes.

His folks had seemed okay when Brandon arrived Friday night. His mom had his old room ready—airplane wallpaper, single wood-frame bed and all. He ate cold chicken as a snack, talking to his mom about his dad’s routine since Dad was asleep for the night, and for a brief, shining moment, Brandon thought they could be civilized and, well, family about this.

But he still set his duffel down on the dresser instead of unpacking. He just didn’t want to stay that long.

The next day had been exhausting. His father needed help with pretty much everything—Brandon could see why Garrett and Cliff hadn’t wanted in on the daily care. Brandon’s bulk and muscle were useful helping Dad sit up to eat, helping him stand up and walk to the bathroom, helping him wander the house. He was supposed to walk a little loop—recliner to kitchen table, kitchen table to garage, garage around the house to front door, front door around the house to garage again.

By the time Brandon was supposed to leave on Friday, his dad should have been strong enough to walk to any of those places on his own, and to continue to walk. In two weeks, he should have been able to walk to the end of the driveway for mail. In three weeks, around the block.

But Mitch Grayson had no such aspirations.

“What do you mean, get up? I’m a heart attack victim!”

Brandon scowled at him that first day. “Dad, I can read the instructions just like you. Mom spent hours with your PTs putting this together. Did you think you would just get home and vegetate and suddenly you’d feel better? Your heart’s a muscle, and it needs to be stretched!”

“What would you know about it? You’re going to be an engineer, remember?”

And how he desperately regretted telling Garland that, because his boss was the only place his parents could have gotten the information. “I have two years of kinesiology under my belt, Dad. And even if I didn’t, I’ve been watching Taylor stretching out for weeks—”

“What would he know about it?”

“A quarter of his body is skin and muscle grafts. He got blown up, Dad. And he can walk right now and wrangle kids and move with barely a limp because he listened to his doctors and because he stretches and uses his weights every day. Now come on! Are you going to tell me you can’t even try?”

“Are you trying to compare me to your gay boyfriend to make me work harder?”

Brandon stared despairingly at his father. They had the same broad cheekbones, the same square chin. But Mitch’s lips had gotten thin and pursed in the past two years. His arms and legs were skinny, but his chest and gut had gotten bigger. No physical activity. None. No muscle tone. All the indomitable mass of his body had been allowed to run to fat.

“I’m comparing you to a man I admire to tell you what he did to recover,” Brandon answered reasonably. “Please, Dad. We’ve been given a second chance to be a family—”

“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be leaving in a week.”

“I notice you’re not whining at Garrett and Cliff this way!” Oh dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. He knew that was the worst way to close an argument, but still, the unfairness rankled.

“Your brothers have families.”

“So do I.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t count!”

Usually that was when Brandon took a couple of laps around the house, since his father wasn’t going to get it done, and his mother… well, she cried a lot.

“Do you really have to go away again, Brandon?”

“Don’t think of it so much like running away, Mom. Think of it as escaping.”

And that would be more laps around the house.

He missed Taylor fiercely.

He wasn’t stupid. He asked himself repeatedly how he knew this was love, real love, something that could last as long as Nica’s parents, or Tino and Channing, or Nica and Jacob.

All he could come up with was that nobody, not in his whole life, made him want to do for someone, be a better man, be a positive force in the world, in the future, in his own life, like Taylor did.

Right now, while he was stuck at his parents’ house, fighting to be that man was a lot harder than it was when he was living at Jacob and Nica’s—or, he suspected, renting the small apartment Tino and Channing were readying for them.

Which was what had put him on this road.

Thursday night he’d had a brief, wistful conversation with Taylor, pleased as always by his sharp tongue, his sarcasm, and his complete competency in all matters.

“So Melly had a breakdown in the grocery store? What were you doing there in the first place?”

“Nica had a craving—try to keep up.”

“It wasn’t sugar, was it? Because she skirted diabetes with Conroy—that’s why Jacob got the vasectomy.”

“No, it was steak. Can I get on with my story?”

Brandon smiled, lying back in the dark in his old bedroom. “By all means tell me about this earth-shattering trip to the grocery store.”

“Melly lost her shoe.”

“Shocked, I am. Shocked that—”

“Shut up. So she lost her shoe and started crying, and I had to grab Dustin by the collar so he wouldn’t go running off to find it because we have that kid trained like Pavlov’s dog, and Conroy suddenly goes, ‘Fwoot Woops!’”

“Froot Loops?”

“Yeah—out of the blue. And the cereal aisle was the last one over. So Melly’s going like a fire engine, and Conroy’s going, ‘Fwoot Woops, Tay, Fwoot Woops!’ and I think it can’t hurt. So you know where I find the frickin’ shoe?”

“On the Fwoot Woops?” Brandon couldn’t contain his grin.

“No—on the Frosted Flakes, actually, but while we were there, I got him Fwoot—I mean Froot Loops, because hey. The kid called it, and I owed him a solid.”

Brandon laughed heartily. “Oh geez—yeah, yeah you did. That’s awesome. You’re so good with them. How’d you know you’d be good with them?”

“I didn’t,” Taylor muttered, and Brandon could hear the discomfort brought on by the compliment. “But, you know. I had a history teacher in school—sort of turned me on to the subject. Nica sent me books on historical events when I was deployed—King Henry the VIII, Charlemagne, that sort of thing. And I’d tell the guys in the unit about them. It got to be a thing. I’d get a new book, and I’d read it, and during chow time, we’d have story hour. And we’d start talking about, you know, how the government we followed had evolved from the one in England, and how fighting tactics had changed, and we’d all get excited about the next book. I’d already done two tours before that missile hit. I knew what I wanted to do when I got back.”

“So you knew you wanted to be a teacher. The being good with kids, that was just a bonus?”

“Took care of Sammy and Elena some,” Taylor admitted. “Just, you know. Watched Nica’s parents. Watched Nica. Liked how they talked to kids. Better than my folks. Wanted to do the same.”

Brandon heard the opening and took it. “Are you ever going to talk about your parents?” he asked softly. “I mean, for real?”

“Dad used his fists and Mom drank,” he said, but not angrily. “Tell me about your parents.”

“Dad’s an asshole and Mom lets him be. No fists or alcohol involved, but they’re still pissing me off.”

Taylor let out a breath. “They get manipulative,” he said after a moment. “They tell you if only you were a better boy, they wouldn’t have to do what they’re doing. With my dad, it was hitting. With my mom, it was letting him. Your folks… they’re not as bad. But, you know, they’ve got the dynamic down.”

The entire crappy week flashed behind Brandon’s eyes. “I get it,” he said. “I don’t know if they were like this when I was home before.”

“Probably—just not overtly. They might have picked another target. Garrett probably got a lot of ‘If you didn’t watch your brothers, this is your fault.’ You came out, left the house, you’re fair game now. No wonder your brothers ditched you there.”

Brandon grunted. He’d called Cliff that night to make sure Cliff was coming down from Tahoe to attend to business matters in Sacramento and dropping him home Saturday, but he hadn’t gotten a response. “Well, don’t I feel dumb for not noticing.” And he did—he could remember now. Garrett getting bullied about his grades, Cliff getting called milquetoast and worse. Brandon had been the baby—able to do no wrong, right up until he’d told his mom he’d finally kissed a boy.

“Not your fault,” Taylor said softly. “Love’s not supposed to come with strings. You told me ‘I love you’ and you didn’t even wait around for a reply. You just wanted me to know. I said it when I was ready, and you knew I meant it. You had it right—you knew what love and life were supposed to be. Don’t let them tell you different just ’cause you’re stuck under their roof, okay?”

“Okay.” Brandon’s throat tightened, and he had a tough time swallowing, even a few minutes later, when they’d signed off. He’d never wavered, but he had worried once or twice. Taylor knew what love was. He knew what the long haul was.

And he knew what he and Brandon had was important.

They were going to be fine.

And that’s exactly what he thought until he woke up Friday morning and his phone, which he’d left charging next to his bed, was gone.

His mom professed ignorance. His dad asked, rather sarcastically, if he could have made it into the bedroom without wheezing loud enough to break the windows.

Brandon tossed every corner of the house when he should have been arranging for a nurse to come help care for his father starting Sunday.

He’d had all the numbers in his phone.

Friday night he called his brother from the house phone and asked him to call for the nurse. Cliff told him, “But Dad said you were staying another month. I don’t know who to believe!”

“Believe that if you’re not here at one o’clock, I’ll be walking into town and buying a bus ticket,” Brandon snapped. “And you tell Mom and Dad that if I can’t find my phone, they’re going to have a hard time finding the number for the folks who are supposed to help them, because I had all the information.”

“Well, Brandon, you can hardly hold them responsible for you losing your phone—”

“I did not lose my phone! It was right next to the bed, Cliff! Mom took it because she doesn’t want to deal with him alone!”

“You take that back,” Cliff replied, voice so smug it was a good thing he wasn’t standing right there.

“What?” Brandon knew what he was doing—Brandon had done it himself more than a week before.

“You take that back, what you said about Mom, or I won’t come get—”

Brandon hung up on him.

Then he told his mom that if she didn’t cough up the phone, he was going to leave them without any help at all.

“I’m sure it will show up in the morning, sweetheart. And you don’t want to walk to town—it’s almost ten miles!”

“I walk that much on a regular job, Mom,” he muttered. “Please just find my damned phone.”

The time came and went when he usually called Taylor, and he’d slept dreaming about Taylor calling his name in the fog and getting no reply.

The next day he tossed the house again, without apology. At two thirty he finally heard a buzzing coming from his mom’s purse on the back of the chair.

He pulled it out while she watched, embarrassed, and without another word, he grabbed his duffel from his room.

“But Brandon, we just thought that if—”

“Bye, Mom. Don’t call me unless there’s a death in the family.”

“Brandon!”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and winced, because that was beyond harsh and beyond indifferent. “Okay, scratch that. I’ll call the nurse when I get home and make sure someone comes tomorrow. Maybe he’ll listen to someone besides me. In the meantime, I’m out of here.”

“Brandon!” His mother wiped her hand under her eye. “Don’t leave me here,” she begged. “Not with him. Please?”

“Call Cliff,” Brandon told her. He got it—he knew why she wouldn’t want to be left alone. But he’d done his part. He was done. “Cliff needs to be your go-to guy for a while. Because this? This bullshit? This is unacceptable. I have a home to get back to!”

“How can that man be your home?” his mother asked, sounding honestly befuddled. “Brandon, we raised you—”

“To go out and start a family of my own. Mission accomplished. He’s the start of my family. Even if we never have more than the two of us, that’s still the family I choose.”

And with that he took his duffel bag and his dying cell phone and went stomping down the driveway.

Two hours later he could see the hotel he and Taylor had stayed at through the trees. He was ready for a rest and maybe some food, and definitely ready to call Taylor and beg for a ride.

Tomorrow, he thought glumly, looking at the long shadows. Taylor might not be able to make it up there before dark, and it was a hellish drive to make in the dark if your eyesight wasn’t optimum.

He’d just resigned himself to a night in the Best Western when the truck—his truck—skidded to a halt in the turnout he’d just passed.

He turned, surprised, and started trotting toward it, breaking into a full-out run when Taylor slid out of the driver’s seat and stood glaring at him as he approached.

“Going somewhere?” Taylor asked, obviously fighting a brilliant welcoming smile.

“Going home,” Brandon told him, dropping his duffel and stepping into his arms.

Ah yes—it was like breathing again. Taylor smelled like pancakes, and like sweat and irritated man, and the heat of his body comforted the angry, bitter part of Brandon’s heart like blankets and hot chocolate comforted a child after snow.

“Then you were coming to me,” Taylor whispered, and Brandon squeezed him even tighter. He let go only to allow Taylor to cup his jaw and initiate the kiss, ravenous and frenzied and greedy, that Brandon had always dreamed Taylor would demand from him but that he never had.

Until now.

Brandon rucked up Taylor’s plain white T-shirt and shoved his hands down the back of his cargo shorts, hauling him shamelessly closer, grabbing sweet handfuls of wiry, taut flesh.

Taylor didn’t back down, didn’t back away, just kept kissing him. He buried his hands in Brandon’s hair, knotting his fingers and holding Brandon in just the right position to ravage his mouth some more.

A car drove by, honking, close enough to knock them against the truck with the air of its passing, and that was the only thing that pulled them apart.

“We need a hotel,” Brandon rasped.

“We need to be home,” Taylor said shortly. He lifted his foot up to get in the truck, and then put it down and looked away. “But, uh, you need to drive,” he said, and the ferocity that Brandon had welcomed so much drained away, replaced by embarrassment. “Uh, the shadows and the trees and the road—we’re damned lucky I didn’t drive off a cliff on my way up here.”

“I love you so much right now,” Brandon rasped. “Why’d you do that?”

Taylor just shrugged and walked around, then got in the passenger’s side while Brandon tossed his duffel in the bed and swung up behind the wheel. “Oh, baby, did you miss me?”

“Yeah, Brandon. It was the truck that missed you.”

Brandon leaned across the seat and pulled him in for a kiss. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the Best Western?”

Taylor shook his head adamantly but averted his gaze. “I may have to stop in half an hour because I have a fierce need to pee and I haven’t eaten lunch. But I… I want you in our bed. In our apartment. We may move in two weeks, but right now it’s our stuff and it’s home.”

“You came and got me,” Brandon told him. “I am home.”

Taylor’s familiar sardonic look—the one where he rolled his eye so hard his eye patch twitched—crossed his face. “I knew something was wrong as soon as you didn’t answer my call last night. What the hell happened?”

“Mom stole my phone.”

“That’s mature.”

Brandon snorted, because that had been his exact thought. “You know, she’s over fifty. You’d think she’d be able to deal with Dad by now—or at least not take it out on innocent bystanders, right?”

“Yeah, well, she made her choice to stay with him. Just because they gave you free room and board for your first twenty years doesn’t mean you owe them jack now.”

Brandon grimaced. “I am going to call a nurse as soon as my phone’s charged,” he confessed. “Because, dammit, Dad’s not going to make it if someone doesn’t talk him into moving around some more.”

“Just not you,” Taylor said with feeling—a far cry from the man who had insisted Brandon go up in the first place.

“Just not me,” Brandon confirmed. He came and got me. That knowledge was not getting any less warm and fuzzy in his chest. “What made you decide to drive up?”

“You wouldn’t have been late.” Unequivocal and adamant. “I mean, I think you’re crazy—and I have no idea why me—but I know you. You don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep. When you didn’t call last night and weren’t home by three, I knew.”

Brandon peered at the dash clock. “Oh my God, Taylor, you must have driven like the wind.”

Taylor grunted. “I, uh, may have broken some traffic laws. I mean, as far as I knew, they had you bound and gagged in a basement somewhere.”

“My parents?” Brandon laughed. “Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t look at me—it’s your sick family we’re talking about.”

Brandon thought about how trapped he’d felt this entire past week, and the sheepish “I haven’t really done anything wrong” look on his mother’s face.

“Yeah, okay, fair point. Mom and Dad off the Christmas card list—at least until I get a real apology for hiding my phone and letting Cliff get away with not coming to pick me up.”

“What was his excuse?”

“My accusing my parents of taking my phone,” Brandon muttered. God. Family.

“But she did take your phone!” Taylor shook his head. “Wait. No. Forget I said that. We’re not engaging the crazy. We’re driving the hell out of Crazytown, our next stop your tiny apartment with my pissed-off cat.”

“And sex,” Brandon told him seriously. “I’m talking massive quantities of—”

“Of me nailing you into the mattress until you stay put,” Taylor snapped.

Brandon almost moaned, his sudden erection aching in surprise. “You’d better not be bullshit,” he muttered.

“You weren’t. Trust me on this one—this is something I need.”

They drove in tense silence for the next half hour, and then Brandon pulled off at a gas station that backed up against the mountains. He and Taylor went in to use the bathroom and get sandwiches, which they ate leaning back against the truck, looking up at the magnificence of the trees and the red-dirt mountain that loomed above them.

When they were done, Brandon ran their trash to the nearby can, but when he came back, Taylor was still leaning against the truck, looking at the shadow of the trees against the summer blue sky.

“What?” Brandon asked, following his eyes.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“If I could draw a picture of how my heart feels, it would be that pretty.”

Brandon swallowed hard and painfully. “This is why I love you, you know that, right?”

Taylor turned and searched his face. “Why?”

“Because your heart—the things inside—they’re that real. They’re that beautiful. You came and got me. You believed me when I said I wanted to come home to you. I mean, we’ve got some ups and downs ahead of us, but this place here? We just have to remember that this is where we start.”

Taylor smiled softly, the expression setting his whole face aglow. “I could start here. With you. We could do great things from this place, you think?”

Brandon had to kiss him. Had to. Warm and safe, this kiss, the urgency thrumming beneath it like a live current cushioned by vinyl over the wires. When they got to their destination, that charge would go somewhere, but right now it was just enough that they wrapped their arms around each other and felt the possibilities between them.

THEY got home in time to swim before dinner. Taylor stretched in the pool, and Jacob barbecued. They ate with the kids at the picnic table by the pool, and while the sun set, Brandon told them stories about giant trees and deer and rabbits in the forest, leaving out why he spent so much time walking down the road in the first place.

They cleaned up the paper plates and left the few dishes for the housekeeper, whom Jacob was starting to adore, and sat in front of the television, where everybody fell asleep.

Including Jacob.

Taylor and Brandon snuck out of the house and up the stairs to Brandon’s apartment when the sky was mostly velvet purple, and they stood on the landing and looked at the stars wordlessly before Brandon turned and led Taylor inside.

Taylor was on him as soon as the door closed.

Voracious mouth, greedy hands, Brandon yielded without words to his touch. While Brandon was still leaning against the door, Taylor sank to a crouch in front of him, peeled open his jeans and underwear, and blew his mind.

Brandon had to pull him up before things ended too soon, and Taylor pointed imperiously to the bedroom.

“What are you going to do?” Brandon asked plaintively.

“Feed the cat?” Taylor shrugged. “She won’t leave us alone if we don’t feed her.”

“That’s sexy.”

“Shut up and go get completely naked. And don’t forget the lube!”

Oh God, yes.

Brandon yearned for Taylor’s possession—yearned to feel him, swollen and dominant, inside Brandon’s body, invading him, claiming ownership, the same way Brandon had staked a claim on Taylor.

He toed off his boots, stripped his pants off his ankles, pulled back the covers, and scrambled for the little bottle of slick under the pillow.

By the time Taylor walked in, Brandon was naked on his hands and knees, fingers slippery and at play in his stretched backside.

“Oh God,” Taylor rasped. “That really is sexy.”

Brandon turned on the bed and watched as Taylor shucked his own shorts, boxers, and T-shirt. This time he didn’t bother to fold his clothes or pick Brandon’s up—all his attention was on Brandon as he continued to stretch himself, writhing on the bed in anticipation.

As Taylor drew near, Brandon lurched forward, using his free hand to bring Taylor’s erection to his mouth. Taylor stood, massaging Brandon’s scalp through his hair, and let Brandon do this thing, this wonderful, intimate, arousing thing to him, stroking, squeezing, sucking, devouring until Taylor reluctantly began to rock his hips back and forth.

Brandon pulled back and flicked his tongue at the head, smiling up, teasing. “I could always make you come like this.”

“You could.” Taylor’s smirk told him that he knew—knew how much Brandon wanted from them in that moment.

“I could,” Brandon whispered, pulling him all the way into his mouth and sucking hard as he drew back. “But I won’t.”

He scrambled around on his hands and knees, needing hard, fast, everything.

Now.

Taylor’s hands on his hips kneaded reassuringly, and then he positioned himself, broad and relentless, at Brandon’s entrance.

Slowly, with infinite care, he slid in.

Brandon groaned and shuddered, hanging his head, feeling the hot and cold of this kind of possession emanating from ground zero.

Taylor draped himself over Brandon’s back and kissed his shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Brandon told him, shaking. “Move. Move!”

He started out slow, hands warm and tender on the backs of Brandon’s thighs, on his hips, along his stomach and shoulders. As the ripples of sensation grew bolder and bolder, Brandon needed less gentleness, more—“Bang me harder, dammit!”

Taylor’s low chuckle actually vibrated inside him. “Deal.”

A flurry of thrusts followed, hard, fast, dragging and hitting the magic male spot Brandon had read so much about. Brandon buried his face against the covers, simultaneously pleading and demanding and crying out in pleasure, because this? This thing Taylor was doing to his body? It took him over, remade him, changed his idea of what pleasure could be.

“You need to come,” Taylor gasped. “Come on for me. I know you can do it. Come on!”

Brandon needed his hand, needed a hard squeeze, the gathering of strength to let the orgasm wash through his body, fighting the invasion, fighting against the pressure on his cock, fighting the subtle fear of losing himself, of losing control, of losing….

There was no control. The two of them bound together, pleasuring each other, caring for each other, that was the only thing they had for sure, and Brandon abandoned himself happily to the force of their bodies, their hearts, their souls.

His climax blew through him, a blast annihilating his individuality, making him one with the force throbbing inside him, making him half of a whole. He spilled in his own hand, hot, silky, violently spurting, and collapsed against the mattress on a scream.

Taylor shouted behind him, and he smiled weakly, wrung dry, pleased for his lover’s pleasure. Taylor’s spend spilled inside his body, filling him, branding him—they were one.

Taylor collapsed next to him and threw a sweaty arm over his waist. Brandon laced their hands together, his fingers sticky with the product of orgasm. Giggling slightly to himself, he pulled them to his mouth and licked off Taylor’s fingers one at a time, appreciating the tang of sweat and come.

“Good for you?” Taylor panted, kissing the back of his neck.

“Awesome,” Brandon said between licks. His backside would be sore the next day—he could feel it. Didn’t care.

“Was that an ‘excellent’ awesome, or an ‘I’m topping forever from this moment out’ awesome?”

Brandon laughed with joy and looked over his shoulder to meet Taylor’s anxious gaze. “That was an ‘excellent’ awesome. Seriously. That was like a hand grenade of pleasure went off in my bowels.”

Taylor’s frozen expression told him he’d done it again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Taylor managed before breaking into peals of laughter against his back.

“That came out so wrong.”

Taylor’s response was muffled in guffaws and Brandon’s shoulder. Brandon could swear he said something about Brandon having a gift.

Of course he had a gift. He had Taylor.

It was all the blessing he’d ever need.

“AND six months later we’re back over the garage,” Taylor muttered, setting down Marilyn’s cat carrier.

Brandon wrapped his arms around Taylor’s waist and kissed his ear. “Just for the first month after the baby comes,” he said. They’d moved out on schedule, after the addition to the house was complete and the kids were shuttled around and into their own space. But Taylor had stayed on as the manny, putting off his schooling until Nica had the baby, because the pregnancy had proved really difficult and there was nobody else she could trust.

“I know,” Taylor told him, kissing his cheek. “I was just being—”

“The sarcastic bastard I know and love. Carry on.”

Taylor grinned wickedly. “It’s what I do best.”

No, it wasn’t what he did best. “You do so many things well,” Brandon said softly, snuggling a little. Coming back to the garage apartment made him nostalgic, that was all. They’d had a good six months—a great six months. Work, family—schooling for Brandon, hard decisions for Taylor.

But they’d done it together. For all Taylor’s worry about being too old, not good enough, too damaged, the fact was, he held Brandon together. When Brandon got stressed, or too excited, or too ready to jump to conclusions and fly off the handle, Taylor was there with a sardonic eye roll and a dry, practical solution.

He’d been the one to suggest to Brandon that maybe his mom could live with Brandon’s older brother and leave their father with a live-in nurse until he agreed to have a hand in his own recovery. He’d agreed, and she’d since gone back to Truckee to live. It had been a good idea. Didn’t mean Brandon and Taylor were getting a Christmas card this year, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was, Brandon couldn’t have chosen better for a life mate if he’d had a checklist that included an eye patch and a gift for dealing with children.

And an active, exciting libido. “You want me to do something well right now?” Taylor chuckled, and Brandon grinned.

“I am always up for that.”

He was, the beginnings of his erection pushing solidly against Taylor’s backside.

“We need to move first.” And that was Taylor, practical to the bone. “Then we can play around.”

“Or go help the kids decorate the tree.”

Taylor nodded. They’d agreed to move in the weekend after Thanksgiving, which was crazy time with a family who celebrated Christmas. Nica was still upstairs, miserable, in pain, and until just that week, with an IV hooked up to keep her from going into labor.

Now it was a matter of keeping the kids occupied until she could go give birth—and rest up for the challenge to come.

“I haven’t had a tree in a while,” Taylor said thoughtfully. “It’s gonna be sort of cool.”

Brandon chuckled. “Wait until you see Channing and Tino’s—they’re sort of show-offs about it, ’cause they have that really high ceiling in the living room, and they can go all out.”

“Shocked I am—shocked that Channing and Tino would have a monster Christmas tree, professionally decorated—”

“Well, Channing’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Who’s a professional. Yeah. I’m shocked and amazed. And stunned.”

Brandon chuckled and hugged him tight one more quick time before releasing him. “You would be. Let’s get unpacked so we can—”

The knock at the door cut them both off. “Guys!” Jacob called out. “Guys, quit playing around in there and get out here—it’s go time!”

They froze.

“What?” Taylor asked, his voice cracking as Brandon opened the door. Jacob stood there, his dark blond hair in spikes over his head, his eyes wide and a little panicked. Nope—fifth time wasn’t the charm. Jacob loved his wife and he loved his kids, and he took nothing for granted.

“You heard me! It’s go time! You and me, Taylor—we’re in the room with her. You were there when she asked.”

“This is so unfair,” Taylor muttered, stalking out the front door with him. “Brandon, you’re on for kids and dinner. Make sure you call Tino and his mom. C’mon, Jacob—for once I should drive.”

“She’s in the car already,” Jacob confessed, sounding lost as a child.

Well, even a great father needed caring for sometimes.

“You did good.” Taylor patted his arm like he would Dustin’s, and Brandon barely remembered to let Marilyn out of the cat carrier before he closed the door and ran down the stairs to get to the kids.

He’d just opened the door and heard the strains of an action movie echoing through the house when Taylor tapped his shoulder.

“What?” he asked, jumping. “Does Nica need an ambulance? Is there blood and placenta everywhere? What?”

“Oh Jesus.” Taylor kissed him, hard and hot and promising. “Go warp the kids, Brandon. I love you.”

Brandon grinned. “I love you too. Go do what you’re best at.”

Taylor snorted and stalked away while Brandon joined the kids in front of Rise of the Guardians.

“What’s Taylor best at?” Belinda asked, wiggling under his arm as Conroy snuggled on his lap.

“Taking care of us,” Brandon said, hugging Melly up against his other side.

“He’s really good at it,” Dustin said, leaning back against his legs. “I’m glad he’s going to take care of the new baby. Mom and Dad are way outnumbered.”

Brandon laughed softly. “He wouldn’t let them go it alone,” he reassured. “We’re family.”

“You’ll have babies someday,” Belinda instructed. “So I can help.”

“We can help!” Melly insisted. “We can help, right, Brandon?”

“Course.”

They settled down then, subdued with a little bit of worry, happy to have him to cling to. When his phone rang two hours later, they were either drowsing or outright napping, and he was making mac and cheese with hot dogs for dinner.

“Brandon?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a girl.”

Brandon grinned. “We knew that.”

Taylor’s swallow on the other end of the phone was audible.

“They named her Taylor.”

Brandon’s smile burned at the back of his eyes. “She’ll have a lot to live up to.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me, as soon as you get home.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Uncle Taylor.”

“Oh Jesus, give me a—”

“Go—tell Tino and Stacy. Everybody wants to hear it from you.”

“I don’t know why—”

“Come on, Taylor. Just believe me. You’re loved.”

Taylor made a sweet little sound of acceptance. “As long as you love me.”

“Never doubt it. Now go.”

Taylor signed off, and Brandon hummed to himself a little as he cooked.

Uncle Taylor, Daddy Taylor—the potential of their lives grew richer every day. Living up to it would make their lives together just as sweet as this moment, when all was good with the world.

AMY LANE is a mother of two grown kids, two half-grown kids, two small dogs, and half-a-clowder of cats. A compulsive knitter who writes because she can’t silence the voices in her head, she adores fur-babies, knitting socks, and hawt menz, and she dislikes moths, cat boxes, and knuckleheaded macspazzmatrons. She is rarely found cooking, cleaning, or doing domestic chores, but she has been known to knit up an emergency hat/blanket/pair of socks for any occasion whatsoever or sometimes for no reason at all. Her award-winning writing has three flavors: twisty-purple alternative universe, angsty-orange contemporary, and sunshine-yellow happy. By necessity, she has learned to type like the wind. She’s been married for twenty-five-plus years to her beloved Mate and still believes in Twu Wuv, with a capital Twu and a capital Wuv, and she doesn’t see any reason at all for that to change.

Website: www.greenshill.com

Blog: www.writerslane.blogspot.com

E-mail: [email protected]

Facebook: www.facebook.com/amy.lane.167

Twitter: @amymaclane

By Amy Lane

THE MANNIES

The Virgin Manny

Manny Get Your Guy

Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Now Available

The Mannies

Growing up and falling in love…

Sometimes family is a blessing and a curse. When Tino Robbins is roped into helping his sister deliver premade dinners when he should be studying for finals, he’s pretty sure it’s the latter! But one delivery might change everything.

Channing Lowell’s charmed life changes when his sister dies and leaves him her seven-year-old son. He’s committed to doing what’s best for Sammy… but he’s going to need a lot of help. When Tino lands on his porch, Channing is determined to recruit him to Team Sammy.

Tino plans to make his education count—even if that means avoiding a relationship—but as he falls harder and harder for his boss, he starts to wonder: Does he have to leave his newly forged family behind in order to live his promising tomorrow?

Coming in August 2017

Dreamspun Desires #39

The Teddy Bear Club by Sean Michael

Two lonely men. One perfect family.

Aiden Lake adopted his institutionalized sister’s two daughters, and he’s a good dad. He works nights on websites and gets in his adult time twice a week at the Roasty Bean, where he meets with other single gay parents.

Devon Smithson wants to be a good dad now that his sixteen-year-old sister asked him to babysit her newborn… three months ago. But he’s overwhelmed with the colicky baby. An invitation to the daddy-and-kid gatherings at the café is a godsend. The pot is sweetened when his friendship with Aiden develops into more—maybe even something that can last.

But the mother who kicked Dev out for being gay wants to get her claws into the baby, and she doesn’t care if she tears Dev, Aiden, and everything they’re building apart in the process.

Dreamspun Desires #40

Out of the Shadows by K.C. Wells

Can he step out of the shadows and into love’s light?

Eight years ago, Christian Hernandez moved to Jamaica Plain in southern Boston, took refuge in his apartment, and cut himself off from the outside world. And that’s how he’d like it to stay.

Josh Wendell has heard his coworkers gossip about the occupant of apartment #1. No one sees the mystery man, and Josh loves a mystery. So when he is hired to refurbish the apartment’s kitchen and bathrooms, Josh is eager to discover the truth behind the rumors.

When he comes face-to-face with Christian, Josh understands why Christian hides from prying eyes. As the two men bond, Josh sees past his exterior to the man within, and he likes what he sees. But can Christian find the courage to emerge from the darkness of his lonely existence for the man who has claimed his heart?

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Coming in August 2017

Dreamspun Beyond #1

Out of the Ashes by Ari McKay

In their differences, they’ll find strength—and love.

Alpha werewolf Eli Hammond returns from a fishing trip to discover a nasty surprise—five members of his pack murdered and the rest missing. He needs help locating and rescuing his pack mates, but the supernatural council in Asheville, North Carolina, turns him away.

Except for one man.

As they work together, Eli is stunned—and not especially thrilled—to discover half-elf Arden Gilmarin is his destined mate. But as Arden and his friends struggle to help Eli in his quest, Eli surrenders to the demands of his body—and his heart. They’ll need to bond together, because the forces opposing them are stronger and more sinister than anyone predicted. The evil has its sights set on Arden, and if Eli wants to save his mate and the people he is entrusted with protecting, he’s in for the fight of his life.

Dreamspun Beyond #2

The Charlatan’s Conquest by Vivien Dean

With love and ghosts, the challenge is figuring out what’s real.

Software engineer Cruz Guthrie needs money for his sister’s cancer treatments. He needs it so badly he’s willing to stand in for a ghost hunter friend and investigate a millionaire’s supposed specters. It should be an easy gig—after all, nobody thinks the haunting is real.

Neurological researcher Brody Weber is furious that Cruz would take advantage of Brody’s father. But his mind changes when spirits manifest—and he realizes Cruz genuinely wants to help. When they learn the paranormal activity centers on Brody, Cruz is willing to fight to free Brody from the entities determined to make his life miserable. With a little help from friends and family—both living and dead—they must figure out why Brody is attracting spirits and how to banish them. Only then can they pursue a future together.

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Published by

DREAMSPINNER PRESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Manny Get Your Guy

© 2017 Amy Lane.

Cover Art

© 2017 Paul Richmond.

http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

ISBN: 978-1-63533-646-7

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63533-647-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017902299

Published July 2017

v. 1.0

Printed in the United States of America

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