Climbing out of the rental car, Noah stopped and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Barely out of January and the temperature was already hovering in the upper seventies while the sun blazed hot and bright overhead. Mostly leafless trees lined the block, but the lawns were a deep green and birds chirped around them as if it were spring.

Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to the idea of equating winter with gray skies, piles of snow, and cold temperatures. While his first winter in Cincinnati might not have produced lots of snow, the temperatures had stayed relatively low, forcing him to bundle up when he took the dogs out for a walk.

Now he was back in southern Alabama for the first time in nearly a decade, his body rejecting the heat, but it kept his mind from drowning in memories bubbling up regarding the house rising up to his left. The little saltbox building with the green high-pitched roof and faded white siding had been his grandmother’s until she died a few years after he’d joined the Army. He’d grown up in this house after his parents died. It hadn’t been a bad place. Just not one where he could be honest.

Rowe walked up alongside him and slid his hand into Noah’s. It was something his partner had done dozens of times over the past couple of months, but this time Noah jumped, instantly jerking away, before looking around. The street was empty—kids in school and adults at work. It was only when he caught Rowe looking at him, one eyebrow raised in question while his lips were pressed into a hard, thin line that he even realized what he’d done.

“Fuck, sorry,” Noah said on a sigh, flashing Rowe a sheepish grin before reaching for Rowe’s hand.

“Don’t force it if you’re not comfortable,” Rowe replied but tightened his hold.

“No, it’s good. I…it’s just been a while since I’ve been back here. Old memories,” he muttered. He gave Rowe’s fingers one last squeeze before releasing him and shuffling up the cracked and uneven sidewalk to the stairs. Even in the middle of winter, the grass was overgrown and the bushes along the front of the house needed some heavy pruning. The windows desperately had to be replaced and so did the roof. He shoved the list aside as he dug through the pockets of his jeans, searching for the key to the front door.

After his grandmother had passed, he’d hired a service to box up all her personal items and put them in storage, while all the furniture had been sold or given away. Another service had handled the rental of the house. The last tenants had moved out over two months ago, but the chaos of his life with Rowe had kept him from returning to check over the property once he’d decided to sell it. When he’d gotten out of the Army, he’d never considered moving in, not even temporarily.

The door stuck, swelling in the frame a bit, but Noah managed to get it open by pushing his hip into the old wood. The light from the doorway cut a swath through the thick darkness swallowing up the small interior. Old curtains hung over the windows, blocking out the afternoon sun while still trapping in the heat. The air was stale but clean, a testament to the cleaning crew who had come in after the last tenants vacated. He pulled aside one of the curtains, letting the light in while Rowe shut the door.

“It’s not a bad little house,” Rowe said as he slowly walked through the living room to the small eat-in kitchen. “Needs a new roof, windows, and an updated kitchen. A lot of that could be turned around in just a few weeks with a good contractor.”

He trailed after Rowe, his eyes skimming over the plain white walls and creaking wood floors. All visual evidence of his grandmother ever living in the house had been wiped away, but it was like he could still feel her there, her dark eyes following him around. He was haunted by her harsh frown and stiff, bony body as she glared at him and Rowe.

“Nah,” Noah forced out then cleared his throat. “No point. I’m just going to put it up for sale as is. It’ll cost me more to make all the improvements than I’ll ever get out of the house.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I made my money off it. The mortgage was paid for when she passed so I’ve collected a steady income from it over the years. It’s just become too much of a hassle to keep up if I’m not going to make the improvements.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Noah tried not to think about the fact that he moved away from Rowe’s outstretched hand as he turned toward the stairs going to the second floor. Uneasiness soured his gut, but he ignored it as he quickly mounted the narrow stairs that groaned under his weight. The heat grew more oppressive, making it a little harder to breathe.

The small hallways revealed just three doors—the master bedroom, a second bedroom, and the bathroom. He hesitated, glancing at the master bedroom before ducking into the second bedroom. It seemed smaller than he’d remembered. The walls were the same white as the rest of the house, but they’d been pale blue when he’d lived there, covered in posters of cars and rock bands. He’d been eighteen when he’d last slept in that room, leaving just after graduating from high school to join the Army because he’d known he couldn’t stay. Staying in Alabama with his frail and aging grandmother had never been an option.

“So this is where you grew up?” Rowe asked. Noah turned to find him standing in the open doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest.

He forced a shrug. A weak smile fell away before it could fully form. “My parents died when I was five. Car accident. My grandmother took me in.”

“Maternal or…”

“Yeah. The second my mom graduated college, she hopped on a bus headed for California and never looked back. She met my dad on that bus in Arizona.” He paused, searching his memory for a moment that included either of his parents. He could remember the ocean and the sun dancing off the waves. He could remember the cry of the seagulls…and being happy. But he couldn’t remember a damn thing about his parents. No image or touch or even the sound of their voices. “Met my grandmother for the first time when I got off the plane in Alabama.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Talk to me, Kitten,” Rowe murmured, finally drawing a small smile from Noah. He couldn’t believe Rowe had started calling him that. He said it was because he made a purring noise when Rowe was blowing him. At least Rowe only used the endearment when they were alone because he’d never hear the fucking end of it if Snow or Andrei heard. “You’ve been on edge since we pulled up. Was she abusive?”

“No! Never,” he said on a horrified gasp. “She loved me. I mean, she’d already raised a daughter and buried her husband. I knew she wasn’t looking to raise another kid so late in her life, but she was good to me. She was strict but fair.”

“Then what?”

Noah stepped back until his shoulder thudded hard against the wall. “She…she wouldn’t have understood…” His voice drifted off as if he couldn’t say the words, but he motioned from himself to Rowe.

“I remember the story about that kiss at your high school football game, so you knew you were gay early.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, flinching at the bitter laugh that escaped him. He slid down the wall until his ass hit the floor. Resting his arms on his bent knees, he dropped his head back against the drywall so he could breathe past the lump that was growing in his throat. “I once told her about a gay kid in my school. She made it clear that the kid was going straight to hell and she thought anyone who chose to be like that deserved whatever ill befell them.” He rubbed his burning eyes. He’d loved his Grandma Gert, but the moment he’d figured out that he was attracted to boys, he’d stopped being honest with her and it had fucking hurt. He’d never hidden anything from her before. She’d taught him to value honesty over everything. To always be true and trustworthy.

But living here with her had meant lying about himself and lying to her.

He opened his eyes and his gaze shot straight to her open bedroom door across from his. “She was this amazing, strong, brave woman. But how…how could she have loved me? If I had told her the truth, she would have called me dirty and evil and kicked me out. I lied to her, and she was my only family.”

Rowe pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room. Settling onto the floor next to him, Rowe wrapped his arm around Noah’s shoulders the same way he had for years before they became lovers and pulled him close. It was too hot in that small room to be snuggled against him, but Noah didn’t give a damn. He needed Rowe. There was no breathing without Rowe.

“I felt so damn guilty when I left. I knew she didn’t want me joining the Army. She’d already lost a husband and a daughter. She didn’t want to be alone again. But I felt guilty for lying to her. Guilty for being gay. If I’d stayed, I knew I’d eventually put a bullet in my head.”

“Noah—” Rowe said on a harsh exhale but Noah powered through. He’d never admitted to anyone he’d considered suicide. He’d felt so damn hopeless those last few years living in this tiny house, sure that he had no future, no hope of love or happiness. Just more lies.

“I thought if I died for my country, she’d have something to be proud of. She’d never have to find out the truth.”

Rowe fisted a handful of Noah’s hair and pulled him closer, seizing his lips in a brutal, demanding kiss that helped to ease the knot of pain that had formed in Noah’s chest. Rowe followed it up with two slower, sweeter kisses before a sigh slipped from his lips.

“She loved you. She might not have known all the wonderful things about you, but she loved you,” Rowe whispered. “And I know you—all of you—and I love you. I’m sitting here, breathing, happy, and ready to live because of you.”

The weight on his chest lifted a bit and he smiled. “I love you too.” He really would be lost without this man.

Shifting out from Rowe’s grip, he shoved to his feet. With a hand extended to Rowe, he grinned. “Let’s go sign some papers with the realtor, then we’ll get some real southern cookin’ before I take you back to the hotel and fuck you through the mattress.”

“God, babe,” Rowe growled, putting his hand in Noah’s and letting the other man help him to his feet. “You say the best things with that filthy mouth.”

With a quick, loud kiss, Noah started to pull Rowe back toward the stairs, but Rowe stopped him.

“Wait. Tell me a good memory. Something about your grandmother.”

Noah had to search his brain for only a second before a memory sprang to the forefront of his mind. “I was eight and I got the chicken pox right before the annual Fourth of July fireworks and festival. I felt so bad that I spent the entire festival stuck in bed. I was heartbroken.” He paused and smiled over at Rowe. “As soon as I got better, my grandmother surprised me with this big cookout. She got all the neighbors to pitch in. She made her special strawberry shortcake for me. She participated in this big water balloon fight we had. And when it got dark, everyone spread blankets on the grass and stretched out to watch as some of the neighbors shot off fireworks. She planned all that just for me.”

Rowe pulled Noah into his arms and sweetly kissed him. “She loved you. She might not have understood. We’ll never know. But she loved you.”

“Thank you,” Noah said, his voice rough with emotion. This man understood him in ways he didn’t think anyone ever would. Maybe she wouldn’t have understood, but Rowe did. Rowe’s friends understood. He had a family now where he could always be himself without fear. And that was enough.

“Now, let’s go get that food you promised me. I’m gonna need my energy,” Rowe said, pulling him toward the stairs, Noah’s loud laughter following behind them as it echoed off the walls.