Drayton stood in his bedroom and gripped the edge of the dresser, staring at his reflection in the mirror and assessing every tiny inch of his appearance. His perfectly brushed dark brown hair didn’t have a single strand out of place and his close shave accentuated his square jaw. The dark blue suit and baby blue tie set off his pale gray eyes. He ducked his head, exhaling another deep breath.

His focus strayed to the framed photo—a copy of the same image he carried in his wallet and also displayed on the shelf in his office. A candid photo, capturing a special moment…his only photograph of the two of them together taken by one of those pay-by-photo photographers at a car-racing event.

He picked up the picture frame and lost himself in the huge smile that split Vann’s face. He had memorized every tiny detail of Vann in that image—that huge wicked grin that always made Drayton wonder what thought raced through his mind, the light brown hair hiding under the baseball cap, and the mischief in his amber eyes with the tiny flecks of gold hidden in their depths. But most of all, he recalled the unmistakable happiness of that moment, captured perfectly in the photograph. He cherished the picture and the flood of memories that always came crashing in. A constant, welcome reminder of the man who’d believed in him when no one else had bothered to give him a second of their time. The man who’d pushed him to take chances, who’d challenged him to have faith in his mind and abilities.

A man who had sacrificed his freedom to save him.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, reveling in the memories racing through his mind. He could easily pluck any moment during their seven years together and relive the memory down to the finest of details. He recalled every smug smile, every loud laugh, and each and every caress, kiss, and heat of contact they shared.

All the money Drayton had pumped into the best defense attorneys during the last decade had proven worthless thanks to his mother and her strong political connections working behind the scenes to keep Vann in prison. But through some odd twist of fate, a very persistent legal researcher and his detective partner investigating an organized crime ring had managed to link Drayton’s mother—well, ex-mother considering she had disowned him—to their case. In the end, they had uncovered enough dirt to get her arrested. Thereby severing her connections and allowing Drayton’s legal team to finally break through her carefully crafted brick wall of influence and work toward securing Vann’s freedom. But there was no way in hell Drayton was stopping there. He was going to push to clear Vann’s name. In the meantime, it was enough to have Vann out of there and back at his side.

Had it not been for her arrest and all the information they had uncovered during their investigation, Drayton never would have known how deep she’d hooked her claws into keeping Vann locked away.

Why? That question had plagued his mind for a decade. He guessed it was simply to prove she could still wield that kind of power over someone.

He shook his head. His mother despised him. She’d made her sentiments crystal clear many years ago when she’d cut him off. They hadn’t spoken in years, and now, knowing her role in keeping Vann locked up, it would be a cold day in hell before that visit ever happened.

He took a deep calming breath. Finally, he could see Vann again, hear his voice…touch him. He rolled his head on his shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension humming throughout his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous about anything. He fisted his hand to still the shake, then ran a fingertip along Vann’s young face in the photo. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he recalled the seventeen-year-old memory of the day they had met. Always rich and vivid in detail, he let his mind return to that special time and place, reliving the moment again for the very first time.

 

It was another hot day in the small Florida town. Too hot to enjoy any sort of outdoor activity. Who was he kidding? He’d been gifted with intellect, not athleticism. He chuckled as he pushed up his glasses and walked over to his spot by the tree. He preferred to read a book or stay up-to-date on the latest science or engineering breakthroughs anyway.

In a town too small for a private school but big enough for a yacht club, Drayton had been labeled a “smart rich kid,” but the truth was he didn’t fit in anywhere in this town. Not with the jocks—his tall, lanky body prevented that. Not with the pompous rich kids at the club. Not even with his parents. But none of it mattered. At least that was what he told himself, hoping to fight the constant sting of rejection. He only needed to survive the last few months of his senior year.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the slight breeze blowing across his heated skin. At least, in his favorite secret spot under the tree by the lake, he didn’t need to worry about fitting in or plastering on a fake smile. This was his safe space. The one spot where he could hibernate in the evenings and on weekends and not have to worry about anyone or anything around him.

He turned sharply at the sound of footsteps crushing the dry leaves. He sighed when three seniors ducked through the trees and entered his private little heaven. They must have followed him leaving the yacht club to escape another boring afternoon of forced socialization.

One of the seniors yanked him forward by the collar of his polo shirt, knocking the book out of his hand. “I told you I need you to write that paper for Lit class. What part of that didn’t you understand?”

Drayton swallowed heavily, staring at the bully through his thick-rimmed glasses. “I’m assuming your grasp of the English language isn’t strong enough to write your own paper. So I can’t fault you for not understanding the definition of the word ‘no.’”

The bully’s snarl deepened and his grip tightened as he tugged Drayton closer. “What did you say?”

“I guess all the hits to your head on the field have affected your hearing as well?”

Another young man emerged from the side bushes and walked over to them.

Drayton’s breath caught in his throat. That guy. The one he had spotted a few times loitering across the street as he sat on the bench outside the yacht club. Everyone in school kept their distance from this freshman with a school file rumored to fill an entire drawer at the counselor’s office. He always sat on the steps during lunch and never spoke to anyone, opting to stare off into the distance for the entire lunch hour by himself. And just when the student body began to question the authenticity of the stories surrounding his mysterious bad-boy aura, a blackened eye or bruised knuckles would appear on his body and quickly silence any doubt.

He was shorter than Drayton, and it seemed he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. Although he was thin, the obvious potential for a thicker build was slowly making an appearance. Behind the mysterious, quiet, stoic demeanor, there was something about him that piqued Drayton’s interest. Enough to have him covet the guy from a distance and eavesdrop on every whispered rumor about the mysterious young man to try to pluck the truth from the myth.

The senior released Drayton’s collar, tracking the young man as he confidently walked toward them, not saying a single word. He was dressed in his holed-jeans and a loose-fitting, worn T-shirt, tucked in the front and hanging loosely in the back. His light brown, tousled hair barely touched his collar and was just long enough to frame his eyebrows and almost-permanent scowl. He planted himself between Drayton and the three bullies and crossed his arms.

“Leave him alone.”

“Or what?”

“You deal with me.”

The larger seniors chuckled, glancing over their shoulders at each other while pointing at the shorter, scrawnier, younger man who didn’t flinch as they laughed.

“You and what army? I could squash you in a second.”

“That’s about a half second more than I need to snap your throwing arm right before the homecoming game, Mr. Quarterback.” The young, cocky guy jerked his chin up toward the other senior on the right. “And I’ll use the other half second to get at your kicking foot to screw up your chances at nailing a field goal.”

The chuckles faded.

“And you,” he said, gesturing toward the last senior in the group. “All I need to do is tell your girlfriend you stuck your dick in another girl. She’ll take care of the rest.”

The last senior scoffed. “She wouldn’t believe you.”

“I’ll make sure to add a comment about your birthmark so she can fact-check your pecker.”

“Were you checking me out, you little perv?”

“Don’t need to. Dick that small gets attention all on its own. The guys were signing you up for the Pee Wee league.”

The last senior stared at his two friends, shoving them. The three seniors straightened and took a step closer toward the younger man who refused to budge.

They were physically unmatched against the three seniors, but it seemed the threat had hit its mark.

The young mystery guy had come to his rescue like a white knight from some silly fairy tale. And Drayton was eating that shit up like the most delicious dessert he’d ever had in his life.

They remained in place, turning their heads slightly to follow the seniors as they slowly walked away and their footsteps faded.

The young man dropped his arms and turned to face him, the scowl slowly softening but still lingering.

Drayton’s heartbeat picked up a notch. “Are you going to kick my ass?”

Those amber eyes staring back at him held a fire kindled by undeniable strength and resilience. The guy crossed his arms again, and his lean muscles flexed, offering Drayton enough spank material to last the rest of his puberty. “That depends. Can you help me pass math?”

Drayton rolled his eyes. Mystery man solved. The guy was just another asshole demanding Drayton do his homework. “I won’t do your homework.”

This time, the young man facing him rolled his eyes. “Shit, man. I said help me pass. And I don’t want something for nothing. You help with math and…I’ll make sure those guys don’t give you shit.”

“What?”

“Math? You know. More complicated shit than two plus two.”

Drayton pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the hint of muscle that flexed when the guy planted his hands on his hips. “What level…specifically?”

“I’m going to guess you’re more advanced than I am.”

“You might need help in math, but you’re not lacking in snark.”

“Apparently, neither are you.”

Drayton silently observed every minuscule twitch and shift. Seemed Mr. Intimidating didn’t like to be held under a microscope. The holed-jeans, the worn shoes, the faded T-shirts. The fact that he sat alone on the stairs at lunch but never actually ate a lunch always seemed to catch Drayton’s attention. Maybe there was something there. “I’ll pay for protection.”

He scoffed. “You watch too many damn movies.”

“Do you want the bodyguard job or not?” Drayton crossed his arms and scrutinized every tiny nuance of the guy, a habit he knew made people incredibly uncomfortable. He couldn’t help it. When he looked at something, he didn’t care about what everyone else saw. Instead, he wanted to know the underlying workings, what made something or someone tick. He didn’t care if the guy standing before him looked a little rough around the edges or the fact that he wore a frown or scowl most times he saw him at a distance. He wondered about his story—why he always seemed sad and what had happened to cause the scuffle that led to the fading bruise still coloring his face.

The young man stepped away, paced a circle, then stilled. He remained silent but a series of different emotions passed over his features, as if running through several thoughts or arguments in his mind. “I won’t turn down a job. But you’ve got to help me pass math. I can’t be held back. Can you handle algebra?”

Drayton’s lips twitched.

The guy rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Are you part of that math club thing?”

“I’m the president.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“I embrace my inner-nerd. It buys me protection.”

The young mystery man smiled. A genuine, beautiful, breathtaking smile that brightened his entire face and unleashed a burst of joy that forced Drayton to take a step back to keep his balance.

“So, since I’m working for you now and you’re going to be helping me pass math…I should know your name.”

Drayton pushed his eyeglasses higher up the bridge of his nose as he picked up the math book and tucked it under his arm. “Drayton Delereux.”

“You’re that yacht club kid. The one who sits on the bench every day. Why do you do that?” 

Drayton sighed. Yes, he was the guy who sat outside the yacht club, thumbing through an engineering magazine while his father played golf and his mother had lunch and tea with her bridge team to catch up on the latest gossip. He didn’t want to dwell on it. “What’s your name?”

The guy cringed. “Shaw.”

“Shaw what?”

“Just Shaw.” The cockiness seemed to evaporate from his demeanor.

“Even single-named rock stars are born with a first and last name.” He stared, waiting.

“You’ve got some serious undercover snark hiding behind those glasses.” The cocky young man sighed. “Vannguard Shaw.”

Drayton stared.

“Don’t make fun of my name. Be original.”

Drayton straightened, shifting the book from one arm to the other when it almost fell. “I wasn’t going to make fun of your name. I was going to ask if I could call you Vann.”

Shaw paused for a moment, then nodded, almost shyly. “No one’s ever called me that.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t tell them your first name.”

“You’re a snarky little shit, aren’t you?”

“I’m not little.”

Vann chuckled. “Your name. Double D.”

Drayton sighed and his shoulders sagged. “I thought you said to be original. Why are you making fun of my name?”

“Because I know people with truckloads of money don’t do that.” He shrugged. “Can I call you Dray?”

“Makes me sound cooler than I am.”

“So you prefer Double D then?” Vann said, trying—and failing miserably—to hide a grin as Drayton shook his head. “So then I’ll call you Dray.”

Drayton pushed up the eyeglasses again when they slid down his nose, biting back a smile. He loved the sound of his name slipping through Vann’s lips like an exhale.

 

Drayton closed his eyes and sighed, reveling in the emotions each time a memory resurfaced, rich with enough detail to fill his senses.

That first encounter led to an unbreakable friendship that transitioned into a love so strong Drayton swore his soul had been branded by Vann. To this day, he remembered every conversation, every detail, each tiny whisper, and every minute contact. He could easily recall every phrase said in the darkness and every snarky retort and snappy comeback. Not a day passed without a welcome memory of Vann invading his senses—the sound of his voice, the softness of his lips, the tightness of his hold.

He returned his focus to his reflection.

They had cherished seven years together before they were ripped apart.

Seven glorious years that had flown by in the blink of an eye.

Followed by ten years apart that seemed like an eternity.

He reached up and brushed his fingertips along the graying hair at his temple. Only a few strands, but enough to serve as a reminder he was now a thirty-four-year-old man and no longer the same thin, nerdy guy hiding behind thick-rimmed glasses. He was lean but strong and stood a hell of a lot more confidently than he ever did when younger.

And that was all because of Vann.

His strength of character came from Vann’s repeated words. His success in his business was a result of Vann’s unwavering faith and support in his mind and abilities when everyone else discarded him. He looked at his reflection again. He was there…alive…because of Vann. He ducked his head and closed his eyes. He owed him so much. He missed his best friend and lover—his partner in every sense of the word.

His soul mate.

As soon as he had been discharged from the hospital, he’d begun writing letters to Vann. Short letters, offering a reminder that he was still there for him. Thinking about him. Waiting for the day fate would reunite them. He remembered the need to hear his voice, to see him, to know he was okay.

He also remembered the initial sting of pain that surfaced when Vann’s first letter had arrived.

Drayton rubbed his temples and sighed. He opened the dresser drawer and carefully pulled out the worn letter he had received ten years ago. Vann was more of a thinker than a talker. And he knew Vann had carefully chosen each written word and had probably gone through several drafts before finally sending it off.

 

~ * ~

 

Hi, Dray,

I don’t know if I’m going to say this right and I’m worried you’re going to hate me by the end of this letter. Maybe that’ll make things easier. I don’t know. But this letter is tough to write, and I really need you to try to understand.

Please don’t send me any more money. They told me you made a deposit into my commissary account. Please don’t. You know how I feel about you paying for things. There’s work I can do here and earn some money. So it’s okay.

Now comes the really hard part. I know you want to visit, but I can’t see you. Even writing this letter is hard. I feel as if I need to guard my words or you’ll worry about how I’m doing in here. And you’ll be sad, upset, or feel guilty. I don’t want that.

It’s tough. There, I said it so you don’t have to wonder what I mean. I can’t make it sound nice because it’s not. It’s hard as hell here. It brings out the worst in me. And I don’t want you to ever see me like that. But that’s who I need to be to survive in here. I have to wear a mask and full battle armor and I can’t let my guard down. I know you can’t understand that part, but it’s like I’m surrounded by three dozen guys who are worse than my father. All the time. And they can smell weakness and fear.

You know there was no way I was getting a free pass for what I did. I took a life and I’m paying for that with mine. But that doesn’t mean you have to trade in your life too. I don’t want you to feel chained to me because you feel guilty or as if you owe me anything because of what I did. You don’t. You gave me more during our seven years than I ever had in my entire life. So you’re still way ahead if you’re using your math to keep track.

I can stand being in here if I know you’re out there living and breathing and changing the world like I know you will. So don’t feel as if you need to see me or write me or think about me. I don’t want you worrying about me or wondering how I’m doing. I think that might slow you down. Everyone always said I held you back.

You know I can’t lie to you. It would be easier if you didn’t write. It would be easier if I let the hate take over and went back to being that guy I was before we became friends. But every time I get one of your letters, I realize I can’t let you go completely. I don’t know if it’s the memories you write about, the fact that you’re still thinking about me even though I’m not around, or the way I imagine you smiling as you’re writing this stuff. It’s as if I can breathe again when I read your words. But seeing you? I can’t. The moment you see me in here, that smile’s going to fade and then that’s all I’m going to see. That worry and sadness. And if that happens, it’s going to shit all over our memories and happy times and I won’t be able to survive knowing I screwed that all up. I need our memories to get me through the days. Please try to understand.

I know you’re just as stubborn as I am, and I’m guessing you’ll keep writing. At least, for a little while until you find another way to put “us” behind you and move on. I’ll read your letters, you know I will. And I’ll be right there reliving each memory with you. But I won’t write you back. I can’t. It hurts to say that, but I can’t lie to you. There’s no way I’m going to write you a letter and tell you I’m fine when I’m not. And there’s no way I’m going to tell you what happens in here. There’s no need for you to know what a hell like this is like. Ever. You don’t fit in a place like this. And I don’t see how it would be good for you to have a pen pal thing going on with a guy who’s doing life in prison. That’s a surefire way for me to hold you back and that’s not something I ever wanted to do.

But the worst part, seeing you and staying in touch would give me hope. Hope that there’s still a chance that one day, maybe I’ll be free again to touch you or kiss you. Having that hope is the worst thing to hold on to in here because it makes the days longer and the pain sharper. And my public defender guy said I wasn’t getting out of here and I needed to work on accepting that fact.

I need you to please live your life. Live for the both of us. Change the world the way I know you will. If you want to write a letter, please know that I’ll read it, over and over until I memorize it. If you want to see me, just look at that picture where we’re so damn happy. Because I want you to remember how happy we were in that moment. That’s how I want you to remember us.

I’m sorry I won’t be able to keep the promise I made you that day. That’s one thing I will always regret in all this.

D+V= ∞

Know that nothing you do or say or write will ever change that formula for me. Ever.

 

I’m yours. Always.

~V

 

~ * ~

 

Drayton carefully folded the letter and returned it to its spot in the drawer for safekeeping.

The initial sting of pain he had felt quickly fueled his resolve. He knew Vann just as well as Vann knew him. And, without question, that letter was Vann’s way of still protecting him. But there was no way in hell Drayton was going to sit on the sidelines and let Vann fade away. He couldn’t risk Vann giving up—on life, on him…on them. So Drayton continued to write his letters, detailing different memories from their time together, hoping they offered a tiny ray of light during his dark time. One letter each week with another memory and another moment that always made Drayton smile as he wrote the short letter.

He continued the one-sided writing and had only pushed for one reply a few years ago to confirm Vann received his correspondence. He pulled the second envelope from the drawer with the reply letter he had received, remembering his surprise when it had arrived a few days after his request.

 

~ * ~

 

Dray,

I am receiving your letters.

Every one of them.

Thank you.

~V

 

~ * ~

 

He brushed his fingers over the paper, smiling, knowing Vann had touched the same sheet as he wrote his reply. Three short sentences, but the hint of gratitude and the speed of response were enough for Drayton to continue writing. He folded the letter again and carefully stashed it back into the worn envelope.

He took a deep breath and rubbed the tight knot in his chest. The ache of Vann’s absence still remained the same after all these years.

Ten years apart.

Five hundred twenty-five weeks’ worth of letters.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much Vann had changed over the years and the damage prison had had on his fighting spirit.

With renewed determination, he yanked the tie from his collar and shrugged out of the suit jacket. Vann would either laugh it off or put up his guard, thinking he’d officially become one of those pompous rich kids he’d hated growing up. No way would he risk the latter. He unbuttoned the dress shirt and pulled the shirttails out of his dress slacks, toeing off his Italian leather shoes as he walked over to his closet. He ran his hand over each suit, discarding them all for the same reason, before turning toward the other section of his closet with the more casual clothing he rarely had a chance to wear. Having the most sought after exotic electric automobile car line and innovative motor definitely proved to have been a worthy investment of his time. Fuck all those other yacht club kids who thought he was the odd man out. They were too busy being overshadowed by their family business and legacy to breathe, let alone stand on their own and actually create something that changed several aspects of the automotive and energy-use world.

He grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath, quickly dressing in his tenth outfit attempt during the last hour. He spotted his reflection and finger brushed his hair, feeling far more comfortable than he had only a few moments ago. He threw an extra pair of jeans and a light Henley into his overnight bag—he’d iron them out when he finally checked in to the nearby hotel. Besides, he probably wouldn’t get an ounce of sleep with the excitement thrumming through his veins, but he refused to wear himself out with the long drive there and back in a single run. He grabbed his car keys before heading out the door.

After ten years, Vann was finally getting out tomorrow. And there was no way in hell he would be denied that encounter.

Because there was nothing Drayton wanted more than to make up for every second of lost time.