There was no good reason to leave his house. So why the hell was he still considering Orion’s offer?

Gabriel put it down to the dangers of an idle mind. It was a slow day at the roadside stall, and there was only so much sketching he could do before he started to wish for human interaction. He knew it was slow when he wanted people around.

He heard a truck and jolted, then settled as it passed by. “On the other hand,” he muttered, making a face.

For a moment, he’d thought it was Chad. Or one of his cronies—friends who rarely seemed to come around, except when they were begging him to take Chad back. Chad hadn’t done anything, really, but an instinctive seed of fear had taken root.

There was a compelling argument for getting somewhere safer. But leaving this town in the dust would do the same, wouldn’t it?

A car pulled up—a familiar white hatchback.

Gabriel smiled as his aunt approached the stall. “Afternoon, ma’am. Can I interest you in some fresh produce?”

“As a matter of fact, you can.” Aunt May grinned at him. She must have been on her lunch break. Sometimes Gabriel brought over extras when he took leftover produce home, and sometimes she visited to support the farm. It was a symbiotic relationship, much like the town itself, though Gabriel had always felt disconnected from it.

“What are you looking for?” Gabriel drummed the table. “Potatoes? Basil? The first of the cherry tomatoes? We’ve got it all.”

“You know, I was wondering if the tomatoes were ready.” She pointed at a tub of them. “I’ll take them, and basil. Make a nice chunky tomato sauce.”

“Good idea. You can add some garlic…”

She laughed. “Oh, go ahead and add that to the pile. And potatoes. That’s all for now.”

Gabriel packed everything in the canvas bag she handed over and conducted the cash part of the transaction quickly. “How’s your week going?”

“Great! Your uncle and I wondered if you wanted to come over for supper this week. We haven’t seen you in a while.” She was hiding the hint that she wanted more information in the statement.

Gabriel heard it loud and clear, but there was no way of explaining what—or who, rather—was taking up his time. “I’ve been working on this project. Actually, um… it’s about my drawing.”

“Your plans?” Aunt May had always been supportive of his hobby. Hell, she’d bought him a handful of his favorite reference books.

“Yeah. Cas—Caspian Grey, you know him?” When she nodded, he went on. “Cas suggested I look into a few private jobs designing things for people, and when I have proof that I know what I’m doing, approach landscaping contractors.”

Aunt May’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she took her change, then the bag of veggies. “That’s what Doris told me.”

It took Gabriel a moment before he realized what else Doris had probably said. He groaned and shook his head. “Don’t tell people anything. It’s complicated.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “Except your uncle. We both support you, whoever you’re seeing. And I won’t ask more until you’re ready to share more about him.”

“When there is anything to share,” Gabriel said with a sigh. He flopped into his chair, shifting his sketchbook onto his lap. He opened it to the current plan he was working on—a traditional English-style herb garden. “It feels like we’ve stalled.”

Aunt May hummed. “Life has a way of kicking us into gear when we least expect it. You know the door is always open.”

Gabriel glanced up at her and smiled. It was hard to be angsty around her. “I know. Thanks, Aunt May.” He leaned in for a hug, then waved as she headed back to her car.

Alone again, he thought more seriously about Orion’s offer.

There was no way he could say yes. The chances of everything falling out from under him were too high.

Orion was only going to be here for another couple weeks, wasn’t he? If he left, that was it for Gabriel’s affordable housing and his hopes at something different than they had right now.

If Orion stayed longer… well, relying on a guy’s spare room seemed even more unstable than his current situation.

Hell, even if Orion went to his job and came back on weekends, he wouldn’t really need to keep his own place. He could stay with Cora. That made Gabriel a burden, whatever Orion said. Plus, Orion’s job didn’t exactly come with built-in weekends.

Gabriel grumbled under his breath as he unloaded the unsold produce by himself. No sign of Orion today—some days were like that. Others, he caught glimpses of him in the distance, working in the outbuildings or among equipment.

He has a life besides me, he tried to remind himself, hard though it was. Just like I have a life besides him, which is why I am not moving in with him.

He might be a twink who attracted the wrong kind of attention, but that said more about his clingy ex than it did about him. He was a strong and independent twink, goddamn it. He wasn’t relying on no man to save him, and that was that.

Gabriel cranked up the radio and sang along, trying to feel the freedom of his decision instead of the isolation.

That bolstered his mood until he got home and saw Chad’s truck. Again.

More nights than not, Chad was over with Art. It made him half-wonder if Chad was collecting Spicers, but Art was the straightest guy to sport baggy camo shorts.

Gabriel sighed as he walked toward the house. He wasn’t afraid of Chad, and he sure as hell wasn’t avoiding Art because of him being around. This was his place, too. Art was his cousin.

The back door must have been open, or they were on the back porch. Voices cut through the air—loud, belligerent, drunken.

“And then—then there’s that prick whose dick he wants to suck.” That was unmistakably Chad. “Mr. Perfect Straight Life, Ryan. Like Ryan would look twice at Gabe if there were any real hot girls around town.”

He stumbled to a halt and listened, his hand closing around the porch railing as he rested a foot on the first step. It wasn’t listening in when it was about him, he reasoned.

“No offense, man,” Art slurred back. “But all that dick-sucking stuff. Gross. I’ve never told him, you know.”

Chad groaned. “Oh yeah, man. It’s gross. I don’t do that gay shit. Don’t care who gives me head, though. Or what I fuck. A hole’s a hole.”

“Good for you. Don’t let him use you,” Art told him loftily. “He’s—he’s been camping out for months here. Won’t get out.”

Really? Gabriel’s brows climbed up as he drew his foot back to put on the ground again.

“You know I got a gun,” Chad snickered. “Any guy trying to flip me over is gonna get a surprise.”

The late afternoon was drawing into evening, and the chorus of frogs had begun, but not loud enough to drown out the hard noise, like metal being set on the wood of the porch railing. Gabriel tensed up, holding his breath.

“That’s a nice—Glock? Oh, yeah. Real sweet, man. Ain’t those expensive as shit?” Art said.

“Not when you know people like me. What you got?”

“Come in. I’ll show you.” Footsteps, then voices receding as they headed into the house.

Gabriel knew where Art kept his guns—the basement. That gave him a couple minutes to get into his place and lock the door. Not that that flimsy piece of metal would give him much protection if Chad talked Art into…

Hell, he didn’t know what. Talking shit about him could turn physical fast, but surely they wouldn’t go that far.

And then there was the reality of what they’d said. He’d started to cotton on that Chad was a dick right before he dumped him, but Art? Art had never said anything about him liking guys, one way or another. Gabe had assumed he didn’t care.

But Art did. And he thought Gabe was using him, even though he paid rent for the goddamn illegal place he’d never be able to rent anyone else.

Gabriel knew damn well Art needed the money. Apparently not that badly, though.

A quick, silent walk through the yard brought Gabriel to relative safety. Gabriel’s hands were still shaking as he locked the door behind himself and leaned against it, breathing out hard. Something had to change, clearly.

Could he pull out one Jenga block without the whole tower falling down?

Earning more money was the best one to choose—getting a career started, so he could leave this place. He had enough savings to manage a couple months without work in Houston, if he got a roommate.

That meant landscaping work, which meant private work, which meant a portfolio and calling in favors from friends who owned houses and land they wanted landscaped. He’d always figured Art’s yard would be his first test, but fuck no. He wasn’t gonna give Art a free yard makeover when Art saw him as the mooching, filthy gay cousin.

Tonight had lit a fire under Gabriel’s ass. He wolfed down supper and grabbed his last couple of sketchbooks, hauling them onto his lap.

First step to freedom: a portfolio. How the hell was he gonna make one? He had no idea, but he’d figure this shit out. Whatever got him away from the drunken laughter he could hear from Art’s back porch again—and the distinctive sounds of the guys shooting cans on the fence. Every shot made him flinch and jump.

He didn’t seriously expect them to get aggressive with him, as long as he avoided them… but that meant being trapped in his own house. Life was kicking him into gear, and he didn’t have a minute to lose.

Then, he heard it… or didn’t, rather. The shots had stopped. Silence.

There was a voice, close to the house. “Hey, you ungrateful little bastard. Come out and talk to me like a man.” It was Art.

Gabriel’s heart pounded and he stiffened, holding his breath.

Art banged on the door a few times. “I know you’re in there. I ain’t gonna shoot you, even if you are an asshole. But I will shoot this lock out if you don’t open up.”

The blood had rushed to Gabriel’s head. He couldn’t feel his face or his hands. His heart was pounding, his breathing labored. Oh, God. What the hell is Art playing at tonight?

He couldn’t ignore him, though. It was too obvious he was at home. Which meant he had to open the door.

“Okay, hold up. Let me get some pants on. Jesus.” That bought him a minute.

But what the hell was he gonna do in a minute to save his own skin?