More by Sloan Parker (best ebook reader for chromebook .txt) 📕

living room and sat on the couch. I dialed the number and held my breath. Air seeped out of my lungs when I heard my mother's voice.

“Mom. It's Luke.”

“Oh, Lukas.” She sounded close to tears. “You shouldn't call here.”

Did she hate me so damn much we couldn't have one conversation every fifteen years? Or was I missing something? Could it be my father was pulling her strings the way he'd been trying to do to me? I couldn't bring myself to ask, though. With that one thought, I'd fostered a hope I hadn't allowed in years, and a part of me didn't want it crushed. Not yet.

“How are you?” she asked in a low whisper.

Another part of me didn't care about her reasons. “Just tell me... is he going to run?”

“He wants to. Can you please do as he asks?”

“I have stayed out of his life. I want him to stay out of mine.”

“He's looking for reassurance. If you could just— ”

“Does he think he can hide this? Hide me? Hide who I am?”

“Please don't make this harder for him.”

The sincerity of her voice disturbed me. “How would I do that? I'm living my own life. I haven't done anything to make life harder or easier for him. And I'm not about to start now.” Did he think I'd give them up because he ordered me to? What would he do to get them to hate me?

“Just try to be discreet. I think that's all he can ask of you.”

“Discreet? Sure, Mom. I've already told him I won't talk to the press. Tell him to leave me the hell alone.”

“I thought he was.” She paused. “He says you're living with someone. Is it serious?”

“Well, according to Dad I'm gonna fuck it all up, so what does it matter?” I hung up before she could say another word.

All the ways I could purposely be indiscreet raced through my mind.

They were also the ways I could hurt the two men sleeping upstairs.

I moved into the hall. My father was right about one thing. I was going to hurt them. The longer I stayed, the more it would hurt. Them. Me. Everyone.

If I left, they'd have each other. They wouldn't be alone.

Images of Matthew and Richard living in the house without me flashed before me. Talking, cuddling, laughing, fucking. It was all too much.

I sighed and climbed the stairs.

At the doorway of our room, I stopped, not able to take one more step. Matthew lay on his stomach, the blanket covering his legs, the top of his curved ass peeking out. Richard lay on his side. His large limbs were wrapped around the smaller man's body, the care and devotion between them palpable, even in their sleep.

Tears filled my eyes. For once, I let them fall.

Leaving would hurt. It would nearly kill me. I was man enough to admit that. It'd be worse than my parents. Worse than Tim. Worse than anything.

Matthew shivered. Using the back of my hand, I swiped the tears away and went to the bed. I raised the blanket, and he hummed as the warmth enveloped him. I stripped off my clothes and climbed in next to him.

Sleepy, dark eyes blinked open and widened. “Hey, Luke. Is everything okay?”

Richard stirred and lifted his head.

“Yeah. Fine. I needed some time to myself.”

Matthew rolled to his side. “That's okay. We all need our space sometimes. I'm glad you came home. We missed you.” He slid over and rested his head on my chest. He slipped his leg over mine.

“I've had a few drinks.”

“It's okay. Let me hold you.”

“What happened, Luke?” Richard asked, his voice soft, caring. It hurt to hear.

“I don't talk to my father very often, and when I do, he's an asshole. Sorry I took off.” It was what I always did. Whenever my father found me.

Matthew swept a palm over my chest, the touch soft, soothing, loving. He lifted his head and kissed me. His lips were warm and his tongue fluid. He wasn't asking for anything. He was comforting me, and the action filled me with sadness. Richard had been right. Matthew could give so much in a single moment.

That wasn't me. All I did was take. And take. And take.

Richard slid close behind Matthew. He cupped my neck with his hand. “You sure you're okay?”

I nodded.

Matthew pressed his lips against my neck, and Richard curled up around him. Together, they looked right, perfect, at peace.

Could whoever's on my chest get the hell off? I needed to breathe.

I should never have gotten between them. I should never have moved in with them. I should have let them walk up the stairs at the Haven alone. Let them love and laugh and live without me.

Richard was asleep again in moments, but Matthew held me close to him. Maybe he sensed the inevitability of what was to come. He still clung to me when he fell asleep.

I lay awake, unsure what I'd do.

Unsure about everything.

I showered, dressed, and walked out the door before either of them woke. They were the actions of a coward, but if I stayed to see them, I'd do something I'd regret.

I couldn't concentrate at work, but I sat at my desk for the entire day anyway, unable to make a decision.

I waited until everyone else had gone home before I left. An hour later, I found myself on Walter's couch, drinking down the last of a beer.

He handed me another and sat across from me. I grunted in thanks.

The silence stretched out through the second beer.

“Want another?” he asked.

I did. But I had to go back and I didn't want to be drunk around Matthew. I shook my head. “If I need a place to crash for a few days... ”

“And here I thought it must be going good if you'd made it this long.”

“I can't stay there with my father watching my every move.”

Walter took a long pull on his beer. “Sure, it's about your father.”

I met his stare. “What else?”

“You're scared.”

“Am not.”