“You'll what?”
He grabbed my collar and jerked me forward. His mouth slammed over mine. It wasn't a kiss. It was a possession. The top dog was showing his fangs.
I crushed my lips against his and hardened the kiss.
He withdrew. “I'll always love you.” He turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him.
The silence left in his wake gave the moment a finality I didn't care for. Matthew stared at the closed door, his back to me.
“Matthew.”
He didn't flinch or face me.
“If he can't understand why I need to do this... if he can't get past it... ” I ran my thumb over my bottom lip. I could still feel his saliva there. “I want you to— you should stay with him.”
Matthew spun around. “What?”
“We both can't walk out on him and you know it.”
“You're not going anywhere.”
“He might not forgive me for this.”
“He will.”
“Not if I'm putting us in jeopardy. Not if I'm putting you in jeopardy.”
Matthew shook his head. “No. I— ”
“It's going to be okay.”
“Luke... ” He took one shaky step after another.
I pulled back. “Just go. If he thinks you're not going home with him, it'll destroy him.”
“And you think losing you won't?”
“I didn't say— ”
Matthew stood in front of me in an instant. He stroked my cheek with an open hand. “What do you want, Luke?”
I leaned into the touch. “Right now? I want you to trust me.”
His lips brushed mine. “I do.” His hands hauled me against him. Fear was palpable in the kiss, the contact. He asked for my touch, my reassurance. I let him in and gave him everything he asked for, everything we both needed.
When the kiss ended, we held each other in the quiet for a few more moments.
“Matthew, go to him.”
He nodded. “Come home when you're done with the planning tonight. I'll have him calmed down by then.”
I pressed one last kiss on his lips.
If anyone could get Richard to understand I had to do this, it was Matthew.
Maybe he'd listen.
Maybe I wouldn't lose them.
Maybe my father wouldn't take everything from me this time.
Damn. The house was huge.
How the hell had I ended up standing in front of my parents’ home in a downpour? The same scared kid I'd been in junior high, afraid to go inside and face the wrath of my father after the nuns had caught me smoking behind the school.
Thunder struck overhead. I jumped and landed in a puddle. The rainwater sloshed above the sides of my shoes, soaking my socks through to the skin.
Maybe if I hadn't spent the last two nights on Walter's couch, and had spent them wrapped up in the arms of the men who said they loved me, I wouldn't have been as nervous. Maybe I'd have felt bolder, more confident, more at ease with wearing a listening device hidden under my shirt in search of a confession to save us all.
It didn't matter if I ever had the chance to sleep with them again, or talk to them again, or even if I ever saw them again. They'd be safe.
I hiked up the many steps that led to my parents’ front door. I wanted to hurry, to get it all over with, but my body wouldn't cooperate. My foot slipped on the last step of my ascent, and I slid as if the cement stairs were a slippery slide at a water park. I reached out and clasped the railing before I ended up back on the sidewalk again. No way in hell was I starting the entire trek over.
I trudged the final steps again and surveyed the house. The exterior was brick, not a worn or damaged block in the bunch. Every curtain was drawn closed from the first floor to the third.
I'd never lived there. My parents moved during my sophomore year in college. After my father had made certain Tim couldn't love me anymore, they never invited me for Thanksgiving dinner or the Christmas gift exchange. I never received one phone call or letter. And it'd been fine by me. I hadn't wanted to enter a home where I wasn't welcome, where I wasn't loved like a son deserved to be.
I pushed the doorbell and stashed my hands behind my back. I was about to walk into a hell I had done all I could to avoid.
I expected a maid or some other member of the live-in staff and was surprised when my mother opened the door. Something had changed in her since I'd last seen her at Richard's party. She was still beautiful, but it wasn't as prominent. It was hidden, a remnant of the woman she had been. Her expression was stern, the lines on her face deeper than they should have been for a woman her age. Her eyes were haunted. Misery had settled in.
She wore a brown skirt and a stiff, frumpy blouse. It made her look less feminine than if she'd worn a man's business suit, but at the same time, elegance encased her like it had been painted on. She had her hair pinned back, not a strand out of place, and the poise of her posture was well rehearsed. From an external point of view, she was going to make an excellent first lady.
She looked up at me, and her face brightened. The lines vanished with her smile as if the grin shot collagen into her skin. “Oh, Lukas.” She stepped forward onto the porch and closed the door behind her. The smile faded away. “Why are you here? What's wrong?”
“I have an answer for him.”
“What did he ask you?”
Was she really that clueless? Or was it all an act? “Can I come in or not?”
She stood still, staring at me for a minute, and then she led me inside. I followed her into a large living room. The decor was an odd mix of modern, Victorian, and Oriental furniture and collectibles. I expected to find museum-style barriers fortifying the perimeter,
