Authors: K. A. Mitchell
Zeb might have been the one with a little experience, but Silver had led every step of the way.
“Wait a minute, is that why you made us wait until my birthday before we actually fucked?”
Zeb glanced down. “I hoped it meant you were eighteen.”
“What the fuck is so magic about a day on the calendar? It had nothing to do with you and me. I mean seriously, did I suddenly taste older?”
“Jordan.” But it was muffled when Zeb buried his face in his hands.
“You’ve been thinking that all this time? That you corrupted me? Ruined my life?”
Zeb looked up. “Didn’t I? I just didn’t know how much.” His thumb grazed Silver’s sore cheek. “I’ve done so much worse than this.”
Silver caught Zeb’s wrist again and dragged him closer. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t respond as Silver tucked a long wavy strand of warm brown hair behind an ear and dragged his own thumb across the hint of scruff on Zeb’s chin.
“I always knew you had one hell of a god complex, heavy on the martyr side with this hair and chin fuzz.” Silver shook Zeb’s trapped arm. “But could you get over yourself for a second? You can’t take credit for everything.”
“I should have helped you that night when you came to me.”
“Yeah. You should have.” Silver dropped Zeb’s arm and let out a big sigh. “And maybe I should have tried to figure something else out.” He moved his other arm to rest on Zeb’s neck. “It sucked, all right. But you weren’t responsible for all of it.” The muscles under his palm relaxed. Almost without his permission, Silver’s fingers rubbed the skin under Zeb’s hair. Fragile barrier over hard muscle and bone. Vulnerable soft skin Silver had licked the sweat from, sucked his mark into as their bodies crashed together. Zeb hadn’t been the only one full of a desperate wanting back then.
But Silver’s wanting days were behind him. Stilling his fingers, he tipped Zeb’s head until their foreheads almost touched. “Besides…” Silver felt an odd trace of laughter in his throat, “…if I let you take all the credit for that, I’d have to let you take credit for things getting a lot better since you popped back up. And God knows I don’t need to feed into your complex.”
Zeb gave a short laugh like the one Silver was holding back. “Better like getting arrested?”
Silver shrugged. “Weirdly enough.”
The shrug moved his head enough to brush Zeb’s, and that was all it took. Zeb’s arms wrapped around him, and Silver found himself hugging back. At first it felt like any other hug from a guy he wasn’t planning on having sex with—which in Silver’s world boiled down to a hug from Eli. Only holding Zeb didn’t require hunching over and Zeb didn’t squeeze the breath out of a guy like Eli did.
They shared an exhale, and it wasn’t a friendly hug anymore. It wasn’t suddenly about sex, but a gradual awareness of what their bodies had been to each other, the physical part of them jumping ahead of where their heads were. A little sway, a shift of pressure and Silver’s face found that space in the crook of Zeb’s neck. Soft curls and the smell of his shampoo and skin and sweat. Home. Home the way the house on Appleblossom Road had never been. Something that had been missing dropped back into place with a click Silver felt all over his body. There was no need to run to or away from anything. Because he’d always belonged right here.
He wanted to stay right here forever.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Jordan.”
Until Zeb opened his stupid mouth and reminded them both why it couldn’t be that easy. The brief connection dissolved faster than paper in a storm drain. Should have known it could never stand up to any pressure.
Silver shifted his weight back onto his own feet and patted at Zeb’s back. “It’s okay.”
But when something that right could be broken again so quickly, he wasn’t sure anything ever would be.
There must have been some sporting or concert thing going on in the city because there was enough traffic going their way to make Zeb need to concentrate. At least that’s what Silver told himself as the silence stretched on and on in the car.
As the exit for Quinn’s house came up, Zeb blurted, “Does the lawyer think having legal ID will make sure you don’t go to jail?”
“It’s more to show I’m following rules now. Besides, I needed it to sign up for the GED. The whole thing hinges on whether I used the other ID for illegal activities.”
“Like buying alcohol?”
Silver snorted. “Not really my thing. I don’t trust most people enough to be drunk around them—and I don’t do drugs. No. They’re looking to see if I signed up for any credit cards or stuff like that.”
Zeb nodded, like that solved that problem. It was nice to know Zeb didn’t believe Silver would steal stuff, but the guy was still kind of clueless sometimes.
“I didn’t, but someone else could have, using that name. I bought the ID, but it didn’t exactly come with a warranty.”
Stopped at a light, Zeb shot him a questioning glance. “Why risk it?”
It had gotten him the side income of porn faster since he didn’t have to wait until he was legal, but that wasn’t why he’d been willing to pay. “I was afraid my parents would find me and drag me off to that camp. They weren’t even looking.” Silver swallowed back shame, staring at the artwork on the produce truck ahead of them at the light.
“From the way your cheek looks, that probably wasn’t a bad thing.”
Silver could handle a lot more pain than a slap on his cheek. And anything was better than the solitary room at Path to Glory.
He glanced over at Zeb as they accelerated away from the light.
“I’ll drive you to the gallery. What time do you want me to pick you up?”
They rounded the corner onto Rockspring Road. Quinn’s old-man Buick was still in the drive. Zeb’s Pontiac was marginally cooler. Red and newer. And not a Buick. Of course, he’d rather be rolling up in Gavin’s Bentley. That wasn’t a choice, and he’d already used enough of Zeb’s gas.
“Don’t need a ride. Quinn’s still here.”
“Right.” Zeb’s response was almost too quiet to hear.
Silver popped open the door as soon as the car stopped. Weighed against the drama of the past hour, having his own ID barely balanced out, but a thank you was probably the expected thing. He leaned back down to offer one, and Zeb gave him a crooked smile.
“Be sure to tell Eli where that bruise came from. I don’t have a cup to wear under my pants tonight.”
Silver felt a smile tickle his own mouth, but it hurt to slide the muscles all the way up. “I promise.”
Folder tucked under his arm, he was only a step into the hall when Eli grabbed his forearms.
“Oh my God, you have to help me. Quinn is hovering, and it’s driving me nuts.”
Silver peered around Eli to see Quinn sitting on the couch in his suit, remote in his hand as he faced the TV. Quinn glanced over, brows arching. Silver shook off the question and tipped his head toward Eli. Quinn shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.
Eli tightened his grip and gave a shove. “Stop talking over my head. It drives me fucking insane.”
Silver was betting that was a really short trip right now. “I think—”
“Oh my God, what happened to your face?”
“A lovely parting gift from my father.”
“That son of a bitch.” Eli dragged Silver into the kitchen. “Did you put any ice on it?”
“It’s fine.”
Eli opened the freezer, took out a bag of peas and slapped it in Silver’s free hand. “You look like a street punk.”
“I am one.” Silver bit off the
So were you before Daddy showed up.
Because Eli hadn’t been. He’d had jobs and an actual apartment with decent plumbing. It hadn’t just been Quinn riding to the rescue.
And now Eli had art for sale in a gallery. And a house. And a steady, though tight-assed and boring boyfriend. Silver had…his birth certificate. He put the folder on the table. Whoever thought he’d be jealous of Eli?
But he was. And so angry he wanted to take off. Cut all of these ties to people who reminded him what he would never have.
Eli stared at him like he was trying to see to the back of Silver’s eyes then pushed the hand holding the peas toward his face. “Put it on.”
Silver sighed. “Okay.”
“I could probably tone that down with a little makeup. Maybe bring out your eyes more too.”
“No.”
“Everything okay?” Quinn came to the doorway.
“Will you fucking back off for five seconds?” Eli snarled.
Quinn looked like he’d been sucker punched and vanished from the doorway.
“I need a shower,” Silver said, though he sounded like he was eating marbles with the bag on his face.
“We have to leave in thirty-eight minutes.”
“I think I can manage that.” Silver pulled the bag down. “You know, Quinn might be a little stressed with all the attention on you.”
Silver had never seen Quinn look anything worse than constipated, but he thought Eli would buy it.
“You mean he’s jealous?”
Silver shrugged. Quinn was proud, not jealous, and Eli was insane. But Silver could manage one good deed today. “I think if you showed him some attention, he’d be able to relax and let you alone.”
“Like?”
“Go into the living room, pop open his fly and blow the fuck out of him. You’ll—he’ll relax and everything will be better.”
Eli gave Silver a squinty look.
“Trust me.”
Eli laughed. “Maybe I will. Keep the ice on for a few minutes before you shower.” He winked. “And don’t come down till I call you.”
Chapter Twelve
When Silver got out of the shower, he found a new shirt on his bed, laid out next to his tight dark-blue party jeans. It was lightweight, white-and-gray-blue checkered pattern, except the plain white collar and cuffs. He thought about complaining about not needing Mommy Eli to pick out his clothes, but damn, he liked that shirt.
Eli came in while Silver was shrugging into the shirt. “You were bitching about not having anything to wear.”
Eli himself was dressed in something a hell of a lot brighter than the black on black he’d been wearing at the door. Turquoise slacks, tight as skin, a denim shirt with a denim bowtie and a bright yellow jacket. It should have caused immediate bleeding of the eyes, but on him, it worked.
“So, things a little less tense?” Silver buttoned up the shirt.
Eli grinned. “Yeah. I got that excess tension all over my other clothes. Then Quinn reminded me I’d be happier in what I’d first planned to wear, and everything is peachy keen once more.”
He rolled up Silver’s sleeves in neat cuffs to the elbow, then buttoned the shirt at the collar.
“Thought I wouldn’t need a tie.”
“You don’t. It’s perfect just like that. Of course, if you’d told me you were going to get punched, I would have tried to color coordinate with the bruise.”
“Thanks.” Silver shoved away Eli’s hand when he tried to push hair onto Silver’s face to hide the mark. “Tonight is all about you, Eli. No one is going to look at my face.”
No one would have looked twice on the bus, but wandering around the Arbuton Gallery ninety minutes later, people looked. And stared. Some of them tipped their heads and openly studied his face as if he were some kind of performance art. Guess violence was something they were only used to seeing in a
representative form
, as he’d heard one guy go on about while staring at some other artist’s picture that appeared to have gone through a shredder.
Feeling too much like an exhibit, Silver made his way into the reception area and winced when he got a look at himself in the glass walls. In the past two hours, the bruise on his cheek had deepened to a dark violet-red, complete with individual marks to show where the knuckles had hit. He wished he’d taken Eli up on the offer to try a little makeup. Having pale skin that marked so quickly had been an advantage shooting spanking videos, but right now it sucked.
He glanced back around into the gallery. He’d been really excited to see the sold tag on two of Eli’s things, then almost shit himself when he saw how much they cost. Jesus, he wished he’d been able to make that much for one porn shoot.
Gavin stood next to Eli. Quinn was talking to some straight couple. And Nate and Kellan had just come in and were headed for Eli. That was reason enough to stay out of the gallery. Silver liked Kellan, but he didn’t feel like dealing with Nate’s condescending pity about triggers and consent or whatever the fuck he’d told Eli. How could Zeb have not made it yet? He had GPS now, so it wasn’t like he could get lost. Waiters were bringing out appetizer trays and toting champagne around already.
A guy in a nice suit with an open collar showing a tanned throat gave Silver a slow once-over then tipped his champagne glass toward him. Silver did his own quick evaluation. Money, but with that sharply chiseled face and the hint of hard muscles under the shirt, this wasn’t a guy who needed to pay for it—at least not for sex. The way he tossed back that champagne suggested he was bored enough to want more expensive entertainment.
With a wave of confidence rolling out before him, he approached, snagging two fresh glasses from a passing waiter. It wasn’t until both hands were occupied that Silver noticed the cane, sleek and slender, now clamped under one arm.