Any other time, Nathan would have said an automatic “no.” Amy was the only person who knew the truth about what happened that night. Now though, sitting in the moonlight with this amazing man, wrapped up in his jacket and bathed in his scent, Nate heard the words come spilling out.
“Yep. At least, my dad does. He inherited it from his dad, who started out as a pharmacist in a one-horse Georgia town. When my dad graduated from college with a degree in pharmacy, Grandpa set him up with his own store. Pretty soon, they bought another store, and then another. Before grandpa knew it, he had a chain. When my dad took over, he consolidated and took the company national. He expected me to get a business degree, or at the very least become a pharmacist, so I could take over the family business. Needless to say, he wasn’t too thrilled when I decided to become a doctor. He said, “Why would you want to be a doctor? Don’t you know we make our money off of sick people? Cure enough of them and we’ll be out of business.”
The quiet strength in Brandon’s voice gave Nate the will to continue the story. “Not unlike you, I met a guy while I was away at school. Not my freshman year, though. I was a senior. Rick Landon was my student advisor. We got to know each other while I was trying to decide which medical school to apply for. I thought he was perfect. Handsome, smart, funny: the whole package. He asked me out and I, of course, said yes. He was the first guy I’d ever dated and I fell head over heels in love with him. He wanted us to move in together, but. . .”
“But?”
“No. Oh, we fooled around a little, touching and grouping, but nothing any more intimate. Rick wasn’t real happy about it, but he agreed to wait. We dated for almost eight months. Then, on Rick’s twenty-second birthday, I did something really stupid. I asked him to marry me.”
“Yeah, well neither was I. We invited our families out to dinner and told them all of it, right in the middle of the prime rib. My dad threw one of his tantrums, to which my mother replied, ‘Now see there, you’ve upset your father again.’ My brother, who was sixteen at the time, just looked at me like I was a slug that had somehow crawled through the door of the restaurant. Rick’s parents never said a word; they just got up and left, demanding that Rick go with them. The next day, I got a restraining order from my parents and a phone call from Rick informing me that his folks were going to cut him off finically if he didn’t stop ‘acting gay.’ He transferred to another school and that was the end of it. Three months later, I read in the society section of the paper about his engagement to the daughter of his father’s business partner.”
The walk back to the house was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Sasha walked between them again, watchful as ever. When they got back to the house, Sasha went to her massive pillow-bed near the fireplace in the living room, while Brandon and Nathan went upstairs.
Bran dropped Nate off at the door to the guestroom. “If you don’t want Sasha to end up in bed with you, make sure the door is closed up tight. She might have gone quietly to her pillow like a good little doggie, but that doesn’t mean she’ll stay there.” Then, before Nate had a chance to protest, Brandon leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Nate’s check. “Good-night, Baby. Sleep well.” Without another word, he went to his room, leaving Nate standing and staring behind him. * * *
Brandon reached over and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock, but the noise didn’t stop. He hit it again, but it just kept ringing. Ringing? It took him a full minute to realize it was the phone. The person on the other end was persistent. The phone was still ringing when he finally picked it up.
Brandon hung up the phone and got out of bed. He pulled on his jeans and crossed the hall to the guest room. He started to turn the knob, but stopped when he saw the door was half-way open already. At first he panicked, thinking the person who trashed Nate’s apartment might have come after him here. His heart resumed a steady beat when he saw the reason why he door was open.
Nate was lying on his side, with Sasha curled up to his back. Her long body took up more than her fair share of the double bed, but Nate was sleeping too soundly to care. Bran couldn’t believe it, but he was actually jealous of his dog. He shooed Sasha out the door and sat down on the side of the bed next to Nate.
Knowing that the best way to keep a man’s mind off his troubles was to keep him busy, Brandon said, “There are a couple of travel mugs in the cabinet above the sink. Would you see if the coffee’s ready yet and fill them up?”
A few minutes later, Brandon went downstairs to find Nate sitting at the kitchen table stroking Sasha’s head. Nate looked so right sitting in his kitchen, petting his dog; Bran had to force himself to make his presence known and disturb the tranquil scene.
“Hey,” he said around the tightness in his throat. “I thought I told you to close your door last night.” He walked over to where Nate sat and rubbed Sasha up under the chin the way she liked. “Did you know you had company in bed last night. And I don’t mean me.”
Bran laughed. “If I’d know that was what you wanted, I’d have volunteered for the job myself.” Nate’s blush was followed by a quick change in subject. “The coffee’s ready. I wasn’t sure how you take yours, so you’ll have to fix it the way you like it.”
Bran grabbed his travel mug off the counter and headed towards the mudroom. “I used to take it with milk and sugar, but now I drink it black. I guess all those years working cases for the bureau taught me to appreciate the merits of strong coffee.”
“’Fraid so. My field of expertise is forensics.” Before Nate could ask anymore questions, Brandon said, “Let’s get going. Sam, my deputy, will wonder where I’m at.” He looked Nate over carefully as he stood up and grabbed his coffee. “Are you sure you’re up to this. I could go by first and check it out.”
The apartment was worse than he expected, surprising since Nate had been imagining all kinds of terrible things ever since Brandon told him about the break-in. The minute they pulled into the parking lot, Nate saw the slurs panted on the doors and windows. The apartment was the townhouse type, with its own porch and patio. The person who did this had broken several pieces of the porch’s railing. The screens had been ripped from the windows, and a couple of the panes were broken. The door was hanging awkwardly on its hinges and the chairs Nate had sitting by the front door were smashed.
The furniture had been slashed with a knife; bits of fabric and stuffing littered the floor. His television and computer were both smashed to bits, as were all the dishes and glassware in his cupboard. The pictures from the walls now lay on the floor in piles of splintered wood and broken glass. Even the glass shower doors in the downstairs bathroom had been shattered. One of the deputies commented on the fact that no one reported hearing anything, but Nate wasn’t surprised. His place was an end unit and the apartment next to his was empty. The person who did this had done his homework.
While Brandon talked to one of his men, Nate made his way up the stairs. More broken knick-knacks littered the upstairs hall. The spare bedroom, which Nate used as an office, was a mass of strewn files and broken furniture. In every room he’d seen so far, including the bathroom, words like “pervert” and “freak” glared at him from the once pristine, white walls. The spare room was no exception, only here the vandal had gotten a little more creative and called him an “ass-fucking slut.”
After finding the upstairs bath in a state similar to the one downstairs, Nathan made his way to the master bedroom. All his clothes lay in piles on the floor, covered in what looked like red paint. As he got closer, he could smell the metallic scent of blood. As a doctor, Nate was used to that scent. Now though, knowing that someone had covered his clothes in the thick mess, was enough to make the coffee he’d drunk in the car come back up. He ran to the bathroom and was quietly ill. He was still leaned over the commode when he felt something wet and cool on the back of his neck. Brandon was holding a damp cloth to his heated skin.
All his college awards and trophies were crunched up in a pile in the corner. The dresser mirror was shattered, as was the window that overlooked the courtyard below. His mattress had been ripped to shreds, but the worst of it all was the damage done to the quilt that Grandma Morris made for him. He picked up the torn remnants of the log cabin quilt and cradled it to his chest. Brandon came up behind him and put his hand on Nate’s arm.