“Don’t downplay it. If I’d known Grady when I was a teenager, who knows? I might not’ve gotten into all the trouble I did.”
“But you found someone else to help you.” It was time for Keston to spill his guts like I had. “Carlos.”
Keston’s eyes flickered. “Yeah, but…”
“No buts, Keston. I had no one. Carlos taught you not only how to love him, but how to love yourself. My dad was the best, but I couldn’t really talk to him about personal stuff. He got sick and I never told him I was gay.”
At some point while I was talking, Keston rested his hand on my nape and began a slow massage. This touch was different from the others, warmth flowing from his skin to mine, but without anything sexual. He was letting me know he understood and was there for me. I couldn’t explain how his simple gesture altered everything between us. Keston was fast becoming my compass in the wandering roads of my life, leading me to a safe place.
“Carlos saved me. More than the job, he gave me a way forward, out of the bitterness and anger that had become the parameters of my world. He showed me another path. And when I was older, he gave me his heart.”
“You’re very lucky,” I said. “I’ve never had that.”
“I know I am. But why do you think that? You’ve got good friends.”
“Friends, yes. But good friends?” I huffed out a fake-ass laugh and shook my head. “If you’re talking about Weston and Brenner, nah. We were friendly during law school, but with West and Brenner too intent on one-upping each other and me being gay, I always felt a little on the outside, looking in. We reconnected once Weston moved to New York, and yeah, we’ve definitely become better friends, but I’ve never told anyone any of this. Only you.”
Keston stopped the gentle movement of his fingers. “Why?”
It would be so damn easy to make a joke of it. Like I always did when it came to things I didn’t want to talk about. But dammit, I was tired of holding it all inside. So what if I told him how I felt?
“Because.” I shifted away to look him in the eye. “I knew you’d understand. I have feelings for you. More than just sex.”
Keston didn’t break our stare-down. “Is this part of that dating thing we said we were trying?”
“Yeah. I think it is. But maybe it’s too much for you, or not what you expected. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll back off. I know I’m not the kind of guy you’re used to.” For years I’d been content with scraps from random men I’d slept with, but if I was going to try this with Keston, I needed the entire meal, not simply a bone he wanted to throw to placate me. I’d learned so much about him, yet I knew there was more.
“No, you’re not. You wear suits, live uptown. Pay your bills in full on time. Hell, half the time I forget a guy’s name right after he tells me.” He returned to stroking me, and I had to refrain from purring. “But I can’t forget your name. Or you.”
He went from stroking my neck to cupping my cheek, and I knew all I had to do was meet him halfway and we’d be naked again. My body was all for it, but I’d learned I was worth more than what my body had to give. Time to let my brain lead the way.
“I like hearing that.” I moved out of reach and watched his expression grow wary, tense. I went for a change of subject. “Do you think I should sell the house?”
“Do you ever plan to live there?”
“No, probably not.”
“Is the upkeep expensive?”
“Not really. Just taxes, insurance, and the monthly bills.” I shrugged. “Of course my mother contributes nothing.”
“I gathered that,” he answered dryly. “I guess the main question is, why? Why hold on to it? Is it to keep the memory of your father alive, or to spite your mother?”
I appreciated Keston not dismissing me and instead asking informative questions, though they made me dig deep—uncomfortably so—and I might not like what I’d uncover.
“I-I don’t know.” Lies, all lies. I knew, but I wasn’t ready to face the truth out loud. “How about we stop talking about me for a while? Tell me more about Carlos.”
Keston grew pale under his scruff. His hands clenched over his thighs. “You already know.”
“Yeah, but not much. You met him when you were a teenager, right? In your arts program? He taught you how to tattoo?”
“Yeah.” He snorted with the laughter of painful remembrance. “I graduated from pen-ink designs on my skin to learning the true art of skin ink. I was fourteen when we met at the school program, and I worked in the shop until I was eighteen, when we first kissed. A kiss I instigated. I had a huge crush on him. And no, in case you were wondering, we didn’t have sex right away. Carlos wanted me to see other guys my age. I was crazy about him. I didn’t need anyone else, but I went out with other guys to please him. We waited two years, and he was my first.”
“He sounds very smart and caring.”
“The best. Even though we were so far apart in age, we were in sync. When he died, I fell into a cold, dark depression. If I didn’t have Grady…” He rubbed his face and took off, heading for the window. I let him go, giving him the space he needed. Several minutes passed before he returned. “Sorry about that.”
“Never apologize for your emotions. I learned that in therapy.” Keston’s brows rose high, and I laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been in therapy for years. You’re not the only one. You used art to channel your pain; I used sex. When my mother came back, waltzing into our lives like she’d gone for a night out with thegirls instead of years of nothing, it fucked me up.” My smile was frozen. “She didn’t apologize or try and get to know me. She just showed up with Belinda in tow and said, ‘This is your little sister.’ Belinda is ten years younger. From that moment on, I tried to watch out for her because no one else was. Soon after their return, my father’s health declined rapidly, and he died while I was in college.”
