His father had been so disappointed when they’d refused to keep him.
Evan felt a hand on his upper arm and turned toward the shadowed corner where Heath stood watching him.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere else.”
If they offended anyone by leaving without a word, he didn’t care. He would apologize later, when he stopped feeling like a powder keg ready to blow. He wanted the silence and darkness of the villa, even if it meant walking through a fucking hurricane to get there.
Heath led them down the narrow hallway to the small lot where they’d left the cart. He wanted to make a joke about Heath finally getting to drive, but when he opened his mouth, it wasn’t words that came out.
He retched into the vegetation, leaves slapping and sticking to him as they thrashed in the throes of the storm’s violent, ritualistic beat. Heath stood close, rubbing his back without a word, then helped him into the cart and told him to hold on as they took off down the path.
The drive to the villa never felt short, but with zero visibility and the road partially washed out it dragged on for what felt like forever. A feeling made worse by having to stop twice more for him to puke off to the side.
He felt teleported back in time to the pathetic little boy who’d found himself thrown into a strange and unforgiving world. Ten years old and alone, with no one to tell him it would be alright, because the only person who’d given a shit was gone.
“We’re almost there,” Heath shouted over the wind and the obstinate roar of the cart’s protesting engine as it navigated the muddy roads. Evan nodded silently, too afraid to open his mouth. He was fresh out of lunch, breakfast, and last night’s dinner, but sensed his stomach still had things to say.
The cart slid in the muck, taking the corner into the villa’syard on two wheels. Heath slammed on the brakes, and they fishtailed for several more feet before coming to a rough, shuddering stop next to the house’s pylons.
Astonished breathing blended with the roaring storm, and Evan wished he had the wherewithal to say something, anything related to Heath’s stunt driving. But his body had liquefied, and both his mind and his legs were a useless, wobbly mess when he tried to move.
Heath was at his side in a blink, warm and steady hands guiding him up the stairs and to the door. Guilt replaced his eagerness to comment. It had been eons since someone had shown him such gentle attention. He’d forgotten how good it felt when a person gave a shit about him.
He leaned against the rail and watched Heath wrestle with the key, fighting the wind and rain as shutters banged and leaves and branches plastered themselves to anything in their path. Why was he doing it?
This was the same man who’d spent nearly every moment since they’d met accusing him of being a cad. Heath had lumped him in with every asshole who’d ever fucked him over without even trying to get to know him. They’d just argued about it only a couple of hours ago.
Then he’d kissed him.
No, he hadn’t forgotten. He’d had to push it aside so he could focus on summoning the long-compartmentalized muscle memory required to get them back in one piece, but now that they were here? It hit him in a rush, leaving him breathless and confused.
It was easy to imagine Heath kissing him as some dramatic end-of-the-world gesture, because that was absolutely the type of guy he was. What lacked an equally simple explanation was his own response. He’d leaned into it with all he had, and he’d liked it. A lot.
If they hadn’t been in the middle of a life-threatening situation,he’d have pushed that fucker against the first flat surface he found and not stopped kissing him until…
Until what? Where are you going with this?
Fuck if he knew. His muddled thoughts were an opaque and viscous mixture of stress, exhaustion, and lust—of all things. Lust—for another fucking guy—and he wanted more. Whatever that meant.
He’d stumbled back onto the deck with his head spinning and the press of Heath’s mouth still tingling on his lips. Nerves sizzling with need, curiosity, and fear, Nate’s instructions barely registered until the first broadside nearly knocked him onto his ass. He’d gotten moving then, the memory of having keelhauled himself during a race with one of his father’s teams snapping him back to attention.
He’d been a teenager, not remotely comparable in strength and experience to the men he was sailing with. One wrong step and a sloppy, broken line was all it had taken. By the time he’d felt it around his ankle, it was over. He still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, feeling his head crack on the rail, the freezing water closing around him just before he blacked out.
He might have died if not for the others abandoning the race to pull him out. Hell, they could have died today if one thing had gone differently. The storm’s swift increase in strength had given them no time to react, and it was a testament to Nate’s skill and his boat’s technology that they’d cruised through it as well as they had.
Evan turned and gripped the porch rail, dry-heaving until he was coughing and spitting and screaming. Screaming until he was hoarse. Until his throat burned. Until his legs finally gave out and he crumpled to the wood in a boneless, sodden heap.
Arms wrapped around him, and he melted into the firm chest pressed against his back. Sunk into the warmth and the scent of salt and leather and something quintessentially Heath.Like he’d captured the essence of old books and Earl Grey and infused himself with it.
The door whipped open on screaming hinges and crashed against the clapboard siding. Heath helped him up and into the house, slamming everything closed behind them.
Heath cursed about the open shutters and soaked floors, his irritated grumbling familiar and comforting, like everything else about him.
The incessant nattering should have been annoying as hell, but Evan enjoyed it. It reminded him a little of his grandmother, who’d never let a moment pass without interjecting her opinion into it. What would she think of Heath? Probably that he was a stuffy know-it-all, but she’d secretly like him. He’d drink tea with her and play bridge.
“C’mon. Let’s get you warm and dry.”
