All the oxygen left the vehicle.
When Carlyle did breathe again, it was slowly, in and out, as though he were fighting the impulse to do something he’d regret.
Like run.
“Yeah,” he said after that moment.Just that one word.“Not yours?”
“My dad’s rich.He was an engineer, super bright, has lots of patents, who went into finance.Not really….”Gideon searched for words as well.“Effusive,” he said after a moment, remembering how after his mother’s funeral, his father came in, sat next to him on his bed, and simply… sat.Before he’d gotten up, he’d said, “I’m sorry, son.I’ll try to find a nanny to watch you after school.I know it won’t be your mother.I-I wish I was better at this.”
And then he’d gone to prepare for dinner.
“Cold?”Joey asked, but not dripping with pity.
“Not really,” Gideon replied, surprising himself.“In fact, he’s quite kind.I mean, hedidfall in love with his assistant when I was twelve, and he’s really adorable around her.He just grew up when men didn’t communicate their feelings.He’s been practicing since he and Trish got together.The other day he sent me a link to an article on finances and told me that he hoped I had a portfolio, but if I didn’t, he and Trish had plenty of inheritance to give me.And I know that doesn’tsoundexciting, but think about what he was offering—”
“Shelter,” Carlyle said, boiling it down to its most animal essence in one heartbeat.
“Yes,” Gideon said, nodding.“And every Christmas, every vacation, I head over to Dad’s house in the suburbs or Trish’s house in Pennsylvania, and they decorate or plan outings.And nobody has asked me once if I have a girlfriend or demanded I produce offspring.They just… you know.Talk.Dad’s still quiet, but he’s always glad to see me.So not cold, but not… touchy.”
Carlyle’s mouth canted up.“What do you suppose that’s like?”he asked, almost wistfully.“To live with someone you’re so comfortable with, you touch?”
“I vaguely remember it,” Gideon said.“From when my mother was alive.But not as an adult.”
“Your relationships?”Carlyle asked, and his eyes… darted.
The vehicle—a plain unmarked, nice enough to not get reported on this street—suddenly heated up in the October chill.
And Gideon knew exactly what he was asking.
“The women are all sleek and sophisticated and professional,” Gideon admitted with a quiet laugh.And then, carefully, “The men are usually in law enforcement—not a touchy-feely bunch.You?”
Again that sudden shifting of oxygen in the vehicle.“No cuddling,” he said after a moment.“With either one.Just sex.Touch and release, I guess.”
The coldness didn’t surprise Gideon, but the wistfulness—that cut him deep.
“Maybe we’ll know,” he said.“We’ll know when we’ve found someone real, when there’s lots of touching.”
He couldn’t help it.The fantasy flowed through him of rolling over one morning to find Carlyle in his arms.That wiry power, that subtle strength, the ruthlessness, the curiosity, the surprising gentleness that was emerging bit by bit….
Gideon hungered for it so acutely his stomach ached.
Carlyle turned to him slowly, while Bruce Springsteen—a mutual favorite—played “Secret Garden” softly on the stereo, and for a moment, Gideon thought, “Yes.I will let this happen.We will explode.”
And then in the corner of his eye, he saw movement.
In a heartbeat they were both on alert as a kid—he looked young, barely college aged if that—slunk into view.
His eyes were fixed on the lit window of Jay Arnold’s apartment building, and he was sobbing as he spoke.
Whisper soft, Carlyle killed the radio while Gideon lowered the window.
“But it’s been almost a month, Jay.Nobody will know.Please, I’ve got to see you.You… you told me you loved me.Was that bullshit?”
Gideon and Carlyle locked eyes for a surprising moment.
Blackmail.
Jay Arnold was a bachelor—that’s what his bio said.Famous for dating lots of high-powered women, but none of them for more than a week.
