Page 22 of Pieces of Me

Rylan gave a weary nod, glancing toward the futon full of kids. “I hate to disturb them when they’re finally asleep. They were so upset.”

Scott looked at his half brothers, gangly limbs tangled up together, the littler ones’ faces streaked with tears. Damn you, Heather, for the bitch you are, he thought fiercely. Damn you to hell.

All he said was, “Don’t disturb them. You can sleep here.”

Separate trips to the bathroom to brush their teeth and get situated before they lay side by side on the narrow bed, shoulders touching, heads close together. Rylan scrabbled between them looking for Scott’s hand, and when he found it, he threaded his fingers with Scott’s and gave them a squeeze.

“Thank you. Thanks for being here and―and letting me―”

Scott squeezed him back. “No worries. We kind of need each other, you know?”

Rylan let go of Scott’s hand and rolled over toward him, sliding his arm across Scott’s chest to hug him close. “I know.” And with that, he fell into an exhausted sleep.

✩✩✩

When Rylan woke a few hours later, the sun was streaming in through the windows, and his left arm was asleep. He gave a tentative tug on it, wincing as tingles shot through from his wrist to his shoulder, but it was well and truly trapped. Rylan remembered falling asleep with his arm draped over Scott’s chest, and during the night, Scott had rolled away from Rylan, bringing his arm with him and trapping it at an uncomfortable angle.

Rylan scooted a little closer, pressing up against Scott’s back to relieve the pressure on his arm, biting his lip against the pain as blood flowed back through it. As feeling returned to his hand, he could feel Scott’s heart beating steadily under his palm, his breaths slow and even. The nape of his neck smelled enticingly of vanilla and almonds, and Rylan couldn’t resist a quick nuzzle, burying his nose in Scott’s hair and inhaling deeply.

Scott sighed in his sleep and shifted back toward Rylan, settling against him. He was so warm, so solid, his rhythmic breaths soothing Rylan’s ragged nerves. All the stimuli made Rylan hard as a rock, and he carefully kept his lower body away from Scott’s hip, although at that moment, he would give anything to have the right to rub up against him, to feel that firm ass cheek against the part of Rylan’s body that ached for the touch of another man.

As he held Scott close, he relived that kiss they’d shared in every excruciating detail: Scott’s plump lips and rough tongue on his own, the rasp of his stubble against Rylan’s cheeks, his chest and nipple under Rylan’s palm.

Rylan spread his palm over Scott’s chest now, not bare like then but covered by a thin T-shirt, the fabric no barrier against the heat of Scott’s skin. Rylan longed to twist his fist in the shirt and drag it up, baring Scott’s belly and that trail of hair Rylan was dying to touch. He’d comb his fingers through it, feel the springy texture, before sliding his hand down to―Rylan suppressed a groan. Would the thatch down there be sparse or thick? Did Scott have hair on his balls or would they be smooth? Would his intimate scent be musky or smell of vanilla and almonds?

Rylan’s fingertips itched to roam, to explore, to feel. He felt like he was coming out of his skin, his whole body a mass of hot, quivery sensation, his dick so hard Rylan was sure if anything even brushed against it, he’d explode.

A small cough from the futon behind him, and memory slammed into Rylan like a wrecking ball―the whole reason he was in bed with Scott in the first place―and his arousal deflated just like that.

Rylan rolled to his back. Scott made a small sound of protest in his sleep and followed, settling his shoulder against Rylan’s, his hand falling to rest on Rylan’s thigh. Jesus. Rylan looked at the little boys on the futon, thankfully still asleep, but starting to stir.

He shifted back to stare up at the ceiling. What the fuck was he going to do now? Scott made a compelling case for keeping silent, but how could Rylan stand by as his dad got cheated on over and over? Fresh tears sprang to Rylan’s tired, gritty eyes, burning them. Shit. He didn’t know what to do. One thing he did know: Bob would never, ever lay hands on a woman, no matter how hurt and angry he was. The thing that scared Rylan was what he might do to himself.

Bob had taken Diane’s defection like a hammer blow; his simple, loving heart had shattered into pieces. Desperate for affection and companionship, he’d fallen for the first woman to show him attention and sleep with him and then fucking married her, for God’s sake. For all Rylan’s brave words about not wanting to get involved in their marriage, how could he sit by and do nothing when more heartbreak was looming?

But…how could he be the one to destroy Bob all over again? Would Bob hate him for running to him and tattling? Would he see it as Rylan trying to ruin things for him instead of seeing it as an attempt to protect him, and would his beloved dad turn on him? Oh God. Too much to deal with. Just too much.

Scott stirred, arching his back a little in a stretch, and Rylan thought about how he’d climbed in through the window and pulled Rylan into his arms to comfort him. He’d known. He’d seen the strange truck out there and known immediately what Rylan would be going through.

Rylan pressed his lips quickly to Scott’s shoulder before sitting up on the edge of the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face. He could feel the bed lurch as Scott sat up behind him, and he jumped as he felt a warm hand on his back.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Rylan heaved a sigh. “I’ve decided not to say anything to him.” He could hear how ragged his voice was, and Scott started rubbing his back in a soothing motion. It felt so good, so comforting…all Rylan wanted to do was lie back down in the bed and have Scott hold him close.

He resisted the urge, saying thickly, “I’m afraid he might take his pain out on me, you know? What’s that saying…kill the messenger?”

Scott stilled his hand, then slid it up to rest on the back of Rylan’s neck, making him shiver under the touch. “I think that’s the right decision,” he said quietly. “Let him find out on his own, and the only one he’ll possibly have to blame is the one who deserves it.”

“It’ll kill me, though,” Rylan choked. “Just knowing―”

“Hey, you’re not alone, okay?” Scott’s voice was fierce. “You’re not alone, Ry.”

“And thank fuck for that. I mean it.” Rylan pressed an impulsive kiss to Scott’s stubbly cheek, wanting to linger but forcing himself to turn it into a smack-and-pull-back instead of a caress.

“I’m on your side. Okay?”

“Okay.”