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It wasn’t like Frank to be so fucking accommodating, but for once Galen didn’t question his motives. He’d call Shane later, have a nice long talk about what all he wanted to do. Explain everything.

  “Thanks, Frank. I got to go.” He clapped the man on the back.

  “No problem,” Frank said, voice trailing after him. “No problem at all.”

  SHANE WANDERED around the house, the dogs following him as he picked up the piles of mail on Galen’s desk, then put them back down unread in front of Galen’s dusty monitor, the poor old thing replaced by a shiny new on-the-road laptop. This was fucked. Deeply fucked.

  This whole thing.

  He.

  Fuck.

  It didn’t take long to look at the whole house—the bedroom, the bath, the room they’d turned into a game room with a pool table and an old juke box, the kitchen with its red chairs. God, he’d been so fucking impressed that Galen’d had real chairs. Matching chairs.

  It was still kind of cool.

  Shane stood in front of the answering machine and hit the Play button for the thirtieth time. “Hey, Shane. Frank. Galen asked me to call, have you talk to that Diane Wilson lady about listing the property. He’s considering getting a place up here. Can you get that done, bud? Thanks.”

  Thanks.

  Jesus.

  Maybe Wade was right. Maybe it was over and he was just too fucking stupid to pay attention. Maybe he ought to take Wade up on his offer, just get on that big old boat and take being loved good and steady over being the guy at home. Waiting.

  Getting old.

  Fuck.

  Shane picked up the phone and dialed, needing to talk to Galen, needing Galen to tell him it was all going to be….

  “Dude, Shane, you okay, buddy?” He blinked at the receiver. Jesus. Jesus, what was wrong with him?

  “Shit. Uh, no. I misdialed. How’s it going, man?”

  “Same old, same old. Who you calling?”

  “I…. Galen. He’s… we’re thinking of selling the land. He’s not running the bait shop anymore and stuff.”

  “Yeah? Damn. You moving up north?” It felt good, real good, to have someone sound like that about him. Like his leaving might be the end of the world.

  “Me? No. No, man. I have a job.” Hell, he could have any bartending job in this town that he wanted. He knew that now. It was a fucking good thing to know.

  “Oh. Oh shit. You… you’re cool? You want me to come get you? I will, in a fucking second.” He knew. He knew all he’d have to do was open his arms and Wade would be there, showing him that he wasn’t alone.

  “I know. I’m good.” Except he wasn’t, was he? And Wade was a fucking temptation he didn’t need right now.

  “Well, you know I’d let you stay with me, huh? We could stay on the boat, be real beach bums. Save you on rent and stuff.”

  Rent. Right. Shit. His fucking head was killing him. Why would Galen have Frank call him? “I’ve done the beach-bum thing. It’s overrated.”

  “Come on, meet me for supper. I know you’re not on the schedule at the club, and I know you’re needing, honey. Come on, Shane.”

  And when was the last time Galen knew that? When was the last time he even knew the name of the hotel Galen was in? When was the last time they’d…? Weeks. It had been weeks. Longer.

  He needed to talk to Galen. They needed to fix this.

  “No. I got plans tonight, man. Maybe tomorrow.” Tonight he was going to deal with this shit, tell Galen it was time to come home. To sit down. Talk.

  He hung up without another word and dialed straight through this time. Come on, Len. Please. Answer the fucking phone.

  “’Lo?”

  Oh, thank God. He smiled, fingers tracing the lines of the weird little painting Galen’d hung by the back door, this watercolor, fingerpainty thing.

  “Hey. Hey, Galen. It’s me. Shane.” I miss you. Bad.

  “Hey, darlin’. Look, I don’t really have a lot of time. Did you get Frank’s call? I keep hitting dead spots. My phone is crapping out.”

  His belly went icy. “I did. Yeah. I wanted to….”

  “Cool. Take care of that paperwork for me, darlin’. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you all about it. I gotta run. The guys are waiting. There’s a press conference, and I’m damn near at the door. I’ll call. Tomorrow. We’ll chat.”

  He heard a shitload of applause before the phone went dead, hand falling to his side.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, if things didn’t come up and if the phone worked and the meetings didn’t run long and….

  Tomorrow, if Galen didn’t have anything better than a bar manager who was just sitting and waiting and praying for things to get better.

  Shane could almost see himself in the glass of the back door. Almost. Jesus, this wasn’t a fucking dream, and he….

  Yeah.

  Time to wake up, stupid. Before he found himself in deeper shit than he was in right now. Before he ended up taking the second-best offer because he didn’t have what it took to keep the first one on the hook.

  He hung up the portable and grabbed Goob’s and Kahn’s food bowls, making sure they were clean. Two sets of hopeful eyes stared up at him, two tails wagging. “No, we’re just going to get our shit together. It’s time to go. We’ve been here long enough. Come on. I got some calls to make before the morning.”

  Tomorrow Galen could forget to call all he wanted.

  Tomorrow he’d be gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “FRANK, I can’t get through to Shane. Did you get him when you called yesterday?”

  Damn it, he should have taken the time to talk when Shane had called him. Galen hated that he’d let Shane down again, and now Shane wasn’t answering the goddamned phone so Galen could say he was sorry and he was coming home in a few days and he missed Shane so bad it hurt. Two months was two months too long.

  They were at the breakfast buffet, Frank looking spiffy in his suit and tie. He gave Galen’s jeans and boots a glare, nodding to Galen’s head. “That cowboy hat is a ridiculous indulgence.”

  Galen’s teeth ground together in the back. “Shane, Frank. Did you get him?”

  “No. I left a message. I did get Diane, though.” Trying to stare him down, Frank curled his lip. “Shane is an indulgence you really can’t afford either, Lenny. When you move up here, you’ll have to give him up.”

  Galen felt his mouth literally drop open. “When I move where? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Frank shrugged, picking at a piece of grapefruit. “It’s like I told Shane. You’re going to have to make a commitment here. You’re going to have to sell your place.”

  “Sell my….” Eyes widening, he went back a few sentences. “You told Shane I was selling my place?”

  “Jesus, keep your voice down!” Leaning across the table, Frank snarled at him. “You didn’t have the balls to do it, so I did. I need your head and your dick here, Lenny.”

  Hands clenching into fists, Galen leaned right in too, into Frank’s space. “You fucking told my lover that I was selling my house.”

  “Do you really want me to go into how damaging it is that you’re openly gay, Galen?”

  “Who are you?” He’d never liked Frank all that much, but the man had a head for business, and the initial plan for Galen’s involvement had been so good Galen had gone ahead, despite his doubts. Showed him what a fine judge of character he was. He should have listened to Shane.

  Shane had said Frank was bad for him. Someone knew what was what.

  That flat, emotionless stare was all lizard brain, like Frank was incapable of understanding any kind of strong emotion. “Your business partner.”

  “No. We had a contract where I helped with your marketing. Luckily, I had a good lawyer when we drew it up, and I can get out of it.”

  Planting his hands, Galen surged to his feet, the urge to fly across the table almost overtaking him. The only thing that kept him from throttling Frank right then and there w
as Shane. If he got arrested for assault or something, he’d never get home to make it right.

  “I’m out of here,” Galen said, turning on the heel of one self-indulgent cowboy boot. Fuck this shit.

  It was time to go home.

  HE DROVE until he couldn’t see, then pulled into a rest stop and walked the dogs, the Mississippi wind blowing hot against his damp cheeks.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  He couldn’t just drive forever—he had to stop somewhere. Think. Breathe.

  What did people do when they left home? Where did they go? He had money; that wasn’t it this time.

  This time he didn’t have a plan.

  He opened his phone and dialed the house, just needing to hear Galen’s voice on the machine, telling him they weren’t home, leave a message after the tone, blah, blah, blah.

  Shane listened all the way to the end, then stopped and reached for the map. Where to go?

  North? He could go to some big city and tend bar for rich bitches. Nah.

  California had movie stars, and he was already feeling old, and plastic boobies didn’t interest him.

  New Orleans probably needed….

  Baton Rouge.

  Momma.

  Oh, she was only another few hours. She’d know what to do. She might even let him in to sleep for a little bit.

  Maybe.

  Okay. Plan. He liked a plan.

  Momma’s. Then New Orleans.

  Go him.

  BEEEEEEEP.

  “Darlin’, would you pick up the phone? I need to talk to you. Come on, honey. It’s not true, okay? Shane?”

  Galen waited. And waited. Shane never picked up. Goddamn it.

  An hour later he tried again.

  Beeeep.

  “Shane, come on. Frank is…. Well. He’s a solid gold ass, and I should never have trusted him. I called and picked up messages. I know what he said, and it ain’t happening, okay? Please, darlin’. Call me back. I got a new cell. It’s guaranteed to get through.”

  Galen rattled off the number, hoping against hope that Shane was just out having a beer. Or something. Not running. Then he hung up and waited some more.

  Beeeep.

  “Okay, Shane, I got a flight. I’m coming home. You just wait there, please? Fuck, darlin’. I want to make this up to you, okay? I’m so sorry we got all crossed up. I love you.”

  Galen knew when he said it that it might be too little, too late. He just hoped to hell he got there before Shane decided to take off or something. Jesus, please just let him get there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  JESUS, HE was tired.

  Like bone-deep tired.

  Like driving for twenty hours with the dogs tired.

  He pulled up to the little frame house with the great big rose bushes and the little iron fence and….

  Oh shit.

  What if she didn’t let him in?

  What if she screamed at him?

  What if she hated him now?

  Shane just sat there, the Jeep slowly cooling down, the dogs starting to whine, Goober scratching at the window, wanting out. Shit.

  The front door finally opened. Galen’s momma popped her head out the door, pink curlers still in her hair. When she saw him, she bounced down the stairs and came right over to the Jeep. “Shane! What are you doing sitting out here? Come on in. I was just making breakfast.”

  “I…. Hey, Momma. I…. Uh. I’m not sure you want me to. This is Khan; she’s Galen’s.” He wanted to hop out and give Momma a hug so bad it hurt.

  “Hi, Khan.” Momma scratched ears and took the licking and wagging, but soon enough she was opening the door for him, pulling him out, and hugging him just as hard as he needed. “It’s so good to see you, honey.”

  “Oh, Momma.” He held on tight, heart fucking broke. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Huh?” She pulled back a little to look at him, a tiny frown creasing the lines around her mouth and eyes. She had Galen’s eyes. Or, you know, Galen had hers. “You look so tired. Come on. I’ll let you sit, and I’ll cook, and you’ll tell me all about it. The dogs can go in the backyard, and we’ll let mine out, and they can all get acquainted.”

  “Momma. Momma, I left Galen.” He wouldn’t go in and eat her food and shit without her knowing. It wasn’t fair.

  Her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh shit, honey. We’re gonna need waffles. Come on.” She grabbed his arm and hauled him into the house.

  “Oh, thank God.” He slumped a little, the dogs barking and scrambling at his feet. He hadn’t been sure what he’d do if Momma turned him away.

  “Hush, you mutts.” Her voice was like thick syrup, so Louisiana it hurt, but soothing too. Momma just got the dogs fed and tucked away, playing with her own pack of mutts. Before Shane knew it, he had a glass of milk and a piece of leftover cake and a seat at her table.

  “I… I don’t know what to do, Momma. I didn’t know where else to go. I… I stopped in Chattanooga. Looked. They wouldn’t open the door to me there, though.”

  He’d known it.

  He hadn’t even gone up to the door.

  “Oh, honey. What happened?” Tightening the sash on her robe, Momma bustled around, stirring batter, tossing bacon on the griddle.

  He sighed, put his head on his hands. “I…. He doesn’t want me anymore, Momma. He’s gonna sell the house, and he had someone else call, leave me a message. He’s moving up North without me. He’s never home, and…. I don’t know, Momma. Maybe he’s finding better options with all them rich Yankees.”

  He sorta thought better of Galen than that, but people changed.

  “Moving up North? My Galen? No. No, honey. That has to be a mistake.” She turned, spatula waving wildly. “Did you ask him?”

  “I did. Sorta.” Shane shrugged. “He just told me we’d talk later. He was having a press thing.” He picked up the napkin holder—it had strawberries on it. Little painted strawberries. “He’s a big deal now. He’s got important shit to do.”

  Hell, they hadn’t seen each other in eight weeks.

  “Oh….” Something in her voice made him look up, and man, she was mad. Her eyes just flashed. Shane got ready to slide under the table, but it was Galen she started cussing. “I’m gonna murder him. Can’t even talk to you? Sends someone else to do it? That boy….”

  “He just….” His chest hurt, deep down. “You can’t make someone stay in love, Momma. At least I can’t. I didn’t come here to make you mad at him. I just….” He just didn’t know what else to do.

  “Shane.” She pressed her fingers under his chin, making him look at her. “I think something is just mixed up. I know he loves you.”

  “I want to believe that. I do. There’s this guy at home—he’s pretty, he’s rich, he’s got a boat, and he loves me. He’s asked me a dozen times to just sail away with him, and I can’t. I can’t do it, and I feel so fucking stupid because Galen’s gone, and I’m… I’m getting older, Momma.” Jesus, he sounded like an idiot.

  She just hugged him, arms squeezing tight. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll call Galen and kick his ass. You’ll see. You don’t need to be running off with someone.”

  “I don’t.” He leaned in, squeezed her tight. “I love you, Momma. I’m so sorry. I just needed a place to stop.”

  “Well, you’re gonna stay here as long as you need to. You’re family.” She patted his back, loving on him, humming just like Galen did. Only girly.

  “I won’t stay long. That ain’t fair to Len. He’s your boy. He needs you.” He let his eyes close a second. Shit, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t even good enough for his own momma to love and he was here, borrowing Galen’s.

  “Baby. Stop. You know what? You need to sleep. I can tell you haven’t been sleeping.” Pulling him up, Momma pointed him to the bathroom, then handed him fluffy towels and soap as he stumbled down the hall. “Now, you take a shower, and I’ll get the guest bed made up.”


  “Can you give the pups some food? They’ll be hungry.” He headed in, nodding, letting her take care.

  “All taken care of, baby. Go lie down. You take that load off a little.” Her kind voice just followed him, making him feel at home for the first time in so long.

  “Thanks, Momma. Love you, huh?” He kissed her cheek, then headed to get clean and sleep.

  Maybe for like a zillion years.

  FIGURED THAT when he wanted to go home, the weather would turn off horrible. The plane had been an hour and a half late taking off. His connecting flight in Chicago had been cancelled completely, and he’d had to scream at some poor guy at the desk to get another flight.

  ’Course, that had relieved his spleen some.

  “You look tired, man,” the guy next to him said. He was cute, sounded like home in that Cajun sort of way, and looked worn to the bone himself.

  “I am. Been gone too long. Ready to go home.”

  “Ah. Having honey troubles, eh?”

  Lord, how long had it been since someone said stuff like that to him? Maybe since last Thanksgiving when they went to Baton Rouge. Was it last year? Maybe three years ago….

  “Yeah. You could say that. But it’s my fault, not his….” Shit. Galen trailed off, figuring it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell a good-looking Cajun he was gay. The man might just get up and kick his ass.

  “You cheat on him?” He got a sideways look, kinda speculative, and Galen had to work not to laugh. What were the odds of him getting a queer seatmate, especially one so damned pretty?

  “No. I don’t intend to start either.”

  That got him a big old grin, the man’s brown eyes sparkling. “Ain’t no harm in looking, though, right?”

  “Not a bit.”

  The guy leaned in close, lowering his voice. “It’s a long enough flight. Wanna talk about it?”

  Surprising the hell out of himself, Galen nodded, feeling the need to just say shit out loud, get it out. Sometimes a stranger made that easier. “Actually, yeah. I do.”