Dare to Hope Page 10

  “If you want me to.”

  That made Chris smile. “And if I insist that you spend the night here, in a completely nonsexual manner, because your national bird is weird and kind of freaks me out, would you?”

  “I would probably say yes, but I’d be in agony by morning,” Samuel admitted his dilemma.

  Chris tapped his finger against his bottom lip as if he was deep in thought. “Well… you could fuck me. Or you could use your hand. Or you could just suffer for the sake of me feeling safe with you here. Seriously, the bird is scary. I don’t care that you all call yourselves Kiwis. That’s fine. Just, couldn’t you do it after the fruit?”

  Samuel closed his eyes again and thought of a solution that would work for both of them. “Okay, give me a few minutes.” He rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom, where he took care of himself and washed his face and hands.

  Slightly calmer, he walked back into the room and switched off the lights before climbing onto the bed beside Chris, even though it was still early.

  “Good night,” Chris whispered, pressing himself against Samuel. “Wow, you’re warm. You can be my permanent blanket too. Manhattan gets damn cold in the winter.” He yawned loudly. “I’m gonna steal your sunshine as well.”

  Samuel pulled Chris into his arms, satisfied when Chris laid his cheek on his heart. It was painful the way Chris fit against him so perfectly. Samuel wouldn’t allow himself to lose the hope that things would work out for them. If he did, his heart would take a long time to recover. That’s why he never fell into relationships haphazardly. His heart always led the way, and most times it didn’t end well for him.

  As he expected, Chris’s breathing evened out within a few minutes as he fell asleep. The man was so exhausted he didn’t stir as Samuel extracted his arms from around him and covered him with the blanket. He couldn’t resist laying a soft kiss on his cheek before heading to the door, where he stopped to look back at the figure on the bed.

  Why did life have to be so bloody hard?

  Chapter Nine

  WAKING UP without Samuel next to him sucked, but once he realized he’d slept for over twelve hours, Chris figured that was to be expected. It was nine before he rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. He chose his clothes carefully, or more accurately, his underwear. Bran wasn’t Samuel, in that he wouldn’t be fine simply taking his word that he was back to cutting. Chris expected that he’d want to see the scars for himself.

  Which meant he needed to wear underwear. That wasn’t normal for him, but he found some buried in his duffle anyway. He was actually surprised he’d managed to pack anything useful at all, given what a mad rush he’d been in to simply leave before deciding on coming to New Zealand.

  And now he was going back. He shook his head and finished getting ready for the day. There were things he had to focus on first, like what in the hell he was going to say to Bran when he saw him again. He was drawing a blank, and coffee and some fresh fruit from the hotel lobby didn’t help either.

  It was nearly eleven when Chris turned off the TV and decided to text Samuel. Can you bring my kit to Bran’s house so I can pick it up there? He frowned down at his phone, wanting to say more. Thanks for the blowjob.

  He sent it off before he could change his mind about what to say and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. When he had more time in New Zealand and wasn’t hiding from his best friend, he’d have to do more. The pamphlets of everything he wanted to do near the hotel were already in his duffle bag, ready to go back home with him.

  Back to his tiny apartment in Manhattan that was barely bigger than Samuel’s living room and kitchen put together. He sat up and pulled his knees to his chest as he stared across the room at the black screen of the TV he’d grown tired of watching. This royally sucked.

  He pulled out his phone and tried to distract himself. But his gaze locked on his last text message from Bran. He’d sent it the previous morning, before going down to breakfast. A quick hey was all he’d said. And Bran had texted back about how sunny it was and how he wished Chris was there.

  Missing you, he texted now. He’d be seeing Bran in a few hours, and he couldn’t wait, but he was scared too. They didn’t keep anything from each other, especially not after their blowups in Montana. And Chris had broken the promise they’d made to each other about how there wouldn’t be anything between them again.

  His phone beeped, and he looked down at it. Samuel’s over here. I’m so fucking pissed at him right now. I’m sorry, hon, but it seems that he’s with some asshole named Eddie or some shit. Want me to kick his ass for you?

  Chris laughed. Damn, he loved Bran. Nope. But thanks. He was never expected to wait for me.

  He got a text back almost immediately, which wasn’t all that much of a surprise since it was from Bran, who did like to text. I wanted him to.

  There was nothing good that Chris could say to that. He’d wanted Samuel to wait too, and Samuel had. Samuel wasn’t the problem here, though. It was all him. I know, he finally decided to text back, since Bran would be expecting him to say something.

  Samuel still hadn’t texted him back an hour later when Chris checked himself out of the hotel and headed across the street to the grocery store. Knowing he was at Bran’s, though, Chris figured he was probably busy or something. And it wasn’t like there was some expectation that he’d text Chris back right away. As long as he brought the kit so that Chris could pick it up, Chris would be fine.

  He felt a little weird carrying his duffle bag around the store with him, but it wasn’t as if he had a car to stash it in, and the checkout time for the hotel had been noon, and he didn’t want to be rushed at the store. Especially when he had no idea what he was even looking for.

  “Something to make Bran forgive me…,” he mumbled to himself, heading straight for the alcohol.

  The whiskey made him think of the bourbon they’d all shared in Montana, and he smiled. Bran had always liked vodka, unless his tastes had dramatically changed in the last eight months. Chris felt like shit for not even knowing what his best friend liked to drink anymore.

  Fuck it. Alcohol was hard. Chocolate was much easier. That aisle proved to be a lot more fun as he read the labels of chocolate makers he’d never heard of before and definitely couldn’t get in the States. Maybe Bran had a new favorite chocolatier to go with his life in New Zealand. Anything was possible, Chris knew, since Bran had so easily managed to assimilate himself into farm life. How he’d managed that one, Chris still wasn’t sure. He just knew that he couldn’t have done it so easily. Trent’s goat was more than enough farm exposure for him for a while.

  With a dozen or so chocolate bars in his arms, from all different makers and containing as many various flavors as he’d been able to find, he headed up to the registers. He was nearly checked out, the next person to be rung up, when he turned his head and found Bran staring at him.

  “Um. Hi?” Chris tried weakly.

  “You’re so fucking dead!” Bran practically screeched at him, the box of cereal in his hand falling to the floor as he rushed at Chris, who was already bolting toward the front doors. There was no plan past that, just to run around the parking lot and hopefully keep running while Bran chased him. Eventually Bran would get tired, and by then Chris hoped to have an explanation that made sense.

  But his duffle bag slowed him down and made him clumsy. Bran caught him on his second lap around the outside of the parking lot and tackled him to the grass. “You’re Eddie!” Bran cried, jumping on him and pinning him to the ground.

  As far as things Bran could have been mad at him for, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I am. Hi. I missed you.”

  Bran sat on his hips, keeping him there, and smacked him hard across his cheek. It fucking hurt, and Chris wasn’t at all happy that their spectacle was starting to draw attention.

  “How long have you been here? And you didn’t bother calling me and letting me know!”

  Bran tried smacking him again
, but Chris grabbed his hands and rolled him over, having Bran lying under him instead, even as Bran kicked out at him.

  “A few days. I was going to tell you. Today, actually. I was getting stuff as a peace offering. Chocolate. You like chocolate.” Seeing how furious Bran was at him, though, he knew chocolate wouldn’t have cut it. Not this time. A dozen naked Kadens might have done it, but unfortunately Chris was fresh out of cloning machines.

  “Who else knew you were here before me?” Bran demanded, sounding more hurt than angry now.

  Chris frowned and sighed loudly. “As Eddie or myself? I’m sorry, but a lot of people. Starting with Samuel, then Daniel, Trent, Kylie, Liam, Leilani, and Kaden.”

  Bran scowled at him, and Chris didn’t know what to say to make this any better. “I am sorry, if that matters,” Chris quietly told him. He moved back, letting Bran have some space since he was pretty sure Bran wasn’t going to try to hit him anymore. When he offered Bran his hand to help him up and Bran smacked his hand away, that hurt more than being hit, though.

  “Everyone fucking knew before me. Everyone.” Bran shook his head. “You’re my best friend….”

  “And you’re mine too. That’s why I couldn’t go right to you!” Chris clamped his mouth shut as quickly as he could, but Bran was already staring at him.

  “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” he spat.

  Chris really didn’t want to do this in a parking lot, with people watching them as if they were some kind of circus attraction. “I did something bad. And I went to Samuel for help.”

  Bran flinched back, and when Chris reached for him, he took a step away. “You went to Sam? Instead of me? You barely even know him!”

  Bran rushed him again, and this time it was a punch instead of a slap that caught Chris by surprise and had him stumbling back.

  “When did you become such a violent fuck?” Chris snapped at him as he rubbed his chest where Bran had punched him.

  “When did you start trusting him more than me?” Bran shot back. He started walking away, and Chris was quick to go after him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his light jacket.

  “Wait, Bran, c’mon. Talk to me,” Chris pleaded.

  Bran pulled his arm out of Chris’s grip. “Oh, we’re not done. You’re getting in the fucking car, and we’re going back to my house, where I’m going to interrogate the fuck out of you and find out what the hell is going on with you.”

  “Okay.” Chris could deal with that. At least Bran was talking to him. That was better than the alternative.

  Bran led him to a sleek white sedan. It was completely practical, but it looked fast. Living in Manhattan, neither of them had owned cars. There hadn’t been a need to, and even though Bran’s apartment had come with a parking spot, Chris’s certainly didn’t.

  “Nice car,” he said. “Kaden’s?”

  Bran shook his head. “Mine. I got it once I decided to stay here for good.”

  That made sense, Chris realized. Bran probably needed his own car to get around, and he’d known Bran wouldn’t be coming back to Manhattan, ever. Not when he’d gone from simply subletting his apartment to outright selling it a few months after moving to New Zealand.

  “I’m glad you’re happy here,” he said, meaning every word of it. He wanted Bran happy. He wanted to keep him that way for good.

  “What did you do? That thing that was so bad you couldn’t come to me for help?” Bran asked him, his voice ice cold as they stood beside his car door.

  Chris took a deep breath and wished Bran would look at him. “I’m cutting again,” he whispered, knowing Bran was likely about to blow up again.

  Bran opened the car door so fast he hit himself in his lower lip, splitting it open. “Fuck!” he gasped, and Chris came closer to look at it.

  “You’ll need ice on it when you get back home. Right away or it’ll start swelling.” Shaking his head, he stepped back, giving Bran space to get into the car.

  “Sit your ass in my car,” Bran snapped at him.

  Chris quickly went around to the other side of the car, tossed his duffle onto the backseat, then slid in next to Bran. The car was even nicer on the inside, with black leather interior and bright blue lights that wound around the dash, illuminating everything.

  “You always did have really good taste.”

  “Shut up until we get home. Not one fucking word, Chris. I’m too fucking pissed at you right now to hear any more of your bullshit and lies. You’re cutting? Again? What the absolute fuck—no. Don’t answer that. And don’t you dare fucking tell Kaden about how fucking much I’m cussing right now. I’m trying to get better about that.”

  Chris snorted. “You must really love him, then, to try to tame down that mouth.”

  “What the fuck did I just tell you?” Bran snapped at him, and Chris instantly shut his lips.

  They were pulling up in front of Bran and Kaden’s house a while later, and it was even nicer than the pictures Bran had sent him suggested. Though far more traditional in style than Samuel’s lavish log cabin built of old wood and natural stone, it was no less beautiful and just as large. It suited Bran, in a way he’d never thought his big apartment in New York had. Bran had always seemed more like a house person, and he certainly had one now.

  Trent was coming out of the front door as they were coming up, but he quickly started retreating as he caught sight of them.

  “Running away won’t help you!” Bran called after him.

  “Don’t be mad at Trent. I blackmailed him,” Chris revealed as he slung his duffle over his shoulder. Bran shot him a dark look.

  Everyone stopped talking in the kitchen once they came into the house, and Chris briefly met Samuel’s gaze before Bran grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him into the living room, which was right off the kitchen but would give them some privacy.

  “Sit,” Bran ordered, releasing him in front of a comfortable-looking leather sofa.

  “No. You sit. I’ll be back in a second,” Chris said, heading back into the kitchen. He ignored everyone in there, or would have if Kaden hadn’t gotten in his way. “What?” he snapped at him.

  “I told you that your lies were going to be—”

  Chris walked around him, cutting him off midtirade, and went right to the freezer to pull out two ice cubes. He didn’t feel like looking for a towel to wrap the ice in and really didn’t want to be around Kaden, with him glaring at him like he was, any longer than he had to be. He dragged his fingers across Samuel’s stomach as he walked past him and back to the living room, where Bran was looking murderously at him. Chris popped the ice into his mouth, since he hadn’t taken the time to grab a glass for the cubes and didn’t want to get water spots on any of the furniture, then stripped off his shirt without thinking about his tattoo until he saw Bran staring at him, his mouth open.

  “When the hell did you get that?”

  He spat the ice cubes into his shirt, wrapped the material around them, then pushed Bran onto the couch. Bran had gained a lot of muscle working on the farm, but he was still easy to maneuver when he was in shock like he was right then.

  “Seven months ago,” Chris said offhandedly as he sat down on Bran’s lap, putting his knees on either side of Bran’s hips and keeping him trapped on the couch as he pressed the ice to Bran’s swelling lip.

  “It looks Maori.”

  Chris nodded. “It is. Stop talking. I’m trying to fix your lip.”

  “I can do this myself,” Bran argued with him.

  He was sure Bran could. They weren’t children, after all. But it was nice to be doing something, to feel like he was helping Bran for once in their lives, instead of just causing him more trouble. Samuel, Kaden, and Trent began filing into the living room, all of them staring at him and Bran. Chris tried not to feel like he was a bug under a microscope with their scrutiny.

  “If you hit him…,” Kaden warned.

  Chris rolled his eyes. “He hit himself with the car door. And I’m the one that got smac
ked and punched, thank you so much for your concern.”

  Bran glared at him, though he didn’t say anything, and Chris slowly nodded, understanding Bran’s look. He couldn’t talk to Kaden like that if he ever wanted Bran to forgive him. He looked over his shoulder at Kaden as he saw him sit down between Samuel and Trent.

  “Sorry. I’m kind of an asshole when I’m upset. And sorry about yesterday too. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” Chris muttered.

  His apology done, he turned back to Bran and pulled the ice off his lip, not wanting to keep the cold on there for too long. “There, you’ll live. Keep ice on it, on and off. You know the drill.” He tried getting off Bran’s lap, but Bran put his hands on Chris’s hips, stopping him.

  “Are you really cutting again?” he asked, sounding so scared and making Chris wish he’d done anything but that.

  Screwing around would have sucked, but Bran wouldn’t be looking at him like he was right now if Chris had just gone back to being a slut. He’d be disappointed, Chris knew, but he wouldn’t be afraid.

  Slowly nodding, Chris felt sick as he looked down at Bran and saw only fear in his expression. “I am. I have been for the last four months.”

  “Misha was supposed to watch you.”

  He wasn’t a child that needed supervision, but given what he’d done to himself the same week Misha had left, maybe, in a way, he did need someone around to look after him and make sure he didn’t screw up.

  “He’s been in the Middle East since about the same time I started hurting myself again.”

  “Strip,” Bran demanded, his voice suddenly cold.

  Chris laughed dryly. “Want to give your boyfriend a show, then?”

  Bran slapped him again, and Chris knew he deserved it, but it still fucking stung. He rubbed his cheek and met Bran’s gaze. He looked shocked.

  “I’ve never once hit you before today. And now I’ve done it a lot. Shit.”