Broken (35 page)

“I don’t want your money, Theodore.”

“Well I’m not living here for nothing. I didn’t sign up for a sugar daddy. This is a partnership, and I want to pay my way.”

“You make it sound like a business deal. Where would you like me to sign?”

Jerking my leg, I kick him in the shin. “Stop being a wanker. I’m serious.”

“Serious about moving in with me?” There’s a glimmer of hope in his rich brown eyes. It’s infectious, and as much as I want to keep a straight face, my smile betrays me. “I’ll need to talk to Tess. See if she can manage the rent on her own.”

“Theodore, is it a yes?”

“Yes,” I breathe, enthusiasm fizzing in my chest. “It’s a yes!”

James’ lips crash into mine, stealing my breath for a moment.
Oh my God…
The feel of him, the taste… “Fuck I’ve missed you,” I say into his mouth, gripping the back of his head, keeping him close.

Our tongues dance together, our lips brushing, stubble grating, in a slow, savouring kiss. This is where I’m meant to be, with James, forever.

Wriggling my hips, I adjust my body, trying to loosen the tight denim straining against my hard cock. I want him so badly. I
need
to feel his skin on mine. Walking my fingers down to the hem of his shirt, I start to lift, my knuckles skimming the faint trail of hair on his stomach.

“Wait,” he urges, grabbing my wrist. His grip is weak, his nerves damaged, but I pull back immediately, concern flooding my veins when I see the look of fear on his face. After pulling his t-shirt back down, he tugs on his sleeve, unwittingly revealing the cause of his anxiety.

I haven’t seen his scars yet. I haven’t pushed him to show me, but, “It’s time, James,” I say, kneeling up and pushing him onto his back. Lifting my leg, I straddle his hips, pinching the bottom of his shirt between my fingers.

Slowly, I tease the white material upwards. The unwarranted shame pouring from James is palpable as I guide it over his head and it breaks my heart. I don’t look at his wrists straightaway, feeling as terrified as he does about my reaction. First, I toss his shirt behind me and kiss his lips, lingering there for a moment before moving onto his chest.

His old scars are familiar. They no longer fill me with sadness. They’re a part of him, and he’s beautiful, but after kissing each one, my palm smoothing the soft flesh hugging his faded muscles, I know it’s time to see, and
accept
, the new ones.

“You don’t ever need to hide from me, James,” I say, my eyes trained on his as I run my fingers down his colourful arm.

He gapes at me with curiosity through hooded eyes as I trace the raised lines with the pad of my thumb. “I’m going to look now, okay?”

He nods once, so slightly it almost wasn’t there.

Conscious of each deep breath I take, I let my gaze travel down his arm, over the delicate cherry blossoms inked onto his skin, and to his wrist.

Oh, James…

I follow the angry, crisscrossed scars that rip into the lilac peony with my fingers before lowering my head and resting my lips on them. I do the same to his other arm, the scars more pronounced there without tattoos to hide behind, and then lay my cheek against his chest.

“Do they make you angry with me?” James whispers with a tremor in his voice. “You can be honest with me.”

“No,” I breathe. “I’m grateful.”

“
Grateful?
”

“Grateful that I’m able to see them, see
you
, like this. Healing.”

Closing my eyes, I kiss them again, before pressing my chest to his and nuzzling his neck. The scar on his throat from the tracheostomy is small, but red and puckered, and I kiss there too before whispering, “I love you, James. Inside
and
out. I’m sorry for not making you see that sooner.”

“It was never about my feelings for you,” he murmurs, twiddling a strand of my hair around his finger. “You do know that, right? You didn’t let me down, Theodore. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

I
want
to believe that.

“Sometimes I wish we could’ve met at a different point in our lives. Talking to Peter made me realise that this has been building since my father’s death. That was my trigger. I was slipping long before I met you. You’ve only ever known me during the worst part of my life, and I wish I could change that.”

“I don’t,” I say, my words oozing conviction. I lift my head, looking at him. “I fell in love with you at your worst. I’ve had some of the best times of my life with you at, as you say, your worst. So I can’t even imagine how special life will be when I get to experience your
best
.”

James smiles, cupping my cheeks with his hands. “How do you do that?” he asks with a mesmerising glint of wonder in his eyes. “See the positive in everything?”

“Well, it’s easier when you’re not a whack-job.”

Laughing, James smacks my arse, hard enough to smart even through the denim.

“We’re going to be okay, James.
You’re
going to be okay.”

He half-smiles, but it’s awkward, like he doesn’t quite know how to believe that yet.

Touching my nose to his, I whisper, “We’ll take it one breath, one moment…” I brush his lips with mine. “…One
kiss
at a time.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I have lots of plans. Like now, I plan to kiss your neck…” I whisper straight into his ear. “Then I plan to lick a trail down your chest.” I wedge my hand between our bodies, undoing the button on his pants.

“Oh yeah? Then what?” he asks, arching his hips while I tug at his waistband, guiding his pants and boxers down his legs. He kicks them from his ankles while I rip off my t-shirt.

“Then…” I continue, kissing and nibbling my way down his body. “I plan to do this…” Hovering my mouth above his cock, my tongue darts out, flicking his swollen head.

“Christ, Theodore,” he moans, the words muffled from biting his bottom lip.

Lowering my head, I take him all the way to the back of my mouth, sucking him deep until he hits my throat. For a few seconds, I hold him there, the tip of my tongue tracing the thick vein that travels along the centre of his rigid shaft.

“Mmm,” I groan, knowing the vibrations from my lips will drive him insane as I slowly drag my mouth up and down.

Releasing his cock, I blow softly, the sensation causing James to moan, fisting the sheets by his side. “You like that, huh?” I say, grinning proudly, fully aware of the answer.

Shifting a little lower down the mattress, I pry his legs further apart, my hands on the inside of his thighs, and run my tongue down the seam of his balls, stopping when I reach his tight hole. Moistening my lips, I kiss the puckered rim before dipping the tip of my tongue just barely inside.

“Oh
fuck
,” he breathes, gripping my hair. Then he yanks my head away, leaving me bewildered and panting for air.

“
You’re
the one getting fucked tonight, Theodore.” His voice is firm, demanding, and it makes every nerve ending in my body tingle with excitement.

In less than a second, he’s pinned me on my back, my jeans halfway down my legs. I hardly have time to take a breath before his hot mouth is clamped around my cock. He’s not gentle, doesn’t take his time. He’s urgent,
fast
, in complete control.

“S-stop.” My tone is weak, yet begging. It’s been too long, he feels too good, and if he doesn’t slow down the moment I’ve been anticipating for weeks will be over in seconds.

James looks up, his lips curled into a mischievous grin…then he goes back for more.

“Oh my God,” I whimper, my hips bucking of their own accord, pushing my throbbing cock further into his mouth.

As if he knows when I’m about to enter the point of no return, he releases me and moves between my cheeks. He sucks, licks, and kisses in between fucking me with his fingers. Then he lands back on my cock and starts all over again.

“P-please, James,” I urge. “I can’t hold off much longer.” I’m writhing and panting under his assault, my balls heavy, aching for release.

Offering me a moment of mercy while I remember how to breathe, James crawls onto his knees and nestles himself between my legs.

Stretching, I fumble in the bedside table drawer, plucking out a condom and a bottle of lube. James takes them from me, twiddling the condom between his fingers as he lowers his lips to my ear. “Let me feel you
properly
,” he whispers. “I haven’t been with anyone but you since I was last tested.”

Neither have I.

“I want to feel you around me, nothing between us, just me and you.”

“Yes,” I breathe, taking the condom from his fingers and tossing it over the edge of the bed.

Falling back on his heels, our gazes interlocked, James drizzles some lube onto his fingers before wrapping them around his cock and massaging it up and down. He rubs the excess around my hole, working his fingers in and out a couple more times, before nudging the entrance with his cock and falling forward onto my chest.

One hand around the nape of my neck, the other gripping the back of my thigh, he speaks into my ear. “I love you, Theodore,” he murmurs, pushing into me slowly.

The pressure is exquisite, and I palm his neck, never taking my eyes off him. “James…” I sigh his name, the feeling of him inside me, stretching,
filling
me, almost too much to handle. A rush of emotion overwhelms me, tears pricking the back of my eyes as he slides gently, leisurely, in and out of my body.

As if sensing the intensity, the significance of this moment, he kisses my lips, his tongue softly tickling mine. “You feel incredible this way.”

My hips move in rhythm with his, my cock rubbing against his stomach. I grip his back, the pads of my fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Oh, yeah…right there. Feels…so good,” I choke out, his pace increasing steadily.

We’re connected, body and soul,
nothing
between us, and it’s perfect.
He’s
perfect. “I love you so much, James.”

He kisses me again, soft and gentle, and when he pulls away, straightening his back and grabbing my other thigh, I know he’s about to switch gear.

“Take your dick, Theodore. I want to watch you while I pound the fuck out of you.”

Swallowing, my heart rate quickening in anticipation, I reach for my cock, curling my fingers around the base.

“Ready?” he asks with a wicked spark in his dark eyes.

Too breathless to speak, I start to nod…but he rocks into me with so much force my head smacks the headboard before I’ve finished. “
Fuck,
” I hiss, hammering my cock with my hand.

His deep thrusts come hard and fast, the effort creating glistening beads of sweat on his chest. Pressure builds in my stomach and tingles shoot down my spine as he hits a spot I didn’t even know existed, over and over again.

“I’m gonna…I’m com…oh…
fuuuuck
.” My whole body judders, the muscles in my legs clench, as jets of creamy, hot cum spurt from the tip of my cock, coating James’ stomach.

“So fucking beautiful,” he spits through gritted teeth, red heat crawling across his collarbones as he drives into me one last time, his cock pulsating inside me. “Fuck, yes.”

I give him a moment to come down from the high, for his body to stop quivering, then I pull him onto my chest. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m not sure where we go from here.”

Stroking his flushed cheek, I smile. A simple action, yet one filled with so much love, so much hope…so many promises. “Forward,” I whisper, running my fingers through his damp hair. “One breath,” I kiss his lips again. “One
kiss
…at a time.”

Going forward won’t be easy, especially for James. He has a lot to work through, a lot of demons to face and healing to do, but while he does I will be here. Right by his side. Always.

“You’ll be okay.”

Nodding, just slightly, he kisses my cheek. “I’ll be okay.”

~James~

One year later…

“
Come
in,” I bark to whoever just knocked on my office door. I’m using my lunch break to polish my latest novel, a story loosely based on my life and experiences with mental health. It was Peter’s idea. At first, I laughed in his face, then started writing it purely to prove him wrong. But, much to my annoyance, he was right.

The characters are fictional, and only Theodore and I would be able to see just how much truth there is to their story, but I’m not writing a confession to the world. I’m doing it because it’s therapeutic. Writing this book has been a life altering process, allowing the thoughts and feelings I’ve suppressed for so many years to bleed onto the page without fear of shame or judgement...because it’s ‘fiction.’

So, yes, Peter was right, and he took a disgusting amount of pleasure from hearing those words slip from my mouth. When he’s not pissing me off, Peter and I get on great. I gave up hope many years ago of ever being ‘normal’, but working with Peter has made me realise I don’t have to be ‘normal’ to be happy. So what if my brain is wired wrong? It hasn’t stopped me being successful. It hasn’t stopped me forming relationships, loving people, letting them love
me
. And if my fuse trips, I have faith in the people around me to help me fix it back in place.

As Peter must’ve said a thousand times, broken crayons can still colour.

I’ve learned to
talk
, recognise my triggers, ask for help when I need it. I’ve also told a handful of trusted colleagues about my illness, built up a support system in case things spiral again. That doesn’t make me weak. It makes me
determined
. I know what it’s like to walk along the shore, and I won’t risk drowning in the black waters again. I have too much to fight for, to
live
for.

Looking up briefly from the manuscript I’m working on, I see Mike striding towards my desk. “What can I help you with?” I ask, frustrated by his interruption.

“I’ve drawn up the contract for Patricia Dennis.”

“She’s a gay fiction writer.”

“I know, but-”

“Then present it to Theodore.”

Huffing, Mike slaps his file closed. Three months ago we opened a new division dedicated to gay fiction and LGBT romance. Theodore manages the department, not because we live together, but because he fucking
earned
it. The concept was his idea, he drew up the plans, worked out the finances, and brought Stacey on board to help him bring it all together.

I’m not sure how this affects Mike in the slightest, and he knows better than to voice his disapproval to my face, but it’s glaringly obvious that it pisses him the hell off to have Theodore on a level playing field.

I returned to work a month after being discharged from hospital last year and the business was struggling for the first time in years. With support from Theodore and guidance from my financial advisor, we closed down three departments and started contracting out to freelancers. It was a difficult stage, one which I was only marginally strong enough to cope with at the time, but I got through it, the business got through it, and now we’re almost back to where we were when my father died.

That is, in part, credit to Theodore’s enthusiasm, hard work, and determination to make our expansion into LGBT fiction a success. He still writes, and is about to release his first book through the company, but his main focus is on Holden House. On a professional level, I have nothing but praise and the utmost respect for Theodore. On a personal level, I love him with all my heart. He saved my life. He continues to save it every single day. He’s my hope, my strength, my reason to carry on. He’s the best friend I always imagined having.

He’s my everything.

“I just thought,” Mike replies. “Your office is closer.”

“I’m the CEO, Mike, not your errand boy. Anything else?”

“No,” he says, head down as he turns away.

“Oh and, Mike?”

“Yes?”

“When you get back, black – two sugars.” I’m not even thirsty, but the cocky bastard brings out my petulant side.

“No problem,” he agrees, in a tone laced with copious amounts of
fuck you
. It makes me smile.

Once alone, I call Max to double-check the time Isobel finishes school. Theodore and I are picking her up and taking her home for dinner. It’s become a regular Friday routine since Laura, Max’s wife, began an evening floristry course at the local college two months ago. Two months, and I still can’t remember what time she finishes school.

We have lots of routines these days. Every night, bar Friday’s, after work, we jog together – sometimes around the block, others at the park. It
always
ends in a competition and
I
always win. My legs are longer, but I tell Theodore it’s simply because I’m fitter than him.

We spend Sunday’s in Rochdale with Theodore’s mother, and once a month we take her out for lunch. It took a while to convince her that it was
okay
to take a day off from the kitchen once in a while, but she refuses to go anywhere flashier than a pub. She’s a great woman who I have nothing but respect and admiration for, and dare I say, I think she might actually like
me,
too – especially since I stopped smoking.

On Saturday’s we visit my grandfather in the nursing home. He doesn’t know who either of us are and often refers to Theodore as the ‘pansy nurse’ who keeps hiding the whiskey, that he doesn’t even own. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know who I am, he’s my relative, and I now realise just how important family is.

Max and I have grown so much closer over the last twelve months, and that’s because
now
, I’m ready to let that happen. I spent my whole life keeping people at arms length, foolishly believing I was protecting both them
and
myself. The scars on my wrists, still raised, but fading, are a daily reminder, however, that my methods didn’t turn out too great, so I decided to embrace being open, allowing myself to love,
be
loved, in the hope it would ease the weight of the pain that’s suffocated me since I was a child.

It did.

The darkness still looms over my head, threatening to rain down on me. Some days it does, only now I have people there to help me dry off before it seeps into my bones. I’d like one of those people to be my mother, but we don’t talk much these days. She didn’t take it well when I stood up to her over the business, when I reiterated the fact my father left his share to
me
and
only
me. She’s disappointed in me, and dare I say, a little ashamed. We have a civil as opposed to loving relationship, and I’m okay with that.

I’m okay, just like Theodore, just like the song, said I would be.

~Theo~

“Did you buy mince?” I ask James as we stand outside Isobel’s school gates. I’m planning to cook my renowned shepherd’s pie with baked beans in for tea; a meal which earned instant approval from Izzy the first time she tried it.

“I thought
you
were buying it.”

“
No.
I asked
you
.”

“Well I didn’t.” He shrugs. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.” He looks hot as hell wearing his grey suit and a delicious smirk. Images of ripping them from his body take over my mind…and then I remember where we are and want to slap myself across the face for thinking inappropriate thoughts.

“We’ll take her to McDonald’s. Kids love McDonald’s.”

“Shepherd’s pie is healthier.”

“We’re the cool uncles. Let her parents worry about her vegetable intake.”

I can’t help but smile. We
are
the cool uncles, and I love it. Children bring a refreshing, carefree quality with them, one that is too easy to forget when you’re an adult with pressures and responsibilities. Isobel reminds us of the important things in life, like taking time out to ignore the stresses of the world and just…laugh. She doesn’t care that we have deadlines or bills to pay, and while she’s with us, neither do we.

My nephew, William, on the other hand, is a whole different level of scary. We had him for the first time last week and it was terrifying. He can’t talk, so I have to guess what he wants when he starts bawling the freaking house down, and unfortunately for him, Baby isn’t a language I’ve mastered yet.

He’s on the move, too, using his tiny arms to drag himself along on his stomach. Eighteen times I had to pull him away from danger – electrical sockets, low cupboards, doors – in just
one
hour. By the time Tom picked him up, I was exhausted.

That’s the
best
part of being a cool uncle – you get to send them home again.

“At least tell me you posted the passport forms?” I say. We’re going to Tenerife in two months. James is going to show me the places he saw as a child and I can’t wait. I’ve only been out of England twice in my life but that isn’t the main reason I’m looking forward to it. For two whole weeks James and I will be completely alone, away from all sources of stress and monotony. I can’t wait to relax with him, laugh with him,
love
him…all while trying to get a spot of colour on my pasty white skin.

“I got Helen to do it.”

Typical.
At least the job is done so I can’t grumble.

“How’s my princess?” James sings, bending down to Isobel’s level as she runs towards him. The look on his face, the radiant smile, when he’s with this precious girl is priceless. I never tire of seeing it.

“Harley got in trouble for snapping Freya’s pencil today,” Izzy says, ever the busybody. “
I
dint. I
never
get in trouble.”

“
Didn’t.
And I should hope not, young lady.” James picks at an orange stain splattered across her white polo-shirt. “What did you have for dinner, little lady?”

“Pasta, and it was embarrassing,” she says, pulling a face.

“Do you mean disgusting?”

“Yeah. It was ‘orrible. I dint like it.”

“
Didn’t
, not
dint.
”

She literally rolls her eyes at him and turns to me. “Thedor,” she says. She struggles with my name, but refuses to call me Theo since James told her I was named after the chipmunk.
Arsehole.
“Can I play on your gotchi when we get home?”

After mentioning, just
once
, not long after we met, that I always envied kids with
official
Tamagotchi’s when I was little
,
James made it his secret mission to find me one, presenting it to me on my birthday. I’ve no idea how he got it – an original, boxed, nineties edition – but I assume he paid a fuck-tonne for it on eBay. It’s a crappy toy, but one of the most cherished things I own.

For
James’
birthday, I bought him some solid gold, anchor cufflinks. He told me about the analogy Peter used while he was in hospital and it resonates with me to this day. I’m proud to be his anchor, grateful he trusts me enough to let me support him. When he opened the gift, I told him to look at them whenever he feels like he’s drifting away from me and
believe
. Believe in
me
. Believe in
us
.

It was the first birthday in a long time that he didn’t spend alone and we celebrated by staying in, being naked, and simply enjoying each other. He’ll never be alone again.

“You better,” I reply to Isobel. “He’s not been fed today. But first, how does a chicken nugget Happy Meal sound?”

“Yeah!” she shouts, her smile beaming. “Is Tess coming too?”

Tess joins us for tea sometimes on the occasions Lucy is working the late-shift in her new job at a call centre. When she’s
not
working, they’d rather be on Canal Street than watching Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom. Maybe I’m ageing prematurely, but after a day dealing with twatwaffles like Mike, I’d much rather chill out on the sofa playing Who Can Fit the Biggest Scoop of Ice Cream in Their Mouth, than getting wasted.

“Sorry, darlin’ she’s out with Lucy tonight.”

Isobel pouts, but quickly forgets about it. “When I’m olderer I want purple hair like Tess.”

“You do, eh?” I take one of her hands, James takes the other, and we swing her up and down on the way to the car. “And an earring in my tongue like her, too.”

Max and Laura must curse me daily for bringing Tess into Isobel’s life, especially when she got home last week and said some kid in her class was an arsewipe.

Stopping in his tracks, James drops Isobel’s hand. “Race you to the car?”