Authors: Cara Dee
You can say that
.
"Background story," I said. "Julian and I sleep together. Sleep-sleep. We've ended up sharing a bed lately 'cause it's easier not being alone, and we're there for each other when we have nightmares."
Tennyson nodded slowly, not appearing to see any issue. "A bit unusual, perhaps, but if it works for you, then great."
"Right, except tonight I dreamed about fucking him."
I almost dry-heaved right then and there.
My chest constricted and my stomach rolled as the images flashed by me once more. They were glimpses I hoped my brain could block out soon. Until there was nothing left.
Tennyson looked at me with concern. "That doesn't have to mean anything, Noah."
"He's my nephew," I spat out. "It's fucking disgusting."
I pressed my palms against my eyes and flinched. Fuck, I could see us. In the dream, our family had been alive, too. At a reunion, Julian and I had snuck into my old room, and the next thing I remembered, I was fucking him up the ass.
"I'm not sure it matters what I say here," Tennyson told me. "It's not like you've forgotten the fact that you're not actually related."
"Semantics," I said dismissively.
"Is it, though?" He tilted his head. "I have a feeling you'd view Julian as a family member more if you'd been closer before the accident. Family has little to do with blood, my friend. Say JJ had been adopted, or even your sister. You would've seen them as family regardless, because you had that relationship. You never did with Julian, as far as I'm concerned."
I got what he was saying, but it didn't help.
"Do you see him as your nephew?" he asked.
I stared at him, frowning. "He is my nephew."
"Not what I asked." He cocked a brow.
I sighed heavily and looked down. Did it really matter how I saw Julian? Major boundaries had been crossed. The woman he'd called Mom was my sister. Forget the fact that I wasn't even gay; it was still wrong on so many levels. And that feeling was real. It
felt
fucked up. Even more so because I'd enjoyed it in the dream.
Heave
.
I'd unleashed a monster within me I hoped wasn't real, and he'd begged for more.
"Jesus." I bent over and tried to breathe. "He's just a kid."
At that, Tennyson snorted. "He's twenty-three. And need I remind you that my wife is seventeen years younger than me? She was twenty-one when we met. Surely you remember. You were there, for heaven's sake."
Yeah, but it had been fun when it wasn’t me. And no family ties had been involved.
"You call him kid like I used to call you kid," he went on. He wasn't bothered at all, which was fucked. "You were well into your thirties when that nickname kind of died out. It doesn’t mean anything."
It meant something to
me
.
I cared about Julian more than I could say. That was clear. But maybe our attachment to one another had grown unhealthy. We couldn’t rely on each other all the time, so sleeping alone might be a better idea.
Chapter 9
Two weeks later
"I'm on my way home now," I said. Well, I was supposed to be on my way home. In reality, I was stuck in traffic and going absolutely nowhere. As one tended to do in LA. "Is Zane flying out with you? Been a while since we all got together."
Daniel hummed on the other end, always working these days. When I met him, he'd been Sophie's PA. Now, he ran his own management business and had employees in both New York and LA. Not too shabby for a guy under forty.
"No, he's wrapping up his last shoot," he replied. "He's looking forward to ex-model life." I could hear him typing quickly on his computer in the background. "After this year, I'm gonna slow down a bit, too. Did Sophie tell you we're adopting?"
I grinned tiredly and scrubbed a hand over my face. "She did. We've kinda been waiting for it."
He chuckled. "Yeah, Asher mentioned a damn bet." It was our thing. "Anyway, the reason I called you. Tennyson wants recommendations for a PA agency for
Catching Stars
. If you're happy with Nicky, I'll go with the one he's at. Less paperwork, and you just have to sign him over to another payroll."
"I honestly don't need a PA yet—or anymore, I guess." I yawned and went for my coffee. Fuck, lukewarm. "Is he on a contract?"
Technically, we were in pre-production at this point, but it was mostly Tennyson making calls. We had a location scout working too, and I was doing rewrites and storyboarding. Either way, no assistant needed.
"He's not, no, so I'll give him a call and thank him for his time." Daniel paused. "You sound tired as hell, man. Are you all right?"
No. "Sure," I answered. "Feels good to be back at work."
In truth, though, I was feeling depressed. Frustrated, stifled, rattled, and depressed.
I barely slept. I got two or three hours a night and spent the rest of the time talking to myself. That fucking dream… I'd had it on a few more occasions, and it shook me every time. Realistically, I knew I dreamed about Julian more because I was obsessing. If I'd been able to let it fucking go, maybe it wouldn’t be an issue.
Maybe I wouldn’t wake up hard as a rock for all the wrong reasons.
"Did you forget you're not the actor in our group of misfits?" Daniel asked dryly.
"Don't mother me, buddy," I chuckled. "I get enough of that from Sophie and Brook."
Tennyson was a man of his word. He hadn't told Sophie about my…fucked-up state…but that didn't mean she was blind. She could tell I was more tired than usual, quieter—or what she called broodier.
"I hear ya. Still, you know we're here," Daniel said. "Same goes for Julian. How's he doing?"
Same as me, which was worse. I hadn't wanted him to be hurt by me pulling away for no apparent reason, so I had been honest with him.
Kinda honest.
I'd told him about my concerns of codependency and how relying on each other too much could ultimately keep us from moving on.
From that moment on, we had both
pretended
. Everything was
fine
. Forced smiles, conversation too casual, insignificant topics. We remained close, but another type of distance had been wedged in between us. And that was on me.
"He's playing a lot," I told Daniel, which was true. Julian did play. Every night, I heard him on the baby grand. His sheet music and scribbled notes were all over the loft. I dug that. "I think he's formed some strange friendship with Tennyson, too."
It wasn't
strange
in that sense; I'd just figured he'd connect more with Sophie, for some reason. But Tennyson and Julian appeared to enjoy discussing film and music together.
"How's that strange?"
I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. "I don't know. Maybe the age? Julian should be interested in finding friends his own age. Sophie and Zane are the only ones who come close in our group."
Daniel laughed. "Right, but the rest of us are fun-loving cradle robbers. How could he resist?" Rather than finding him funny, I couldn’t help but cringe. Cradle robbing hit too close to home today. "I can't believe I'm telling
you
this," he went on, "but unclench, Noah. We don't always find what we want in our own age categories."
No, that was becoming painfully fucking clear.
*
When I came home and parked in the garage, I saw my truck in its spot. It meant Nicky was here, or he had returned the truck. Grabbing my stuff, I headed for the elevator and went up to our floor.
As soon as the doors opened, I was hit by bass from loud music and the smell of both cigarettes and weed.
There was no way Tennyson and Sophie were home. They would've noticed and called me. I hoped.
I dug out my keys and unlocked the door, torn between being irritated and worried. I found Julian in the middle of the couch. He lit up a joint as hard-core porn played on the flat screen.
Jesus fucking Christ
.
Slamming the door shut got me his attention, but he was too stoned to be shocked. He had no expression whatsoever. He calmly lowered the volume on the stereo, and instead of turning off the porno, he poured a glass of vodka and soda.
He'd bought alcohol. Fucker.
"Welcome home," he said lazily. "How did your meetings go?"
I didn't answer, too fucking pissed. But the worry didn't go anywhere, 'cause this wasn't him.
"What the fuck're you doing, Julian?"
He smirked. "I'm having some courage. Want some? We have the liquid variety, and Nicky hooked me up with the marijuana variety. He also gave me a bowl, but I don't know how to smoke it."
I stared at him, debating internally, then sighed and set my bag and poster tubes on the floor.
"Have you ever gotten high before, kid?" I asked.
He scowled as I joined him on the couch. "You need to stop that crap,
Uncle
. I know you think I'm all innocent and sweet, but we have weed in Germany, too." He shrugged and leaned back.
I shook my head and looked at the coffee table. A bag of weed, tobacco, two packs of cigarettes, rolling papers… One bottle of vodka, one bottle of my favorite mainstream whiskey, mixers all over…
"Just how much courage do you need?" I wondered.
He leaned forward again and placed a glass in front of me. "It's for you, too. So you don't get mad." He scooped a spoonful of crushed ice into my glass and recreated the Jameson and ginger I taught him weeks ago. "There's something I need to tell you, and I was nervous as hell about it. But then Nicky showed up."
Funny how quickly that broke my resolve. What the
fuck
made him so nervous? And why did that make me nervous, too? He better not be fucking leaving. Who knew what else Nicky had hooked him up with. Friends? A better uncle?
I winced.
All right, bring on the drinks
.
My mouth watered, and the two first sips went down smoothly, spreading warmth on the way down.
"What's with the porn?" I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and got comfortable on the couch. "Doesn't really seem like your taste."
"You don't know my taste."
I chuckled and chugged more of my drink. "You're into S&M?"
Two women were being brutally topped by a guy in leather. He wielded one hell of a whip and made the girls sob before they crawled to suck his cock.
Julian appeared transfixed, and it didn't add up.
One glance at his crotch told me it didn't have a physical reaction on him.
Fuck
.
I tore away and drained my glass.
"I've never done that," Julian said quietly.
I frowned. "Done what?"
"Given oral. I've received, been fucked, and topped, but never given oral."
And so the gay cat was out of the bag.
It struck me pretty fast he didn't know what he'd confessed, though.
My second drink went down in one go. I had a feeling I'd need it if sex was the topic. I poured a third, and then Julian extended a joint to me.
It'd been years…
Even in the City of Weed, it wasn't too common in my circles.
I accepted the joint and took a small puff, testing the potency. He hadn't blended it with a lot of tobacco, and it was some quality shit. Sweet, strong. Immediate effect.
Fuck…yeah…
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and took another drag. This was better than alcohol. My age had gotten in the way of fun. Back in the day, I smoked a lot of weed, but then I'd grown up.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better than I have in a couple weeks," I admitted. Cracking one eye open, I found him watching me. "This ain't becoming a fucking habit."
He grinned, his eyes a little glazed.
I liked seeing him happy.
The shadows under his eyes were back, though. My damn fault. I closed my eyes again and took a pull from the joint, and I held it. I held it until troubles faded and my nightmare was plain desire.
"Nicky asked me out."
Of course he did. Julian was a good-looking guy.
I turned to him, and yeah, he really did look good. I hadn't paid attention to his appearance before. Not a lot, anyway.
I took a final drag before leaning forward to put it out. "What did you say to him?"
"That…that I'd think about it."
I side-eyed him. No more bullshit. "Why have you been hiding that you're gay?"
Despite being high as a kite and halfway to Drunkville, he looked worried and ashamed. "Can we talk about that another time? I'm feeling all right for the first time in ages."
Fair enough.
I wanted to know eventually, though.
"I'll be right back," I said. I wanted to change into sweats and a T-shirt, and I needed to clear my head.
Julian returned to watching porn, and I escaped to my room. But nothing worked. The images from the dreams I'd had about him were back, and now there was nothing repulsive about them.
I washed my face and stared at my reflection.
Dating Nicky… Yeah. A guy his age. It was perfect. But fuck it if it didn't irritate me. I missed Julian. I wanted just a little bit more—a bit closer. As if squeezing him to me could bring relief. It was fucked, but it was how I felt.
"I'm screwed," I muttered to myself. I stripped down, took a leak, and then I turned on the shower. If I didn't sober up, I'd go too far, and I needed to let this go. Maybe find a woman. Someone I could fuck, hold, and take comfort from. It didn't sit well with me, but it seemed like that was the best option.
Except…not.
I showered quickly, the water cold, and it worked a little. Unfortunately, my thoughts were as fucked as ever. Sobriety didn't change the fact that I ached to get the aforementioned comfort from Julian. Whichever woman I put in that position would be a replacement.
As I yanked on a pair of sweats, I warred with myself. I'd become a masochist for it. Logic told me space was good. Logic told me I was just deprived of touch, and my desires would change if I got what I needed elsewhere. But my heart didn't agree. Julian wasn't a mere convenience.
Lastly, my body… What my body ached for was fucking obvious, and for better or worse, I had a past of listening to it. Even when I shouldn’t. Perhaps especially then.
I threw the towel in the laundry basket and left my room.
Julian was still on the couch watching porn, but the movie was new, and I couldn’t say he didn't have a physical reaction anymore. He was leaning forward and shielding his crotch, and his face was flushed. He couldn’t look away from the two dudes fucking on the screen. Well, he did glance over at me once, making me question my choice not to wear a shirt.
"Isn't this something you should watch in private?" I asked, resigned.
Like I'd said, I was screwed. I would fuck shit up sooner or later.
"Most likely," Julian replied. "You can always tell me to shut it off."
Nice try, kid.
He was not throwing a goddamn challenge in my face, thinking he'd get away with it. Whatever reaction he wanted, I wouldn’t give. We both knew when push came to shove, my balls were bigger. I didn't need weed or alcohol to speak my mind.
No, you only need it to numb out your entire life.
"I don't give a fuck." I tossed the notion of sobriety out the window and poured another drink. "You can watch whatever you want."
And he did. He'd hooked up his laptop to the flat screen, and he tended to pick videos with a lot of blow jobs. I hoped it wasn't for educational purposes, 'cause in porn, "good" head was all choking and facials.
In the meantime, I nursed a drink and reminisced about the times when I was fun. Noah Collins, always there for a good time. No complications, no internal wars, no attachments.
I missed those days.
Now, I had an ex who had stomped all over my heart—though, perhaps I wasn't as torn up about it as one would think—and I had a pseudonephew who I fucked on occasion in my dreams.