Secret

CHAPTER 27

Nick woke to sunlight peeking through the blinds and Adam’s breath on his neck. A muscled arm lay across his bare chest. The air was full of warmth and comfort and satisfaction.

He didn’t want to move.

But he was going to have to.

He eased out from under that arm, sliding across the sheets as silently as he was able. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and closed himself in the bathroom, begging the air to trap any noise in here with him.

Nick wished for a toothbrush and a razor, but made do with a capful of Scope, splashing cold water on his face for good measure.

Then he studied himself in the mirror. His hair stood up in tufts, and he ran a hand through it, trying to make it less of a mess. Useless. His cheek sported the bare remnants of a bruise that would probably disappear altogether by tomorrow.

Looking at his face made him think of his twin brother. He needed to get the hell out of this bathroom.

Nick eased the door open and found Adam still asleep, in exactly the same position he’d left him. Soft, even breathing, unruly hair drifting across his forehead. Nick wanted to curl up next to him and watch him sleep, but he didn’t want to live up to the creepy freak moniker that closely.

Nick snatched his T-shirt from the corner and padded out of the room, pulling the door almost closed behind him.

The clock on Adam’s microwave revealed that it was barely past seven—still early, especially on a Saturday. And now that he was out here, he wasn’t sure what to do. No phone, no car—not that he had anywhere to go. No television, even.

He made himself useful and poured out the abandoned mugs from last night, filling them with water to soak in the sink along with the saucepan. Then he poked around long enough to find coffee filters and a bag of grounds. He worried that his banging around would wake Adam, but the air still felt heavy with sleep.

And now that the brewer was dripping, Nick felt awkward, like maybe he shouldn’t be out here alone. What if Adam didn’t want him rifling through his things? What if he didn’t want coffee? What if he didn’t—

Nick mentally smacked himself. He needed to turn his brain off.

But he couldn’t shake the uncertainty, so he stepped through the sliding door onto Adam’s back patio. The air was just this side of too cool, but Nick didn’t mind the bite against his skin. The rear of Adam’s apartment building faced a drainage pond surrounded by a split rail fence, backed by a row of pine trees. A fine mist clung to the grass, hanging over the pond and offering an ethereal quality to the morning. A road ran along the other side of those trees, but it must have been too early for much traffic.

Nick dropped onto the edge of the concrete porch, putting his feet in the grass. Dew grabbed his feet immediately. He inhaled, letting the air draw threads of power to make the fog drift and sway.

And of course, memories snuck up to sucker-punch him.

Gabriel standing in front of the café, fierce and terrifying, his eyes dark and his hands in fists. You don’t have to hold him. Nick will stay down.

Such a contrast to what had happened before: Gabriel’s eyes, tense and worried when Nick woke up in the woods. Come on, Nicky. You’re scaring me.

Or two weeks ago, when Nick had found his twin crouched in the woods behind the house, dry-heaving against a tree and clutching a broken hand. Gabriel had thought his abilities had started a fire. He’d worried he’d killed his girlfriend. He’d been desperate and broken and sobbing, unable to carry the weight of his secrets any longer.

Nick had brought him into the house and cleaned him up.

And this was how Gabriel acted in return. With mockery. And anger.

And violence.

Nick expected to feel fury, or maybe sadness. All he felt was the gaping cold emptiness of resignation.

Because really, wasn’t this what he’d expected all along?

He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but he wasn’t exactly sure how he could go home, either. What if Gabriel apologized? Could Nick forgive him? Would he believe him?

What if he didn’t apologize? That seemed more likely. And Nick was supposed to live with that? Sleep in the same house with someone who’d gone from love to hate in less time than it would take him to change clothes?

Nick rubbed at his eyes. He folded his arms across his knees and rested his forehead against them, breathing in the power the air offered.

You’re safe here.

The door slid open. Maybe the air simply reacted to Nick’s emotion, but the atmosphere practically cheered when Adam stepped onto the patio.

Yay, Adam!

Nick couldn’t keep the smile off his face, so he didn’t turn around. He peeked over his shoulder. “Hey.”

Adam dropped onto the concrete beside him, close enough that Nick could feel the warmth from his body—but far enough that they weren’t touching.

“Hey, yourself,” said Adam. “Thanks for starting coffee.” He held out a mug.

Nick took it, wrapping his hands around the ceramic. He suddenly felt shy, but somehow more self-assured at the same time. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Yes, you were very loud sitting out here with your feet in the grass. You do realize I have chairs . . . ?”

Nick nodded. “I know.” Adam’s legs stretched out in the grass, too, one hand holding his own mug of coffee, the other resting on his thigh.

Nick hesitated. Then he reached out, threaded their fingers together, and lifted their joined hands to kiss Adam’s knuckles.

Nick’s eyes met Adam’s brown ones. He’d never felt this way before, like he’d found something precious and fragile that could be taken away. It left him giddy and anxious. Fiercely protective.

Adam smiled. “That look is worth waking up alone.”

Nick blushed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I was trying to let you sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.” Now Adam shifted closer, eliminating any space between them. He pressed his lips to Nick’s neck, abandoning his cup of coffee to stroke his free hand up Nick’s chest.

Nick sighed and closed his eyes. He totally should have stayed in bed.

He left his own mug on the concrete to stroke his hand through Adam’s silky dark hair, tracing a finger down the length of his dusky chin.

“Where are you from?” he asked without thinking.

Adam laughed softly and straightened. He reclaimed his coffee, but he remained sitting just as close. “Annapolis.”

Nick winced and shook his head. “No—I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He hesitated. “My father is from Morocco, and my mother is from Brazil.”

There was a lot of weight in that hesitation, and Nick proceeded carefully. “I’m thinking there’s a story there.”

“Hmm. Not really. He came here because he couldn’t find paying work as a doctor in Morocco. Their economy was crap. She was a student at Johns Hopkins. They met three weeks before her visa expired.” He gave Nick a wry look. “She tells everyone she married him for the green card.”

Nick smiled. “I have a feeling I’d like your mother.”

And as soon as he said the words, he realized he was wondering about meeting Adam’s parents, and the thought struck a bolt of nerves into his chest.

Now he understood how Michael had felt Thursday night.

“She’s very opinionated,” said Adam. “Likes to rant in Portuguese because it makes my father nuts.”

Nick’s eyebrows went up. Just when he thought Adam couldn’t get hotter. “Do you speak Portuguese?”

“More than I’ll admit. Less than I should. My father grew up speaking Berber—it’s like Arabic—but I barely know any of that. He wanted to lose his accent because he thought he’d get better work that way, so he hardly speaks it at all now. Most people can’t even tell he wasn’t born here.”

A new note, something close to bitterness, had crept into Adam’s voice. Nick frowned and wondered if he’d made a misstep by opening this line of conversation.

Adam shrugged a little. “He totally bought into the American dream of capitalism and baseball and apple pie—only to end up with a Brazilian wife and a gay dancer for a son.”

Adam’s father hid who he was. Then he’d asked Adam to hide who he was.

Nick wondered what his own father would have thought. While he felt certain his mother would have understood him—would have supported him, even—he had no idea how his father would have reacted. Michael had gotten into it with their father more than once, but never over something like this.

Nick stroked a hand across Adam’s face. “Do they ever come to watch you dance?”

“Nah. Not really anymore. Honestly, I think my dad secretly hopes I’ll outgrow it one day.”

“I think your dad should take a second look at how lucky he is.”

Adam laughed, but not like it was funny. “You know, if I wanted to do pretty much anything else with my life, I wouldn’t need a scholarship. If I called him up and said I wanted to be an accountant, he’d be drafting a check to the college of my choice.”

Nick thought of all those college letters sitting in his desk at home and felt a flash of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Adam almost gave him a smile. “It’ll mean more if I do it myself.” He pressed his face into the curve of Nick’s neck again. “Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Tell me something uncomfortable about your family.”

“I’m pretty sure you witnessed something uncomfortable last night.” Nick paused, tracing a finger along the stretch of Adam’s forearm.

“Tell me something good then. Tell me something good about your brother.”

The words summoned too many memories. Nick couldn’t sort through them all. Setting fires on the beach, Gabriel using his power to send the flames coursing high into the air, Nick leeching oxygen from the atmosphere to help him maintain control. Hiding from Michael after putting spiders in his bed or peanut butter in his backpack or paint in his shampoo bottle. Gabriel knowing every single time Nick was worried or hurting or just plain needed him.

“We used to trade places all the time. He loves sports, and I . . . well, I really looked for any reason to stay the hell out of a locker room, so he pretended to be me so he could play more sports. The school limits you to two, so . . .” Nick shrugged.

“Hmm. And what did you do while you were pretending to be him?”

Nick snorted. “His math homework.” As soon as he said it, he realized Adam was going to misunderstand. “Not like you think. When our parents died, he couldn’t keep up. I started doing it to help him, just so he wouldn’t be held back. It became . . . like . . . a thing. He believed he couldn’t do it, and I wanted to do that for him. To be there for him. To—” He made a disgusted noise. “This is stupid.”

“No. It’s not.” Adam leaned into him again. “What does he do for you?”

“I don’t—it’s not—” Nick pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Everything.”

He kept hearing Hunter’s words on the steps. I’m not his best friend, Nick. You are.

Nick realized he didn’t even know if his brother had made it home okay.

He hated that Gabriel had monumentally fucked up, but he was still sitting here worried about him. “Can I use your phone again?”

Adam sat up and shifted to pull it out of his pocket. He held it out without a word.

Nick called the house phone. The line rang half a dozen times.

Maybe Gabriel had been hurt. Maybe they were all out looking for him. Nick remembered sensing someone in the woods near the house the other night—had he mentioned that to Michael? He couldn’t remember. He’d been stupid to go out of touch for so long. His world could be crumbling right this very second, while he was sitting on Adam’s back porch, completely out of reach.

Nick felt his heart pound against his rib cage, chastising him with each beat. He’d let his brother drive off in a fury. God only knew what he could have gotten into.

Tyler. Had Gabriel gone after Tyler? If something had happened, would Chris have thought to find Adam’s number on the caller ID last night?

Maybe—

The phone clicked as someone picked up. “Merrick Landscaping.”

Gabriel. Nick almost dropped the phone.

He didn’t know what to say.

The line filled with silence for the longest time.

Then Gabriel said, “Nicky.”

Not a question. He knew. Nick couldn’t read anything from his voice. He still didn’t know what to say.

And his brother wasn’t filling the silence, either.

Finally Nick cleared his throat. “I just wanted to be sure you made it home.”

Then, before Gabriel could say anything to that, Nick pushed the button to disconnect the call. He all but shoved the phone back at Adam.

They sat there in silence for a few beats.

Then Adam held the phone out. The display was lit up with an incoming call.

Gabriel was calling back.

“Do you want to talk to him?” said Adam.

“No.” His heart was still working double time.

He expected Adam to press the button to refuse the call, but he answered it, putting the phone to his ear and saying “Hello?” before Nick fully comprehended what he was doing.

Nick sat there and stared, torn between grabbing the phone to disconnect the call, and sitting in morbid fascination about what Adam would say.

Adam drew his knees up and rested an arm against them. His voice was low, quiet and confident. “He doesn’t want to talk to you right now.” A long pause, then he said evenly, “I told you, he doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe you didn’t understand me since I wasn’t thpeaking in thtereotypes.”

Nick snorted with laughter before he could help it, and had to slap a hand over his mouth. It was nervous laughter more than anything. His eyes were wide. No one ever talked to Gabriel like that.

Then Adam sighed and spoke into the phone. “Guess what, sunshine? It’s not about what you want. I’ll tell him you called, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He disconnected the call.

This time, the phone stayed silent.

Adam looked at him. “He wants to talk to you. That’s all he said.”

Not I’m sorry.

Nick’s emotions weren’t sure how to process that information.

Adam set the phone on the concrete. “Why did you want to call him?”

“I just wanted to make sure he got home.” Nick stared out at the dissipating fog. “I was going to tell him. Last night. That’s why we were at the coffee shop.” He glanced over at Adam. “I keep wondering if it would have turned out any differently.”

“You mean, if he would have hit you either way?”

Nick nodded.

Adam shifted across the concrete to sit beside him again. “Look, I’m not going to defend your brother. I know he hurt you.” His voice softened. “I know he hurt you a lot. But when he came after me, I don’t think it had anything to do with me being gay, and everything to do with protecting you. On the phone just now, he wasn’t an asshole, either. And he could have been.”

“Do you think I should call him back?”

“Do you want to?”

Nick thought about it. He imagined his twin brother standing in the kitchen, deliberating whether to call a third time. Nick wished he could put everything back the way it had been.

Then he glanced at Adam and realized that wasn’t true.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t want to talk to him. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Adam took another sip of coffee. He laced the fingers of his free hand through Nick’s again, and they sat there for the longest time, watching the mist thin and swirl.

Nick hadn’t realized how easy this could be, sitting with someone who wasn’t judging him. Who wasn’t piling expectations on him.

Adam’s phone chimed again, and Nick’s pulse jumped. He should have known it wouldn’t last for long.

But Adam smiled. “Well, look at that,” he said. “Quinn wants to know if we’re still on for dance this afternoon.”

Nick hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about Quinn until that very moment. She was okay. She had to be okay if she was sending a text about dance.

Adam was texting back, talking while his fingers slid across the face of the phone. “Studio classes end at one, so I can meet her after lunch. Want to join me?”

Nick looked away. “She probably doesn’t want to see me.”

Adam poked him. “What do you want?”

“I want . . .” Nick paused, feeling weight in the words. His brothers were probably cursing him this morning, because Saturdays meant large landscaping jobs, and Nick knew Michael had blown one off last night. Quinn definitely didn’t want to see him at practice.

But his words were hanging out there. I want.

Such a stupid, simple phrase, but it felt so foreign.

“You want . . . ?” prompted Adam.

“I want to go with you,” he said, the words a jumbled rush that came out too quiet, completely uncertain.

Adam poked him again, harder. He was smiling. “What was that?”

Nick leaned into him and said, “I want to go with you.”

Another poke. “I can’t hear y—”

Nick trapped those words with a kiss. “I want to go with you.” Another kiss. “And if you’d shut up a second, maybe I could tell you what else I want.”