Laird's Choice (7 page)

"Hello?"

"Winston, it's Laird."

"Hey."

"How is he?"

"I don't know, Laird. His house is finished. He moved in. He calls once a week to check on me and that's about it. I try figuring out what's happening to him—how he's doing but he doesn't want to talk about that. I'm worried, Laird."

Laird took a breath.

"What happened with you two?" Winston pushed.

"Everything and nothing."

"Shit. You're just as bad as Race with the fucking riddles. For once, could someone give me a goddamn straight answer?"

"He asked me if I thought he did it."

Winston groaned. "And?"

"I told him yes."

"I can't talk to you right now, Laird… that was a fucking asshole thing to do!"

"Winston, I…" Before he could say anything, all he heard was the dial tone. Laird slammed the phone into his desk a few times until it snapped in half in his hand. He dropped the pieces, letting them clatter to the ground, and pushed from his seat. He'd just gotten to his window when a knock sounded, riling him even more. "This place is getting on my damn nerves," he muttered. "What!"

The door eased opened and Xavier stuck his head

in. "Your brother wanted me to pick you up for lunch—is this a bad time?"

Laird tilted his head to one side, desperately trying to kill the hurt he was feeling inside. He shook his head for he could find no words. His thoughts were muddled.

"Xavier, I… I…"

Xavier hurried across the room and pulled him into a hug. "Breathe, Laird. Take your time."

"I hurt him…"

"Who?"

"Race… I hurt him in the worst way possible."

Laird gripped the back of Xavier's shirt, holding on tightly.

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"He asked me if I thought he did it."

"You said no… right?" Xavier released Laird and their eyes met. "Laird."

"I just wanted to get out of there. I just couldn't…

he was convicted, X."

"For a smart guy, you sure are a dumbass. He was convicted of murder—that carries a penalty of life. He was out in eight years because he was acquitted… they cleared his record. Why? Because he didn't actually do it."

Laird felt weak then. His knees shook as he fell

backward into the chair behind him. "How… what happened?"

"I'm not going to do your job for you," Xavier said.

"You're going to have to ask him yourself. So, do I tell Rajan you're not coming today?"

"Yeah…" Laird replied. "I'll call later."

Laird laced his fingers to hold his head up while bracing his elbows on the desk. He sat there in silence for a long time wondering if he could go back and ask Race what really happened all those years ago.

Race jogged along the water, going as far down the beach as possible before turning around. By the time he arrived back at his house, his lungs were burning, his chest was heaving, and his knees wanted to give out. He fought to catch his breath, and even though he was in the house, he stopped only long enough to grab some water before pacing around. The last thing he wanted was for his muscles to seize up. Lifting the water to his mouth, he took a long, satisfying drink. When he didn't feel as if his lungs would explode, he turned for the stairs when the doorbell rang.

Glancing at the clock, he wondered who that could be. Winston was in court and he didn't associate with anyone else. Shaking off the urgency he felt at being possibly burnt at the stake as being overly dramatic, he yanked the door opened and instantly wished he hadn't.

"Hi, Race."

"What do you want, Laird?"

"You haven't come to see me."

Race held his breath, bit his tongue, and began

closing the door.

"Race, please!"

When it came to Laird Anatolis, Race seemed not to have any common sense. A tiny voice deep inside screamed that he should just slam the door, climb the stairs, and crawl into bed. That small voice was quickly silenced by the aching arousal between Race's legs, the loud throbbing of his heart, and the little flip of joy his heart did. Soon the little voice was no more and against his better judgment, he stepped aside and allowed Laird to walk by him before closing the door quietly behind him. He led his former lover through the house to the sitting room where the sun seeped through the glass and sounds of the ocean floated in through the window. Flopping to a seat, he motioned to the one across from him but Laird didn't sit. He walked instead to the window.

"I need to talk," Laird finally spoke. "I know I was being a coward but all I wanted to do was get away—get away from you, your touch, every thought of you."

"What precisely do you want me to say to that?"

Race questioned.

"I don't know." Laird still hadn't turned around to face him. "I just couldn't find the right words and I still don't know what to say; how to begin."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm here…" Laird turned then, "…because I need to be. I fear if I didn't come I'd lose you and the thought of that broke me. Look, I don't know what happened in your past. I can't even begin to imagine but you have to understand how shocked I was."

Race frowned. "You think I didn't understand? I understood. But I expected you to corner me—ask me questions, demand the answers. Not to run away like some scared little boy!"

He saw the impact his words had on Laird, but the anger simmering inside Race's body just couldn't let him care.

"Can we please get past that? I don't know how to react to things like that. It's not every day someone tells me the man I've been making love to was a convicted felon."

Race rose from where he was and made for the

door. But Laird caught his arm before he could get through.

He whirled around to face him. "If anyone else called me that I wouldn't care… but from you…"

"I'm sorry… damn. I keep putting my foot in my mouth. The truth, right, Race?"

Race said nothing. He didn't care what Laird's truth was anymore.

"I'm falling in love with you!"

Those words stopped him cold. A silence rang after them that pounded inside his head.
Had Laird actually said
anything?
He was afraid to hope, afraid to think about it, afraid to breathe. Finally he decided Laird hadn't said them.

Shaking his head, he walked off again and this time he didn't stop until he was in the kitchen with a glass in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. Laird entered and frowned.

"Did you hear me?"

"I'm hoping to drink enough so when I open my eyes you'll only be a nagging nightmare," Race muttered.

"Tough." Laird snagged the bottle then the glass. "I need you to be clear for this."

"What the hell do you want from me? I know this is a joke for you. It has to be."

"No jokes…"

"First you ran when you found out what I am. Then you come back and tell me you're falling for me? How does that work? Tell me what you want from me so I can give it to you and you can leave me in peace."

"That's just it, Race. I don't want anything from you.

What I need from you is for you to forgive me."

Race walked away from Laird to press his back

against the counter across the kitchen. There was a heat coming from Laird's body that clouded his senses and weakened his knees. Folding his arms over his chest, he took a breath and leveled his eyes on Laird wondering if he should do what his mind was telling him.

"His name was Shane…" Race reported, fingering the pendant. "He was my brother."

Laird's eyebrow shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"The man they accused me of killing."

"They accused you of murdering your own

brother?"

Race nodded, paying close attention to Laird's

expressions.

"Well that makes no sense. I mean sometimes I feel like murdering my brothers, especially the little one, but I would never…"

"It wasn't supposed to happen you know. Shane wasn't supposed to die but he kept some really bad company. I mean, I was the bad seed. The one who lied about my age to get my first tattoo when I was fifteen. The one everyone thought would end up dead in an alley somewhere. Not Shane—he was taking grade twelve

calculus in grade nine… he was the smart one. One night he went to a party. He told my mother he was going to study, but I knew something was wrong. Shane was a horrible liar. When he lied, he couldn't keep eye contact; he started sweating and stuttering. So, I followed him. I watched from the darkness, and everything was fine, until a fight broke out. Someone jumped on my brother and the anger just welled inside me like a balloon. I just couldn't control it. I jumped in to get my brother, to protect him but something went wrong. There was a loud bang…"

The sound echoed through Race's head again, just

as loud as the night it'd happened. He caught his breath, willing his ears to stop ringing. He felt Laird's hand, gentle on his shoulder, and he couldn't command the strength to pull away. "I stopped and looked around for Shane but I couldn't find him. Everyone was screaming and running. I called his name and that's when I saw the gun on the ground. I didn't know what to do, I picked it up. I just stood there—staring down at this heavy thing in my hand. Then he said my name…"

"Race…"

But once the words started tumbling from his lips, Race couldn't seem to stop them. He swallowed the lump in his throat and lifted his eyes at Laird. "My brother, the only person I loved more than anything in my whole pathetic life. I loved him always, especially those times when I didn't even like myself and there he was looking so pale and dying in my arms. I knew he was dying because he was bleeding too much. I took off my shirt and pressed it against the wound but he only screamed in pain. But no matter how much he cried out to me, I couldn't take pressure off. I had to stop the bleeding."

He paused. "I felt it the moment he was gone. There is a certain dread and overwhelming loss that comes when you watch someone you love die. Anger was the only thing I could feel after I caught my breath. I couldn't understand why Shane, who'd never harmed anyone, would die and I was still alive. I couldn't understand it. I still don't understand. The next thing I know someone was pulling me away and all I could think to do then was run."

"That's when Xavier came after you."

"You know Xavier?"

"Yes. He's my brother's boyfriend."

Race nodded. "Yeah, X had his team come after me because he was afraid someone else would get gun happy.

We weren't best friends but we got along. My life was over after that. We thought justice would prevail—it took eight years. Now what am I supposed to do? They gave me fifty million dollars… but all that's useless to me now. I can't even find a man without my past coming back to haunt me."

* * * *

pulled his body into the cowboy's and took a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through that and I am very sorry I was such a moron. I just—it was a lot of

information and it all hit me at the exact same time."

"I should have understood that. But I just couldn't get over being rejected again. The truth is, Laird, you can't have me around. I don't know if I can get over someone looking at me like I'm some kind of monster and not get angry. I am so damn angry all the time and so far it's just been simmering."

"Did you mourn your brother?"

"I—I couldn't. The guilt that was inside me—that is still inside me—won't let me."

"Don't you think it's time you do that? He can't blame you, Race. You did nothing wrong. You tried to save him even though it broke your heart because it caused him pain. He's your brother. No matter what you do he loves you."

"How do you know that?"

Laird chuckled. "I know it's not the same thing but even when Rajan and Savaro make me mad enough to

literally push steam out my ears, I still love them with almost everything in me."

Race smiled at him and Laird's breath caught in his throat. He lifted a hand to caress Race's cheek.

"Give me another chance, Race. Come home with me."

"Do you think that's the best of ideas?"

Laird groaned, dragging a finger over Race's nipple and stopping slightly to hook his nail beneath the nipple ring through his shirt. "I've missed you. I've missed your body. I've missed…" Laird took a breath, snaked a hand down Race's body and grabbed his cock, "…this."

Race gasped. "It can't be this easy."

Laird watched as the cowboy's head slipped

backwards each time he added pressure to Race's quickly hardening cock. His large body trembled and Laird inched closer. "Of course it can. I have these feelings for you and I know you have them too or you wouldn't be here with me.

Please… all I ask is for a second chance."

Race gripped his hand, pulling it away from his

tender rod. He licked his lips and Laird groaned. "This is so strange."

"What?"

"You asking me for a second chance. I always imagined me asking you for that."

"It doesn't matter who's asking. All that matters is your answer."

Race leaned in, taking Laird's lips. Laird groaned, leaning heavily into the kitchen counter and holding onto Race for dear life. When the cowboy lifted his mouth, Laird whimpered.

"My answer," Race whispered, "is always yes. I don't know how I came to deserve you but I just want to keep on doing it."

Laird couldn't control himself. He launched himself into Race's arms, wrapping his arms around Race's neck.

He pressed his face into Race's neck and inhaled deeply. "I promise to work every day to be the man you deserve."

"That's funny—I feel the same way."

When Race's arms tightened around him, Laird

suddenly felt more alive than he'd been in the past three months.

The rain thundered against the roof of Laird's house and Race couldn't wrap his mind around the strangeness.

He'd never been to Laird's before. Laird was working away on some offers on a few properties he'd fallen behind on so Race decided to tour the house. He was making his way into the large kitchen when the doorbell rang. Shrugging, he turned for it. Yanking it open, a large, dark-skinned, Indian male breezed by him followed closely by Jamal Kendricks and another man.