Great Restorations - 17. Chapter 17

SAWYER didn‘t believe in fate or coincidence. But events like this…how anyone could believe they weren‘t somehow connected was beyond him.

“My grandfather and your aunt.” He stopped there, not sure what else to say. The child in him wanted to laugh, maybe tease, but Marc had looked dazed when they‘d left Simone‘s, so Sawyer stifled his amusement. It wasn‘t every day that you got the details of your parents‘ sex life, and that Marc had looked on May as his mother was obvious.

Marc chewed his lip as he walked, stumbling over the uneven sidewalk like he‘d had a few too many beers. The distraction almost cost him. He stepped off the curb without looking, and Sawyer caught his arm just as a car swept by, missing them both by inches.

“Okay,” Sawyer said over the blare of horns, his heart tripping along at twice its normal speed. He swiped the truck keys from Marc‘s hand. “What do you say I drive?”

“Sure,” Marc answered, voice faraway. He folded himself into the passenger seat and crossed his arms over his chest as he stared out the window.

Sawyer let him go until they were nearly back to Edgewood, then reached over the back of the bench seat and threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Marc‘s neck. Marc leaned into the touch, but continued staring out the window, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

“You okay?” Sawyer ventured.

The question broke Marc‘s trance. He sighed and turned from the window, putting his back against the door to stare unabashedly at Sawyer. In turn, Sawyer took his eyes off the road more often than was safe. “Stop that,” he said, feeling warmth seep into his stomach. “I‘m trying to drive.”

Marc‘s answering smile was slow and pensive. He‘d obviously worked through some of the shock of Simone‘s announcement. “It‘s hard to get my brain around this thing, you know?”

“What? May and my grandfather?”

“Yeah.” Marc‘s eyes lost their focus. “Do you remember the day we met?”

Was he kidding? “Vividly,” Sawyer said.

“On the drive over to your place that morning, she said something about how close they had been. Her and Paul. It didn‘t even register then, but… how long do you think they were together? Why did they keep it a secret?”

“Marc, come on.” Sawyer exited the interstate onto the two-lane road that led to Edgewood. “What makes you think it was a secret? I have a feeling if you‘d asked her, she would have said something. It‘s possible they were just both discreet and preferred their privacy. You can relate to that, can‘t you?”

Marc digested this in silence.

“Are you angry?” Sawyer ventured, unable to pin down the look in Marc‘s eye.

“No. It‘s not like that.” With a huff, Marc hit the button for his window and fresh air filled the cab. “I‘m just—”

Sawyer had an idea where the conversation was leading, but didn‘t interrupt. Marc needed to make the connection himself. Which he did a minute later, judging by his wry laugh. “You‘re loving how this all relates back to us, aren‘t you?” Marc asked, nudging Sawyer‘s leg with his.

“I don‘t love anything that upsets you.”

Marc took a deep breath. “I don‘t like that she felt the need to hide it from me. I would‘ve understood.”

“And?”

“And that‘s it. I‘m upset I didn‘t know about this….” He tripped over his next words.

“Love affair?”

Marc cringed. “Yeah. That. She should have trusted me. But… I should have trusted her too.”

It hadn’t been anyone‘s intention to cause pain by omission. What Sawyer wanted to convey, but couldn‘t, was that he believed that May had known, or at least suspected, about Marc‘s sexuality. The woman had been sharp as a whip up until very near the end. But Marc would never believe it, and the more Sawyer considered the idea, the more he believed that it should be left alone. Or perhaps just left for a later time.

Marc had been moving toward this transformation for weeks. Reworking his priorities, rethinking his truths. That it had taken a tragedy to bring events to a head was a shame. Still, Marc showed no inclination to retreat, to revert back to a life that was safe and easy. A lesser man might have, and this was the truth that Sawyer needed Marc to see. He had strength in abundance, more than enough to face what was to come.

But to push for more right now didn‘t seem prudent. Sawyer let the subject of secrets drop, his mind turning to the stack of boxes waiting back at his house.

Surprisingly, Marc wasn’t ready to let it go. “Tell me more about your grandfather.”

“I-- like what?” There was much Sawyer could say, but the history behind those words wouldn’t translate well, if at all.

“Why did your grandmother leave him?”

Sawyer lost his iron grip on the steering wheel, and the truck floated toward the center line. Gulping, Sawyer pulled it center. “How did you know about that?”

“Seriously?”

“Hmmm.” Sawyer wrinkled his nose. “Small towns.”

“Right. Edgewood’s never been anything but.” Marc pulled one leg up onto the bench seat, and Sawyer’s concentration fractured even further as Marc’s jeans pulled taut across his thighs.

“Um.”

“Watch the road, Sawyer.”

Eyes snapping back to the windshield, Sawyer said, “Well, I mean, she took off, with my mom in tow.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“That,” Sawyer said, taking a sharp left toward town, “has never been fully explained. She was angry.”

“Angry.” Marc blew out a breath. “Really?”

“I know. It seems overkill. We always figured, Finn and me, that it was something pretty bad.”

“If it was so bad, then how did you come back into your grandfather’s life?”

Sawyer chewed on a few different ways to answer that before settling on, “My grandmother died, and my mom needed a place to go. She stayed until she met my dad, but only because she didn’t have a choice. Listen, Marc,” Sawyer twisted his hands on the wheel. “Granddad didn’t do emotion, not in the standard way, which made him easily detestable, to be frank. I just honestly think he couldn’t help it. It was simply the way he was wired.” He risked a glance across the cab. “Your aunt must have seen that too. I’d like to think that, anyway.”

“Is that why Finn hated him?” Marc asked softly, and Sawyer answered with a sad sigh.

“I think… I hope that when Finn says “hate” he means something not so extreme. It burned him to see my mom always looking to her father for approval, and finding none.” He coasted around the turn onto his road. “Finn’s very protective of her,“ he finished.

Pain had leaked into his voice. He wasn’t even sure who he was hurting for. It didn’t matter, though, because Marc heard it. He dropped the subject, reaching across the seat for Sawyer’s hand. Some of Sawyer’s tension left him as their fingers twined together. He made the final turn, from the road onto his driveway and started up toward the house.

Before the renovation had started, he‘d carried a couple dozen boxes into his office, resigned to having to sort them at some point and not even dreading the task. He‘d loved his grandfather and relished whatever task kept that love alive—like the renovation.

But neither had he expected the project to be so invasive, with materials, tools, and dust everywhere. Each time he walked into his office, his eyes strayed to the pile, but his mind turned the idea aside. Why rush into it while the chaos was so thick? He had all the time in the world, or so he‘d thought.

“There are a hell of a lot of boxes to go through.”

Marc‘s haunted look had seeped away as they‘d driven. Bright-eyed, tone clipped and efficient, he said, “We‘ll manage. Are they labeled at all?”

Sawyer wracked his brain. “I want to say yes, but I‘ve got a bad feeling in my gut that says no.”

Marc‘s eyes glittered, and Sawyer laughed, shaking his head. The boy did like a challenge. And this one had the proverbial gold at the end of the rainbow. One document. One piece of paper was all they needed.

Marc straightened as they pulled in front of the house, hand already on the door handle. “No big deal. We might get a feel for what we‘re going to find once we open a few. From there it should be easier.”

Sawyer parked behind Rick‘s truck and cut the engine. “You always do that.”

Halfway out the door, Marc paused. “Do what?” he asked, puzzled.

“Look at everything like it‘s a puzzle to be solved. Examine all angles. Come at it like you know you‘re going to win.”

Marc slid far enough back inside the cab to cover Sawyer‘s hand with his own. “We are going to win.”

Utterly charmed, Sawyer stroked a finger over Marc‘s jaw. “Okay.”

“What? You don‘t think I have it in me to beat this?”

I think you’re strong enough to do whatever you want. I think you’re pure and perfect and a better man than I’ll ever be. And I think I-- Sawyer shook himself and pressed his lips closed against the words. No, it wasn‘t time. He tore his eyes away from Marc‘s. “I believe in you.”

Marc‘s answering grin lit up his face, crumbling Sawyer‘s willpower like dry plaster. One mighty yank did the trick, and with a grunt, Marc spilled across his lap. Sawyer eased his hold on Marc‘s T-shirt and slid his arms around him. “That‘s better.”

Such a move a week ago would have ended in disaster. Today, Marc laughed. “What are you going to do with me?”

“What level of detail works for you?” Sawyer replied, more breathless than he should have been. He dipped the hand resting on Marc‘s back beneath the waistband of his jeans, relishing how the material had ridden low over his hips. One of his fingers brushed the crease of Marc‘s ass, and they both jerked in reaction. Marc whimpered in his ear. “Fuck,” Sawyer whispered. He ached to strip Marc bare. Touch him everywhere that would pull that small, desperate noise from his throat.

Marc‘s breath rushed over Sawyer‘s neck. His body vibrated with tension, the amusement that had been flying between them a moment ago transformed. Desperate and clumsy, he pulled at the buttons on Sawyer‘s shirt.

Testing, Sawyer stretched his finger lower, and Marc‘s lips parted on a quiet gasp. “More?” Sawyer asked under his breath.

Marc shifted in Sawyer‘s lap. He rested their foreheads together. “Was that a request?”

“Hell yeah,” Sawyer said with a hoarse laugh.

A thump thump thump on the hood of the truck made them both jump. “Hey there,” Tim‘s muffled voice called, all innocence. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Sawyer snapped. Marc didn‘t speak; he‘d buried his face in the crook of Sawyer‘s shoulder. Heat poured from his body, enough to burn Sawyer‘s skin where they touched, and his hips twitched against Sawyer‘s thigh, the movement restless and uncoordinated. When Sawyer reached to cup the back of his neck, he moaned.

Jesus. Sawyer struggled to beat back his need. It went with all the passivity and ease of a hungry tiger. Arms shaking, he lifted Marc off and away. “Tim wants you,” he said through clenched teeth, the double meaning hitting a bit too close to home and going right over Marc‘s head, of course.

“Yeah. Okay.” Clearing his throat, Marc scooted to the passenger side door. He took two deep breaths, and Sawyer followed suit, relieved when the fog of lust started to clear. Then Marc reached to cup his cock through his jeans, shifting it with a slight grimace… and Sawyer was right back where he started, mouth dry and heart thumping wildly. “Get out of the car,” he pleaded.

Marc did, but he left the cab ringing with his laughter. Sawyer resisted the childish desire to stick his tongue out at him. Marc wasn‘t such a good boy after all.

Tim met Marc around the side of the truck bed, and they turned as one to head up to the house. Marc threw Sawyer a sidelong glance as they passed, and Tim offered a grin and a thumbs-up.

Sawyer thunked his head back against the window. He needed a distraction. Something to calm his body and mind, or he‘d be hiding out in this truck all day. Deep breathing was useless. The smell of Marc‘s arousal still swirled around him.

“Shit,” Sawyer muttered. Like it had a mind of its own, his fingers stroked over the bulge in his jeans. It wouldn‘t take much. One minute, maybe two.

His cell phone buzzed on the dash. Sawyer grabbed it like the drowning man he was and clutched it tight. “Hello?”

“Hello, sunshine.”

“Distract me,” Sawyer demanded. “Make it good.”

“Okay,” Bruce said without missing a beat. “Can I sing Billy Joel songs?”

“I don‘t know. Can you?”

“Wrong question.” Bruce launched into “Only the Good Die Young.” Sawyer listened, watching shadows move on the other side of the living room window, cursing himself for knowing exactly which one belonged to Marc. Not healthy. He needed to get a handle on this obsession.

Bruce‘s voice rose and fell in Sawyer‘s ear. “Sooner or later it comes down to fate. I might as well be the onnnnnne.”

Sawyer took a deep breath, welcoming the return of higher brain function. “That‘s enough.”

“Are you sure? I was just getting warmed up.”

“I‘m sure.”

“That tune not to your taste? I can do ‘Piano Man’, but do you really need any more angst in your life right now?”

“How about ‘Scenes from an Italian Restaurant’?”

“That one needs props. I‘ll do it in person tonight.”

“You and I won‘t be together tonight.” Sawyer said it slowly, enunciating so there was no mistake.

Bruce grumbled something under his breath. “Okay, listen. Remember how I said I needed to talk to Marc? I need to talk to Marc. It‘s grown-up business stuff. You wouldn‘t understand.”

“Call him.”

“Nope. Need to see him in person. Trust me. This‘ll cheer him up.”

“We‘re kind of in the middle of some things, Bruce.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things that have nothing to do with you?”

“Okay, now that‘s funny. Are you finally getting laid? Your humor‘s improved.”

“Thanks for the song,” Sawyer said. “Gotta go.” He hit end before Bruce could throw any more protests his way and climbed out of the cab. He waved as he came in the front door, and Marc broke off his conversation with Reba to follow him down the hall to his office.

Sawyer couldn‘t help a small groan when he saw the boxes. They‘d been sitting on the floor for so many weeks that he‘d stopped seeing them. There were more than he remembered. Many more. Good thing they had motivation in abundance.

“Wow.” Marc toed the edge of the nearest stack. “You weren‘t kidding.”

“No.” Unfortunately, he hadn‘t been. Some distant part of him had known his grandfather had been a lawyer, but his stories of the war had always superseded that. The battles and the planes and the uniforms, and, to be honest, the guns and the fighting. Exactly what fascinated most boys.

But these were the leavings of a whole different life altogether. One of paper and trials and courts. Sawyer gathered his determination around him. “I’m going to call Finn. Then we better get started.”

“Yeah.” Marc circled the pile, tracing his fingers through the layers of dust. “But where? You were right. There aren‘t any labels or markings of any kind.”

Sawyer pursed his lips. He‘d been trying not to notice the same thing. He eyed up the pile and did the math quickly in his head. There were maybe thirty boxes altogether. Hopefully, once they cracked them open, they‘d find some semblance of order, just as Marc had suggested. He rolled up his sleeves and hoisted the nearest one down and to the floor. “Here, I guess. Hold on. Let me give Finn an update.”

Marc grabbed one for himself, spreading enough dust to make himself sneeze, then maneuvered another box over to sit on while he worked. Sawyer made the conversation with his brother brief, ended it a minute later, and they sliced the seal on the first two boxes and got started.

About an hour later, Reba appeared in the doorway. “Need some help?” she asked. Karen peered over her shoulder, eyes going wide at the disaster they‘d created. Boxes covered every square inch of the floor.

Sawyer considered the offer. Another set of hands or two would ease the burden. They‘d certainly move more quickly. But something held him back. He couldn‘t put a name to it, but suddenly spending the evening sorting through his grandfather‘s life didn‘t sound so bad. As long as Marc was there to help. But how to articulate that without sounding rude?

In the end, he didn‘t need to. Marc brushed the dust off his hands and laid another file folder to the side. “Thanks, but we got it.”

“Okay, well in light of your recent detective work, we‘ve left off the phone calls to the law firms.”

“That makes sense,” Marc agreed. He lifted a thick manila folder from the box. “Why don‘t you guys take off. It‘s not like we‘re going to get any work on the house done today. I’ll call as soon as we find something.”

“If you‘re sure.” Reba coordinated a wink with the snap of her gum.

To Marc‘s credit, he pretended not to see it. “I am.”

They left without comment. No doubt about it, Sawyer thought. Marc was the uncontested leader of his outfit. Sawyer left the box he‘d been sorting and picked his way over the debris to watch them drive away, Reba in her pickup and Karen in her Lexus. Rick and Tim followed soon after. When the last vehicle had disappeared down the driveway, he turned back to Marc. It felt unusual to have the house silent so early in the afternoon.

Sawyer hadn‘t even realized, until he saw Marc slouched against the stack of boxes, frowning at a piece of paper, that they‘d scored some rare privacy. “I‘m used to sharing you with them this time of day.” Sawyer jerked his head over his shoulder at the line of disappearing vehicles.

Marc set the paper aside and picked up the next. “They are like a bunch of rowdy kids, aren‘t they?” Even with a smudge of dust across one cheek, tousled and tired, he still gave Sawyer‘s system a jolt.

This time he crossed the room with no care for the piles of paper and crouched by Marc‘s side. He didn‘t speak.

Marc stroked one grubby hand through Sawyer‘s hair, and the contact set off a series of shivers Sawyer couldn‘t control. Original mission forgotten, he pulled Marc from his perch, sending the papers on his lap cascading to the floor.

They tumbled together, laughing. Sawyer ended up on top, shaking his head at Marc‘s perfunctory struggles. “Is that the best you can do?”

“Am I supposed to want to get free?” Marc lifted his hips. “In that case, yes. That‘s all I got.”

Sawyer swallowed his corny retort. “Should we take a break?”

“Is that rhetorical?” Marc wriggled, his arousal an enticing press against Sawyer‘s thigh. “Do you need a break?”

“Maybe a quick one.” And Sawyer knew exactly what he wanted too. He’d been dreaming about it often enough for the past several weeks. “Relax.” He pushed Marc back and flicked open the snap on his jeans. Marc‘s breath caught. Despite Sawyer‘s words, he curled his head up to watch, muscles taut under Sawyer‘s hands.

“Relax,” Sawyer repeated, punctuating his order with a gentle shove to Marc‘s chest.

Marc‘s head hit the rug with a thump. His parted lips and wide, dilated eyes sent a thrill through Sawyer. “What are you going to do?” Marc asked.

Sawyer played with the zipper, sliding it up and down. Beneath his fingers, Marc‘s cock waited, full and needy. Sawyer curled his fingers over the length. Marc groaned, and Sawyer‘s mouth watered. “Taste you,” he answered gruffly.

Marc‘s chest rose and fell in a staccato rhythm. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, he managed a clipped nod. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Sawyer said. “Very fucking okay.”

He planned for quick and dirty. A sawdust-ridden floor was no place to introduce Marc to the real beauty of what they could do to each other. But they‘d both been bending under the tension, and sooner or later something was going to break. Better this than anything else. A flimsy excuse, but Sawyer‘s rational mind couldn‘t find fault with its simplicity.

He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the head of Marc‘s clothed erection, grinning at the tortured sound that spilled from his lips. Reminding himself not to tease wasn‘t helping. After so long, it felt like the worst kind of sin to rush through this part—introducing himself in one of the most intimate ways possible.

Breath hissing through his teeth and eyes screwed shut, Marc rolled his head back and forth on the floor. He fisted his shaking hands in Sawyer‘s hair. “Please,” he whispered.

“No need to beg,” Sawyer said, though the idea sent another bolt of lust through him. His ears rang with it. Making Marc beg was on the menu eventually. But not today.

He worked Marc‘s cock free, sliding his underwear over his ass to his thighs. The first real taste sent a jolt all the way to his toes, and Sawyer‘s own breathing stuttered. Marc‘s cock, damp from Sawyer‘s tongue, jutted from a patch of pale curls and strained over his stomach. The skin on his thighs had taken on a patchy flush of arousal, and his hips hovered inches off the floor, muscles quivering. Sawyer took the opportunity to crawl between Marc‘s legs and slip his hands underneath to cup his ass.

No more waiting.

He swirled his tongue around the tip, then sank low, taking Marc deep right from the start. He got a surprised shout for his efforts, and Marc‘s hands fell from Sawyer‘s head and smacked against the floor. His body thrummed with tension, but Sawyer sensed a difference. Marc had suddenly reversed course, doing everything he could to hold back. Curb the sensations.

That wouldn‘t do.

Sawyer curled his fingers into the skin at Marc‘s hips and sent them exploring, fingernails scratching lightly. He set a fast pace, a ruthless pull and suck that was going to rip Marc‘s orgasm from him long before he was ready, if his whispered, “No, no, Sawyer, wait,” was any indication.

Sawyer ignored the frantic, ineffectual tugs on his head, and soon Marc succumbed, thrusting upward, matching Sawyer‘s rhythm, giving up control and finesse and everything else he had, crying out as each pulse left his body.

The sounds. The smell. The taste. It overwhelmed him. Sawyer‘s brain fired off a warning a moment before he realized what was going to happen. With a frustrated cry, he pulled off Marc‘s softening cock and climbed up his body, ripping at the buttons on his own jeans. Clumsy and sated, Marc did his best to help, and then Sawyer had himself in hand.

“Loved that,” he panted. He set their foreheads together, desperate to see himself lay claim to what was his. He pumped himself hard and fast, knuckles brushing Marc‘s stomach, grip tighter than he liked, but the sensations tottered on the cusp of something white hot and bright, and he couldn‘t stop.

Marc toppled him with a kiss.

He licked at the corner of Sawyer‘s mouth, then tilted his head and sealed their lips together. Gasping, Sawyer came, thinking all manner of things, like finally and mine, but only managing a choked, “Marc,” before the ability to think left him altogether.

They lay among the boxes and papers and tools, Sawyer half sprawled over Marc, until the hard floor became impossible to ignore. Sawyer struggled to a standing position, helped Marc achieve the same, and then stripped him of his soiled shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said, nuzzling Marc‘s neck.

Marc tossed it lazily into the far corner. “No problem. I figure you‘ve got one I can borrow.”

The thought of Marc wearing his clothes was so appealing, Sawyer rushed to make it happen, then stood watching, biting down on his goofy smile while Marc pulled the fresh white T-shirt over his head.

Marc gave a soft breathless laugh and slid into Sawyer’s embrace. “Thanks. That… was really needed.”

“That,” Sawyer said, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, “was just the beginning.”

“Hold that thought.” Marc’s gaze dropped to the mess of paper around them. “Back to work?” he asked.

The stack of boxes looked even more intimidating than before, but Sawyer didn‘t have it in him to be discouraged. “Back to work,” he agreed.