Great Restorations - 2. Chapter 2

MARC pulled up in front of Sawyer‘s house at exactly at five o‘clock, then sat in his truck while he pulled his thoughts together. He took deep breaths and rubbed his damp palms over his jeans. Calling to cancel had crossed his mind more than once that afternoon. He didn‘t mind admitting the truth to himself.

He was terrified.

Woefully unprepared didn‘t even begin to describe his experience in this situation, plus he‘d been at a loss as to what to bring for his host. But then a perfect solution presented itself: a photo album he‘d found in Aunt May‘s attic just a few months ago. He‘d kept it because it contained pictures of his grandparents, people he hadn‘t known, but still longed to learn about. It would be the perfect gift for Sawyer.

By some quirk of fate, the album contained more pictures of his grandparents‘ friends than of his grandparents themselves. There were several of Paul Steinbrick. Maybe they would help ease the sting of loss. He ran his hand over the cracked, brown leather of the album. A picture was worth a thousand pieces of scarred furniture.

A knock at the window made him jump. He looked up to see Sawyer standing on the other side, grinning. Ducking his head to hide his blush, Marc killed the engine, grabbed the old album and got out of the truck.

“Everything okay?” Sawyer asked.

“Fine. Just—” Marc faltered.

“No problem,” Sawyer said, diffusing the awkwardness. “I was going to suggest we load the rest of these things first, but I‘m wiped out, to be honest. Do you think your aunt could wait until tomorrow? That is, if you have the time then?”

“Sure. That‘d be fine. I‘m kind of tired too.”

Sawyer grinned. He rubbed his palms together. “Hungry?”

Now there was a question he had no trouble answering. “Starving.”

Sawyer led him around the side of the house, to the large patio Marc knew was there, but had seen only once. He turned in a circle as Sawyer poked at the pile of charcoal heating in the grill. The grass had started to creep over the pavers, and ivy now weighed down the old iron pergola that shaded the patio near the house. Mature, wild-looking, and a bit neglected, it fittingly reminded Marc of Mr. Steinbrick. “It looks a lot different than the last time I saw it.”

“Oh yeah?” Sawyer called over his shoulder. “When was that?”

“When I was about ten, I think. Your grandfather threw a big party for a friend of his, and my Aunt May was invited. Some reunion or celebration; I don‘t really remember the specifics. I was one of the only kids there.” He glanced over to see Sawyer giving him a funny look. “What?”

Sawyer pointed the tongs at him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

Sawyer shook his head and chuckled as he poked at the charcoal. “I remember that party. I was here too. I turned thirteen that year, and Granddad decided I‘d reached the age where I needed to learn some things.”

Marc arched an eyebrow. “Things?”

Sawyer laughed. He set the tongs aside and joined Marc by the pergola railing. Marc tried not to stare, but knew he failed miserably. Sawyer‘s hair was damp from his shower, and the clean jeans he‘d chosen for the evening hugged his body in ways that made Marc‘s mouth go dry. The T-shirt was black instead of white, a near match of the one he himself was wearing.

“Not those kinds of things,” Sawyer said. He leaned against the railing, facing Marc. “Things like honor and bravery and loyalty. Self-esteem. Confidence.” Casually, he laid his hand over Marc‘s.

“I‘d say you‘ve got the confidence thing down pat,” Marc managed to say over the pounding of his heart.

“Yeah.” Sawyer flashed a cockeyed smile. “Is that a problem?”

As far as Marc could tell, the entire situation was a problem. The deep timbre of Sawyer‘s voice and the warm weight of his hand made the muscles in Marc‘s stomach quiver. He‘d entered dangerous, unfamiliar territory. “That‘s a lot for a thirteen-year-old to take in, don‘t you think?”

Sawyer shrugged. “I suppose. But in a lot of ways it shaped how I look at the world. I remember that party, but I don‘t remember you. You were here with your aunt? The same one from this morning?”

Marc nodded. “Yeah. She‘s my mother‘s aunt, actually.”

“You spend a lot of time with her.”

“Well.” Marc shifted, pulling his hand back a little, and Sawyer let him go without a fuss. “She raised me mostly. My parents weren‘t around much, and after a few years, I stopped moving back and forth between houses and just stayed with her.”

“Where are they now?”

Marc rejected the caustic reply that flew to his lips and chose a more neutral answer. “Not sure. I haven‘t heard from them in a while. They like to travel.” A while, in this case, was five years, but Marc wasn‘t a child anymore, and he‘d let them go a long time ago.

“Sorry.” Sawyer‘s eyes filled with sympathy.

“Don‘t be. I have Aunt May, and she was a better parent than lots of kids have these days.”

Sawyer smiled before ambling back to check the grill. “Yeah, she‘s a pistol, as my granddad would say. I bet they were fast friends.” He spread out the pile of hot coals and set the grate over them, then gestured to a small cooler at Marc‘s feet. “Grab a beer while I get the steaks. Let‘s get this show on the road.”

***

MARC managed to avoid embarrassing himself during the meal. The relaxed conversation helped. After the dishes were collected and stacked in the sink, Sawyer led Marc back out to the patio. He sank onto a cushioned rattan sofa with a sigh, then tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “The food made me tired.”

Marc hovered for a moment, rolling his beer bottle between his palms, before taking a deep breath and sitting down beside him. “Are you sure it wasn‘t all the excitement from this morning?”

Sawyer laughed and threw a hand over his eyes. “It might have been. Glad I don‘t have to do that all the time. You‘re a hero for taking your aunt around every single week.”

Marc shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment. He‘d never considered taking care of his aunt a burden, even if his Saturday morning routine grew tiresome every now and again.

“What‘s this?” Sawyer scooped the photo album off the table where Marc had set it earlier.

“Oh.” Marc took it and flipped it open to the first page. “I wanted to bring you something. I found this a while back in my aunt‘s attic. When you were talking about your grandfather this morning, I thought of it.” It wasn‘t a total lie, and Marc hoped the fading light and deep shadows would hide his blush.

Sawyer scooted closer until their thighs were touching. “What is it?”

“Old pictures. My grandfather loved photography, and he had state of the art equipment back then.”

Sawyer gave a low whistle. “I bet that cost a pretty penny.”

“He could afford it. Anyway, he has a bunch of pictures of your grandfather in here. At least, that‘s what the captions on the pages say. I think they were good friends back then.”

Sawyer shot him a smile. “It sounds like you and I are more connected than we thought.”

“Yeah,” Marc said, staring into his eyes.

Sawyer‘s smile turned knowing and his free hand slid onto Marc‘s thigh. “Show me?” He held out the album.

Marc did. He pointed out all the people he knew, or had known, and described the places in the background. Occasionally, Sawyer‘s eyes would light up with recognition, and he‘d share one of his grandfather‘s stories about the other people in the pictures. There were even some tales about Marc‘s own grandparents.

“Thanks, Marc,” Sawyer said after they‘d reached the end and set the album aside. “You have no idea what that meant to me.” He sighed. “Today was harder than I thought it would be. But now I don‘t feel like he‘s totally gone. I was upset when I realized he hadn‘t told me how sick he was.”

“Maybe he didn‘t want to burden you.”

“It wouldn‘t have been a burden.”

Marc nodded. It was like the situation with Aunt May. He understood.

“Hey.”

Marc glanced sideways and found Sawyer staring at him. “Yeah?”

“Are there any good restaurants in this town?”

Marc blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Several.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Me?” Marc shifted, then caught his breath when he felt Sawyer‘s hand wrap around his. “Sure. I mean… what kind of food do you like?”

“What kind of food do you like?”

It was impossible to concentrate with Sawyer‘s fingers dancing across his palm. He felt the soft touches all the way to his toes. “I‘m not sure what you‘re asking,” he said, breathless.
Experimentally, he swiped his thumb over Sawyer‘s knuckles, then bit his lip when Sawyer‘s fingers clenched around his wrist.

“I‘m asking,” Sawyer said in a husky voice, peppered with more than a trace of amusement, “if you‘d like to go to dinner.”

Reality crashed over Marc like a bucket of cold water. He shuddered. “I can‘t.”

“Oh?” Sawyer‘s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

The fluttering in Marc‘s stomach turned into a sickening churning. “I‘m not—I don‘t—” It was hardly an explanation, but the meaning had come through clear enough, apparently, because Sawyer‘s eyes grew distant and his expression brittle.

“I see.” Sawyer pulled his hand away and stood. His acerbic laugh made Marc‘s stomach roll even harder.

Panicked, he shot to his feet and reached to touch Sawyer‘s arm. “Can‘t we just—?” He let the question hang, praying Sawyer would understand. He felt both hot and cold, needy and desperate, and wanting Sawyer so fiercely that he could barely breathe.

Sawyer scrubbed his hands over his face, mumbling to himself, though Marc couldn‘t make out the words. He turned and stepped back, putting a few feet between them. “No. I‘m sorry. We can‘t. I don‘t hide who I am, and I‘m not about to start.”

Marc‘s heart lurched. Humiliated, he turned to leave.

“Marc, wait.”

“You don‘t understand,” Marc hissed.

“I think I do.”

Whether he did or not had little bearing on how things were going to end. “I‘ll come by tomorrow,” Marc said over his shoulder. “To get the rest of that furniture. If that‘s okay.”

He heard Sawyer sigh. “Of course.”

Night had crept in while they talked, shrouding the yard in shadow. Marc only stumbled once as he navigated around the side of the house. His truck was where he‘d left it, sitting in a faint pool of light from the porch lamp. He curled his fingers around the door handle and cursed under his breath. He wasn‘t angry with Sawyer, but with himself. For the last several years, it had been simpler to ignore the situation than to deal with it. Hiding might be cowardly, but was it so wrong to want something in his life to be free of complications? Just this once?

Sawyer had judged him, and he‘d be damned if he didn‘t deserve it. The rejection might even be a test, though that was less likely. Why would Sawyer go to the trouble? He didn‘t seem the sort who invited aggravation into his life, and that was certainly what Marc would bring.

“Marc?”

He turned, surprised to see Sawyer behind him. The last of the sunset glittered from behind the tree line, casting a halo around his head and shoulders. Marc‘s heart lurched. “Yeah?” he asked, voice gruff.

“You forgot this.” Sawyer held out the old album. Marc thought back to how Sawyer had smiled over the photos. And how they had chased some of the wistfulness from his eyes.

“Keep it. Please,” he added when Sawyer looked ready to protest.

Sawyer‘s arm sank slowly back to his side. “Marc—”

“Please.”

He‘d said that a lot today. Hell, he‘d said it a lot for the past ten years or more, apologized for something he couldn‘t change. It wasn‘t a stunning realization, or even a particularly new one, but it still left him desolate. His life had become little more than a balancing act, and suddenly what he‘d told Aunt May about being happy seemed the flimsiest lie on the planet.

The hours of carrying and loading and unloading caught up with him in an instant. His arms weighed a thousand pounds each. He just wanted to sleep.

“Okay,” Sawyer said, voice low. “I will. If you‘re sure.”

“I‘m sure,” Marc said, shamelessly indulging in one last look. His eyes swept Sawyer from head to toe, smiling at the threadbare jeans and lingering over the snug T-shirt. When his eyes reached Sawyer‘s, he was surprised to find a pained look etched across his face. For a moment, Marc forgot how he‘d been rebuffed. He reached out, almost touching Sawyer‘s cheek before good sense stopped him. With a growl, he turned away and yanked the truck door open.

“Marc!”

He stopped and waited. His body hummed with arousal. Even the humiliation hadn‘t dampened that completely. Cool night air brushed against the perspiration slicking his forehead and neck. He shivered.

But it was nothing compared to the shudder that gripped him when Sawyer stepped up behind him. A warm hand landed on Marc‘s shoulder and coaxed him to turn.

He resisted. “Please,” he said. That word again, damn it. “Just let it go.”

“No.”

Marc spun around, throwing Sawyer‘s hand off. “Would you please just leave me some… some—”

“Some what?” Sawyer stood less than a foot away, gaze boring into him. His eyes looked even paler in the near darkness. They hypnotized him, and Marc didn‘t bother fighting it.

“I don‘t know,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don‘t even know.”

Sawyer opened his mouth, started to speak, then clamped it shut again. Breathing heavily, jaw clenched, he balled his hands into fists at his sides.

Marc sighed. “I‘m sorry. I don‘t know what I‘m doing.”

“Marc.” Sawyer‘s voice sounded strangled. “Goddamn it.” He surged forward and slid one hand around the nape of Marc‘s neck, hauling him close. Marc‘s lethargy broke the second Sawyer pulled them together. His hands flew to Sawyer‘s waist and gripped it tight.

“I‘m not going to be your secret.” Sawyer‘s harsh words cut through the air between them. Then, as if he hadn‘t just denied their connection, he leaned in the last few inches and brushed their mouths together. Marc whimpered.

Sawyer held him still when he tried to deepen the kiss and spoke against his lips. “Stop hiding, okay? Stop hiding, and I promise I‘ll give you whatever you want.”

Marc sagged, defeated. “I‘ll try.”

“I‘ll help you. Just say the word,” Sawyer whispered. He stepped back, leaving Marc cold and alone, and since Marc didn‘t trust himself to speak, he climbed into the front seat and shut the door. By the time he‘d started the engine and glanced out the side window, Sawyer was gone. The only light in the house was far up on the third floor, in the corner bedroom Marc guessed Sawyer had taken for his own. Shaking, he put the vehicle in gear and drove away, gravel crunching under the tires.