Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (3 page)

That was the first time it had happened during the Dalton boys’ stay. Ricky spent the entire walk home thinking about the possibilities; wondering…who?

That night, after the younger kids were in bed, Elke and her husband, Joe, sat Ricky down for a chat. The two of them stayed quiet for a moment, sharing nervous looks. Ricky knew what they were going to say, had prepared himself for it. Hell, he even wanted it. But, damn, could they get on with it already?

“It’s John-Michael, isn’t it?”

They both sagged with relief at not having to break what they must have thought was bad news. It wasn’t. It was everything he’d wanted for J-M.

“Yes, honey. The couple who came today want to start the adoption process,” Elke began, but she still looked decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s wonderful news, but…” She paused as if choosing her words carefully.

Oh, fuck it.
“
But
, they only want him. Right?”

“Right,” she confirmed with a sad smile. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

He’d known it was coming, but hearing the words was still like a knife to his gut. Knowing he would finally be separated from his brother, probably for good, was untenable. He closed his eyes against the unwelcome pain. He had no right to feel it—not when John-Michael was getting a chance at a better life. Ricky took pride in that, if only a small amount, that he’d managed to keep his brother alive and safe, to give him that chance.

He smiled through his tears at the well-meaning couple—kind people that they were. “It’s good,” he said, meaning it. “Let’s go tell John-Michael the good news.”

Chapter Four

After the designated week, Rory felt almost one hundred percent again. The smile he bestowed upon Rich when asked was nothing short of miraculous.

“All right, now are you going to tell me how you did it, or what?”

Rich smirked, greedily drinking in the need, the dependence that he hadn’t gotten from anyone since John-Michael left. It was probably all kinds of fucked up, but feeling that way again was like having a piece—just a tiny one, mind—of his brother back again.

Rich set his favorite coffee mug on the kitchen table and sat down beside Rory. “Well, since you asked ever so nicely,” he began, with an eye roll for good measure. “I had a foster sister once who had all of the same symptoms as you. They cured her by cutting wheat gluten out of her diet. I’m betting you have a gluten allergy like she did, but you should go back to the doctor to be sure.”

“I’ve never even heard of gluten.”

Rich nodded, because he hadn’t either, before Susan. “I think people first started realizing just how many things contained it when contaminated gluten in dog food started poisoning family pets. It’s in damn near everything that isn’t picked from a tree or dug from the ground—even salad dressing.”

“Wow,” Rory said, then he slapped Rich on the back. “Thanks, bro. Looks like you saved me—again. You must be, like, my guardian angel or something.”

Rich glowed from the praise. He couldn’t help it. Rory inspired all of his latent caretaker tendencies.

Suddenly, Rory’s face clouded and he frowned, a line forming between his thick, black brows.

“What?” Rich asked, wary now, pulse inexplicably thundering.

Rory looked at him as if he’d never seen him before. “You said…foster sister, didn’t you?”

Oh, shit
.

“You told me you grew up in Fresno with your parents, that you were an only child. What the fuck, man?”

Rich lowered his head, resting his forehead on the table between his elbows, and grasped the back of his head with shaking hands. He didn’t want this. He’d buried it—all of it. It was all too painful to dredge up and still go on. But he knew Rory wasn’t going to let it go.

“I’m sorry I lied to you. But my past is not something I talk about. Ever.”

“Dude, I thought we were friends…”

“W-we were—
are!
” Rich flung his hands up in the air with exasperation.

Rory just crossed his arms over his chest and gave Rich ‘the stare’—the one that never failed to get him his way.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, as long as you promise that once I’m done you won’t ever bring it up again,”

Rory seemed to think it over for half a second before he nodded. “Deal.”

Out of options that didn’t include losing Rory’s friendship and the little family they’d built, Rich told him as much as he dared—nowhere near the whole story, but enough. He spoke of things he’d never before mentioned aloud, not even to himself. When it was over, Rory just stared at him, ghost-pale with tears shining in his eyes. Pity radiated from him in waves, and it made Rich sick to his stomach.
I don’t want this
, he thought again.

“Look, it was all a long time ago. I’ve worked really hard to put it behind me, so please don’t make me keep going.”

Rory rubbed his shoulder, and Rich cursed himself for leaning into it, so much so that he flinched away moments later. Rory frowned but didn’t comment.

“Of course. I’ll drop it…if I can ask one question first.”

Rich tensed but nodded his consent.
May as well get it over with
.

“Whatever happened to your brother? Surely you tried to find him…and I mean, how many John-Michael Langston’s could there be?”

Rich held up a hand to stave off Rory’s excited babbling. He had to shut this down before it went any further, hurt any more. “First, Dalton.”

“Huh?”

“We grew up Ricky and John-Michael Dalton, sons of Bonnie. After J-M got adopted, I started using my mother’s maiden name, instead of her bastard, deadbeat of a sperm donor ex-husband’s.”

“Ah. You wanted to distance yourself from that part of your life—the Ricky years.” It was a statement, not a question.

Fuck, the boy was smarter than anyone gave him credit for; too smart for his own damn good—or Rich’s.

“Yeah, I guess. To answer your question, no, I never looked for him. I don’t want to know what happened to him. I
can’t
know.” He gave Rory a warning look. “What I have in my head…this picture, this idea of him living a happy, suburban,
Leave it to Beaver
life somewhere…sometimes it was all that held me together. Sometimes it still is. If I found out that reality didn’t jibe with that mental picture…well, I just don’t know if I’d survive it."

* * * *

Rory never mentioned Rich’s past again. He did go back to the doctor and was diagnosed with celiac disease—an autoimmune disorder that manifested in the same way as a gluten allergy, but was far more serious.

He was already well on the road to remission following the diet Rich had outlined for him. He’d taken to calling Rich his “guardian angel” more often, and he took Rich’s assholish ways in stride, probably because he knew the real reason behind them.

Rich was coming to terms with the fact that he might really be in love with his straight roommate. He was dealing. He was
actually
working his way up to telling Rory what he’d never told another living soul who mattered—that he was gay—just on the ghost of a chance that there could be something between them. Life was short, right?

The night Rich had planned to break the news was the first time Rory brought home Maia—his future wife.

PART II

The Real Boy

Chapter Five

The Union Marina was the last place Patrick O’Dowd wanted to be. He wanted to be working on the restoration of the
USS Juneau
like the rest of the brothers, but no, he was the middle son, and thus currently the lowest O’Dowd on the totem pole. The older boys had pulled rank and claimed they needed to stay closer to home, which was pure bollocks. The younger ones argued that they were broke and needed the extra money the
Juneau
job would bring in.

Plus, Patrick was his mam’s baby—ridiculous at thirty-six—so when she asked him to do a favor for the son of her best friend from church, all she had to do was bat her big Kerry green eyes at him and he caved. Shannon O’Dowd had met fellow Irish Catholic goodwife Mira Donovan at Sunday mass when the O’Dowds had first moved to Seattle, and they became fast friends. Turned out Mira’s son had a friend who was caught at sea and wrecked his sailboat—a fifty-year-old ketch—and it needed restoring.

That was how Patrick had come to be out at the marina, baking in the summer sun, on this fine Seattle morning. And he was bloody well not happy about it.

He scratched his head and stared at the battered craft. There hadn’t appeared to be any major hull damage, but she had been towed to the marina and hauled in on a boatlift in case there were any slow leaks. Couldn’t have her sinking while they were working on her. The boat had good bones so she’d mend and mend well, but not without some elbow grease. They were going to need some manpower.

A throat cleared behind him, and Patrick whirled around to face a slender man with a mop of brown curls and huge green eyes that could rival his ma’s.
Cute
, Patrick thought.

“Mr. O’Dowd?” When Patrick nodded, the young man went on. “I’m Justice Crawford. Nice to meet you.”

Justice held out a hand that Patrick shook without thought, but he was shaking his head at the same time. “Crawford? It’s Donovan I’m to be meeting with. Rory Donovan.”

The young man gave him a patient smile. “Rory’s running late, but he’ll be here. Actually, the boat belongs to my fiancé.” Justice cleared his throat again and gave Patrick a wary look. “Nic Valentine.”

Patrick nodded, understanding. Even in Seattle, a gay man had to be careful. “So that’s the way of it, then?”

“Yes. That okay with you?”

“Aye,” Patrick answered, then gave Justice a broad smile. “Being that you’re engaged, I’ll have to try my luck elsewhere then, won’t I?”

His wink set the kid to blushing, and it felt good to harmlessly flirt with someone again.

A large hybrid SUV pulled into the marina and a tall, attractive man stepped out. He was handsome to Justice’s cute. Damn, but they grew them hearty here in Seattle. “That’d be Donovan, then?”

Justice nodded, waving Rory over. Mira Donovan’s son had grown up into a fine specimen indeed—as Patrick hadn’t seen him since they were boys. However, he had it on good authority that the guy was very straight, and very married.

After all of the proper introductions were made, the three turned back to the boat. Patrick could see the beauty she’d been underneath the haggard wreckage before him. “What’s her story?”

“Her? Oh!” Justice grunted when Rory elbowed him in the ribs.

“The salty sea dogs talk about ’em like women,” Rory said in a stage whisper.

“Salty sea…” Patrick rolled his eyes. “Really, mate, you’ve been watching too many pirate movies.”

Justice chuckled and stuck out his tongue at Rory, then went on with his story. “Nic restored most of…um, her, himself. He got caught in that awful storm a couple of months back. Ran aground on Skull Island, lost the main mast and the engine. And obviously, cosmetically, she took a beating.”

“Aye, she did,” Patrick agreed.

“I’m hoping I can get the boat restored on the sly, as a wedding present for Nic.”

Justice fairly glowed when talking about his man, and Patrick felt the tiniest bit of envy. He shook it off, however, because there was work to be done. “The USS Juneau she’s not, but I can fix her. We’re going to need a bigger crew.”

* * * *

Rich’s brain felt like melted ice cream. He’d gone out the night before and gotten an epic drunk on. The last few months had been a train wreck of meteoric proportions, finding Rich at his lowest point since losing John-Michael.

First Rory announced that he was getting married to the little Asian girl and that he was flying in best-friend-Justice to be his best man. It stung on both counts, and Rich was furiously jealous of both of them. Maia seemed so sweet and innocent, completely ignorant of how she stole Rory from Rich—if only in his own head—so he focused all of his rage toward both of them on Justice.

Rich had blackmailed the guy out of the best man spot, then outed him to all of his friends. Not his finest hour. For the first time since they met, Rory was truly angry with him—hence the drunk. He deserved it; he’d been a shit. But he couldn’t have helped it if he tried. He’d lost the one man who tempted him to finally deal with his sexuality—not that he’d ever really had him. But Rich’s life was a study in loss, and for a minute, he’d let himself believe it could be something else.

To make amends with Rory, he’d agreed to help restore Justice’s boyfriend Nic’s boat. Nic wasn’t exactly a fan of Rich either. But lying in his bed on Saturday morning with his brain-melting headache, he was procrastinating. He groaned when his alarm clock went off for the fourth time. Slapping it for good measure, he tossed the covers off and staggered to his feet.

Rich wavered a bit, momentarily thought about throwing up, but after a few deep breaths, he got his hangover under control. Once he was fairly sure he could walk, he made a beeline for the coffeepot that he’d fortunately remembered to put on auto-brew the night before. After chugging two cups of liquid bliss and downing some aspirin, he felt relatively human again.