Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (9 page)

“Okay.”

“He was hounding me about John-Michael again.”

“Want me to kick his ass?” The breathless chuckle Patrick got in reply broke his heart just a little.

“Thanks for the offer, but he told me that since he’d located me, his job was technically done. He’s going to forward J-M’s contact info to me to use or not use, at my discretion. Ball’s in my court now, I guess.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Sure. Maybe. I still just don’t know what to do. I wish I had…I just wish someone could tell me what to do, and to maybe tell me what was going to happen if I did it.”

Patrick heard the unspoken plea, the thing that Rich had really wanted to say.
I just wish I had someone to talk to
. He wanted to scream that he was right here. Right. Here. But why would Rich confide in a glorified fuck-buddy? He had to let it go. Rich had to figure it out on his own, or figure out that he needed help. Patrick did the only thing he could think of. He changed the subject.

* * * *

Patrick invited Rich along to the O’Dowd marine complex to select a new mast for the
Galeocerdo
. The complex—which consisted of a large hangar-type building, a couple of smaller outbuildings, a shipyard, and a dock—was situated on the waterfront of the Lake Washington ship channel, along with several other Seattle-based boat builders and marine companies.

The facility was surrounded by a metal chain-link fence with barbed wire coils on top. Rich guessed it was because several boats were kept outside in the shipyard. Patrick pulled his truck up to the gate and rolled down his window to punch in a code on a keypad. The gate opened on his command, he drove through, and then it closed automatically behind them.

“Here we are. Where the magic happens.”

“Cool.” Rich wasn’t sure what else to say. He didn’t know anything about boats, but being here—and showing Rich his work—seemed to make Patrick happy. After such a great night, Rich didn’t see any harm in indulging him. He did have such a nice smile, toothy and genuine.

Patrick led him across the asphalt of the yard and through the hangar door. Inside, it was enormous, a lot bigger than it had looked from the outside. It had probably half a football field’s worth of space. Several sailboats in various stages of disrepair, and also some that appeared to be in the building process, were housed in the large warehouse. One corner was filled with industrial-grade carpentry equipment—drill presses, lathes, saws, and several machines Rich couldn’t identify.

Lining one wall were shelves of stacked lumber and along another wall were massive metal hooks across which masts were laid horizontally. There were so many masts, of varying length and thickness, that Rich had no idea how Patrick would go about picking one.

“So what do you do, just close your eyes and point?”

Patrick chuckled and ran a hand down Rich’s spine. Rich felt himself melt a little, and since he had the urge to lean in, he stepped away, putting a little distance between them. He disguised it by getting a closer look at what some of the men were doing with some lumber laid out across several sawhorses.

“That probably seems like it would be the easiest way. Alas, I’m a perfectionist. The size of the vessel and the subsequent desired length and thickness of the mast narrows it down a touch. The most sought after wood for a mast is Sitka spruce, though a local spruce or a Douglas fir will work fine enough for some vessels. But it’ll be only the best for a craft such as the
Galeocerdo
.”

“What are these guys doing?” Rich asked, nodding at the sawhorses.

“Ah, well there are two types of masts that we make here at the shop. There’s the solid wood mast and the birdsmouth mast. The lads here are making a solid mast, wherein pieces of lumber are glued together and clamped for a time, then put through a press. What they’re doing now is using drawknives to shape the wood into the traditional tapering cylinder. After that, all they have to do is sand it, stain it, and drill the rigging holes.

“But the type I’ve in mind for Mr. Valentine’s boat is a birdsmouth mast. It gets its name from the way the spars are cut to fit together—then it’s glued, clamped, and sanded as well. The design has more flex, more give, and I think it will do well for a light vessel like the ketch.”

Normally, Rich’s eyes would have glazed over with all of the technical talk that had nothing to do with him. But the way Patrick’s face lit up when he spoke of his craft, the way his body became so animated that he practically vibrated, held Rich’s interest.

“Cool,” he said again, but this time he meant it. “So which is it?”

Patrick strode over to the wall lined with masts, and then glanced back over his shoulder at Rich. “We won’t stack them like some do—Da believes it can cause warping. Sitka spruce is bloody expensive and hard to find, so he won’t risk it.”

He narrowed his eyes at the long poles, picking one out and pointing to it. “It’s to be that one, I think. It’s of a good, sturdy shape and the perfect length. A mast is a boat’s crowning glory, you see. This one’s beautiful, matches the woodwork on the
Galeocerdo
, it does.”

Since it was one of the lower hanging masts, Patrick ran a hand over its smoothly sanded surface, stroking it like a lover. Rich followed every subtle movement of that hand with his eyes, until the movement stopped. His eyes flew to Patrick’s face only to find the man staring back at him, equally as enthralled.

Rich was sure it was unintentional, that moment when Patrick’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, but it drew his attention nonetheless. Rich stepped up to him, got right in his face, and gripped his biceps. He thought he might kiss Patrick, but instead, he just leaned in so that their lips hovered just millimeters apart.

Then Rich took a deep breath and pulled back infinitesimally. Patrick’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his pulse fluttered wildly in his neck. Rich smiled, loving the effect he was having on the other man. He’d never had that. He’d always been chasing—someone, something—money, stability…
Rory
.

It was intoxicating, this feeling of being the wanted, being the chased. In that moment, Rich decided he would see where this involvement might go. Yanking Patrick forward by his arms, Rich planted a quick, hard kiss on his lips before releasing him.

“Guess we’d better get back to the boat.”

* * * *

Once they got back from the workshop, proudly toting the replacement mast on a flatbed trailer towed behind Patrick’s truck, Patrick and Rich split up to work on their respective tasks for the day. Patrick had invited two of his best friends to help him erect the mast. Bennett Foster and Neil Hesse were a couple of Seattle’s finest. They had been involved in Nic Valentine’s rescue, and bringing in the crippled
Galeocerdo
.

Justice and Rory hadn’t met the boys yet, plus they were losing more crew to day jobs every day, so they could use more able-bodied workers. The main body of work had been finished; all the holes had been repaired, all the broken rigging fixed, and the rudder replaced. All that was left was swapping the mast and the engine, and a massive cleanup that would include replacing some of the wooden deck flooring, sanding the hull, and putting on a few coats of anti-fouling paint to keep the barnacles off.

Patrick looked over at Rich, who was on his knees applying stain to a part of the deck that was still intact. He knew the guy liked to hide behind his fuck-all attitude, but he was putting in a hell of a lot more work than many of the others on the crew. Patrick suspected it had a lot to do with the guilt he felt over outing Justice—or at least the guilt over disappointing Rory by doing so.

But today Rich frowned over his work, and he seemed preoccupied. He was probably still stewing about the call from the PI and trying to figure out what to do with John-Michael. Patrick still didn’t understand what Rich’s hang-up was about seeing his long, lost brother. Shouldn’t he be over the moon about it? Rich was completely private and obviously hated talking about anything personal, but Patrick couldn’t stand to see the guy suffer in silence. He decided that tonight, he’d ask what the big deal was. He had a feeling he might need to bring some riot gear, though.

An SUV pulling into the marina parking lot caught Patrick’s eye and drew his attention away from Rich. His heart gave an excited flip as he saw his two friends climbing out. He climbed down to the pier and waited for them, smiling when they got close.

Neal Hesse was an out gay man on the police force, something that was a challenge even in Seattle, but he took it in stride. He was a right surly bastard most of the time. It was one of the things Patrick liked best about him. Sergeant Bennett Foster was more of a cheerful sort and as straight as they came, but he was solid and dependable—and living with a gay brother had taught him to get over himself and realize that they were all just guys. While Patrick had never considered starting anything romantic with either of them, they were both easy on the eyes—and built like fucking brick houses, the both of them. Lord knew he’d need all that muscle to get the new mast up.

Bennett swept Patrick up in a big bear hug, lifting him a couple of inches off the ground. It was a feat very few men could accomplish. Once he was set back on his feet, Neal gave Patrick a more sedate handshake and back-clapping hug.

“I’m so happy you lads could make it out today. I’ve some heavy lifting for you.”

Bennett grinned. “In that case, I think we’ll just be heading out.”

Patrick cuffed him on the back of the head. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you, boy.”

“So they say. Where are these guys you wanted us to meet?” Bennett asked.

“Over here.” Patrick motioned for them to follow him over to where Rory and Justice were sanding the hull. “Justice Crawford, Rory Donovan, I’d like you to meet two of my best mates, Sergeant Bennett Foster and Officer Neal Hesse. Apparently, these lads were part of the crew that rescued Nic.”

Justice stepped forward, his huge green eyes glistening with tears. Neal held out his hand to shake, but Justice bypassed it and leapt at the man, wrapping him in a hard hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he pounced on Bennett, squeezing him within an inch of his life as the tears finally broke. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Patrick laughed when he saw the guys exchanged baffled, rather scandalized looks. He decided to put them out of their misery and explain. “Justice is Nic’s fiancé.”

Bennett nodded, gripping Justice’s shoulders and gently setting him back a step. Then he gave the young man one of his trademark lopsided grins. “That explains it. I’m happy we were able to help.”

Momentarily having forgotten Rory, Patrick gestured at him. “Rory is Justice’s best friend from college, so naturally Nic’s rescue was important to him as well.”

After Rory shook hands with and thanked both men, he stepped back behind Justice. He was unusually quiet, as Patrick had come to associate the man with an exuberant personality. He was eying the two men with uncertain curiosity. Then it looked like Rory sort of checked them out, but Patrick was sure he’d imagined it because Rory was married—and straight.

“All right, ladies, enough chit-chat. Let me show you around the craft.” Patrick clapped Neal on the back and led them to the companionway ladder. They boarded the sailboat, and he gave them a quick tour. He’d wanted to introduce them to Rich, but he’d been afraid the man’s sour mood would influence their opinion of him…not that their opinion mattered. It wasn’t like they were dating. He was saved by the fact that when they got to the tail end of the boat, Rich was no longer there. Maybe he’d gone to get more stain.

Neal spent some time looking out over the water, and Patrick joined him.

“You been back out on the water lately?” Neal asked.

“You know I haven’t. Not since the last time I was forced to take a client’s boat for a test run. I very nearly didn’t make it back without having a nervous breakdown.”

“Shame.” It was a simple statement, but it summed things up nicely. Patrick knew he had his friend’s sympathy, but they both knew there was nothing to be done.

Suddenly, Bennett pounced on Patrick from behind and pretended like he was going to push him overboard.

“You sonofabitch!” Patrick said with a laugh, wiggling out of his hold and wrapping the man in the headlock. They were both laughing and struggling in their faux-fight when Rich walked right up to them, red-faced and glaring.

“What the hell is going on?”

Patrick and Bennett stopped fighting and separated. Bennett covered his mouth as if he was trying not to smile. “This the boyfriend?” he asked, his brows climbing to his hairline.

“Hell, no,” Patrick said emphatically. He was pissed off, because the look on Rich’s face could only be described as jealousy. And what right did he have to be jealous? He didn’t even let Patrick spend the night for fuck’s sake. “Rich, these are my friends, Bennett Foster and Neal Hesse. They’re helping out for the day.”

Rich just glared, and it only served to make Patrick angrier. He’d thought they were finally getting to a place of mutual gratification and easy companionship. Patrick hanging out with his friends shouldn’t bother the man if he didn’t care.

“Rich used to be Rory’s roommate. He was a total dick to Justice when they first met, so he’s working on the boat as a sort of penance.”