The Square Peg (36 page)

“No.” Benedict gave him an odd look. “That it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I

thought the whole place would be a total loss and we’d have to start from scratch,

maybe even knock down the building first. But it sounds as if we can get things

together in a couple of months, open by the end of June?”

Shane sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m done, Benedict. I can’t do it

again.”

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“Then I’ll handle everything. You can take some time off to recover, maybe go

away somewhere warm for a week.”

“You’re insane,” Shane told him. “Do you seriously think you can manage that on

top of your full-time job? You’d be better off forgetting about the whole thing. Take the

insurance money and walk away while the going’s good.” He did his best to sound

casual, but inside he felt sick. He could do anything, go anywhere, take a different job.

That would be easy. Watching Benedict walk away—that would be the hard part.

“I’m insane?” Benedict, still standing near the door, jumped when there was a

knock on the other side. “Christ, what now?”

Opening the door revealed the last person Shane wanted to see: Mary bloody

Jaffarian. “What the hell do you want?” he snapped, standing and moving closer to

Benedict.

She looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. “This isn’t a social call. I was

hoping to get a statement for the paper about the fire.”

“I think we learned our lesson on that one,” Benedict said.

“You wouldn’t like the kind of statement I want to give you,” Shane added.

Mary came inside as confidently as if she’d been invited. “It must have been a

shock. And I heard you had to go the hospital?”

“What part of us not wanting to give you the time of day, let alone a statement,

didn’t you get?” Shane demanded. “Your last smear job was what led to the bar getting

torched. Do you know that? If I’d died in there, you’d have been as much to blame as

the idiot who lit the match.”

A flicker in her eyes showed she was startled, but she hid it well. “That’s not true.

I just report the facts. I’m not responsible for how people deal with them.”

“Before we go any further, I want to make it clear that anything we say is off the

record,” Benedict said.

Her reluctance was plain, but she nodded. “Fair enough.”

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“You slanted that piece,” Benedict told her, his voice icy. “Made it seem as if we

were running a sleazy dive, not a neighborhood bar with an open door policy.”

“You can’t blame people for not wanting a gay bar on the doorstep. I’m not saying

there’s anything wrong with it myself, but it’s an understandable attitude.”

Shane snorted. “No, it’s not. It’s a fucking atrocious attitude. And the people

behind the arson live miles away, on some posh estate, most likely, so you can forget all

the on-your-doorstep crap.”

“As you pointed out to us yourself, the local businesses were very supportive of

the new direction the bar was taking,” Benedict said. “Or weren’t you being sincere

when you said that?”

“Her? Sincere? I doubt it. Do me a favor?” Shane was itching for a fight, his

headache and the tightness in his chest forgotten.

“What?”

“Throw her out of here.”

Benedict looked grim. “In a minute.” He stepped closer to Mary. The door was

still open, and Benedict was imposing enough that she moved backward to create some

space between them. “Have you ever thought about what it might be like to be

different?”

She swallowed. “Different?”

“Gay,” Benedict clarified. He was exuding control, of the conversation and the

room. “Is it that hard to understand there are people who need a safe place to have a

drink or a late dinner?”

Mary rallied, lifting her chin and meeting Benedict’s gaze steadily. “I just report

the facts. It’s not my fault if people read something into it.”

“Is that the response you trot out every time someone confronts you on the shit

you pull?” Benedict sounded furious. “You just don’t care about anyone but yourself,

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do you? I can’t believe I actually defended you when you came to the bar.” He glanced

at Shane. “I should have let you get rid of her when you wanted to.”

“I’m allowed to do my job,” Mary said.

“Please. So as long as you’re doing your job, it doesn’t matter how many people’s

lives you fuck up? There are people in our community who need somewhere to go

where they don’t have to worry some bigot will beat them up for kissing their partner,

or jump them in the parking lot for having the nerve to not be heterosexual. If you had a

fucking clue what that was like, you’d be more understanding.” He seemed to run out

of steam then; he sighed, and his shoulders dropped. “Well, I don’t care what you write.

If I have to be the only one on board with these renovations, I’ll figure out a way to do

it, but I’m not taking this place away from our community. People need it too much.”

Her face sharpened. “That sounds as if you were considering not rebuilding. Is

that the case?” Her gaze shifted to Shane. “You don’t want to, do you? Scared of

reprisals?”

Unbelievable. Shane put his arm around Benedict, feeling the tension in the man’s

body. Benedict needed to relax before he got a stress headache. Shane had a few ideas

about how that could be achieved if he could convince Benedict he was fit enough to do

more in bed than cuddle.

“We’re both committed to getting the Square Peg up and running again. It will

reopen, it will be a safe place for gays, and it will welcome anyone who’s not a

homophobic idiot or out to cause trouble. Which means you’re barred, lady. For life.”

Shane jerked his thumb. “Get lost. Now.”

For a moment Shane thought she might actually refuse, but she hesitated and

frowned. “Great. Well, I’ll make sure to put that in the article, then.”

“If you screw it up, we’ll sue you for everything you’ve got,” Benedict said, and

that was enough, finally, to send her packing.

Shane shut the door with more force than necessary and turned to kiss Benedict.

“You were brilliant.”

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“Wait, what? I thought you didn’t want to rebuild.” Benedict looked so upset

Shane had to kiss him again.

“Thought I didn’t,” he admitted. “Until I heard you talking about how people

need us.” He pushed Benedict’s crazy hair back from his face. “If you’re in, I’m in.”

Benedict’s eyes searched his. “You’re…not just talking about the bar.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Shane took a deep breath and shook his head. “No.

I’m talking about us. If it’s not what you want—”

“I’m going to blame that momentary insanity on your concussion,” Benedict said

tenderly. “You’ll always be what I want.”

It was exactly what he needed to hear, but Shane still hesitated before replying,

doubts rising. If it was too good to be true, he didn’t trust it, never had. Benedict was

everything he’d ever hoped to find in a man, the perfect partner, so there had to be a

catch.

“You’re thinking about something and frowning.” Benedict was doing some

frowning now. “Am I pushing too hard, too fast? Because I can give you some space.”

Just the thought of it gave Shane the shivers. He didn’t want space or breathing

room. He needed Benedict close. That didn’t leave room for doubts. “Yeah? Not seeing

that happening somehow.”

“I can,” Benedict protested.

“So you’d be okay with me seeing someone else now and then? Fine with me

flirting with the punters for real? Is that what you’re saying?” Shane watched Benedict

fight to hold back his reaction, and he smiled. No, Benedict wouldn’t like it at all. Thank

God. “Possessive son of a bitch,” he said softly, making the words a caress. “Come here.

Kiss me like you mean it, and tell me I’m yours—because I am. And in case you’re

wondering, I can get pretty fucking territorial myself, so you’d better not—”

That was as far as he got before he was silenced by a kiss. Benedict’s mouth was

warm against his, the kiss short and sweet, passionate without force. Shane might have

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craved more, but breaking off to cough wasn’t exactly romantic, so he appreciated

Benedict’s restraint.

“When you’re better, I’m going to show you what being mine feels like,” Benedict

said, running his fingertip along Shane’s jaw. “Just in case you’re unclear on the

concept.”

Shane wet his lips, catching a faint taste of Benedict. “Yeah? Any time you’re

ready.” God, he sounded shaky. When it came to Benedict, he was a total fucking

pushover, and they both knew it. His cock was hard from the kiss and Benedict’s

promise, eager for a touch it probably wouldn’t get. Benedict was treating him as if he

were made of glass, and it was totally unnecessary in Shane’s opinion. The hospital had

told him that, judging by the blood test results and his chest X-ray, he’d escaped serious

damage to his lungs. He’d been given an inhaler to use if needed and painkillers, but

the doctors had seemed optimistic that he’d recover quickly and completely. The

residual headache and cough weren’t fun, but he was feeling better with every passing

hour.

“I don’t think either of us is ready right now,” Benedict said. He didn’t sound

happy about it, but he looked happy. “Come on, back to bed with you.”

“Only if you’ll keep me company,” Shane countered, and Benedict nodded.

Benedict’s bed was nice. The mattress was firm, and he had plenty of pillows.

Shane found himself thinking Benedict had been with that arsehole Jenson in this bed,

and he burrowed closer into the warmth of the blankets.

“Did you think you’d be with him forever?” he asked.

“Who, Jenson? Why would you want to…” Benedict sighed and rubbed his hand

along Shane’s back and shoulder. “We never talked about it. Well, I didn’t. Sometimes

he would, but it was more about what he’d be doing. His career, stuff like that.”

“But did you think it?” Shane knew he was setting himself up, but somehow he

couldn’t help it. He wanted to hear he was special to Benedict.

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“I don’t know. Sometimes, maybe. But I think I always knew he wouldn’t hang

around forever. I wasn’t that surprised when he said it was over.”

“He’s an idiot,” Shane said firmly.

“Maybe.” Benedict kissed Shane’s head. “Quiet, now. Get some rest.”

* * * *

he’d slept for days, but a glance at the clock showed it had only been a few hours. He

ached all over; stretching was a relief that made him groan softly, and he got up and

shuffled out into the hallway.

Benedict and Vincent were sitting in front of the television, Benedict on the sofa

and Vincent in an oversize chair.

“Zombie attack,” Vincent said. He pointed at Benedict. “His brains are tastier. Eat

him first.”

“I don’t look that fucking bad,” Shane grumbled, though he had to admit as he

shuffled across to join Benedict that he was moving like an old man. “I just stiffened up

a bit sleeping. I’ll have a shower.”

“A bath would be better. Hot, and soak for a while. Put some Epsom salts in it.”

Benedict spoke with the subtle twist to his voice that made it an order Shane had to

obey. Shane shot Vincent a glance, wondering if he’d picked up on it, but Vincent’s

attention was back on the television.

“All right if I eat something first?” He didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of his

voice. He wanted Benedict to hear it; to turn his head, surprised; to see the knowing

glint in Shane’s eyes and realize what Shane was telling him.

“There’s veggie lasagna in the fridge that Shelly brought over,” Vincent offered. “I

can reheat you some in the microwave if you want.”

Shane liked Vincent a lot, but right then, he was in the way.

“Yeah, okay,” he said grudgingly. “Thanks.”

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Vincent’s going to the kitchen gave Shane a few moments alone with Benedict, at

least. Shane tucked his legs up onto the sofa and curled toward Benedict, half on his lap,

mouth pressed to the soft T-shirt over Benedict’s belly. He breathed warmly into the

fabric and felt Benedict’s hand slide to cradle his skull.

“You should have stayed in bed,” Benedict said.

Shane shrugged as best he could in the position he was in. “Woke up. Wanted to

see what I was missing.” He nuzzled at the bottom hem of Benedict’s T-shirt until it

rode up a little bit and exposed bare skin, then lifted his chin and pressed his lips

against it.

Benedict shivered. “Not much. Just bad TV.”

“It’s all bad, far as I’m concerned.” Shane had never been much of a TV watcher,