Chapter Thirty-Three
Sam was at Jim’s Supervalue, hunting for Connor’s favorite flavor of ice cream, rum raisin—further proof that despite his youthful appearance, Connor was a seventy-year-old in disguise.
Connor had been killing himself all week, trying to catch up on the backlog of jobs that had piled up while his dad was in the ICU.
He’d been starting early and working late, and Sam planned to surprise him when he got back that evening with dinner and a massage—ideally one in which they were both naked.
Not that there was any guarantee Connor wouldn’t fall asleep, like he had the previous night while Sam was feeling him up in bed.
While he hadn’t been offended, it was the first time a man had passed out with Sam’s hand down his pants.
Sam spotted a small tub of rum raisin in the far back of the standing freezer and fished it out.
He dropped it into his basket with the rest of the ingredients for dinner and was heading toward the checkout when his phone began to ring.
The name on the screen made him pause before deciding he should probably pick up.
Sam raised the phone to his ear with a sigh.
“Oh really?” His sister’s curt voice crackled through the receiver. “That’s what I get? A sigh?”
“Hello, Georgia.”
“Fuck you, Sam. I stuck my neck out for you, and you totally bailed!”
“Look,” Sam said, stepping around a woman peering at the selection of bagged peas. “I appreciate you making introductions and getting me that interview, and I’m sorry I couldn’t take the job. But things have changed.”
“What’s changed? You don’t expect me to believe you want to stay in that shithole.”
“I’ve met someone.”
Now it was his sister’s turn to sigh. “Here we go. This is your MO, Sam. You think people can save you from yourself, so you latch onto the closest warm body and let them determine your fate.”
Sam lurched to a stop in the middle of the frozen foods aisle. “That’s a pretty accurate description, actually,” he conceded. “You could have saved me a ton of money on therapy if we’d had this talk five years ago.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But it’s not like that this time,” Sam said, his tone softening.
He thought of the way Connor had listened, undeterred, while Sam warned him about himself.
How Connor had reached for him in spite of his failings.
“I don’t need saving. As for determining my fate, well, that’s my responsibility. No one else’s.”
Georgia was silent on the other end of the line. When she spoke, it was in a voice that wasn’t her own. “Mom and Dad were so scared when they found you in Austin. They told me they thought you might...” She stopped, and Sam could hear her breathing through the phone.
“But I didn’t,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t.”
He felt a twinge of remorse. He’d always thought the two of them were so different, but she cared more than he’d given her credit for. He’d allowed the cattiness and the petty disagreements to drive a wedge through their relationship for years.
“And Oakdale has just magically transformed overnight?”
“No, but it is different. It’s not like back then—at least, it doesn’t feel that way. I think maybe I’m the one who’s changed.” He didn’t feel alone anymore.
Georgia clicked her teeth, her frustration audible through the phone. “Fine. You didn’t want the job, whatever. If you’d rather swan around, sending invoices for a living, who am I to stop you?”
Sam laughed. “I’m not entirely sure what I want to be doing. Life always felt like a race. I’m going to try staying still for a bit, enjoy where I am and what I have, and see how that feels.”
“Just don’t come crying to me when you want to get back in the game and your résumé’s filled with holes.”
Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure, Georgia. Thanks again for your help.”
“Don’t get mushy on me, Samuel,” she said and hung up.
Sam glanced at the items in his basket and decided to swing by the beer-and-wine section to hunt out a bottle of champagne. He was going to need something to wash down the rum raisin.
Connor had been rushing around all day and was only one job away from being able to head home to find out what Sam had planned for him back at the apartment.
Turned out the man wasn’t the smoothest when it came to surprises.
Connor had received a string of not-so-subtle messages from Sam throughout the afternoon with questions like, Do you like pistachios?
and Does coconut oil make you break out?
So naturally, Connor was expecting to be slathered in oil and dipped in crushed nuts like a caramel apple.
And he couldn’t have been more down for it.
Connor wanted to get a handle on work before he and Sam headed to Austin the following weekend.
He’d been secretly relieved when Sam had agreed to let him come.
From what he’d heard about Felix, the guy wasn’t exactly Prince Charming, and Connor didn’t like the idea of Sam going back to face him alone.
Connor pulled up outside a small, run-down house with an overgrown hackberry stooped out front and checked the address on his run sheet. Then he grabbed his tool bag from the back of the van and walked over cracked pavers to the front door, where he rapped loudly with the knocker.
“Finnis,” Blake Plimmerton said when the door swung open.
Connor frowned and looked down at the job brief in his hand. “I’m here for a Sarah Baxter.”
“Yeah, that’s my ma. Come on.”
Connor made a point to keep his boots on when he stepped inside. “So, what’s the issue?” he asked as Blake led him through the house. It was dimly lit and crammed with boxes of junk pushed up against the walls. Connor’s nose wrinkled at the reek of unchanged cat litter.
“Rats chewed through the washer cord in the basement,” Blake said, opening the door that led beneath the house. “Need to replace the plug.”
They walked down the narrow stairs to the basement, and Connor pulled the washer away from the wall and crouched to inspect the damaged cord. “Looks like they’re halfway through the dryer cord as well. I can replace both, but it’s only going to happen again if you don’t get an exterminator.”
Blake shrugged. “Whatever. Just fix it, and I’ll figure out the rest.”
“Sure you will,” Connor muttered.
“Not what I’d call five-star service,” Blake sneered.
“Then find another electrician.” Connor got to his feet and dropped his tool bag on top of the closed washer lid. He pulled out his pliers to strip back the old cord.
“What’s your beef, man? I don’t have a problem with you.”
Connor surged with a sudden rush of anger.
“No?” He tossed the pliers back into the bag and stepped forward, getting up in the man’s face like Plimmerton had done to the kids at school.
“Well, I have a problem with you.” Connor was taller by a head, but Blake was bulky, his gut filling the space between them.
“I never said anything at school because I was a fucking coward. But you had no right to treat Sam the way you did.”
“Bryant?”
“Yeah. And then humiliating him like that, in front of everyone? You had to make the rest of his time there a living hell.”
Blake snickered. “From the way you talk, I’d say you were a little soft on him, Finnis.”
It was the kind of thing guys said to each other to elicit a reaction. Let’s see what he does with this one.
“I am, actually. More than a little.”
Blake blinked, taken aback.
“Do you have a problem with me now?” Connor stared Blake down. “Want to force yourself on me for shits and giggles? Isn’t that your thing?”
“No, man...”
“You know there’s a name for that, right? Even if no one had the balls to call you on it back then.”
The bravado had vanished, and Blake’s eyes dropped to the floor. Was he imagining it, or did Blake seem strangely subdued, almost frightened?
“It was a fucking joke,” Blake mumbled. “I wasn’t... it’s not like I was into him.”
Connor froze. Wait...
A voice called out from down the hall, and an older woman in slippers and a bathrobe appeared at the top of the stairs. “What are you starting, Blake? Leave the man alone, for Christ’s sake, and let him fix the damn washer.”
“Yes, Ma.”
She disappeared back down the hallway.
“This your mom’s place?”
Blake folded his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, coaching kids doesn’t pay much, does it? Just waiting till I’ve got a little saved up.”
Connor had noticed it at the door, how strongly Blake smelled of alcohol. He recalled Sam’s comment about how everyone else seemed to have their lives together. That wasn’t true by a long shot.
“I’ve got a couple replacement plugs in the van,” Connor said.
“I’ll swap out the dryer at the same time so you don’t zap yourself before they chew right through.
Do what you want about the rats. But trust me...
” He fixed Blake with a knowing look. “If you don’t face up to your problems now, you’re going to find yourself with a lot more down the road. ”
“So, I had a strange thought,” Connor said, his back to Sam.
“Hmm?”
They were on the couch at Connor’s apartment, and Connor sat shirtless between Sam’s legs.
Sam was working lavender-scented oil into Connor’s back and shamelessly admiring the broad planes of his shoulders.
The view made him think of how good Connor looked from this angle, which immediately turned to thoughts of fucking him from behind, and Sam burned with a newfound audacity that was oddly liberating.
In the end, he’d decided against the coconut oil and splurged on some expensive massage oil, which he’d picked up at the drugstore.
It came in a box with an image of a half-naked couple on the front, the woman’s head thrown back in orgasmic bliss.
He figured it couldn’t hurt to keep Mr. Willis guessing.
Connor had loved dinner and dessert, enough to go back for seconds, and Sam felt giddy and buzzed, partly from one too many glasses of champagne but also from the inexplicable delight of spending the evening together without having to come up with a phony excuse.