Chapter 6
SIX
Standing there, watching Graeme nearly fall apart as he battled his way through the phone call with his ex, nearly broke Ryan.
He put together the pieces of what must have been happening as the conversation went on, even though he could only hear one side of it.
He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have an ex-wife ring to say she was marrying his former best friend.
It was so far out of the realm of anything he’d experienced that all he could do was bleed internally for Graeme.
He wanted to wrap the sweet, young man up in his arms and kiss all his pains better.
His first instinct was to slow things down, breathe with Graeme, and process the emotional pain carefully.
So he was completely surprised when Graeme jumped on Art’s idea to get as loud and brash as possible in response to the shock.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked Graeme an hour later, after they’d all showered and dressed in clean clothes, Graeme and Art both borrowing things from Hawthorne House’s extensive clothes room, as they piled into Ryan’s car.
“If it’s too much for you, we can stay home and go for a walk or something. ”
“What are you talking about?” Art argued, shoving Ryan’s shoulder slightly as he climbed into the back seat. “Situations like this don’t call for a walk, they call for a party.”
“For once in my life, and I absolutely mean once and the first time,” Graeme said, putting on his seat belt in the front passenger’s seat, “I agree with Art. I need to go someplace where I can forget everything for a bit.”
“Brighton is perfect for that,” Art assured him, scooting forward and throwing his arms around Graeme and the headrest from behind. “I will have you so distracted that you won’t remember your name by the end of the day.”
Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Art, one eyebrow raised, as if he was asking, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Art ignored him, though, and Ryan started the car and pulled out of his parking place.
Brighton wasn’t that long of a drive. In just over an hour, they’d made their way down to the coast, found a parking spot, and were sitting on the crowded, sandy beach eating a late lunch of fish and chips in traditional newsprint.
“We used to come down here when we were kids,” Ryan told Graeme and Art, who sat on the other side with Graeme in the middle. “Mum and Dad would squeeze everyone in the car in a way that must have broken at least a dozen parts of The Highway Code and motor us down here first thing in the morning.”
“I bet you lot were the sort to stake your claim on a prime spot of beach first thing, and then to make so much noise and faff throughout the day that everyone stayed clear of you,” Art laughed.
“How did you guess?” Ryan asked with a smirk before eating a chip.
Art laughed. “That just seems like the Hawthorne way. Conquer early and then make a lot of noise.”
“I’m not the noisy one here,” Ryan defended himself. “That title belongs firmly to you, Arthur.”
“And I’ll wear that crown proudly,” Art said far too loudly. “Unless Graeme here wants to steal it from me. What do you say, Graeme? I bet you get really loud when you want to. I have you pegged for a screamer.”
“I, um….” Graeme’s face was bright red, and not from the June sun.
Ryan found it dead sexy, particularly because the blush came with a wide-eyed look of guilt.
A thousand questions raced through his head as he contemplated just how innocent Graeme really was.
He wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Graeme was a gay virgin.
Although during the call with Mavis, someone named Damien had been mentioned.
Those thoughts sent shivers through him that were incredibly inappropriate for so early in the day on a beach filled with kids. He shoved them all aside by asking Art, “Where did you learn to be so loud? Not from summers down here in Brighton, I’m sure.”
“Mum and Dad packed us off to Whitby every year,” Art said. “I learned how to be a menace at the arcades overlooking the North Sea, thank you very much. If it weren’t for the gayness in the air here, I would say Whitby beats Brighton any day for a seaside escape.”
“Never!” Ryan laughed, reaching around Graeme to shove Art. “It’s Brighton or nothing.”
“You say that, but someday I’ll drag you up to Whitby and show you a thing or two,” Art said, pushing him back.
“Show me how inferior it is, you mean,” Ryan said.
They were acting like kids, but it was refreshing. He was still quiet, but Graeme seemed far more relaxed. He was doing a good job of tolerating his and Art’s pushing and shoving, too.
“What about you, Graeme? Where did your family go for summer holidays?” he asked, trying to sober up and consider their third.
Graeme huffed a laugh. “Mum and Dad didn’t believe in summer holidays,” he said. “Or at least not summer holidays at the seaside in places like this. We did go hiking in the Lake District one year, but mostly they liked to take us around to see old churches.”
“Old churches?” Art asked incredulously, then shuddered exaggeratedly and huffed his disapproval.
“You’re an archeologist,” Ryan called him out on his fake horror. “You would love that.”
“Some churches have lovely gardens,” Graeme defended his family, smiling. “I always like being outdoors.”
“Ah, you’re a naturist, are you?” Art asked teasingly, using the wrong term on purpose.
Graeme caught the deliberate mistake. “Wouldn’t you love that,” he said.
Ryan and Art both called out “Oh!” in response to Graeme’s banter. It felt incredible to have him playing along in the same game he and Art had been engaged in since Art had come to Hawthorne House.
“We’ll corrupt this one yet,” Art said, bumping his shoulder against Graeme’s before taking another bite of his fish.
As much as Ryan had doubted it before, once they disposed of the rubbish from their lunch and moved on to walk off some of the calories by taking off their shoes and squishing through the wet sand where the water lapped at the beach, he was ready to admit that Brighton had been an excellent idea.
Graeme relaxed more than Ryan had ever seen him do.
Art kicked water at both of them whenever he could, of course.
Ryan splashed back, half out of protectiveness for Graeme and half because it was just so much fun to mess with Art.
At one point, Art’s teasing and splashing got so bad that Ryan rounded on him, lifting him off his feet and throwing him down onto the softer sand.
“You’re an absolute menace to society,” he laughed, tackling Art and pinning him down.
“Yes, please, Daddy,” Art replied breathlessly, eyes bright with lust as he gazed up at Ryan.
It completely did his head in. It was the middle of the afternoon on a public beach, the sun beating down, and the way Art went limp and open under him had Ryan aching to slam his mouth over Art’s just as they were, or flip him to his stomach, yank his borrowed jeans down, and fuck him until he begged for mercy.
None of which would have been in the same universe as appropriate for their current situation.
They would be arrested, twenty-first century or not.
And there was Graeme to think about as well.
Ryan pulled back reluctantly, balancing on his knees in the shifting sands, and glanced up at Graeme. As only felt right, the sun blazed behind Graeme, making it look like he wore a halo. Ryan held a hand to his eyes and said, “Sorry about this mischief-maker.”
“He’s just having fun,” Graeme said with a shrug. “I’m having fun, too.”
God fucking dammit! Art and Graeme needed to stop using his libido as the rope in a massive tug-o-war! One minute he was ready to get sticky with Art and the next he wanted to go somewhere and have a nice, long cuddle with Graeme. It was making a complete mess of his head.
“I’ll race you to the pier,” Art said, scrambling to his feet and starting off across the sand.
“What are we, twelve?” Ryan called after him, still on his knees, arms outstretched.
“Last one there is a rotten egg,” Graeme laughed and raced after Art.
It was maddening, and Ryan couldn’t remember when he’d been happier. He pushed up and scrambled after his friends, gaining ground on them, since he had the longest legs, then pulling ahead of Art. Graeme was surprisingly fast, though, and beat them both to the edge of the pier.
Like the beach, the pier was incredibly packed and crowded as well.
It was one of the main attractions of Brighton Beach, so that was no surprise.
The three of them had to leave acting like children to the actual children, who were running everywhere, laughing and screaming, crying and throwing fits, much to the annoyance of a few mothers, and generally enjoying themselves.
“I’ve never been to an arcade like this,” Graeme commented as they walked through a loud, flashy, expensive mass of games and devices.
“You’re kidding,” Art said, reflecting exactly what Ryan had been thinking.
“I told you, my family never approved of places like this,” Graeme said. He glanced around and said, “It looks fun.”
“Right, that’s it,” Ryan said, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. “We’re playing games.”
It was like something out of a movie montage of reclaimed childhood. He cashed in far too much money for the tokens that the games all required, and the three of them set to work trying out everything from skee ball to the machines that pushed coins off a ledge.
Graeme was in heaven, which came as a surprise to Ryan. Considering how the day had started, he hadn’t expected to see Graeme laughing and getting so involved in the stupid games. They hadn’t even started drinking yet. Art noticed the change, too.
“See?” he said as they gathered tickets from the water pistol game they’d just competed in. “I told you this was a brilliant idea.”
“It was,” Graeme admitted.
“And now I’m going to cash these tickets in and win you a big, ugly stuffed dog or something,” Art said.