Chapter One
Julian
August looked like shit.
He hadn’t looked great all week—who would after losing a beloved sister—but today he looked truly awful. And him being in my house spoke volumes. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. He was my boss. I was his employee. Occasionally, he took us out for a round of drinks. But showing up out of the blue was definitely not him.
My stomach churned as I led him into my living room. Surreptitiously, I sniffed my pits. Showering after work was a necessity, but I always worried the smell of sweat might linger.
The day had been brutally hot. September in southern British Columbia wasn’t known for heat, but summer was lingering extra long this year.
Frankly, I wanted the sun to take a break. But that would mean the return of winter, which was equally shitty.
Get over it already.
“You want a drink?”
I pointed to my beer.
He dropped onto my couch.
Weary.
That’s the word I’d choose. Like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
And maybe he did. Losing Nia had to hurt. She might’ve been a decade older than him, but at just forty-two, her death felt wrong in so many ways. An aneurysm. And she lived alone. Heck, the coroner said she’d been dead three days before August checked.
That guilt hung like an anvil around his neck. That he couldn’t have done anything didn’t matter—he felt like he’d let his sister down.
“I don’t…”
He gazed up at me. His dark-brown eyes begged me to understand. To decide.
I scratched my beard. I couldn’t do it. He never drank when he took us out. Once, to me alone, he’d made a comment about an alcoholic mother and an absent father. Hell, Nia had practically raised him from the time he’d been a toddler—taking on the role of mother when she wasn’t even a teenager herself.
“Buddy, I don’t know how to help you.”
My chest felt too tight. As it had all week as I watched him suffer. He’d come out to supervise us a few times—we didn’t need it, but it made him feel good to be doing something. “Hey, didn’t you see Everett today?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
Well, couldn’t blame him.
Today’d been the reading of Nia’s will.
Everett and August were university buddies—August in forestry management and Everett in pre-law. Their paths had diverged for a while, but both had wound up coming home to Mission City. Now August was an arborist, and Everett was making a name for himself as a lawyer.
I strode to the kitchen. If he wasn’t a drinker, I wasn’t going to give him booze. If he explicitly asked, I’d consider it. Instead, I yanked a bottle of diet cola from my fridge. I popped the top and took it back to the living room.
August’d pulled one of my throw pillows onto his lap and was hugging it as if it was a lifeline.
Hell, maybe it was.
After putting the cola on the side table by his hand, I dropped onto the couch next to him.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.”
Neither could I.
Their parents passed some time ago. Now, my boss—my friend—was alone in the world.
Given my huge boisterous family and my hearty, healthy parents, I couldn’t relate.
Taking him in my arms to drive away some of the pain didn’t seem like a good idea, but I needed to form a connection. Slowly, with great care, I eased one of his hands from his death grip on my pillow. I laced our fingers, marveling at the contrast—his so dark and mine so fair.
Although I worked outside, I stayed pale. My grandmother’d had skin cancer when I was in my impressionable early twenties. She made me swear I’d wear sunscreen every day—especially when it became apparent I’d taken to the entire tree-trimming thing that horrified my family.
They wanted a successful professional.
I wanted to be out in nature.
August and I had that in common. Of course, being Black, he didn’t get much darker in the summer. But he allowed me to stick a hat on his head on the really sunny days.
“I’m sorry.”
He turned his head and met my gaze.
Oh, the pain in those fathomlessly deep eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m glad you felt you could come here. I mean—”
“No, for this.”
He leaned toward me.
He was giving me warning.
All I had to do was pull back and make some smart-aleck remark. Make a joke. Tell a funny anecdote about what Claudia had done today at work.
But I didn’t. I leaned toward him. My eyes drifted shut.
The first press of his lips was soft.
Soon, though, he grasped my cheek with his free hand.
When he nipped my lower lip, I opened up.
Eight years. For eight years, I’d pined for this untouchable man. For eight years, I believed he was straight.
More fool me.
He knew I was gay.
I’d come out of the closet at my high school graduation.
My parents hadn’t batted an eye, and my grandmother embraced me and told anyone who’d listen—and even those who didn’t want to hear.
On the job, I wore a pride baseball cap with a purple unicorn and the rainbow flag. I got dirty looks from some of our customers, but most were so grateful August’d fit them into the schedule that they weren’t willing to risk upsetting the man.
In eight years, we’d only been asked to leave a job site once.
Whether the guy was bigoted about August being Black, me being gay, or some combination, I wasn’t sure. And why I was thinking about that asshole while the most amazing man was sticking his tongue down my throat?
With my free hand, I ran my hand through his crinkly, short hair. I scratched his scalp—the way I knew he liked.
He groaned.
And pulled back.
Damn.
He met my gaze. “Can we take this to the bedroom?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Wait, what does my bedroom look like?
I don’t think he’s going to care if your underwear is on the floor.
Good point.
“Yeah, let’s go.”