Chapter 1
The tie around his neck was choking him.
It wasn’t tight enough to kill him though—much to Beckett’s dismay—just tight enough to induce claustrophobia.
He felt compelled to at least pretend to enjoy the grand opening of Jackson’s new jewelry store while fighting to breathe.
Hayes picked out the tie, of course. Beckett had originally planned to wear his nice jeans—his Sunday best—and a white dress shirt.
It wasn’t his fault that Hayes had ambushed him, forcing him to wear a suit and tie.
Dammit. Had he been in his right mind, he’d have punched Hayes for even daring to ask him to dress up.
But he’d been blissed out of his mind from an earth-shattering orgasm, so he agreed in the heat of the moment.
As a consequence, he was currently being choked by his tie and wishing he was anywhere but here.
With a champagne flute in one hand and the other stuffed in his pocket while he scanned the crowd, he stood next to Hayes in a back corner of the showroom.
He didn’t attend shindigs like this. Not if he could help it, anyway.
“Your brother has impeccable taste,” Hayes observed, looking far more relaxed in this social setting than Beckett could ever hope to be.
He’d worn one of his best suits—in Beckett’s greatly biased opinion.
It was a dark green that appeared black in dim light, making Hayes’ dark blue gaze turn to gunmetal grey.
The suit fit him like a glove, too. The double-breasted style wasn’t one Hayes wore very often, but every time he did, it made Beckett feel as if he’d snagged a villain straight out of a James Bond film.
He fucking loved it when Hayes wore his double-breasted suit. Not that he’d ever tell him that, especially since Hayes was well aware of his movie star looks and didn’t need the ego boost.
“Right, and you’re the expert when it comes to recognizing the height of good taste, since you picked me,” Beckett said, with his usual arrogance.
Hayes ignored him with practiced ease. “I love the architecture,” Hayes remarked without a trace of sarcasm.
Beckett sighed. He usually didn’t pay much attention to the design of a store, since he typically had much better things to do, such as assessing the layout to make sure no one could get the drop on him.
At the moment though, he was standing in a corner, with his back to the wall, and Hayes by his side, so he could safely lower his guard.
His brother’s store was especially nice.
Jackson had regaled him with details about incorporating art-deco elements to enhance the more traditional ones, such as glass casing and crystal embellishments.
The end result was an elegant room, the sparkling jewelry contrasted sharply with the dark wood and its gold accents, displayed in clear crystal cases lined with bright lights.
“Katerina was in charge of the design,” Beckett said, recalling at least one thing from the deluge of information Jackson heaped on him earlier. Beckett had been only too grateful when Jackson finally abandoned him in favor of chatting up new customers.
“Well done,” Hayes observed admiringly.
Beckett pulled at his collar, desperate to loosen the damned thing. He couldn’t breathe right, and he was rapidly becoming overheated. This was like some form of medieval torture.
“How long do these shindigs usually last?” he asked Hayes because it seemed like the type of thing his sophisticated boyfriend would know.
“Hard to say—anywhere from one to three hours? It’s a cocktail party essentially, so theoretically you can come and go as you please. However, I assume there will be a speech to welcome the guests, and then perhaps another about—”
“Alright, stop, ‘cuz I’m gonna lose my shit,” Beckett cut him off, sorry he’d even asked in the first place.
Hayes chuckled and shook his head. He stepped slightly behind Beckett and leaned closer to softly whisper, “We could always sneak off to the bathroom—”
This was so unlike Hayes that Beckett startled and spun to face him like he’d just taken a cattle prod up the ass.
“Really?” Beckett couldn’t hide his shock. Hayes never wanted to fuck anywhere out in public where they could get caught.
“—so you can unbutton your shirt for a few minutes? Sure!” Hayes finished his statement with a sexy smirk.
Beckett wanted to throttle him. He did—if only slightly less than he wanted to toss his ass to the floor and ride him right there in the middle of the store. His wearing that goddamned double-breasted jacket was not playing fair.
“You think you’re funny now, but just wait until I set fire to this place, and we both end up in jail—again!” Beckett growled while waving a finger in Hayes’ face to stress his point.
“Again!?” A shrill voice came from close behind him, and Beckett froze momentarily.
“Maman!” he exclaimed in delight, spinning around to greet her with open arms.
“Beckett Claude Thérault! Tell me you’re joking about being arrested!” she shrieked, as if terrified at the very idea.
Beckett heard Hayes cough to mask his laughter.
“My middle name is not Claude,” Beckett said, snarling at Hayes to make sure to get the point across.
Then turning to his mother, “Quoi? No—I would—well—but no one pressed charges, so it doesn’t really matter what I have or haven’t done,” he claimed with a straight face, confident that she’d believe him.
“Doesn’t matter? My son behind bars and I’m just now hearing about it?” she asked, fairly bristling with anger. “What did you do?”
“Which time?” he replied automatically, like a complete dumbass. She whacked him in the middle of the chest with her purse.
“Good evening, Mrs. Thérault. It’s lovely to see you again,” Hayes pushed past Beckett to extend his hand towards her.
He looked much more comfortable in approaching her today than when they’d first met. Beckett was pleased to see how well they got on.
“Oh—hello, Hayes, dear!” She bypassed the handshake and gave him a big hug and kissed his cheeks. Stepping back and holding him at arm’s length, she looked him up and down.
“What handsome young men you both are!” she said with a pleased smile. “You even managed to find a nice suit for Beckett to wear!”
“Hey—how do you know I didn’t pick this out for myself?” he whined plaintively. Sure, while he’d never actually purchased a decent suit for himself, that didn’t mean he was incapable of it.
“For the same reason she’s been choosing clothes for me for the last 35 years,” John Thérault said with a laugh as he walked up to stand beside his wife.
“Laziness?” Beckett asked, mockingly.
“Terrible taste,” his father replied gruffly. “It’s good to see you boys!”
Cynthia had gotten her husband to wear a well-cut navy blue suit with a light blue dress shirt that complimented his salt-and-pepper beard and hair. However, she had not forced him to wear a tie, which Beckett noted with no small amount of resentment.
“Been too long,” John commented with a smile.
“Hey, Pops!” Beckett greeted him fondly, then sheepishly admitted, “Yeah, we’ve been a little—uh—busy.” How the fuck could he even begin to explain the fantastical shit show their summer had been?
“I’m sure. Busy getting thrown in jail, apparently!” Cynthia gave John a speaking
look, as if fully expecting him to show Beckett the error of his ways.
John’s eyebrows shot up and he chuckled.
“Did you now? What happened, son? You know, once, in college, I spent the night in jail because—”
Cynthia smacked John in the middle of the chest. Beckett felt a bit better knowing he wasn’t the only one to get whacked in the chest.
“Don’t you dare bring that up here,” she warned, waving a menacing finger in front of his face. With a rueful smile, John nodded and fell silent.
“Have you seen Jackson? Your brother was a mess all week! I hope everything’s going alright.” Cynthia frowned worriedly as she turned to search the room for him.
“We did—he looked fine,” Beckett responded with a reassuring nod.
“Everything was going alright, as far as he knew. Even said they’d been ready ahead of schedule. They really did a fantastic job,” Hayes remarked.
Beckett shot him a look of surprise. Had Jackson really said all that and he hadn’t heard?
“They did!” Cynthia agreed, delighted to have the opportunity to gush about one of her children’s outstanding accomplishments.
“Hard to believe this is from the same guy who got an F in art class because he couldn't even make a simple clay pot,” Beckett answered, nodding in agreement.
“Kid always sucked at art, but business though, that he gets,” John said proudly.
"Were you any better?" Hayes asked, looking at Beckett with a smirk that said he doubted it.
Cynthia chuckled and shook her head.
“No, because all he was good at in school was blowing things up and getting in trouble!” she replied on Beckett’s behalf and then hugged him close.
“I’d argue but—” he broke off and shrugged.
"Not much has changed then," Hayes observed with a teasing smile.
"Were you an artist in high school?" Cynthia asked Hayes.
Hayes hummed thoughtfully and responded, "I wasn't horrible. I made some decent stained glass once.” He ducked his chin, looking self-conscious.
“Stained glass!” Beckett protested loudly, drawing questioning looks from nearby guests. “What kind of Barbie prep school did you go to?”
Hayes frowned slightly in clear dismissal of the question and the unwelcome intrusion into his past. He tended to do that frequently, and Beckett had resolved to do something about that little habit—someday soon. Especially after the surprise revelations of the previous fall.
“Whatever happened to good old-fashioned wood shop?” His father sounded disgruntled. “Showing men how to work—"
“Please don't say showing men how to work their wood, or so help me God—” Beckett interrupted his father, earning him a well-deserved punch to the shoulder.
“—with their hands!” John finished his statement somewhat forcefully.