1
The Kidnapping
Something was seriously wrong with the ceiling fan. Even on the lowest setting, its aggressive wobble was concerning.
The movement was accompanied by a repetitive click, like a medieval pendulum getting steadily closer to slicing him in half.
He would turn it off, but that would mean getting up, and getting up required energy Charlie didn’t have.
It was a stalemate and had been for the last few hours. At some point he would have to go to the bathroom.
Until then, the fan would threaten his life, and Charlie would accept his fate.
Getting sliced in half by a poorly installed ceiling fan might be an improvement over his current situation. At least he would have a better excuse for feeling the way he did.
Plenty of people moved to the other side of the country for a job that turned out to be something other than what they were led to believe.
And plenty of people did the same thing for a romantic partner who also turned out not be who they thought. Usually, those things didn’t happen to the same person in the same week, but hey, at least Charlie’s life-implosion was efficient.
The next time he opened his eyes, the sun had shifted enough that a shaft of light cut across the bed and bisected his bare torso, heating his skin like an echo of the imaginary pendulum blade.
It was the cliche opening to a noir-style film. Charlie would have laughed if he had the energy. All he needed was a femme fatale to swan in and beg him to help find her husband’s murderer.
Someone knocked on the front door.
Oh, absolutely not. Charlie dragged the closest pillow over his head and pressed it to his ears. Whoever it was could fuck all the way off.
He wasn’t hauling himself out of bed for anything short of the building burning down, and even then, he might just wait for the firefighters to rescue him.
The knocking stopped after a minute, and Charlie slowly relaxed. Nothing good could come from a random visitor.
He hadn’t been in LA long enough to make friends, and none of his new-now-former coworkers had his address.
The only person who knew where he lived was the last person he wanted to see.
Charlie’s eyes burned. He pressed the pillow harder against his face as Cupid’s bow lips, sculpted cheekbones, and eyes so blue they were nearly aqua invaded his thoughts.
Eyes that had been warm with laughter, until they suddenly weren’t, and a mouth that always held a twist of humor, until it didn’t.
Whatever. Tanner York may look like he’d been sculpted by one of the old masters but that didn’t make him special. Half of LA looked like that.
In fact, the guy ringing up Charlie’s groceries the other day looked like he’d wandered off a Milan runway.
Kind of acted like it too, considering how confused he’d been when Charlie handed him cash. It couldn’t be that hard to make change for a twenty.
Something buzzed near his head. Charlie lifted the pillow and immediately regretted it.
His cell phone was lit up and vibrating on the bedside table. A glance showed his brother’s name. One of them. Charlie was the oldest of five boys. Yes. Yes. His poor mom.
Unfortunately, the caller was the only brother Charlie struggled to ignore. Jamie was too nice for his own good.
At almost twenty-five, he was closest in age to Charlie’s twenty-seven, but most people clocked him as younger.
Mainly because he was the definition of a walking disaster. Last summer he managed to break a sprinkler head and flood his entire apartment building.
Somehow—Charlie still had trouble believing it—he’d managed to come out of the situation with not only a nicer apartment, but also a boyfriend by way of the hot landlord who owned the building.
Charlie propped himself up on his elbow but hesitated long enough that the phone went dark and the “missed call“
notification flashed across the screen.
He waited, blurry-eyed, his head swimming from being almost upright for the first time in too many hours. If Jamie didn’t leave a voicemail, everything was probably fine.
Instead of a voicemail, he got a text.
Jamie
Open the door.
What the fuck?
The knocking started again, louder this time.
Was Jamie in LA? That couldn’t be right.
Charlie hauled himself out of bed, clinging to the edge of the nightstand long enough for his head to stop swimming and his vision to clear. Okay. That was probably a sign he needed to move more. Whatever. He was moving now, wasn’t he?
He didn’t bother with pants since it was just his brother. Instead, he stumbled through the dark apartment, swearing when he stubbed his toe on a moving box hiding near the sofa. Two months in LA and he was still trying to find time to unpack. Maybe that was a silver lining in this whole mess. Half of his stuff was still in boxes, which would make shipping them back to his parents a hell of a lot easier.
He reached the door, his toe still throbbing, and flipped the deadbolt. The door stuck a little, so he had to put some muscle into opening it. The hard yank resulted in it flying open. Charlie didn’t stumble, but it was a near thing. Instead, he was left standing in the wide-open doorway, dressed in his rattiest boxer-briefs, with bloodshot eyes, unwashed hair, and several days of stubble, staring down two men who were not his brother.
The younger of the two went wide-eyed at the sight of him, his face flushing red. “Oh. Um…“
His mismatched green and blue eyes darted everywhere but Charlie’s face. “Hi, Charlie.”
“Finn,“
Charlie managed, his voice flat with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Corey “Finn“
Finnegan was a long way from Split Rock, North Carolina, the town where they both grew up. Where Finn still lived, as far as Charlie knew.
Then, Charlie registered the person standing next to Finn, and every thought in his over-taxed brain fled.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
That wasn’t Finn’s boyfriend. He wasn’t even one of the other guys from back home. Instead, Finn was standing outside Charlie’s apartment with one of the most famous actors on the planet. A man who had twice been voted Sexiest Man Alive. Charlie remembered, belatedly, that his boxer-briefs had a stain on the front and a hole in the ass.
Later, Charlie would blame it on stress, dehydration, and standing up quickly after too many hours in bed. Because he absolutely didn’t swoon over Remy Dalton. It was a blood pressure thing making his vision go black. A medical condition.
He heard Finn’s startled yelp as the room tilted beneath his feet. Fortunately, firm hands caught and steadied him before he could do more than sag toward the floor. Expensive cologne filled his nostrils and made his mouth water—or maybe that was the head rush. When the ground stopped trying to fling him off, and his vision cleared, Charlie was sitting on the sofa. Finn hovered close enough to grab him if he tried to pass out again. Remy Dalton, who smelled incredible, was on his other side, a firm hand clasping Charlie’s bicep to help keep him upright.
Charlie was suddenly, horrifyingly aware of how long it had been since he showered or brushed his teeth. His skin flashed hot enough to make him dizzy again, and he dropped his head into his hands, elbows landing on his knees. “What the fuck?“
he whispered, out loud this time, and louder than he meant to. He dug his fingers into his lank hair and pulled. Hard. Maybe this was a nightmare, and he could wake himself up before it got worse.
“Deep breaths,“
the Sexiest Man Alive said, his voice soothing, like he was calming a wild animal.
Charlie choked on a laugh. Remy Dalton, box office–crushing superstar, was in his living room, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. Charlie was unlikely to calm down anytime soon, and who could blame him? “Finn,“
he managed without lifting his head from his hands. “Why are you and Remy Dalton in my apartment?”
Finn made an apologetic sound, and Charlie could picture him twisting his fingers together the way he did when he was nervous. “To check on you?“
he said, his voice tilting up at the end to make it a question.
“And you brought an A-list actor with you?“
he threw back. It was possible he was being rude, talking like Remy wasn’t there, but he wasn’t at his best. He was having the week from hell. He shouldn’t be peopling, much less hosting guests. Especially not the celebrity kind. Which should go without saying ohmygod...
“Yes?“
Finn replied, his tone wavering a little.
Remy’s hand squeezed Charlie’s shoulder in warning. “I can wait in the hall, if it would help,“
he offered, as if Charlie, good Southern boy that he was, would ever allow that.
“No,“
Charlie ground out. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks,“
Remy said, his tone a little dry.
Charlie tried for answers again. “Why are you in LA, Finn?”
Finn took a deep breath. “Xavi,“
that was Finn’s boyfriend, “had a meeting before my birthday trip. It was easier to have it here, since we leave from the Los Angeles Cruise Terminal. Jamie told me your mom hadn’t heard from you and she was worried. He knew I was in town, so he asked me to check on you.”
Ugh. Small towns. Even in LA he couldn’t escape the Split Rock grapevine. Still… “A little warning would have been appreciated, Finny.“
Charlie dug his palms into his eye-sockets until sparks filled his vision. “It’s not a great time.”
This time, he could hear the gentle reprimand in Finn’s tone. “Well, obviously. But everyone was concerned. Jamie said you haven’t been answering texts, and he didn’t have any other way to get in touch with you since you don’t have any friends out here.”
Charlie tried to breathe through his stinging sinuses while pain flared in his chest. No, he didn’t have friends here anymore. He pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling. “I’m fine,“
he managed, the words almost believable. “I’ll text Mom and let her know. Sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
There was a pause that Charlie tried not to read into, then the hand he’d forgotten was on his shoulder tightened and he was being hauled effortlessly upright.
Charlie’s hands fell from his face as he got his feet under him, and he ended up caught in blue eyes that had launched more than one film franchise. Damn, Remy had to be pushing fifty, but he wore it well and his muscles clearly weren’t for show. “From what I’ve heard, you’re too smart to think you can get rid of us that easily.”
Charlie gaped and tried to force his brain back online. Remy Dalton had heard of him? How was this his life right now?
“Here’s what we going to do,“
Remy continued, his gaze serious and voice steady in a way Charlie knew would have him blushing in any other situation. “You’re going to go clean up and get dressed while I order us some food. Finn is going to call your mother and brother to tell them you’re alive. Then, while we eat, you explain what’s going on and how we can help.”
Charlie’s lower lip quivered and he blinked a few times, hoping he wasn’t obviously tearing up. How much of a mess did you have to be for Remy Dalton, notoriously irresponsible Hollywood playboy, to decide you needed his help?
Glancing down, Charlie realized there was no point in arguing. He looked as bad as he felt. With a stiff nod, he pulled away and made his way to the bathroom, cringing and hoping the hole in his boxers wasn’t as obvious as he feared.
When he got out of the shower, he tracked down sweats and a T-shirt, brushed his teeth until they were clean enough to make even his exacting hygienist happy, and headed back to the living room.
This time, all the lights were on and the open windows let in a warm, spring breeze. The room smelled like fresh coffee, and someone had used the time Charlie was gone to clear the dishes and takeout boxes from the coffee table. Finn perched on the edge of the sofa, frowning at his cell phone while his thumbs tapped the screen. Remy wasn’t in sight, but the water ran in the kitchen.
Fuck. Charlie knew it was futile, but he hoped Remy Dalton wasn’t doing his dishes. This had to be a new low. He debated stopping him and taking over, but the thought was exhausting. As needed as the shower had been, it hadn’t worked miracles. Charlie still felt like shit. The deep ache in his bones and knot in his chest hadn’t diminished. If he pushed too hard, he was going to shatter into pieces on his recently swept floor.
He gave in to the inevitable.
Finn looked up when Charlie slumped onto the sofa and pulled his feet up on the cushion, his knees creating a physical barrier between them. He let his cheek fall against them, his eyelids heavy. “Hey,“
he murmured. “Thanks.”
“Feel any better?“
Finn asked. He lifted a steaming mug from the table and passed it to Charlie.
Charlie accepted the mug with a grateful sound and took a careful sip, the rich coffee burning a soothing line to his empty belly. He shrugged in response to Finn’s question. “I guess. Cleaner, at least.”
Finn turned his phone over in his hands, concern radiating off of him. He’d always been a sweet kid—super shy, though. He was in Jamie’s class in school, but Charlie knew him more because his grandfather and Charlie’s mom worked together at Finnegan’s Feed and General Store. For years, Finn was the quiet kid behind the register any time Charlie stopped by to visit.
Then, a year or so ago, Finn shocked the whole town when he started dating a wealthy and charismatic out-of-towner, Xavier DeCain. In a bizarre series of events that Charlie had heard about through the small-town rumor-mill, Finn had also ended up friends with Remy Dalton. And now, somehow, that had led to Finn looking at Charlie with big, hopeful eyes while Remy worked through the overflowing stack of dishes in Charlie’s low-budget Los Angeles apartment.
Charlie was way too undercaffeinated to make sense of any of this. He took another sip of his coffee. “Look,“
he began. “Not to sound ungrateful, but why are you actually here?” Finn opened his mouth, but Charlie cut off his reply. “I get that my mom freaked out and Jamie called you, but I’m fine. I’m alive. You can go. Really.”
Finn arched an eyebrow in a look that made Charlie want to smother himself with a throw pillow. “I don’t think you and I have the same definition of ‘fine,’“
he said, tone flat with disapproval.
Charlie dragged a hand through his damp hair, fingers snagging on the tangles. He needed a haircut. He’d only let it grow because Tanner liked to use it to put Charlie where he wanted and keep him there. No reason to keep the length now. Especially when dealing with it made Charlie equal parts horny and sad.
“It’s been a shitty week,“
he admitted. “The job I moved out here for lost their funding, and it turned out Tanner wasn’t as into me as I was him.” He forced a smile. “So, I moved twenty-three hundred miles and got a ‘sorry for the trouble’ pink slip, and a not-boyfriend who forgot about me on moving day, cancels half our dates, and apologizes by taking me to an industry party at freaking Isabella Brantford’s house where he pretended I didn’t exist.” By the time Charlie finished, he’d lost the battle with the silent tears now burning down his cheeks. His eyes ached and his swollen sinuses made it hard to breathe. “Fuck,” he muttered, using the hem of his T-shirt to mop up his leaking emotions. “So, clearly, I’m not fine,” he admitted with a bitter laugh. “But there’s not much I can do about it other than start looking for a new job and a new place to live.” He gestured to the room. “I can’t even stay here. The apartment belongs to the company, and they need to sell it to recoup their losses.”
Finn’s brow furrowed, then brightened as he scooted closer to lay a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Let me talk to Xavi. I’m sure he can help you find a new job. He knows everyone in LA. He helped my friend Ev get a great job last fall. And you’re welcome to stay at his place in West Malibu until you can find something new.”
Charlie’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline. “Are you sure you don’t want to check with him before loaning out his home and services?“
He tried to keep his tone teasing but lost the thread a little.
Finn shook his head, expression brightening as he got invested in his idea. “It’ll be fine. We’re barely ever in LA, and even when we are, the house is huge. There are five guest bedrooms with en suite bathrooms and a gourmet kitchen. The backyard has a pool and a view of the Pacific Ocean.”
At some point, Remy had exited the kitchen and was leaning in the doorframe, drying his hands and wearing a thoughtful expression. Charlie shot him a “help me“
look and got an unhelpful smirk in reply. Great. “I appreciate it, Finny. Really. But I think these things happen for a reason. It makes more sense to move back home. If I’m lucky, my old boss will hire me back.”
Finn’s expression fell. “But you’re so talented, and Jamie says you hated your old job.”
He wasn’t wrong. Charlie was a good server, but restaurant work had been killing him. Most nights he went home hating the world—cheap tourists in particular. On his days off, he hid in his bedroom with the curtains drawn, preferring his online friends to anything the real world had to offer. If he was honest, with the move and the boyfriend he hadn’t had time for fandom these last few months. He’d missed it. He wouldn’t mind getting back to posting content and interacting with his followers. He had a few almost-finished edits on his hard drive that he could put up with just a few hours of work. And the hyperfocus of video editing, followed by the dopamine rush of posting, might be exactly what he needed to reset his brain. “I’ll make it work,“
he said, finally.
Finn was still frowning. “I still think you should let Xavi help. He’ll be hurt if you don’t.”
Charlie held back a chuckle, not wanting Finn to feel bad, but that was an absurd statement. Xavier barely knew Charlie. They’d probably spoken once or twice at the Lookout, everyone’s favorite queer-friendly bar in Split Rock, in the last two years. Xavier probably couldn’t pick Charlie out of a crowd.
Remy’s phone rang, and he stepped back into the kitchen to take the call while Finn continued his gentle but relentless persuasion. Charlie was close to giving in when Remy returned. His expression looked like he’d carefully pieced it together overtop of something terrible. “I have to go,“
he told Finn in a tone that was gentle but not open to discussion.
“What?“
Finn scrambled to his feet. “Go where? Why? What’s wrong?”
Remy’s eyes flicked to Charlie, then away. “Something came up that I can’t put off. I’m sorry.”
Finn looked down, his eyes shiny and his lips pressed together.
Remy winced. “I’m sorry, pet.“
He crossed to Finn and dropped to one knee clasping Finn’s hands with both of his, tight enough that Charlie worried for his joints. “If it was anyone else, I’d tell them to stuff it.” He hesitated, then said, “That was the cowboy,” like it was an admission.
Finn’s eyes filled with understanding and the tension left his expression, something hopeful replacing it. “Go. I get it,“
he said, voice firm.
“I’ll make it up to you,“
Remy promised.
Charlie was feeling distinctly out of the loop—their exchange a little too intense for just friends.
Finn grinned, then. “I know you will. My Da—“ He caught himself, eyes flicking to Charlie as a blush stained his cheeks. “Xavi will make sure of it.”
Charlie fought an eyeroll at the slip. He may not be into that lifestyle, but there were enough queer guys back home that dabbled in the whole Daddy-boy thing—Charlie’s brother was one of them—that he wouldn’t have blinked at Finn using the endearment.
Remy turned to Charlie then, the serious look catching him off guard. “How long until you have to be out of here?“
He made a gesture that encompassed the apartment.
Charlie arched an eyebrow in question. “End of the month?”
Remy nodded decisively. “Good. Do you have a passport?”
Charlie did, he’d renewed it for a conference in Canada last summer.
Remy slapped his hands down on the edge of the sofa and the coffee table. With an old-man grunt, he levered himself back to his feet. “Pack a bag, then, pretty boy. You’re going on a cruise.”
Wait.
WHAT??