The Imperfection of Swans (11 page)

Everyone was silent.

A tear slipped silently down Tony’s cheek, running through his dark stubble. Casper’s chest constricted as he watched the man’s pain. “Rick’s been in a hotel the past couple of nights.” He snorted bitterly. “Probably gambling away more of our money, not that there’s any left.”

Donna chimed in again. “Well, still better than prostitutes. At least he didn’t bring home warts or something.”

Anthony gave a sad chuckle. “No, remember, that was me.”

“Oh, right. Maybe that’s where my brain got that from.” Donna shuddered. “Gross.” She reached across the table and pulled a buttered roll from a cloth-covered bowl.

A few more quiet moments drifted by before Renata spoke up, her voice chipper. “Well, we have work to do. I say as many of us that can go down to Kevin’s new store tomorrow….” She glanced at Casper and smiled. “Kevin and Casper’s new store, I mean, and start cleaning. It’s going to take weeks for—”

Noelle cut her off. “Oh no. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We are not working.” She glanced at Kevin. “That includes you. For the next two days, it is nothing but food, singing, presents, and Christmas movies.”

Renata groaned.

Noelle ignored her, looking at Casper instead. “Would you like to join our Christmas? Your family’s not from around here, isn’t that true?”

“I actually signed up to work a double on Christmas, but thank you so much. As much as I’d like to, I can’t abandon them on Christmas. It’s always a hectic day.” He wished he could join the Bivantis. He bet Christmas with them would be quite the show and probably consist of even more food than they’d had that evening.

“Working on Christmas? I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard!” Noelle genuinely looked like she meant it, and then her eyes grew wide, and she glanced at Anthony. She patted his hand sympathetically.

KEVIN

EXHAUSTION HAD
set in, and he should go straight home or to the brownstone and clean a little. His brownstone. The thought made Kevin smile. No, home. He should be going home and going to bed, so he could get up early and spend the entire Sunday cleaning. The past two days had been fun, but he was ready for some time to himself. The realization that he only had a few more nights in his apartment, in his own space, was beginning to set in. If he hadn’t realized it before, spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his moms and the rotating family members was ushering in some reality. It was during Noelle’s second viewing of
Elf
that Kevin had taken his leave, claiming he was officially Christmased out. Noelle put up a complaint, wanting him to at least stay until they sang “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” but his mom had seconded his need to sleep so he could begin the cleaning process the next morning.

His bed was calling, it really was. Yet here he was, heading to the last place he should go. He blamed his car. It was the one driving.

In what must have been a Christmas miracle, he found a prime parking spot on Devonshire Place, bundled up, and walked to the luxury apartment complex. The doorman greeted him, then called once Kevin told him who he was there to see. Less than five minutes and an elevator ride later, he knocked on the door.

It only took a moment before the locks clicked and the door swung wide.

“Kevin! I couldn’t believe when they said you were downstairs.”

“Hope it’s okay that I came.”

“Of course it is. Come in.” Scott stepped aside with a sweeping gesture, let Kevin past, then shut the door before wrapping Kevin up in a hug.

He’d like to blame the mix of emotions on alcohol, but Kevin wasn’t even buzzed. He hugged Scott back until one of them broke the embrace. He wasn’t certain which one of them it had been.

“Not that I’m not thrilled, but why are you here?” Scott walked down the hallway, heading toward a large modern living room.

Kevin followed. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I just left my moms’ and was going to go home and go to bed, but ended up here instead.”

Scott’s smile was genuine. “I’m glad you did.”

“I, ah, know it’s Christmas. Is this a good time?” He glanced around, searching. What did he think? That Scott had a horde of horny twinks dressed up like elves waiting to serve him?

The smirk that crossed Scott’s face suggested he could almost read Kevin’s mind. “Christmas is over for me, and nobody’s here.”

“No tree?”

“Nah. Just me. Too much of a hassle.” He motioned to the couch in front of the fire. “Take a seat. Can I get you some wine?”

“God yes. Anything but Chianti.”

Scott laughed. “Ah, Renata. Some things never change.” He moved into the kitchen, which was open to the living room.

Kevin watched him as he prepared the glasses. Scott was so gorgeous it hurt. It was no wonder he’d not been able to keep Scott from wandering. Kevin had never measured up. Although he’d seen Joe. The kid had more acne scars than a war zone had land mines. That had almost made it worse. It would have been one thing if the other guy had at least been hotter than himself.

“You okay? You look kinda mad.” Scott held out a glass of red wine.

“Oh, yes. Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“You know, I’m not going to ask. Seems wise.” Scott sat down on the couch, close but not uncomfortably so.

They sipped their wine, the quiet pleasant for about ten seconds, and then it moved into awkwardville.

“I should go. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Kevin stood and placed his glass on the coffee table. “Sorry to waste your wine.”

Scott reached and grasped Kevin’s wrist, stopping him. “Wait. Please.”

And he did. His heart pounding, his stomach churning. He wished he’d taken another Aciphex.

Scott stood slowly, as if he were afraid he might scare Kevin off. He placed his own glass down. “Kev, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you. It’s not been the same since you left.”

Kevin turned partially back toward him.
Run. Fucking run, you moron.

“Then seeing you these past couple of times….” Scott’s breathing had grown heavy. Heated. “I fucked up, Kevin. I threw away the best thing that had ever happened to me.”

He turned the rest of the way around and looked up into Scott’s eyes. And really, what chance did he have after that? Those ice-blue eyes looked too otherworldly to be real. He couldn’t think of what he should say. Not even what he shouldn’t say. No words came.

Scott lifted his hand to Kevin’s cheek, applying just enough pressure to tilt his jaw farther upward. Slowly, he lowered his face toward Kevin’s.

Slow enough that Kevin could have pulled away. His brain screamed for him to pull away. To run.

He pushed against the pressure of Scott’s large, familiar hand on his cheek, leaning in.

Then Scott’s lips were next to his. Waiting. His wine-flavored breath warmly caressing Kevin’s skin. Waiting.

Kevin leaned in farther, closing the little space between them. The kiss was slow and heated. Achingly familiar. Filled with promise of all he had missed.

The kiss lasted a long time before Scott moved his hands slowly down Kevin’s back and then around his waist toward his flat stomach. With a gentle tug, he pulled Kevin’s shirt from his slacks. Their lips never parting, he unbuttoned each button from the bottom up, then slid the fabric over Kevin’s shoulders, letting it fall away. He caressed the planes of Kevin’s chest. Only then did Scott pull his lips away, moving down Kevin’s throat.

A sound, half groan, half anguished cry, escaped Kevin’s lips, and then Scott was back, covering them once more.

The kisses stopped being slow, their heat building to a frenzy to match the roaring fire a few feet away.

Then all thought was gone. Only sensation. Only lust and the remembrance of love returning.

KEVIN LEFT
Scott’s apartment around three in the morning. Scott had kissed him good-bye, then rolled over and fallen back asleep. Kevin tried not to think on his drive back to his apartment. He couldn’t let himself consider what had happened, what it meant. What came next. In a strange act of mercy, his acid reflux decided to kick into overdrive and took away Kevin’s ability to focus on anything except the burning sensation.

Three hours later, no sleep, a double shot of espresso, and more pills of Aciphex than he was supposed to take, Kevin got back into his car and drove to the brownstone.

He knew that Casper had to work that day, so he wouldn’t be able to help, but Kevin was glad. Cleaning soothed him, and a day alone sounded nice. Actually, the act of cleaning didn’t soothe him. Having a place spotless did. Knowing how long it was going to be before the brownstone was halfway clean, let alone spotless, made his stomach churn all the more.

With a half-warm cup of coffee from a nearby 7-Eleven, Kevin let himself into his new store.

He hadn’t been there by himself since the closing. Either Casper or one of his mothers had been with him. This time, as he shut the door behind him, the realization hit. All of it at once. His dream was coming true. It was his. He could see the floors gleaming, the white wedding gowns reflected in the polished blond planks. He could see the space divided up into designers, see the heavy fabric of the dressing room curtains. He could almost smell Casper’s cakes baking above him.

Kevin’s breath caught in his throat. What if the cake smell got into the dresses? He’d never thought of that. Then all the brides would smell like cake. What designer would approve his shop if he was going to make their whole collection smell like cake?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What had he done? Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was so obvious. So fucking obvious. Not to mention the sounds of the mixers and timers. The clanking of pans and running of water.

What the fuck had he done?

Kevin moved to the window ledge, trying to grab hold of something. Something to steady himself. He made it to the banister and latched on.

No bride wanted to pay thousands of dollars to smell like cake! Much less shop with a shit ton of noise above them while they chose the perfect dress.

Fuck!

He’d totally fucked up. This wasn’t going to work. No way it would. His moms and his aunts would lose everything. Their businesses. Their homes. Everything. It would be his fault, because he was too stupid to realize brides didn’t want to smell like fucking cake!

It took a long time for Kevin to realize the wheezing noises were coming from him.

Right. He wasn’t breathing.

What was it the doctor had said to do?

To breathe.

Sure. Like he could fucking do that.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Hold.

Was that when he was supposed to hold?

In through the nose.

He choked.

Another wheeze.

He dug in his pocket. No way he’d remembered when he left his apartment. No way.

His fingers felt it, and he sucked in the breath. Please, oh please, oh please. He had to stand, leaning on the banister, to get the pill out of his pocket. When he did, it slipped through his fingers, clattering on the step, then bouncing to the floor.

Kevin dove for it, slipping and banging his knee in the process. Picking it up, he held it up to his face.

It was the right one.

Xanax. Beautiful Xanax.

Thank God.

He bit it in half and chewed, swallowing some and getting some of it under his tongue.

Crawling, he pulled himself back onto the bottom step.

Only a bit longer. It would help. Just a little bit longer.

What else had the doctor said?

Eat something. Not having enough food could make it worse.

When was the last time he’d eaten? Sometime last evening with his moms. But he’d not kept it down. He needed food.

Scott’s godlike body flashed behind his eyes.

Oh fuck that. No food.

HE WASN’T
sure how long he sat on the step, or when he’d begun to cry. No idea when the pill began to help. All he knew was that his asscheeks were asleep and he nearly fell when he tried to stand.

At some point, he started to clean.