Chapter 17

Angelo's first plan when he left the carriage house had been to sleep one night at the Mulberry house. After sitting in his car for about thirty minutes to cool off before driving—a silent promise he'd made to Bryan, because as disappointed as he was, he didn't want to cause Bryan unnecessary anxiety—he was halfway to Mulberry before he remembered he couldn't sleep there. With the offer accepted and them in the process of closing, his Realtor had removed the lock box, so Angelo didn't have access to a key. None of his other properties were in any condition for him to crash without being very drunk first—especially not the creepy old mansion Russell referred to as the Addams Family house.

He could have gone to Aunt Rita's, but she'd have too many questions. His two oldest cousins were out for the same reason, and he'd already overstayed his welcome on Tommaso's uncomfortable couch. Antoni was a safer option. He'd always gotten along the best with Antoni, and he'd slept off a few benders on an inflatable mattress in Antoni's living room. The downside was Antoni rented a garage apartment from his mother, so his home was adjacent to Aunt Rita's, and it was only nine-thirty. She'd be awake to hear his car and probably come see why he was there.

A year ago, he'd have headed down to Tim's or another sure-thing bar, found someone to go home with for the night, and been perfectly satisfied with that as a solution to his temporary lack of a bed. That was absolutely not happening tonight, not when part of his heart belonged to a guy he'd just had a fight with, and his last resort (Russell's place) was off the table for the simple fact that it wasn't far enough from Bryan to feel like he had space to figure this out.

Not that he was really that mad about the secret he'd learned. The secret itself made perfect sense, given the history and circumstances. Nothing to be mad about there. No, Angelo was disappointed.

As he drove through familiar neighborhoods and busy downtown streets, he tried to think of any signs he'd missed that Bryan had been Frog's bio dad, and he found none. Patrick was Frog's father in every way that counted, and Bryan had always acted like a doting uncle. Even the night Frog cut his hand, Bryan had been worried, but he hadn't acted like the overprotective papa that Patrick had clearly been, from Frog's first scream to following him and Russell outside to the car.

Bryan was Uncle Bryan.

But Angelo had still been the last to know the truth about Frog's sperm contributor. After all the things he'd shared with Bryan these last two months, as close as he thought they'd gotten in and out of bed, discovering this huge secret existed between them hurt. His hurt and disappointment hung off him like a wet, stretched-out sweater, hot and uncomfortable, and he wanted to get rid of it. But it clung while he drove, and Angelo did everything in his power not to stop at the next bar he passed. Drinking would not help.

Forgetting the problem would feel good for a little while, but it would still be there in the morning, along with a fucking hangover, and he didn't need to be hungover during the fundraiser. Not when his role was to charm folks into buying as many tickets as possible to increase their odds of winning the silent auction prizes.

And the clothes he'd chosen to wear tomorrow were hanging on the back of the bedroom door at home, along with his comb, toothbrush, and everything else he'd need to look presentable at the fundraiser. He reached for his phone only to pat an empty pocket. After a quick shuffle on the seat, he let out an annoyed groan. He'd walked out without his wallet or phone.

Spectacular.

Maybe he should stop being a drama queen and go home. They had two bedrooms. It wasn't as if he needed to speak to Bryan about anything tonight. Leaving had definitely been in-character but Angelo didn't want to be that guy anymore. The one who ran when things got tough or didn't work out the way he expected. The one who kept people at arm's length, because he wanted to prevent exactly what had happened tonight, which was his feelings getting hurt. More than hurt—demolished with a sledgehammer like moldy drywall.

But relationships came with risks, and he was exhausted of being alone. Of keeping his family at a distance and only having one super-close friend in Russell. So instead of waking his cousin, renting a motel room, or worse, sleeping in his car, Angelo drove home.

Home.

The carriage house was the first building that had felt like a real home to Angelo since he and his mother left Italy. Their house there had been old, drafty, and often reeked of rotting vegetation, but he'd loved their garden. It had been his first home, and he'd resented leaving it for America. He'd spent his entire adult life redoing houses, trying to create the new, perfect home, only to sell the property so someone else could call it home.

For some reason, he'd never been able to sell the house on Jaynestown Road, with its nineteenth-century charm and repurposed carriage house in-law suite. He told himself it was because he needed an always-available place to crash between project homes, and then that he was doing his best friend a huge favor with below-market rent. Both things were true, but the carriage house had been a special project. So many details, from the color schemes to the wrought iron spiral staircase, were straight from his childhood home.

He'd created his home in the carriage house without understanding it until the person he wanted to share that home with lived there. And he'd left them both behind.

A car horn blared and Angelo nearly jerked the wheel. Thankfully, he was at a stop sign where he must have idled long enough for the truck behind him to get annoyed and blast him. He took a few breaths to try and calm his racing heart, oriented himself to the intersection only a few blocks from Tim's, and made a left.

Toward his boyfriend.

Toward home.

Bryan stumbled back to the carriage house via the driveway around midnight, exhausted and no closer to fixing what he'd fractured. He and Patrick had gone up to the main house to enlist Russell's help in figuring out how Bryan could make it up to Angelo, but Russell hadn't been sure himself.

He'd been a little too stunned at how real their fake dating had become and annoyed at himself for not seeing it sooner. "Known Angelo half my life," Russell had said. "Thought I knew him better than that. I mean, he's been different this last year or so, wantin' to settle down, and I totally got his reasons for fakin' a relationship with you to get his inheritance, but it's actually real?"

"Yeah, it's kind of a mind-fuck," Patrick had agreed. "You didn't know your best friend was in a real relationship, and I didn't know my brother was. And saying it out loud like this is even weirder but also kind of inevitable."

"Yeah. It kinda is."

Bryan had been relieved that Russell wasn't angry over the deception and that he'd agreed to help Bryan smooth things over. Problem was they hadn't come up with a plan before exhaustion settled over all of them, and they called it a night. Patrick had offered one of the spare rooms so Bryan could stay close to his loved ones, but the carriage house wasn't that far. Even if he slept alone tonight, Bryan wanted to sleep with Angelo's scent on the sheets.

So he walked through the cool spring air to his front door, past an empty parking area because Angelo's Lexus wasn't there, and went inside. In the orange glow from the microwave light they always left on until both of them went to bed, Bryan spotted a familiar shape on the couch. He froze three steps in, pulse jumping at the sight of Angelo watching him in the dark.

"Where's your car?" he asked dumbly.

"Parked over on Washburn, where I hope it won't get ticketed or towed." Angelo stood slowly, his expression difficult to see. "My dumb ass drove all over town without paying attention to the gas light and I ran out. Didn't have my phone or a credit card, so I walked the rest of the way."

While momentarily stunned Angelo had gotten ten feet from his cell phone without noticing, Bryan preferred that explanation over Angelo getting so drunk he'd needed to Uber home. "You came back."

"I did." He walked toward him, closing half the distance, leaving about four feet of space between them. "This is my home. As mixed up as I still am about things, I'd rather be confused at home than away from it."

"Yeah?" Bryan released a long breath as his singing nerves calmed to a gentle hum. Angelo wasn't here to pack a bag or tell him to—wait. "Would you rather I leave?"

"No, this is your home too. I haven't had a place that truly felt like home in decades, and this place is home because you're in it. Even if we can't fix anything tonight, I want to be home."

"Okay. You know, you kind of ruined my plan to come up with some ridiculously romantic gesture to win you back and convince you to come home."

Angelo smiled. "Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing yet. I even spent a while up at the house talking to Russell and Patrick about it, but none of us could decide. You're a hard man to scheme for."

"So they know I know?"

"Yes. Patrick heard you drive away, called me, and I blurted it all out. We talked. Not just me telling you about Robbie's paternity but that we aren't fake dating, we are for-real dating, and we are for-real serious. That this thing between us is serious, because it's real, and I want everyone else to know it's real, and that you are the guy someone says I love you to. You're the guy I think that, one day, I can say it to."

All the tension in Angelo's body faded and he seemed to slump, even while his smile remained wide and bright. "You told them the truth? You could fall in love with me?"

"Pretty sure I am falling in love with you. Have been. It's a different kind of falling than I'm used to, and I think it's different for you, too. It isn't just about sex and chemistry, it's all the day-to-day stuff. Sleeping and meals and movies and spending time with our friends and family. The little things I never had when I was a musician, always on the road, surrounded by the same people, with a nomadic life and no real home to return to other than infrequent stays with my mother."

Bryan scuffed the heel of his sneaker on the floor. "Did you know that despite all the money I used to have, I never once bought a real house? Even after Robbie was born, we had a rental, because I didn't know how to commit to one place for a long period of time. Hell, Robbie was the first person I really committed my life to serving and being a good influence." He snorted. "And then I fucked that up by getting my dumb ass sent to prison."

"That's the past, Bryan." Angelo took two more steps, and then they were close enough for Bryan to see all the little flickers of emotions in his dark eyes. "The guy you were before prison? I'd have probably enjoyed a long night of drinking and fucking, and then not looked back at those hours as anything other than a fun experience. The guy I met last November? The uncle and brother who's been working his ass off to be better? He's a guy I want to be around for the long-term. He's the guy I'm falling in love with."

Bryan's eyes burned with happy tears. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And in case I wasn't clear, I've never done this before either. Had a solid place I called home or someone I could see myself committing to for the long haul. I think we both had a lot of work to do on ourselves before we were renovated enough to welcome someone else to share our space. I might have designed this house years ago, Bryan, but you were the finishing touch it needed to be home."

"Damn, Voltini, I thought I was the one who was supposed to come up with the flowery words to make you take me back."

"I think you know me well enough to know no one can make me do anything I don't want to do." Angelo closed the last of the distance, standing toe to toe with Bryan, their chests mere millimeters from touching. "I want to be here. With you. And our family."

"I want that too."

"Not saying I'm completely over being left out of the paternity secret, but I do better see where you're coming from."

"And I see why being left out hurt you so much."

"Thank you."

"So what now?"

"Honestly? I just want to go to sleep. Maybe think on things in the morning when we've both got clear heads."

Bryan quirked an eyebrow. "Yours a little fuzzy?"

"From fatigue and emotional overload." Angelo rested his hands on Bryan's hips and smiled. "Not from drinking. I used alcohol to fill up the lonely places inside me for too many years. I don't need to do that anymore. That doesn't mean I won't still have the occasional beer with my best friend but the bingeing is behind me. Promise."

"You don't owe me that promise, but thank you. I just want to know you're safe. Are being safe, wherever you happen to be."

He squeezed Bryan's hips. "I will be. Come on, let's go to bed."

"One bed or two?"

Angelo's expression softened in the dim light, and he lightly brushed his lips over Bryan's. The gentlest promise. "One."

"Thank God. I don't want to sleep apart anymore."

"We won't have to." He chuckled. "Well, until you decide you want to start camping in the tent again. Then you're on your own."

"Wimp."

"Hey, my idea of camping is a one-star roadside motel, which still has air conditioning and a mattress. Tents I have to share with bugs and the ground? Hard pass."

"Heard and understood. I'll never ask you to camp with me unless we are in a campground with bug zappers and a luxury RV."

"Smart man."

"But I don't think I'll be sleeping outside as much this summer. Before it was about being outside the walls, under the open sky, nothing penning me in. I'll still have moments. Five years of being confined doesn't magically heal under the power of love, but love helps. Helps me remember I'm free, even when I'm indoors, possibly pinned under a hot, naked man who knows all the right ways to make me moan."

Angelo's nostrils flared. "Your visuals are making it very hard for me to go upstairs and sleep, Gillespie. It's late and we have a fundraiser tomorrow."

"That's too bad. But I promise to keep my hands to myself, as long as we're in the same bed."

"Deal." He nuzzled Bryan's nose with his. "Maybe we can save the good moaning for tomorrow night."

"We both have to work on Monday."

"Then we'll start early. Right after dinner. Plenty of time for me to have my wicked way with you."

Bryan kissed his boyfriend, not as hard as he wanted but it was enough for now. "Yes, please, as wicked as you want."

Relaxed and hopeful for the first time in hours, Bryan turned off the microwave light, and then took Angelo's hand and led him upstairs to their room. Together, like he hoped they were for a long, long time.

Angelo managed to oversleep and was woken up by a call from Antoni asking him why he wasn't at Shindig yet for the fundraiser setup, so he didn't have time to do more than kiss Bryan for a solid minute before leaping out of bed. Fight aside, he'd slept like a rock, content by Bryan's side, and he hated leaving but duty called. He'd made other promises today, and he'd keep those promises.

Even if he was thirty minutes late.

Neighborhood Shindig took up an entire city block and had a stone wall around three of the four sides. The main gate rolled open at nine every day and allowed the public into a space that housed six stationary food trucks that featured unique food concepts, and eight small shops called pods that sold everything from used books to herbal tea blends. A large open-air pavilion resided dead center with a small stage for performers and picnic tables for guests.

Hallowed Grounds sold coffee and pastries, and they were the only food truck open for business when Angelo entered Shindig around ten-fifteen. The aroma of their products tantalized his senses, but he'd swung by a convenience store for a canned coffee drink he'd guzzled on the drive, so he was wired and ready to work. He still had no idea who Sasha and Antoni had bribed into performing today. They said the name would go up on Shindig's website last night, but Angelo had been too wrapped up in his own drama to remember to look, or text one of his co-conspirators for the intel.

Ten feet into Shindig, Angelo stood back to admire the banner hanging in front of the pavilion. Miss Chief Trouble. The names were printed in a script typeface with reflective lettering, and in smaller type was the tagline: If Penn Teller did Drag!

Angelo was sold, and the performer definitely went along with the theme of the fundraiser, which was inclusivity for an inclusive bar. He vaguely recalled a drag queen named Miss Chief from another event last fall. It had been a book fair to celebrate literacy and cheap books for all, and she had performed and read children's books onstage. He had no idea who Trouble was, but if they were comparing themselves to a famous magic/humor duo, Trouble was the silent half of the act.

He kind of wished he'd been able to see the dress rehearsal and had no time to check YouTube for videos. Sasha spotted him and whisked him straight to work. They'd roped off a section under the pavilion for the silent auction tables, and organizing that was the biggest task. The fundraiser officially began at noon, and by the time it rolled around, Shindig was packed. The food trucks were slammed. The stage was set and ready. Angelo's own volunteers (Bryan and Russell) had arrived. Patrick and Frog were there somewhere.

The only face conspicuously absent from the opening ceremonies—which consisted of a speech by Sasha about today's entertainment, as well as how the silent auction worked, followed by a brief speech from Tim's owners, thanking everyone for their support—was Nat. Angelo was so caught up in his own work and tossing frequent smiles at Bryan that he didn't realize it until Sasha named all the other organizers.

A local cover band was opening for Miss Chief Trouble, so once they took the stage, Angelo slipped over to Sasha. "Where's Nat?"

"He texted me late last night about a migraine," she replied. "Said he might not make it but to wish us all good luck."

"Oh." Weird. In the few months they'd dated, Nat had never mentioned having migraines. The last time he'd seen Nat, the younger man had been high-strung and not acting like himself. And his voice on that last voicemail still occasionally haunted him. A pit of unease opened in Angelo's stomach. He palmed his phone and texted Nat himself.

You feeling okay? We miss you at the fundraiser.

Short, simple, but heartfelt. Despite last night's near-fight with Bryan, his life was finally going in a positive direction he loved, Russell was happy and in love, and he wanted to make sure all his friends were okay.

It took about twenty minutes for Nat to respond: Resting. Enjoy the day for me.

Not a lot but better than nothing, and Angelo quit obsessing over his phone. The roll of tickets grew thinner and thinner as they sold more chances for folks to win the dozens of prizes from area businesses. Russell had made and donated a small, poseable rainbow creature that seemed like a cross between a hamster and a chipmunk that was getting a lot of attention from the younger attendees. Angelo even observed, with great personal amusement, Bryan take a few selfies with girls who might have been in high school when Lyons Den was popular. Bryan took those occasional moments of celebrity in stride, being kind to his fans even though he'd left that life behind long ago.

Miss Chief Trouble went on at twelve-forty-five and the act was hilarious, with just enough adult humor while remaining family friendly, since this was a midday performance and not a nightclub. Trouble was done up in black and white makeup similar to a classic mime, but with intricate patterns the performer used to make it appear as if their arms were speaking back to Miss Chief or the audience. Angelo wasn't positive of Trouble's gender, even in the skintight costume. Didn't matter because the pair was hilarious, and Nat wasn't the only one missing it. Antoni had disappeared at some point, but he was probably needed at his family's food truck. Shindig was hopping, after all, and Aunt Rita would absolutely call him away if they were getting slammed.

The performance was a hit, and after two rounds of applause, Sasha bopped up to the microphone to encourage folks to eat, shop, and drop their tickets. The silent auction bags closed at three o'clock and winners would be announced at three-fifteen. Angelo bought a few tickets of his own. He never had great luck with raffles, but since he'd be around for the prize drawings, he might as well bet twenty bucks on a good cause.

He and Bryan did steal twenty minutes to escape and get food from Aunt Rita. She was inside cooking with Tommaso, while Lorenzo took orders outside. No sign of Antoni, which didn't really hit Angelo until he and Bryan had eaten their pizza and returned to the pavilion. Antoni was probably still doing his best to hawk last-minute ticket purchases before the silent auction bags closed. They'd likely just missed each other in passing. Easy to do in Shindig on a busy weekend.

At three-fifteen, Angelo allowed Sasha to pull him onstage and help her draw the auction winners. "If we call the winning ticket, you don't have to come straight up to collect," she said. "Just wave or shout so we know you're here and have a matching ticket, and once they're all called, we'll be at the tables for another hour for folks to claim their prizes."

Once all the prizes had been claimed, their team began to clean up. Clancy Jons, Shindig's general manager, helped and made small talk about the success of this particular fundraiser. Tim's owners, Peggy and Bud Maher, were there too.

"I feel like I owe you so much," Bud said as he vigorously shook Angelo's hand. "I can't never apologize enough for you gettin' hurt, son. You're out here helpin' me and I wanna do more for you."

"How about you keep me in mind if you're ever looking to do some serious renovations on your home?" Angelo replied. "I'd love to collaborate with you."

"Will do, son, will do."

Angelo managed to extricate himself from the awkward conversation and help Bryan rip down some streamers. He wasn't about to sue a pillar of the community over a few bruised ribs and some stitches, not when the man's insurance wasn't covering the whole cost of rebuilding. No, the neighborhood needed Tim's more than Angelo needed a settlement, and hopefully in a few more weeks his own finances would take an upswing.

No matter what, he had a boyfriend he adored, family close by, and a roof over his head. What else did he really need?

They'd cleaned up and cleared out by four-thirty. Russell, Patrick and Frog split, heading out for an early Sunday supper. Angelo had already turned down Aunt Rita's invitation for dinner tonight, citing an early evening after the hustle of the fundraiser. The detail he didn't share was the alone-time he'd already promised Bryan, and not even Aunt Rita's infamous pasta puttanesca was going to keep Angelo from those hours in bed.

Maybe also bent over the balcony. He was flexible.

"Today was a pretty fantastic day, wasn't it?" Bryan stuffed an errant wad of balled-up crepe paper into a nearby trash can. "You were in your element."

"What? Being charming and selling our products?" Angelo huffed his nails. "I can't help being born this way. And yes, it was a wholly fantastic day. I'm sure the Mahers are thrilled by the money we raised for their bar's reconstruction, and there's even more coming once the food trucks figure out the profits from their fundraiser specials."

"Tim's is going to rebuild and do great. Maybe you can take me to the grand reopening."

"You don't drink."

"I'm sure they'll have club soda. Besides, I want to see what our hard work bought. Don't you?"

"Definitely. Sounds like a date." He slid deeper into Bryan's personal space and brushed their fingers together. "I'm getting a little eager for tonight's private date. You ready to go?"

"Oh yeah. We're good? About last night?"

"We're good there, too. Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. For giving me time to think. For being a kind, open-minded guy who doesn't mind living with a high-strung, hot mess like me."

Bryan slowly traced his thumb down the side of Angelo's cheek in a gentle, claiming caress. "I love everything about you, Voltini. You're the one who took a chance on being with a fel?—"

Angelo shushed him by pressing a fingertip over Bryan's lips. "Call yourself a felon one more time and see what happens. You're a construction worker, end of story."

Bryan nipped at his finger. "Or what?"

"Say it again and you'll find out at home."

As far as threats went, it only urged Bryan to grab his hand and tug him in the direction of Shindig's main entrance. Antoni surprised Angelo by following them at a slight distance. Curiosity overcoming his impatient libido, Angelo paused near Stick It and held out a hand to stay his cousin. "You aren't going to help out at GourMelt?"

"No, I negotiated for the entire day off," Antoni replied. "I'll take Mom's shift on Thursday so she can have lunch with some of her church friends, and then I'm covering for Tommaso on Friday night."

"You must have really wanted the day off."

Antoni smiled. "It was really important to me that I participate in the fundraiser."

"Yeah? I don't see you at Tim's that often."

"I had other reasons. You two have a good night, okay?" Antoni walked ahead and disappeared into the moving crowd.

Bryan nudged Angelo lightly with his elbow and smirked at him. "Ready to spend some quality time alone with your official boyfriend, who has no more secrets he's keeping and whose life is now an open book?"

"I am more than ready." And because he didn't care who was or was not looking, Angelo kissed his boyfriend, capturing the essence of the man he cared for more than anyone else, before taking a step back. He even borrowed a move from his old days of seducing his conquests into a sure thing—he offered Bryan his arm.

Bryan looped his arm through Angelo's and they began walking forward. Toward forgiveness and understanding. Nothing was perfect, but they were both finally on the right path to making it so. They'd begun with two very different styles and found a way to blend them together and create an imperfect family of their own. With the love of that family, and each other, no project was too large, no goal unobtainable.

Angelo smiled at the sun as it set over the town of Reynolds, North Carolina, confident that with Bryan by his side, no dream was impossible.