Chapter 1

1

“Come on, man. Answer your fucking phone.”

Kacey Lowe tried hard to know certain shit—one, where his boots were, two, where his phone was, and three, where he was going to be able to sleep in a world that had little to no use for a broke-dick bullrider. He had two out of three.

Now Kacey needed a couch to surf.

Sam O’Reilly would let him stay, have a little fun, and not ask too many questions about the bruises, why he was in New York, and what the hell he was going to do next.

“’lo?” O’Reilly sounded drunk. “Who’s this?”

“Kacey. How you been?” He could handle drunk.

“Fine as frog hair. Where the hell are you?”

“Um… Times Square, I think. I’m pretty sure.” The place was so lit up it felt like daytime.

“Like in the city?”

“Well, I am totally in a city. The New York one.” The last ride was a flower delivery dude. He’d been cool, and they’d shared a spliff.

“What? When? Why? How?”

That was a lot of questions in a row. Sam hadn’t changed a bit. “In New York. Now. Because of life and things, and really fucking slow?”

“Wait. Hang on.” The music in the background faded away, and Sam got back on the line with more questions. “Okay. Did you get hurt? How did you get here? Where are you staying?”

He couldn’t answer the first two questions without opening a can of worms. “I was sorta hoping you’d have a couch I could use for a day or two while I’m visiting.”

Or until he got his bell unrung.

Sam O’Reilly had been his mentor on the arena floor when he was a junior, and the man had been fun to hang with the few times they’d been together on the circuit.

“Yeah, of course. Not many of us with couches up here, huh?” He heard street noises as Sam put him on speaker. “I’m texting you the address. We’re not home… uh… I’ll just see if I can convince Mister—Thomas—to make it an early night.”

“Is it a bad time? I can wait ’til tomorrow, dude.” He could walk around for hours, no problem. He had enough cash to eat for damn near a year, if he was careful, and he would do near anything to win a bet, so…

“Right. Just stay on the street tonight, and I’ll see you after breakfast.” Sam snorted. “Get your ass over there. Tell the doorman you’re a friend of mine, and he’ll let you wait in the lobby. We’ll be there in a little bit.”

“You sure, man? I know this is a surprise.”

“Shut up. See you in an hour, give or take.”

Oh, thank God. Kacey sucked in a deep breath. “Thanks, man. Just a day or two.”

“Yeah, while you’re in town.”

Okay. He had himself a place to stay. If he remembered right, Sam liked a bar so he might get to have some fun too, while he figured out what to do next. He looked at the text—he could walk forty blocks in an hour, right?

If not, he’d text and say he was running late. He was good at that.

He set his GPS and started beating feet.

Lord have mercy this place was wild. Maybe a guy could have some fun here…

He found the address and slowed down as he moved up the block. The building was big. And tall. Really fucking tall. There was a big white awning held up by gold posts and a dude in a jacket and hat hanging out near the front door and watching him as he got closer.

“Move on,” the guy said in a deep voice as he slowed down even more.

“I got me an invitation from a friend.” He wasn’t going nowhere. “Sam O’Reilly. You know him?”

“Mhm.” The guy nodded. “You’re friends?”

He arched one eyebrow, trying hard not to be a bitch. “Yessir. We rode together in Texas, couple times in Vegas.”

“Understood. What’s your name?”

“Kacey Lowe.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lowe. Mr. O’Reilly isn’t at home. You can wait inside if it’s cold out here for you.”

“That would rock. Thank you. It’s damn chilly.” He held out one hand to shake, but the dude stopped before grabbing his fingers.

Oh. Right.

They were a little tore up from the last fight, and that one finger was…wonky.

“You’re definitely a friend of Sam’s.” They clasped hands gently, the door guy shaking his head.

“Yessir. Since I was a teenager, you know? He’s wild as anything.” And a great drinking buddy. “I’m looking forward to hanging with him.”

“Mm. Wild.” The guy waved an arm and the doors slid open. “There’s a pot of coffee behind the desk.”

“Thank you, sir. I do appreciate it.” He headed in and grabbed a cup of coffee, heavy on the sugar and creamer.

Calories were good. They kept a man warm.

He hadn’t gotten one sip down before Sam came through the door, followed by a tall, handsome, very… hot…uh. Had he mentioned tall?

“Kacey.” Sam came right to him with a smile. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Sam.” Damn, Sam looked so good. Healthy. Strong. Almost like a grown-up. Weird. “I missed your skanky ass, man.”

“Hey now, I’ve cleaned it up a little since you saw me last.” Sam gave him a hug, and he was proud of himself for not wincing. “You look good.”

“You appear to have been in a fight,” Mr. Handsome said. Was that a growl?

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Kacey, this is Thomas.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand. Again. “And I swear, I haven’t been in a fight.”

He’d been in a few dozen.

Thomas took his hand, but not to shake it. He looked at it critically, turned it palm-side up and back again, then sighed. “You need to get some ice on that. I think I might have a splint for the finger. Come on upstairs.”

“Dude, seriously? What the hell happened?” Sam grinned at him. “Tell me it was fun, at least?”

“I wish I could, cowboy.”

Thomas led them to the elevator, and when the big, shiny doors opened, they all got on. Thomas was… not really staring but looking him over. It was weird, but it wasn’t creepy.

Sam nodded to him and rested a hand on his arm. “I’ll make us coffee.”

Oh god, don’t leave me with him.“I’ll help.”

“It’s no pr⁠—”

“I’ll so help.” Helping, helping, la la la.

“Let him help.” Why did it feel like Thomas could see right into his soul? God, that was unnerving.

“So… this is your… roommate?” He didn’t read like a roommate. More like a grumpy fuckbuddy. Possibly a sugar daddy.

Dude.

Dude.

Did Sam have a sugar daddy? He had a decent belly, but he was a little un-twinkly and sparkly. In Vegas, boys like that had glitter.

Thomas laughed as they stepped off the elevator but didn’t answer the question. “I thought you said he was a good friend, Sam?”

“He is. He’s a rodeo buddy. He was a junior rider that I mentored.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “Thomas here, he’s my lover. My guy. My… person, huh? If you’re not cool with that…”

“Dude. I know you’re into dick. I just didn’t know you were into…” Big growly dudes with biker boots and a fancy apartment. “Permanent guys.”

“Yes, he’s permanently into my dick.” Thomas was still chuckling as he opened the apartment door.

“Kinky,” he whispered.

Sam started chuckling, the sound started soft and built.

And built.

And built.

Thomas leaned close to Sam and kissed his forehead. “I’m not touching that.”

Sam led him toward an open kitchen, and Thomas went the other way down a long hall.

“Lord, he’s a biggun. Pretty, though.” That seemed the most polite.

“He’s amazing. I’ve never been happier.” Sam started making coffee. “What the fuck happened to you? And don’t say nothing, because I’m neither blind nor stupid.”

“Did you just say ‘nor’?”

“Neither… nor…” Sam shot him a look. “I asked you a question.”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is, got dumped, got outed, lost my sponsors, got reminded that I ain’t supposed to be in Texas.” Hell of a short version.

Sam puffed out a breath and went back to making coffee. “I’ve heard that story before. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just been traveling. Seeing stuff. Wandering. I looked you up—sorry about your brother, by the way.”

Sam nodded, took a deep breath. “Thanks. It was tough, but we caught the son of a bitch.”

“That’s good. I hope he got what he deserved.”

“Neosporin, band-aids, ice pack, Tylenol, and one finger splint.” Thomas appeared and set everything down on the counter one by one, then held out a hand palm-up. “Will you let me see?”

Oh, how decent was that? Pretty damned, if you asked him. He held up one of his hands. They hurt pretty good, and that one finger needed something to encourage it not to fall off.

He wasn’t a damn roper, after all.

“Hm. I’ll be careful.” For the next few minutes, Thomas gently cleaned his hands up with damp cotton balls and covered the one bad cut with the cream and a band-aid. Thomas’s hands were warm, and those fingers moved over his skin like… like he cared.

And the man never growled once.

Okay, weird. Again. “Thanks. Seriously. I’ll slam the finger in the splint, if it grosses you out.”

It grossed him out some, but it was easier to just do it, right?

“Pfft.” Thomas shook his head. “I have a brother who has broken this finger three times, and several others more than once. Fists and walls don’t mix well.” There was a blinding light, and he was dizzy for a few seconds, and when he could see again, Thomas was wrapping tape around the splint to keep it in place.

“Whiskey?” Sam asked, and he groaned.

“Fuck me yes.” All the whiskey.

“Rock on.”

“You didn’t faint, and you didn’t lose your balance. You’re like my Sam.” He wasn’t sure how to read Thomas’s smile, but the man rested his hand on the counter and gave it a gentle pat. It was weirdly… what? Parental? Something. “All good.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate this. I’ll be on my way in a day or two. I just wanted to get a face-to-face with Sam-I-Am.”

Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head. “I swear to God, Kacey. You carry trouble like a landed bass.”

“I sure do try, yessir.”

Thomas took Sam by the chin and kissed him. “I’ll leave you two to talk, sweetheart. Good night.”

“See you in a bit, Mister.” Sam poured two coffees, calm as all get out. “Are the hands the worst of it?”

“Nah.” No, the worst of it was in his soul, and what could he do about that now? He’d thought Mitch and him, they’d had something workable. Something nice, even, but when they’d been caught, Mitch had said he wasn’t willing. He’d never forced no one to do anything. Not ever.

But that didn’t matter, and that wasn’t something he was ever gonna talk about. That secret belonged to him.

Sam gave him a knowing smile, which didn’t hurt so bad, coming from him. “I didn’t reckon. The core shots are the ones that are the worst. Come on. Let’s sit and bullshit a minute.”

Core shots. He hated that Sam seemed to know something he didn’t want to tell.

“That I can do. I’m full of bullshit.” His laugh didn’t make that funny like it should have.

“We all are. Sometimes, we find the thing that we need to empty us out.”

That was damn near deep, and he didn’t believe it for a second. “Whatcha doing with yourself these days, buddy?”

Sam shrugged, cheeks pinking. “Believe it or not, I got my damn PhD. I teach. I write books…”

“Cool, man. That’s… wild.” Kacey felt himself shrink inside. Sam O’Reilly had retired, become a professor, wrote books. He wasn’t broke dick, but he had a couple thousand bucks, his boots, his phone, and a single silver buckle. Fuck, he needed to find another place to go.

“Totally is. How’d you end up here?”

Kacey curated what he wanted to tell Sam, and he finally settled on, “I was in Columbus, and the guys were heading west, so I came over. I was on a bus, googling, and happened on your name. Thought if I came here, I’d look your happy ass up.”

Sam took a slow sip of his coffee, then looked at him. “Why not go home?” When he didn’t answer, Sam added, “Rough weather?”

“Yeah. My folks—” He waved one hand, because he didn’t know what say. He watched the coffee wave in his cup, back and forth, and finally words just fell out of his lips. “I fucked up, Sam. Bad. There ain’t no coming home from that.”

Sam set his cup down. “Shit, Kace. Are you in trouble? We know people…”

He shook his head, even as he desperately wanted to nod. “No. No, I ain’t here to fuck your life. I just need a day or two to rest, yeah? Then I’ll go traveling again.”

“I’m telling you we can help. You rest, get your head right, but you think about it.”

“Thanks for answering your phone.” He needed a friend, a minute to breathe.

“Thanks for trusting me, man. Drink your coffee and breathe. You’re safe here.” Sam winked at him. “Thomas is way more badass than he looks.”

“Is he a teacher too?” Kacey was betting on librarian more than teacher.

“No, no. He’s the head curator for the Metropolitan Museum.” Sam sounded proud.

“Damn.” Sam had just left his whole world behind like dust. “Good on y’all.”

He didn’t even know what the hell he was going to do to make money. He needed to google canned rodeos.

Mechanical bull competitions.

Daredevil shows.

“You’ll figure it out. I was lost when I got here, and I couldn’t go back home. This is home now.”

“I’m tickled shitless for you. You got work tomorrow?” You want to go find some trouble with an old friend?

“I’m not teaching. I can skip a day of writing to hang, sure.” Sam tilted his head, lips twitching. “After all, it is Friday…”

“Yeah? No shit? Surely we can find ourselves something to do.”