The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(34)

“You in here, Trey?” he asked.

“Here,” he said from the other end of the room. He’d been hidden within a wing chair in the half-circle of French windows that overlooked the back lawn. Tonight, a bright half moon cast squares of light through the panes. Trey seemed to have been daydreaming. A magazine lay open on the carpet at his feet. On the table beside him a bottle of Bordeaux—half empty—and a glass—half full—showed how he’d spent the time.

Zane wondered if he were drunk, not a common state for him. Trey turned his head to watch him approach without rising. “How was Hawaii?”

“Unproductive. The resort wasn’t up to TBBC standards.”

“Mm,” Trey said vaguely. He picked up his wine and sipped. “Meet any interesting women while you were there?”

Trey never asked him that. Zane couldn’t imagine why he was asking now. “No. Wasting my time put me in a bad mood. I didn’t feel like chasing skirts.”

“Sorry,” Trey said absently.

“You okay?” Zane dropped his hand onto Trey’s shoulder. “You don’t usually sit in the dark drinking wine.”

“The moon was nice.” Trey let out a laugh Zane couldn’t interpret.

Because he hadn’t gotten up yet, Zane bent down to kiss him. Trey touched his face and returned the slow lip lock. The kiss was nice. Trey didn’t kiss any other way. Despite this, when Zane drew back, his uneasiness had returned. Something was off with his friend and, because of that, something was off with Zane.

“Did something happen while I was gone?” He stiffened as a possibility occurred to him. “You didn’t get another letter from your aunt, did you?”

Trey’s father had killed himself six months earlier. According to the police, he’d left no note and no warning signs besides a general depression. Mr. Hayworth had simply parked in his closed garage and let the engine run. This, as it happened, was the same method his wife had used to commit suicide. Trey hadn’t gone to the funeral. His father hadn’t contacted Trey after he went to college, nor had his son called him. His aunt, on the other hand, had been writing to her nephew ever since her brother’s death. Her persistence was one of few things Zane ever saw upset Trey.

“No,” Trey said, squeezing Zane’s hand in reassurance. “And it wouldn’t matter if I had. I know all she has to say: that her father didn’t abuse my dad when he was a kid, and if my dad ever told me differently, it was a pack of lies. I don’t think she realizes she confirmed what I’d only suspected until she wrote me that first time.”

Zane sat on Trey’s chair arm, letting their sides rest companionably together. “Why do you suppose she keeps at it?”

“God knows.” Trey wiped his hands down his face, dragging the muscles with his palms. “After all these years, I think she’s having trouble believing her own story. If she can convince me, the lie will be shored up. She was older than my dad. Maybe part of her thinks she should have protected him.”

“Maybe she wants forgiveness.”

“I can’t forgive her for something she won’t admit happened. Hell, I don’t even know her. Dad kept me away from his relatives.”

“Bet you didn’t guess the fucked-up way he raised you was kind of a favor.”

Trey laughed, the streak of black humor about their childhoods a trait they shared. He pushed out of the wingchair, maybe not drunk, because he didn’t sway.

“Come.” He reached for Zane’s hand. “Walk in the moonlight with me.”

“Romantic,” Zane accused, not minding that at all.

“You bring it out in me. Always have and always will.”

Zane’s body stirred for his lover, waking as it hadn’t for the beaches or the beauties of Hawaii. Aware this was liable to turn into more than a walk, he opened one of the French doors. Perversely, Trey resisted his tug toward it. Grinning, he pulled out the drawer in the little table his wine sat on. Digging through the clutter, he retrieved a pair of wrapped condoms.

“In case I get lucky,” he explained, flashing his dimples.

“In case you do.” Amused and finally feeling he was home, Zane bumped his shoulder. Hand-in-hand, they strolled onto the lush green lawn. Crickets creaked and ivy rustled on the back wall. The night was sultry compared to the over-cranked A/C, the warmth as soft as velvet against his skin.

“Welcome home,” Trey murmured, fingers rubbing his gently.

Zane ignored his worry that Trey was the only person in the world who made him this happy.