Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(48)

“Stay.”

Brandon smiled. “What’s the plan?”

“I think I’m ready for bed. After I . . .” He made a vague gesture towards the cupboards.

“Okay. I’ll get ready for bed.” Brandon headed upstairs, leaving Frank to sorting and taking his pills, dignity intact.

When Frank eventually came up, Brandon was lying in bed, lamp on the nightstand on, casting a warm light over his shape under the covers. His face. His short hair. Frank stopped briefly in his tracks to take in the image of a gorgeous guy lying peacefully in his bed, not yet asleep, but completely relaxed.

He undressed right there in the bedroom, then headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he came back, Brandon reached out and switched off the lamp.

Sliding under the covers next to him was pure heaven. That silent companionship was as important as the scorching sex, maybe more important in the long run. He could relax with Brandon in his life, and that gratitude was so deep it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“Thanks for having me over tonight.” Brandon rubbed his cheek against Frank’s. “With your friends, I mean. It was fun.”

Frank drew him closer, sighing as Brandon rested his head on his shoulder and draped an arm over him. Hand resting on Brandon’s, Frank kissed the top of Brandon’s head. “I’m glad you came.”

A hell of a lot of good food and a few glasses of wine took their toll, and they both drifted off to sleep in no time. Frank was vaguely aware of Brandon snoring softly on his shoulder, and before long, he was asleep too.

His eyes flew open in the darkness. Heart pounding, every muscle tense. And Brandon? Where was—

There. They’d moved apart while they’d slept, but Brandon was still there. Frank moved closer to him and moulded his body to Brandon’s. Brandon stirred, murmuring something, and as Frank put his arm over his waist, Brandon lazily grasped Frank’s hand. In seconds, he’d fallen back to sleep.

Frank was still wide-awake, though. It had been a while since a dream had knocked him off balance like that, and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly so he wouldn’t disturb Brandon again.

Most of the dream was a blur now. It had probably made sense in the moment, but was now just abstract nonsense he couldn’t quite piece together. The only exception was the last few moments, and the one that had finally jarred him into panicked consciousness.

The hallway had been like it was eighteen months ago. The wall along the left side was bare, where in the present there was a painting. And the door on the right, the one that was always closed now except when the cleaner came, was ajar. He couldn’t hear the machinery, couldn’t smell the antiseptics, but he knew what he’d see when he pushed that door open.

Then the door had opened all the way, and it wasn’t Emily or Mike or one of Andrew’s caretakers.

Brandon.

Pale. Unshaven. Dark circles under his eyes. Shoulders slumped under a weight no one his age should be carrying. He stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall in the hallway. Eyes closed, he rubbed his forehead and took a few long, slow breaths.

And then he’d continued down the hall like Frank wasn’t even there.

Lying here now, in the present, with his arm over Brandon and listening to the soft, gentle breathing, Frank wondered who he would have seen in the dream if he’d stayed in it long enough to go through the doorway.

In spite of his fatigue, Frank lay awake for a good long time, replaying that scene over and over in his mind and wondering if it was his subconscious f*cking with him, or if there were lines he needed to read between. Finally, though, sleep took over.

And mercifully, he didn’t dream this time.





When Frank awoke again, the bed was empty. He sat up, looking around. Then the sound of the shower in the next room put the pieces together. He felt ridiculous, being so relieved that Brandon was still here. Wasn’t like the kid was going to slip out through a window in the middle of the night.

A few minutes later, Brandon came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Frank rubbed his face. “Sleep well?”

“Very.” Brandon smiled. Though Frank’s temples throbbed dully, Brandon didn’t show a single sign of a hangover. Brat.

Brandon ran a hand through his spiky wet hair. “I have to bail on breakfast.”

“Oh?” Frank tried not to let his disappointment show. “So soon?”

“Yeah.” Brandon picked up his shirt. “I almost forgot until my cell phone reminder went off. I’m supposed to go look at a new flat this afternoon.”

“You’re moving?”

“Downsizing.” Brandon slipped into his shirt. “Trying to save some money, and the place I’ve got is going to suck me dry.”

And here I am with five bedrooms, three of which I’m not even using.

“Central London? Most people share flats. You could get a couple people in to share the rent.”

“Not on my hours. That wouldn’t be fair on housemates with like, nine-to-fives, me coming and going when I do.”

“Fair enough.” Frank swung out of bed and cracked his neck. He was shattered, but that was nothing a few hours in the gym couldn’t take care of. “I think Nick’s going to rent out his studio up in Angel. That way, you wouldn’t have to pay an estate agent or any number of middlemen.”