Page 70 of Branson's Promise

“I love you,” I whispered back and my heart positively sang. I thought back to a paragraph in my father’s letter.

Your mum offered me friendship and love like I had never experienced before. I was happy alone but the happiness I felt when she held my hand was insurmountable. Having someone to share my fears, hopes and dreams with made this life so much better. She has been my rock.

Promise me, you’ll find your rock one day. Maybe in a friend or a partner - whoever they may be. Life is not always easy, my boy. I’m sad that you are learning that from such an early age but it’s just that bit easier to handle when you’re not alone.

As I looked at the men in front of me, I silently sent out a message to my dad - wherever it was that his soul now rested.

Dad, I’ve found my rocks.

Epilogue One

Noel

Three months later

Ten days after Branson’s accident, we returned to the hotel and celebrated Christmas - just the three of us and the cats. Branson was given strict instructions to rest for at least another six weeks, after which time we were given the go ahead by his doctor to travel. Those weeks had been hard for him. Milo and I were so concerned about hurting him that sex had been offthe table and to make it fair, that meant it was also off the table for us. Initially, we’d said all sexual acts, but Branson was adamant that we at least celebrate New Year’s with him giving us handjobs and like the pushover I had always been when it came to them, I couldn’t say no.

Branson was usually so full of energy. He liked to get out, play rugby, visit the shops, and walk through the park, but for those few weeks, we followed the doctor's orders, keeping him safely in bed, feet up and resting. He muttered about it constantly and though our boyfriend loved to be pampered, he had met his limit by the time the doctor came over and gave him the all clear.

At the end of January, Milo had said goodbye to his colleagues, and just before Valentine’s Day, we’d packed our bags and flown to the UK to start the next chapter of our lives together. During Branson’s recovery, I'd popped back once to check in with my parents - my dad was doing as well as could be expected. The medications and his new diet were helping but still, I hadn’t wanted to wait much longer before heading back.

We were living in a picturesque bungalow in the Surrey Hills, which belonged to my family. We’d buy something of our own one day, but for now, this was perfect. We had a garden, four bedrooms, and an extended patio with a barbeque area and a hammock hanging between two trees, though it was not the weather for enjoying the outside area just yet. The cats had arrived a few weeks after we did and were now settled in, Mia’s cat also living with us as she was currently in a Central London house share that didn’t allow pets. She wasn’t able to start her English degree just yet with it being mid-year but she was due to start her course in the Autumn. For now, she was working in a lively bar in south west London where she’d made loads of new friends and most importantly, she was happy - beyond happy.

It was good being close to my parents again, and my mum had whispered to me one evening that she thought that my moreregular presence had given my dad a boost. I knew better than to believe I could affect him that profoundly, but even so, he was happy to have me home. We saw them at least once a week and while he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the two boyfriends part, he was welcoming to both Branson and Milo. Milo and he had even bonded over a love of art after Milo had commented on a piece hanging in the dining hall of my childhood home. Where I saw an ugly painting, Milo saw a masterpiece and my father agreed.

By the time I pulled into our long driveway and saw the lights on in our house, I was exhausted. The week had been long and I was looking forward to getting home, ready to celebrate the closing of the deal on the place in Dallas. It had been painstaking and had nearly fallen through countless times, but as of four that afternoon, it was a done deal, the owner's daughter having encouraged him to take the money I offered and move closer to her in Florida.

Climbing from my warm car, I shivered in the cold night air before making my way to our front door. March had always been my least favourite time of the year, especially in the UK. It was cold, and wet and the clouds hung like a permanent feature in the sky. But for the first time in many years, I found that I actually didn’t mind the cold, damp days, not when I came home every night to a house full of warmth.

As I pushed open the door to our home, I was greeted by a blast of hot air and the smell of burning and swearing coming from the kitchen. Juliet and Lena both scurried out the front door in an effort to escape the chaos coming from deeper in the house.

“Milo? Branson?” I yelled out, removing my coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. No one responded as I kicked off my shoes, so I followed the smell and the sound of pots banging until I was standing inside our country chic kitchen. Bransonwas leaning over the sink, the tap on and steam billowing from a pot he held under the running water. Milo was at the bin, depositing something black and charred into it.

“What’s going on in here?” I asked, moving through the kitchen to stand behind Branson, pressing my cold lips to the nape of his neck. He shivered and leaned back subtly into my hold. He smelled like summer, with a hint of orange underneath the smell of burnt meat.

“I was trying to make a pot roast and instead I created a pot of ash.” He turned off the water, then spun around in my arms, linking his around my neck and leaning up to press our lips together. “I miss Emile. And takeout,” he sighed.

My lips tipped up as I kissed him again. “It was your suggestion that we start cooking ‘proper meals’,” I exaggerated the last two words, “and not eating out or ordering in as much. And anyway, most of the meals we’ve had this week have been really good.”

Long lines appeared on his brow as he looked at me. That was a lie. Apart from the beans on toast and salmon he’d baked, and the burgers Milo had thrown together, most of the things he had attempted had been disasters.

“I just wanted us to have dinner together every night, sitting around plates of creamy pasta, thick stews and delicious roasts. Not the student meals I’d been living on until we got together. And not takeout. Did I mention that I miss Emile?”

Milo chuckled from behind me, and moments later his arms came around us both, sandwiching me between the two of them. “Careful, Bran, don’t want your boyfriends thinking you’re pining after another man,” Milo joked and Branson laughed in response.

“Not another man, just his cooking skills.”

“You know,” I started. “I could have someone come and teach you, if you’d like?” Between the three of us, we had all the skillsto cook perfectly good simple meals, but Branson had this wish to go above and beyond and for that he would need someone to impart that knowledge to him.

“Okay, let’s do that. Milo and I can learn together. I’ll add it to my list of ‘skills to learn’.” I suppressed a chuckle at the seriousness on his face and the mention of yet another of his lists that he never wrote down but seemed to actually be keeping track of.

“But for tonight, I’m ordering pizza,” Branson stated. “First though, I need to change.” He looked down at the Henley he was wearing that was splattered with food and water.

“Go.” I spun him around and playfully pushed him towards the door. “I’ll clean up here.” Once he’d left, I turned to Milo, who grinned at me with deep brown eyes and a sweet honey smile.

“How was work?” he asked as I walked him backwards until his back hit the refrigerator. He tipped his neck to the side, exposing a long taut tendon and smooth skin. I pressed my nose to it, breathing in his peppery scent, then baring my teeth, I nibbled at the pebbling flesh before answering him, my lips still pressed to his skin. “Good. Long. Very glad I’m home now.”

His hand skated down my shirt, until he was at the waistband of my trousers. His eyes glinted with mischief as he undid the button and pulled down the zip, reaching in and beneath my boxers to grip my hardening cock. His free hand moved to grip my throat, holding me in position so we were eye to eye. “You feel very happy to be home.” Using his grip on my neck, he pulled me forward, his lips meeting mine in a hungry embrace and I rutted my hips against his hand, groaning at the friction.

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