Page 28 of Secondhand Smoke

Through the floor, he heard the downstairs neighbor watching the Braves playoff game at an obscene volume. Heard music from somewhere else, a low pulse. But the apartment around him was silent. Tango wasn’t home. Probably off to see Ian again.

His life, Aidan realized in that moment, completely sucked.

The only bright spot in an otherwise shitfest of a day had been seeing Samantha.

And because he’d done everything within his power to ensure his life sucked, her brightness was so far out of reach, it was a kick in the gut to think of her now. To think about what might have been…if he wasn’t so damn stupid…

Six

Tango woke to the smell of coffee. Expensive, imported coffee, and the softer undercurrents of tea, because having the ability to choose between the two was more important than drinking either, Ian liked to say.

He opened his eyes and found them rusty, full of grit. He lay on his stomach, the covers pulled up over his head, face mashed into the lush Egyptian cotton sheets. He didn’t remember undressing or getting into bed, and he had the wine to thank for that. His head throbbed, and his stomach rolled. But the coffee was a great inducement, so he flipped the quilt back and forced himself upright.

Ian’s apartment was a study in gray, white, and delicate touches of black and burgundy. The finishes were perfect, the housekeeping impeccable. Exactly the sort of place you’d expect to find a wealthy drug lord.

Exactly the sort of place they’d talked about having, in their teenage dreams, between stage shows and private appointments.

Ian was at his chrome and glass kitchen table, robe open down the front of his bare chest, paper spread before him, teacup held daintily in one hand. His hair shone in the pale early light.

“You’re up earlier than expected,” he said, lifting a smile to Tango that was, with little lines crinkled at his eyes, filled with genuine warmth and affection. That was the thing about Ian – away from outside distractions, he truly was Ian, and not the Shaman persona he’d created for business’s sake.

“I smelled coffee.”

“Turkish. Also there’s crumpets, fresh butter, and berries with clotted cream.”

Tango dragged out the chair across from Ian and fell into it. “I really shouldn’t stay.”

“Nonsense. You said you were taking some time off. Where else would you go?”

“I…” Words failed him in the fall of Ian’s bright gaze.

With a few deft movements, the Englishman folded the newspaper away, and cleared the table between them, an open patch of glass available so he could reach across the distance and cover Tango’s hands with his own. “Listen to me, Kev,” he said quietly. “I want you to spend a little time away from your club, and think things over.”

He was too hungover to be sharp. “What things?” he asked, frowning, but didn’t pull away.

“Think about what you want. What you really want. I think…I think that might not be the club.”

Again…he didn’t pull away.

~*~

“Come by the house on your way in,” were Ghost’s only words before the line disconnected. Aidan stared at his phone a long moment afterward, inwardly cursing, knowing exactly what awaited him at Casa de Teague.

What a way to start the morning.

When he pulled up to the house, he spotted Ava’s truck and Mercy’s bike, and didn’t know if it would be better or worse having them present. Better, he decided, when he walked in the back door and was met by the chaos of breakfast with the babies. Everyone was at the table. Maggie held Cal and sipped coffee with her free hand. Ava helped Remy eat what looked like mashed carrots. Ghost and Mercy sat beside one another and were in conversation about the open bike magazine on the table between them.

Slowly, the noise slackened, then ceased altogether, four pairs of eyes glancing his way with a variety of sentiments.

“Hi, sweetie,” Maggie said, giving him a gentle, motherly smile.

Aidan looked to his father; his was the corner from which judgment and hatred would come. Ghost would be the one who hated him for this.

Right on cue, he said, “So did you forget to buy rubbers, or what?”

“Kenny!” Maggie hissed.

“Dad,” Ava said. “We talked about this.”

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