Page 48 of Binding Their Hearts

“He deserves the happiness.” Will peeled away from the wall and sauntered closer. “You all do.”

“So do you, my friend.” Henry clasped Will’s forearm with the solid strength of an unshakeable brotherhood. “Soon you’ll have the freedom to find it.”

Will raised his glass, a smile playing at his mouth. “Our sparkling water may have gone still after such a long wait. But I suppose that’s appropriate for us. To new beginnings.”

Beginnings were important, yes. But transitory, and always a reminder that endings awaited. Henry lifted his glass. “To the infinite middle ahead—may its blessings stretch and multiply over a lifetime.”

They drank to that, the water tart on the tongue with the pleasant sting of carbonation.

Sipping, staring out the window side by side, they stood in silence. The cityscape faded behind a haze of green, the manicured lawn and trees beyond in a hundred hues, the view from the fourth-floor walkup they’d shared in the lower grades’ dormitory. Will had been significantly taller than him then, having already started his adolescent growth spurt. He’d had no idea what to expect—he and Robert had separate rooms at home, and Robert hadn’t given his little brother any tips for surviving prep school on the drive up. But he’d begun unpacking his paints and a small desktop easel, and his new roommate, this bigger boy who unquestionably would be a popular jock, had said: “You’re not a Cubist, are you? Abstract art isn’t my thing at all. Impressionism, that I get. And the everyday life stuff. Vermeer, now that’s a painter. You know Vermeer?”

He fell in love in the way of eleven-year-old boys—which is to say that anyone who showed a true interest in his obsessions became a fast friend. Will had that way about him, the commanding presence he used to make others comfortable rather than elevating himself. It was time.

“I did reserve a few small elements of ceremony planning for myself.”

“Mm-hmm.” Will’s smug head tilt stopped just shy of unseemly crowing. “Couldn’t resist, could you?”

“It seemed only appropriate that I be the one to ask my dearest friend to officiate at the ceremony.”

Will’s breath caught. “Me? I would—” He bowed his head; a twitch pulled at his jaw. “You’re certain it sets the right tone? I am, after all, a man who has strained against the shackles of my own joining for nearly eighteen years.” Sliding his thumb against his finger, he twisted his wedding ring back and forth. “I’m not a hopeful symbol of the joys of marriage.”

“And society refuses to recognize the marriage I wish to have, yet millions of people are married by men who vow never to experience such an undertaking themselves. Somehow the world survives.” A few changes here and there would certainly make the legal paperwork simpler. But the gentle jest failed to dislodge Will’s unease. The unexpected reaction quelled his attempt at levity. Something deeper troubled his best friend. “Will. What is it, truly?”

The empty glass clinked as Will set it on the windowsill. “Choices. The ones we make, the ones we don’t. How much of life passes by while we’re caught in more-or-less comfortable stasis. How the option to make choices can be cut short before we’re ready. This should have been Victor’s honor. He’s the one who guided you. I was the sidekick along for the ride.”

“No.” The vehemence came from under his ribs, strong enough to startle. That Will could so devalue himself and the strength of their bond spoke to the layers of pain he’d been missing, caught up in his own life. “No.”

He set his glass aside and gripped the corded muscles atop Will’s shoulders, digging in with the pads of his fingers. If he couldn’t make an impression with his words, he’d damn well leave one with his hands. “This job was never his, Will. It has always been yours. Always. From the moment fate made us roommates and the ineffable mysteries of love made us brothers.”

“Your—” A hoarse rattle cracked Will’s reply. He cleared his throat. “Your mom’s care packages made us brothers. Couldn’t pass up those treats from home.” But he stole another crushing hug, and if a tear slipped into Henry’s hair, neither said a word.

Chapter twenty-three

Henry

Henry woke to a thudding blow against his leg. Pushing slumber aside, he rolled left and took a second strike on his right shin. Cool air met his chest, the covers having shifted and fallen sometime during the night.

Years ago, in the throes of a nightmare, Jay had given him a black eye that persisted for a week. Tonight, it seemed Alice aimed to surpass him.

His sweet, sweet girl had been wrestling demons as he slept.

A wild swing, elbow leading, jolted him into action. Driving his arm down to block her, he caught her forearm with his and snatched her wrist. Her outflung hand fell limp inches from his cock, her backslap thankfully undelivered.

He raised her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Let us be grateful my reflexes are as fine as yours, dearest.”

No answer greeted him, though he hadn’t expected one. Alice yet slept, tangled in the knotted strands of anxious dreams. The bedside clock ticked over to two seventeen, its muted blue glow silhouetting her form. Behind him, Jay’s deep breathing remained unchanged.

Perhaps his beloved boy might sleep through Alice’s disturbance. Unlike Jay, she warred with her demons in eerie silence. No cries or shouts passed her lips. Sharp lines of frustration and fear pooled harsh shadows in her face.

He shifted her with care, nestling her tense body in front of his own, winding them together like yarn on a spindle. Her slender back pressed into his chest as he tightened his hold on her arms. Sliding one arm beneath her neck, he passed her clasped wrists to that hand.

She squirmed, a delicate bit of torture as her ass wiggled against the cock now showing interest in the proceedings. Throwing his leg over her lower body helped still the motion but not the desire. With long practice, he shuffled his cock’s urgent prodding to the back of the line. He had far more heady pleasures to fulfill.

“Your needs first, my dear.” Voice low, he teased the edge of her ear with his tongue. This was the bargain he struck; his pets would never struggle alone, never suffer silently when he could ease their distress. “I dislike tension in my darling Alice when I am not its cause.”

Either his hold or his voice proved sufficient to cease her flailing. Yet her nightmare refused to loose its grip so easily. The tightness in her shoulders and the stiffness in her legs resisted his entreaties.

With her wrists held in one hand, he used the other to deliver long, sweeping caresses. “Shall we see what we might do about these difficulties, hmm?”

---