Page 5 of Hot Chicken (Sunday Brothers #6)

CHAPTER THREE

KNOX

I woke up with a crick in my neck… and the sense that I’d made a grave tactical error somewhere along the line.

See, it turned out the sofa Gage and I had bought when we’d moved into the Pumpkin House four years ago was incredibly comfortable for watching movies and doing what Helena Fortnum might have called canoodling … but the fucker was not built for sleeping.

Not when you were over six feet tall.

Not when it was covered in squeaky, leathery material, and Little Pippin Hollow was being gripped by a heat wave, and you’d vetoed central air-conditioning during your remodel since it rarely got very hot in Vermont.

And especially not when you were supposed to be curled up beside the man you loved in your bed down the hall.

“Fuck,” I groaned, rolling my shoulders as sweat already gathered at the back of my neck. Our house was an oven, and my phone claimed it was barely 9:00 a.m.

As I stared up at the ceiling, the previous day’s events looped through my head… but made no more sense than they had the night before.

It had all started, I was pretty sure, when I’d gotten an email from Rick, my former boss at Bormon Klein Jacovic, with an offer to consult on a short-term project in Boston. “Three months, Knox! Excellent pay, a chance to tackle something challenging, a no-brainer.”

To my surprise, my first instinct hadn’t been a hard no, but… well, excitement . Not for me—I’d already lived in Boston for years, seen all it had to offer, and quite literally had the T-shirt—but for Gage.

There’d been a time, right up until he’d come to the Hollow “temporarily” four years ago, when the man I loved had had an itch to do the big-city thing.

And while I knew Gage wasn’t exactly crying into his cornflakes these days, running his own app-development company from home for a bunch of clients who fucking adored him, with plenty of free time to run a volunteer computer science program at our nephew’s school once a week, so that every kid in town knew his name and idolized him, it still niggled at me that Gage had never had the city experience he’d once craved.

I knew better than anyone that unfulfilled dreams could haunt a person. Sometimes you truly believed you were fine—resigned, reconciled, all that adult shit—when really you were ignoring and overriding. Eventually, you’d look up and realize you’d been missing out.

That’s what had happened to me. I’d told myself I didn’t need to live near my family, that I didn’t want a romantic partner, that I was better off focusing on my career. Then Gage had come along, woken me up, and made me wonder what the fuck I’d been thinking.

I’d be damned if that happened to Gage. Not if I could help it. It was utterly unacceptable that the man who’d made all my dreams come true might have his own unfulfilled dreams ping-ponging around in the back of his weird and wonderful brain.

So, I’d emailed Rick back, asking him to send me the details, and once he had, I’d sat at the kitchen island and pored over his email while Gage had rushed around the house getting ready to run a robot-building demonstration for the kids who’d be attending the Little Pippin Hookers Rummage Sale.

I’d imagined what a sojourn in Boston might look like—me and Gage spending August weekends in P-town and soaking in the vibe of the place, strolling Castle Island and the North End, and watching the Head of the Charles Regatta.

Like a vacation in slow-mo, just the two of us—because as far as I was concerned, it would always, forever, in all things, be the two of us.

And maybe, maybe , while we were there, I’d find just the right way to make our “always and forever” official and finally propose to the man.

I’d brought up the subject of marriage once, just a couple of months after we’d gotten together, but even then, I’d known that Gage deserved a proposal that was bigger, splashier, and more memorable than a simple conversation.

Nearly four years later, I still hadn’t found the perfect time and place. Yet .

I’d been so excited I’d wanted to talk to Gage about the job offer right then and there, but once again, the timing was off.

I didn’t want to have a choppy, five-minute conversation while Gage was running around, and just as we were ready to leave, my brother Webb had called to say his husband, Luke, was in a tizzy, and could I pick up some things they’d forgotten at the farmhouse?

And… well, long story short, I’d decided the subject of Boston could wait until later.

Except by the time later came … everything had gone pear-shaped somehow.

I’d been helping Betty Ann Wolff at the library table, hauling heavy boxes of books around, when she’d sighed. “Did you hear my grandson Charlie’s moving to Arizona for his job, Knox?”

Since I was trying to be a more patient person these days, I’d nodded sympathetically while unpacking a stack of donated romance novels I’d swear had once belonged to my brother Hawk.

“I did hear. Big change, huh? But sometimes change is good, right?” I’d been thinking about my own life when I said it—about my finance career and the panic attacks that ended it, about Gage coming to town and remaking my life for the better, about the simple, elegant platinum ring that had been hidden behind the dress socks in my top drawer for ages.

“I didn’t use to believe that,” I told Betty Ann, “but I’ve recently realized just how necessary change can be.

Painful as it is, moving might be the best idea. ”

I’d heard a noise—a choky, coughing noise—and I’d glanced up to find my gorgeous boyfriend wearing faded cargo shorts, my old Hannabury T-shirt, and a look of mingled shock and disappointment. “You really think that?” Gage had whispered.

I hadn’t known Gage and Charlie Woolf were close friends, so I’d been surprised that Gage wasso torn up about it, but I’d shrugged and answered honestly. “In my experience, yes. You were the one who helped me see that, Goodman.”

Gage had nodded once. Then he’d thumped a water bottle on the table, muttered, “Don’t die of sunstroke, asshole,” and stalked off.

This had been odd behavior, even for Goodman.

One of my boyfriend’s top three pastimes (along with eating dessert and having sex) was arguing with me, so he never flounced away when he was upset.

And while he’d called me an asshole more than once—and I’d occasionally deserved it—it wasn’t one of his usual endearments.

Naturally, I’d called after him and tried to follow him, but he’d quickly gotten swallowed by the crowd.

I’d tried to chalk up this weirdness to the heat, which was making pretty much everyone in town cranky, and sure enough, he’d been much calmer by the time we’d gotten home.

But when I’d tried to talk to him, he’d responded with distracted hums and nods—not a single dry, teasing comment or rolled eye to be found—which was when I’d gotten truly worried.

“Goodman,” I’d said, drawing him into my arms once we’d gone to bed. “What’s wrong?”

To my surprise, Gage had pulled away slightly. “Well, for starters, I’m hot and tired.”

He’d sounded truly exhausted—and no wonder, between the heat and the exertion of the day—so I hadn’t asked follow-up questions the way I usually did. “Right,” I’d said. “Sleep, then, baby.”

But worrying about him meant I hadn’t been able to get to sleep, myself. It was a bit lowering to admit, but I, a man who’d gone decades without discussing his feelings, had forgotten how to compartmentalize in the four years I’d lived with someone who insisted on open, honest communication.

I’d lain awake beside Gage for hours before finally getting up, taking a cold shower, and flopping on the sofa in the living room so I wouldn’t disturb him.

I’d finally fallen asleep sometime after midnight, and now, for the first time in ages, I was waking up without Gage’s flushed cheeks and bed head beside me.

I didn’t like it one fucking bit.

The sound of the shower running meant Gage was awake, though, so I figured there was no time like the present to sort out whatever was bothering him. I levered myself off the sofa, headed to the kitchen, and had just gotten the coffee maker going when a knock at the back door startled me.

My youngest brother waved excitedly through the glass panel. Behind him, my soon-to-be brother-in-law wore a shit-eating grin while cradling something in a brown paper bag.

I threw open the door and stepped back with my arms crossed over my chest. “What?” I demanded by way of greeting .

“Always so polite and welcoming, Knox,” Hawk said. “Might be my favorite thing about you.” He narrowed his eyes and reached a hand toward my face. “Hey, why do you have weird creases on your cheek?”

I smacked at his hand and scowled. Figured the fucking sofa had left a mark.

“Hawk, it’s not even nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, and it’s five billionty degrees outside.

Unless you’ve won the lottery—and I don’t mean like the time Porter won a year’s supply of pie; I’m talking enough cash money to fly us all to the Arctic Circle for an ice bath—I’m not in the mood for whatever you’re peddling. ”

“Like golden sunshine,” Hawk sighed happily. “Pure, unadulterated sunshine.”

Despite the shitty sleepless night and the sweat rolling down my back, I found my lips twitching. I directed my next words to his fiancé. “I swear my brother didn’t use to be this snarky. I blame you for this development, asshole.”

Jack snickered. “Oh, no, he’s always been exactly this—” He shot Hawk a look, then closed his mouth and shook his head.

“You know, on second thought, I think I like my balls exactly where they are, and I’m going to ignore your statement.

” He hefted the paper bag a bit higher and stepped past me.

“Now, where should we put your present?”

“Present?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously as he set the object on the center island. “What for?”