Page 15 of Leather and Longing (Island Tales #3)

Chapter Twelve

Paul was changing the sheets on Adam’s bed, his head still numb from the previous night’s revelation.

Adam was gay. Adam was fucking gay .

It was all Paul had thought about, long into the night when sleep eluded him.

That dark-haired, lean, gorgeous bastard was gay, with a good-sized dash of kink, by the sound of it.

And hadn’t that made Paul’s cock fill? The thought of Adam’s hand landing on his arse had sent a shiver trickling down his spine.

How would it feel? Would it burn? Sting?

The likelihood was that he’d never know, not after the way he’d reacted. And certainly not judging by Adam’s behaviour that morning.

Adam wasn’t talking.

Paul had made him breakfast, brought him coffee, served lunch, but was getting the silent treatment in return.

Paul knew he had no one to blame but himself.

Once Caroline had left, and Adam had turned back into a recluse, Paul had seen the writing on the wall.

Whatever points he’d scored over his predecessors had vanished, and he was left with the sinking feeling his days as a companion were numbered.

There was nothing concrete he could point to, only a general uneasiness and an uncomfortable feeling in his belly.

Paul might have been useful to Adam, but it wouldn’t take long until he felt comfortable moving around the house and regained his independence.

Then Paul would be surplus to requirements.

He still couldn’t believe the tack Adam had taken. Once he’d got his head around the whole Oh my fucking God he’s gay concept, Paul quickly shoved that aside. No wonder his predecessors had left in such a hurry. Adam had obviously decided to play dirty.

And if that’s the way he wants to play it…

It had been funny to watch Adam’s jaw drop, but the humour had faded pretty quickly when he’d been told to get out. He gazed at his lovely room.

Better get packing .

“What the fuck now?” Adam’s cry of exasperation rose up from the hall below.

Paul dashed out of his room and launched himself down the stairs. “What’s wrong?” Before Adam could reply, however, he heard it—the sound of a car engine switching off. He reached the door as it opened.

Apparently, Caroline still had a key. She strolled into the hallway as if she owned it. “Good morning.”

Adam stood in the doorway to the library, clothed in a pair of sweatpants and a black T-shirt. “Caroline, back so soon?” His words were uttered calmly, but Paul saw the clenched hands, the tautness of his posture.

“I’m so sorry for dropping by unannounced,” she began, her bright, cheerful smile belying her statement, “but as soon as I woke up this morning, I had a feeling all was not well here, and I had to come over.” She gave Paul a cursory glance before returning her attention to her brother. “Adam, can we talk? Alone, please?”

Adam shrugged. “Sure.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter the library. “Paul,” he said before following her, “Can you make us some coffee?”

“Of course.” Paul went to the kitchen and got the machine ready. His stomach, already sensitive, was in knots. He wanted Caroline to go . He was still Adam’s employee, albeit one who was anticipating being given his marching orders. And that meant following Adam’s instructions.

He could hear the low hum of voices and wondered what on earth was so important to bring Caroline out to the house again. He tried not to listen, but he couldn’t help noticing that Adam had become quieter and quieter.

He hurriedly put together a tray for the coffee, and carried it through the hall to the library.

Surprisingly, the door was ajar. He walked quietly into the room and placed the tray on the table beside the couch.

Caroline swivelled her head to stare at him, frowning, but turned back to look in Adam’s direction.

Adam sat in his chair by the window, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. This was nothing like the man who’d teased him the previous night.

A cold rush of rage washed over Paul.

What the fuck has she said to him?

“Thank you, Paul. That will be all.”

Paul bristled at her presumption. This was Adam’s house, he was Adam’s employee.

But it was Caroline who hired me.

He gave a polite nod and retreated. He got as far as the door before Caroline started speaking again.

“You know I’m right,” she said in a gentle voice. “You have to face facts, Adam. You can’t spend your days rattling around in this big house. It’s time to move on. Your career as a writer is over.”

Oh you bitch. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down.

Caroline’s words crept over Adam’s skin like ice water.

Your career as a writer is over.

Over.

The word echoed in his skull, dull and merciless.

He’d heard it before, of course, when it was whispered in hospital corridors, muttered in careful tones by doctors and social workers.

But hearing it from her, from his own sister , stripped him bare.

Caroline had always been practical, ruthless even, but she had never spoken death sentences so easily before.

He wanted to rage, to throw something, but his body betrayed him. He sagged into the chair instead, his arms heavy, his jaw slack.

Nothing but a hollow man, waiting for the world to bury him.

She’s right, though, isn’t she?

He couldn’t type. He couldn’t even answer his own phone without fumbling like a fool. His words—the one currency that had always been his—were locked inside him now. The pen was useless, the screen blank, the silence unbearable.

I’m done. Finished. He’d told himself it was better to accept the ruin quickly than to pretend otherwise.

Then Paul’s voice cut through, rough and indignant, like gravel against steel.

“Oh, you mean because he’s blind? Stephen Hawking wrote one of the most brilliant books of our time… I’d say Adam has more going for him than Hawking, right?”

Adam lifted his chin. For the first time in days—weeks—something pierced through the fog. He turned his head toward the sound, instinctive, almost desperate. Go on, he heard himself say, though his voice shook with weariness.

Paul did go on. Software. Speech-to-text. Machines that could give him back his words. The words blurred into each other, but what filled his aching heart was hope.

Adam’s lips parted. His breathing hitched. His sister’s scorn still burned in his ears, but Paul’s stubborn certainty pushed against it.

Could it be done?

His mind scrambled to picture it, although he could picture nothing now. He imagined speaking aloud, hearing his own voice filling the silence of the room, a machine transcribing every word into neat rows of type. His words. His sentences. The cadence that had once been his lifeblood.

For a second, he almost reached for it. Almost believed.

Then the weight of the past two months crashed over him. His last clumsy attempt at dialling a phone number. The taste of blood after he’d tripped in his own library. Falling down the stairs. The hours of sitting alone, trying to conjure the courage just to get up.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. His throat closed tight. “I can’t even use a phone, let alone a computer. It… it feels too soon.”

Too soon. Too hard. Too terrifying.

Paul’s words hung in the air, bright and jagged, impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t comfort Paul had offered. It wasn’t pity. It was something sharper: defiance. The refusal to let Adam’s story be over.

Adam’s chest ached. He wanted to dismiss it, to bury it under Caroline’s certainty, but the thought remained.

Maybe not over.

Maybe not yet.

For the first time in weeks, the crushing dark didn’t feel absolute. It was still heavy, still suffocating, but in one corner of it, faint as a flicker, was the outline of a door.

A door Paul had pointed to.

Adam wasn’t ready to walk through it, not yet, but he couldn’t deny he’d seen it.

And that was enough to rattle him to the core.

“Of course it’s too soon,” Caroline butted in, her eyes flashing. “You’re still recovering. But you shouldn’t be alone, Adam. You need people around you, people in the same situation as you.”

One look at Adam’s pallor was all it had taken to loosen the brakes on Paul’s mouth. Oh no, you don’t, lady. You do not dump that shit all over him.

“Adam needs people who’ll encourage him to push at his boundaries, who don’t want him to stagnate.

” Paul knew he sounded harsh, but this woman was irritating him with her attitude.

And if she wouldn’t help him, Paul would, even if the bastard had tried to put him off working for him. Heat rushed through him.

Adam was in need of a champion.

“I think we’ve heard enough from you.” Caroline was on her feet, her face flushed.

“Adam.” Paul crouched down beside his chair. “I agree with you. Using software might be beyond what you think you can cope with right now, but there’ll come a day when it won’t seem so daunting. And until that day, well, there are other, more old-fashioned alternatives, y’know?”

Come on, Adam, think. Think.

“Such as?” Caroline’s gaze was withering. Adam, on the other hand, had become so still, he could have been frozen.

Yeah, that’s it, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

“My typing isn’t bad, and my spelling and grammar were always good at school,” Paul said, his breathing quickening. “I can use Word, unless you’d prefer me to use some more suitable software.”

Silence. He could almost imagine Adam’s brain cogitating, working it through. One look at Caroline, however, revealed plenty. That determined expression told him she was gearing up to shut Paul’s idea down.

Uh-uh, Caroline. Don’t you do it. This is Adam’s business, not yours.

“I—”