Page 39 of Leather and Longing (Island Tales #3)

Chapter Thirty

Paul carried a mug of coffee into the library where Adam sat in his armchair, listening intently to the radio through his headphones. The slightly furrowed brow, teeth worrying his bottom lip, eyes closed…

Adam was in a world of his own, lost in intense concentration. A tiny digital voice recorder lay in the palm of his hand. Paul had caught the sound of Adam’s voice from the kitchen and had pushed out a sigh of relief.

Yesterday had been… different.

Damn it, I knew something was wrong.

There wasn’t much to point to, but Paul trusted his gut.

Adam was quieter, that was for sure. It was as though he’d regressed, losing something of the warmth that had developed between them.

Adam’s bedroom door had been closed when Paul came up to bed, and the sight had sent a flush of cold skating through him.

On top of Adam’s reticence to communicate, it was simply one more indicator that all was not well.

The old adage was true: two steps forward, one step back.

Paul had hoped they were past that.

Damn it, this is no way to spend your birthday!

Not when Paul had made plans.

He placed the mug on the table next to the chair and stretched out his hand to touch Adam’s arm. Adam beat him to it. He pulled the headphones from his ears and turned his head in Paul’s direction, a half-smile on his lips. “I smell coffee.”

“Ah, that’s how you knew I was here.” Paul kept his tone light. “Dean should be here soon.”

Adam grimaced. “In that case, I might shut the library door and stay in here until he’s finished. Not that he’d want to see me anyway.”

“But it’s your birthday and he’s your nephew.” Paul didn’t understand how people could be like that.

Adam gave him a gentle smile. “Do you get on with all your relatives?”

Paul huffed. “I don’t have that many to begin with. Mum and Dad were both only children, so no aunts, no uncles. My grandparents bought a cottage in Wales when they retired, and I hardly ever see them.”

Adam picked up his mug. “But your parents are okay with you being gay?”

“They’re okay about it, I suppose, although there was the odd conversation at first about the family line dying out with me, since I wasn’t about to give them grandchildren.”

Adam snorted. “There’s this wonderful new concept, maybe you should explain it to them sometime.

It’s called ‘adoption’, I believe.” He grinned, and Paul caught a flash of the Adam he’d come to like in recent days.

Adam sighed. “Dean’s a homophobic, lazy prick who wants nothing to do with me.

He only helps out around the house because his mother makes him.

He’s been here twice since I moved back, the time he helped Caroline move me into the house, and once to reattach a cupboard door in the kitchen.

” That smile was back. “Keep him out of my way? Please?”

“Sure.” As if Paul could refuse Adam anything when he smiled like that. It always made him feel warm inside. “Should I clean the bathroom before he gets here?” The last thing he wanted was for Dean to report back to Caroline.

The doorbell rang.

Adam leaned back against the cushions. “I’d say that means no. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure Dean won’t even notice. If he asks after me—which I very much doubt—tell him I have a headache.”

Paul sighed. “Okay, but as long as you know that when he’s gone? I have plans, and they involve you.” He turned around and left the library, not looking back because he had a strong suspicion Adam would be glaring in his direction.

Let him glare. He’s gonna enjoy his birthday if it bloody kills me.

Paul crossed the hall and opened the front door.

Dean was leaning against the wall, his jaw in constant movement.

Paul could see the resemblance to Caroline: Dean’s blue eyes had that same glacial quality.

He was shorter than Paul, thick around the middle, his belly straining against the dark blue polo shirt that hung over the waistband of his baggy jeans.

Dean’s hair was dark and straggly. Disconcertingly, in his hands he held a wrench and a large hammer.

Paul gave him a polite smile. “Hi, you must be Dean. I’m Paul. Come in, please.” He eyed the hammer with trepidation.

Dean stretched his lips and strolled into the house.

“I only rang the bell ’cause Mum forgot to give me her keys before she left for the tea shop this morning.

” Those cool eyes appraised Paul. “You the latest lackey, then?” Before Paul could reply, Dean glanced around the hall and his gaze alighted on the closed library door. “Adam not around?”

“He’s working in the library.” Paul watched for Dean’s reaction. Yeah, he’s working , you numbnuts. Didn’t expect that, did you?

Dean’s eyes widened. “Working?” A sneer contorted his mouth. “On what?”

Paul was fighting the urge to smack Dean’s smug face. “You know where the bathroom is?”

Dean smirked. “Sorry, am I keeping you? You must have cleaning or cooking or something to be doing, right?” He grinned and headed up the staircase, whistling loudly.

Paul entered the library and closed the door after him. He leaned against it with a sigh. “D’you think your sister would notice if Dean came home with a black eye? Or maybe a bruised cheek?”

Adam grinned. “I’m sensing he made an impression.”

“Yeah.” Paul growled at the back of his throat. “I have never wanted to hit someone so badly my entire life.”

Adam let out a wry chuckle. “God, I’d love to see that.” His face tightened briefly and then relaxed.

“He’d have to lose the hammer first,” Paul murmured.

Adam arched his eyebrows. “Hammer?”

“The dirty great hammer he brought with him. And just looking at that huge wrench made my nuts tighten.”

Adam gaped at him, before cracking up with laughter.

“Now there’s an image,” he said, wincing.

“Not to mention a lovely play on words.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But forget about Dean and tell me what you’re up to.

” His eyebrows knitted. “Didn’t I say you were to leave my birthday well alone? ”

“Tough. And don’t you scowl at me like that,” Paul retorted.

“You never know, you might actually enjoy it—when you find out what it is, of course.” He didn’t wait to hear Adam’s response.

He got out of there swiftly and walked into the kitchen.

Above him he caught the odd noise: running water, cupboards opening and closing, the clang of what had to be a hammer connecting with the shower head.

What the fuck is he doing up there?

Paul strode across the hall to the foot of the stairs, to be met by Dean descending them, swinging his hammer.

“Do we still have a shower?” Paul demanded. He didn’t care at that point if Dean gave Caroline an unfavourable report: he was more concerned for Adam’s home.

Dean guffawed. “Cheeky bleeder. ’Course you still got a shower. What d’ya think I did, wreck it?”

Paul merely lowered his gaze to the hammer before raising it to give Dean an inquiring glance.

Don’t tempt me…

Dean hitched up his baggy jeans. “I haven’t fixed it, though. Couldn’t see anything wrong with it, so you’ll need a plumber for this one.” He gave Paul a shit-eating grin. “Sorry ’bout that.” He ambled across the hall toward the front door. “I’ll be going now. The footie is on TV this afternoon.”

As he reached the door, Paul was overcome by an impulse. “I’ll give your uncle your best wishes for his birthday, shall I?” he called out after him.

Dean paused in the doorway and turned around slowly. “Yeah, you do that. You give Uncle Adam all my love.” He wasn’t smiling. His gaze was focused on Paul, with an intensity unlike anything he’d shown so far.

Paul didn’t like it one little bit. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean inclined his head and pulled the door closed behind him. Paul stared at it, a shiver running through him.

Okay, that gave me the creeps.

A thought occurred to him, and he dashed up the stairs to the bathroom.

With all the noise Dean had made, plus the sight of that enormous hammer and wrench…

Paul wanted to assure himself Dean hadn’t caused more damage.

One look at the shower alleviated his fears.

No dings or marks in sight, thank God, which made it all the more intriguing.

What was he up to in here? He gave himself a quick shake. Never mind Dean. Now it’s time for fun stuff.

He opened the library door and let out an exaggerated sigh. “He’s gone and we still have a dripping shower, unfortunately.”

Adam scowled. “Damn. Okay, get out the Yellow Pages and find us a plumber. We probably won’t get one until Monday: plumbers who work weekends are like hens’ teeth.”

Paul snorted. “Never mind the Yellow Pages, I’ll call Taylor. He’ll have a better idea of who to recommend.” That could wait until after his surprise.

“Good thinking.” Adam laid aside his headphones and recorder, and pushed out a contented sigh. “I think I might have an idea for a new book.”

“That’s wonderful!” Paul came over to the table to collect the empty mug. “What?”

Adam rose to his feet and followed the cord from the headphones back to the music system behind his chair. “I want to write about the Taliban.”

Paul thought it was a great idea. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Adam smiled. “Thanks to that software, I’m happy to say no. I’ll need to conduct some more research before I can start making notes. Besides, you have enough on your plate. Don’t you have a book to type up?”

Adam had given him the manuscript he’d been working on before his diagnosis.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Paul said with a chuckle. “No book talk today. You need to come with me into the kitchen. It’s surprise time.” He’d ensured they had everything they’d need: the previous day’s shopping trip into Newport had seen to that.

Adam followed him into the kitchen. While he held onto the cane, it was obvious he was trying not to rely on it. It gladdened Paul’s heart. Slowly but surely, Adam was becoming accustomed to finding his way around his home.