Julien’s fingers twitched between mine. The hurt in his expression threatened to shift to anger. Then he looked like he might break down. Then he was back to barely contained fury. I ran my thumb along his, and he looked down at our hands before meeting my eyes.

  Taking another deep breath, he turned to his mother. “I think you and I both need some time. I don’t want either of us to say something we can’t take back.”

  With that, he tugged my hand gently and turned to go. Neither of us looked back as we headed for the car, and his mother didn’t say a word. Her feet didn’t move on the porch. The front door didn’t open or close again. The neighborhood was eerily silent—the only sound was our sneakers crunching on the gravel.

  Without a word, we got into the car, and I headed down the road.

  But as soon as we were out of sight of his parents’ house, I pulled over and put the car in Park again.

  We faced each other. Julien’s expression was a mix of inquisitive and nervous.

  I swallowed. “Did—”

  “Yes.” He reached for my arm. “Yes, I meant it.”

  “I…” Had no idea what to say. How to respond. His confession was a relief, and it hurt, and it was just too many emotions and thoughts and things wrapped up into too few words.

  “I meant it,” he whispered again, and his hand went from my arm to my cheek. “I love you, Chris.” Before I could make sense of it, his lips were against mine. God, it all kept coming back to this, didn’t it? Him and me, touching each other and being so tender even when we could be so rough, and as his soft kiss went on, I wondered how his confession could have been a surprise at all. It just went without saying that we loved each other.

  I broke the kiss and touched my forehead to his. “I love you too, Julien.”

  He laughed softly. As he drew back, he wiped at his eye, and I realized it hadn’t been a laugh at all.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He nodded, and smiled. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “I’m sorry things went—”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” He ran his fingers down my cheek. “I wish I could have found a better time to tell you how I felt.”

  I chuckled. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a candlelit dinner, but I’m not complaining.”

  This time, he really did laugh, and kissed me again. “Thanks for being there with me.”

  “Any time.” I combed my fingers through his hair, as much as I could when it was that short. “You know any time you need me, I’m there.”

  “I know.” He smiled again and then kissed me softly. “It means a lot. Especially after everything. Me being gone all this time, leaving you for my family…”

  “You did what you had to do for your sanity.”

  “No.” He shook his head and scowled. “I chose my family over you because I thought it was what I had to do to fix things with them, but I realized they’ll never be happy with what I do or what I am.” He took my hand. “You’ve never put me in that position. Ever. And I should have known when I came back that choosing anyone else over you, even my own family, is a mistake.”

  My stomach fluttered. “Julien, they’re your family.”

  “I know, but you’re…you.” He swept his tongue across his lips and watched his thumb tracing little arcs on the side of my hand. “You’ve always been closer to me than family. When I left five years ago, I should’ve come and found you instead.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I was in a bad place. I was…lost. Messed up.” He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “But things were never bad with you. Whenever I was with you back then, and when I’m with you now, I…” He hesitated for a second. “When I’m with you, everything feels okay, and I can have faith that it will be okay.”

  “And you were my idol. My role model. I wanted to be you.” And no clue just how brittle that facade had been. Damn. We’d been children with no clue and just emotions to guide us. I’d have done everything to him. Maybe I shouldn’t have tied my faith to him—if I were to have faith, it had to be between me and God, and that relationship I still couldn’t make work. “Pretty stupid, hm?”

  Julien chuckled and kissed me again. “I’m flattered.”

  “I never…I never knew it was both ways. That you…” It just sounded way too raw in my own head, so I didn’t manage to get it out.

  “Need you as much as you need me? Yeah.” Julien ran his fingers down my face. “Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically.” A small grin appeared on his lips. “In your case, it’s the completely package. It’s perfect. You give me everything I need just by being close.”

  Damn, I was nowhere near as good with words. The emotions were still swirling around, and I had half a suspicion I’d sound like a gibbering idiot telling him how I felt. I’d been much better with other boyfriends. Maybe, while I’d loved them, the stakes had never been this high. None of them had come back from the dead or told his family to get lost for my sake.

  “I love you.” That was all I had. Heart on my sleeve. Bottom line. I cared about nothing else. I didn’t even feel embarrassed or stupid. I knew he knew, and we didn’t have to prove anything. I’d be by his side or right behind or waiting. I’d be everywhere and anything he needed, and maybe for the first time since our childhood, I knew he’d do exactly the same. We were equals in this, had nothing to prove and nowhere left to run from our emotions and who we really were and what was important for us. Perfect fit, all obstacles removed. At least between us. I’d doubted I’d be able to trust him again—but now that was moot. I did. Unconditionally, completely.

  Julien smiled and kissed me again. “I love you too.”

  A passing car startled me, reminding me we were still sitting in my car off to the side of the road. “I, uh…guess we should get out of here.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Good idea.”

  I shifted back into Drive but still didn’t move. “Where to?”

  His grin made me shiver, and I knew the answer before he said it. “Your place?”

  My place it was.

  Chapter Twenty

  It seemed like forever before we made it across the lake and into my apartment, but finally—fucking finally—the front door was locked behind us. Our shoes and most of our clothes were scattered from the living room to the bedroom, and after the last piece—Julien’s boxers—had landed at our feet, we sank onto the bed together.

  I landed gently on my back, and he came down on top of me. God, he felt amazing against me. There were no games this time, no uniforms or costumes or real-life bullshit to escape. He wasn’t blowing off steam, and I wasn’t out to distract him from anything.

  It was just us. Julien, me, and the heat of skin on skin as we made out on top of my rumpled covers. We kissed passionately but sensuously—this wasn’t the near-violent, frantic need that had driven me insane nearly every time we’d been together, but something languid and gentle. We both knew where this would lead, that the sweating and thrusting and demanding would come eventually, but we kissed and held on to each other like we had all day and all night to taste and feel each other.

  This was, I realized as Julien explored my neck with his lips, exactly the way I’d always wished our first time could have been. Two scared virgins who were panicking about getting caught could never have done this, of course, but this was my fantasy come to life.

  He lifted himself up on his arms, and we held each other’s gazes. I was out of breath. So was he. But we were both still, just looking at each other, my fingers drifting down the side of his face and his neck and then his chest, and when my hand stopped, I could feel his heart beat. Had I ever stopped to feel another man’s heart like that? No, I hadn’t. Never once. I couldn’t imagine why not, because there was something so amazing about a moment like this, just looking at each other, touching each other, feeling his pulse lining up with mine.

  It felt like one of us should say something, like there was some profound phrase that needed to be whispered like an incantation to push time back into motion, but at the same time, even a single word might ruin the moment.

  Then a subtle smile—a smile that was so quintessentially Julien—quirked his lips, and he came down to kiss me again. I wrapped my arms around him. Thank God neither of us had spoken. It would have ruined the moment, and this moment just couldn’t be ruined. It was too damned perfect.

  “I can’t believe we lost six years of this.”

  “We didn’t. It’s better now. We’re both…grown up. We know what the hell we’re doing. Who knows whether we could have made it work six years ago.”

  He looked at me quizzically. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely.” And back then, our families would have had a lot more power over both of us.

  “You’re so beautiful. Inside and out.”

  I chuckled. “I hope you’re not speaking about viscera.”

  That reduced us to laugher for a little while, which shifted the wistfulness between us. Still grinning, we kissed. That too? I’d always wanted a boyfriend I could joke and laugh with in bed. The sense of humor had to be just as compatible as kinks and bodies, and his was. We could both break down over something stupid, and we’d had a library full of in-jokes, built from our first years.

  But then he shifted on top of me again and our cocks rubbed against each other, and now my mind was entirely focused again. His too, if I judged that quick glance to the nightstand correctly. I reached out and fished for the lube and a strip of condoms. Between us, we got him sheathed up and ready in about five seconds flat; ten seconds, and he was hilted inside me and we were moving together, I as much as I could in that position, arms and legs all around him, and he as much as I let him, seemingly never breaking that slow, delicious, teasing rhythm that built our orgasms as if they barely mattered. Important was how close we were and that we could look at each other and smile, gazes locked and intense, and he swallowed my odd gasp or so with a deep, meaningful kiss.

  Somehow, we were moving faster now. His breath came in short, sharp gasps between kisses, and smooth and languid gave way to fast and desperate. We couldn’t even maintain a kiss anymore, and he let his head fall beside mine as he fucked me hard.

  A soft, cool breath against my neck made me shiver. I gripped his shoulders, and when he groaned, I rolled my hips a little, and just as I hoped, he cursed and threw his head back.

  “Shit,” he breathed, and shuddered hard enough to break his rhythm for a split second. As he recovered, he closed his eyes and murmured something that sounded both French and profane.

  All that emotional basking fell by the wayside in favor of single-minded need, and we were both breathing hard, both moving as fast as this position allowed, and if he kept fucking me just like that, I wasn’t sure I’d live to tell about the resulting orgasm, and—

  “Fuck!” He forced his cock all the way inside me, shuddered again and tried to get in just a little bit deeper as he came. Another shiver, and his arms nearly buckled under him. I tried to pull him down to me, but he murmured something in French, and then in English, “You haven’t come yet.”

  He gently freed himself from my embrace, and I’d barely managed to comprehend what he’d said before his lips were around my cock. Fucking hell, he was incredible, teasing with his lips and tongue and—

  Oh. Jesus.

  One finger. Two.

  Then he bent them.

  And I had just enough breath to murmur, “Holy fuck” before my eyes rolled back, the world went white, and my whole body seemed to levitate off the bed, and he didn’t stop, kept teasing me inside and out until I couldn’t handle any more. As my back sank onto the covers again, and my vision blurred, he slid his fingers free.

  He looked up at me and grinned. “You didn’t think I’d come without getting you off, did you?”

  Oh hell. I didn’t know what I thought. After an orgasm like that, thinking just…didn’t happen. I must have blanked out for a moment, because when I heard the ring, my first thought was that I hadn’t set that alarm and that my alarm sounded different, before I realized that it wasn’t my alarm at all but the door.

  “Ugh. Expecting somebody?” Julien rolled onto his back.

  “Jehovah’s Witnesses? No idea.”

  The doorbell kept ringing. The Witnesses usually left eventually when I didn’t answer. “What time is it?”

  “Ten thirty.”

  I kept pulling blanks, but I was getting restless, torn for a minute or so between answering the door and pretending I was entirely deaf. Finally, I grabbed my jeans—which meant I was already out in the corridor anyway—and pulled them up, before I buzzed the door. I heard Julien move behind me in the corridor and pick up his trousers pretty much in the same general area where mine had been.

  He had only one leg in, though, when I saw who was coming up the stairs.

  Bishop Campbell, you asshole. Pulling my father into this.

  “Oh fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  “An intervention.” I turned around and leaned my shoulders against the door, as if trying to keep it closed with my own bodyweight. “The bishop—and my father.”

  Julien gritted his teeth so hard his jaw muscles stood out. “You don’t have to open the door.”

  Maybe not. But I too was done running away. So I opened the door. No idea how I felt about being barely dressed in front of the bishop or even my father, but this was still my apartment, my territory, and how dare they show up without warning?

  “All right, so what do you want?”

  Bishop Campbell looked me up and down. “We would really like to talk to you. Joshua is with you, isn’t he?”

  “He is. What’s there to talk about?”

  Say it.

  “I think that should better be discussed inside.”

  I glanced at Julien, and he nodded, already gathering up some strewn clothes between here and the kitchen. Having him in here gave me strength. I could do this.

  “All right. Come on in.” I opened the door and stepped to the side, briefly regarding my apartment with their eyes. No trace of any religious artifacts, and some arty black-and-white shots of naked men. Well, sorry about that, but you weren’t exactly invited. Or welcome.

  Julien stepped into the room, arms folded across his bare chest, jeans hugging his hips. Bishop Campbell looked at him and sneered, and I swore my father turned a little green as his eyes flicked back and forth between Julien and me.

  “Should we sit?” I gestured at the couch.

  Both men eyed the couch warily.

  I rolled my eyes. “Or perhaps you’d like to go over it with a black light first?”

  My father glared at me. Jesus. One dirty look from my old man, and I was suddenly two inches tall. Forget whose territory this was. The patriarch was here, and the kid was a kid again.

  Clearing my throat, I nodded toward the kitchen. “We can sit at the table.”

  I didn’t wait for anyone to respond and headed in that direction myself. I offered drinks, but everyone declined, so I poured my own, begging my hands to stay steady as chairs ground on the linoleum behind me. One creaked as it accepted someone’s weight. Then a second. Then a third. Everyone was sitting but me.

  I capped the bottle of Jack, left it on the counter, and joined them. As I sat directly across from my father, both he and the bishop gave my drink disapproving looks. When I brought the glass to my lips, my father clenched his jaw and looked away. Somehow, that burned more than the booze in my throat.

  “I’ve spoken to your family, Joshua.” Bishop Campbell reverently laid a copy of the Book of Mormon on the table. “I understand you and your mother had a”—his eyes darted toward me for a second—“falling-out this morning.”

  Julien sat back, hands folded in his lap and expression completely neutral. “I suppose you could call it that.”

  My father did a double take. “You’ve got an accent now?” he asked with no small amount of disdain.

  Julien looked at him and, with a watery smile, said, “Oui.”

  Bishop Campbell and my father exchanged unhappy glances.

  I set my glass down, and the bishop not so casually moved the Book aside as if to keep it from being tainted. Ignoring that, I said, “Let’s cut to the chase. Are you here to tell me to stay away from him, chew him out for hanging around an apostate like me, or try to guilt us both into coming back to the ward?”

  Bishop Campbell looked down at the Book, running his thumb along its well-worn spine. “Your families are concerned about you. Both of you.”

  “So were you here to kill two birds with one stone?” Julien asked, accent fully present. “Or was this just a happy coincidence?”

  My father’s face darkened, and I could almost see the fury boiling in his eyes, but Bishop Campbell calmed him—or at least kept him quiet—with an I’ve got this gesture. To me, he said, “I’m sure you understand how much Joshua’s family has been through, and how much they wish to make things right with their son.”

  I reached for my drink again. “I understand how much they want Julien to be the perfect golden child he was before his mission, yes.” As I took a drink, I kept my gaze fixed on the bishop, and he looked right back at me, eyes narrowed slightly like he was trying to read between the lines. I rolled the JD around in my mouth for a second, then swallowed it. “Has anyone stopped and asked why Julien left during his mission? I mean, any more than anyone’s ever asked why I left the Church? Or are you all just convinced we’re going through late rebellious phases and will just come crawling back once we’re shunned or scolded enough?”

  “I’m sure we’ve been through this…”

  “No, we haven’t. I’d remember that.” I drew a deep breath, trying to stay as calm as possible. The alcohol helped a bit too. It dulled the sharpest edges somewhat.

  “Enlighten me, then.”

  Considering how sarcastic that was, that would take a fucking flamethrower.

  “Because his family doesn’t fucking own him. He’s not a dog they bought and that gets put down when it doesn’t stop peeing on the fucking carpet, all right?”