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.Oh, Tommy had always known about him, Brett insistinglike he had on being so completely honest.Far too honest.Frankly, itwould have been easier not to know.But back then, the anger, the hurt,had seemed easy to hide away, easy to keep from him.Tommy hadbeen able to stick to his sensible response: itches need scratching.Okay, so he d lived with the fear that Brett would fall for someoneelse, choose something easier, but he d managed to deal with it.Why should it be tougher to cope with now? It was over.Longover.And, anyway, Brett might have spread his wings a few times, buthe d come home to roost.That meant something, didn t it?Tommy kissed the back of Brett s shoulder, waiting for amoment to see if he d wake, and knowing that he wouldn t.He sighedand slipped out of bed, wishing he had a cigarette.He d always hated smoking.The smell, the taste, the grittystaleness of it was somehow an indelible part of the blackest days hecould remember.He d never thought he d start, but it had helped&especially after he gave up using weed.Too many random piss testsand cell checks.Brett would never have forgiven him if he d wreckedhis good conduct with a drug infraction.He hadn t exactly approved ofthe cigarettes, but&.Tommy wondered, as he padded to the window, whether Brettwould have asked him to quit, if he hadn t already stopped.BRETT woke, dimly aware of movement in the room.He sat up in bedand blinked.It was still dark outside, and the drapes hoardedmoonlight except for a pale, narrow band spilling through. Breaking Faith 233Tommy stood by the window, half-turned away from him,holding the drape back slightly, looking out at& what? The stars? Thesoft light threw his body into shrouded relief against the dark.Hisarms, his shoulders, back, legs, his beautiful ass& and that fuckingtattoo curling over the top of his left arm like a shadow.All of him,perfectly imperfect, drawn as if with some strange airbrush palette ofblues and grays.Brett choked down his first impulse: to speak.What s the matter,baby? That attempt to bridge the gulf; the irresistible desire tocommunicate, to try to share.He said nothing, just watched.Waited.After a moment that seemed to last such a long time, Tommyturned.He smiled, and Brett raised a hand, scrubbed at his hair, andstifled a not entirely pretended yawn. Can t sleep? Tommy gave a little one-shouldered shrug. You want anything? Brett asked.Another shrug.The silence stretched out between them, thick and unyielding.Things would get better, Brett told himself.You had to expect roughpatches.Only, Tommy seemed so damn hard to read, now more thanever.He licked his lips nervously. Come back to bed? Tommy looked at him for a while, his features blurred in the half-light.The silence lapped around them.Brett knew this mattered, thismoment.He looked at Tommy, praying the question he hadn t askedhad been heard and understood.Come back to me?After an eternity, Tommy pushed away from the window, paddedacross the floor, and slipped back under the covers. You re cold, Brett muttered.He wrapped himself around Tommy and tucked the coversaround them, pretending to ignore the strange relief rushing throughhim, as if holding Tommy now was as good as holding him forever. It starts here, right? 234 M.KingTommy frowned. What? he asked, Brett s hair pricklingagainst his mouth, warmed by his breath. Everything, Brett murmured. Here on out, it s a new start. He shut his eyes, needing Tommy to agree, to just nod and holdhim and say, yeah, this would be their life from now on.Snug, warmand& safe.Only that would make it a blanket fort, not a relationship.Tommy pulled back, and Brett cranked his eyes open just enoughto see his solemn look, clouded in the dimness.Tommy s chest roseand fell to the rhythm of his own, the steady beat of his heart echoingwhere their bodies touched.Yeah, maybe it would be difficult.But life tended to be like that.Brett shifted against the mattress, determined to take back what he dsaid, to tell Tommy that, actually, maybe it didn t all need to be new.Maybe they d be fine, just building up where they d left off, just&getting along.Only, Tommy seemed to have other ideas.He smiled, his kiss awhisper on Brett s mouth. You re right, he said softly. It is.Everything s gonna bedifferent, darlin .And we re gonna make it count. Brett let his words sink in, lips still pressed together, bodies stillcleaving tight to each other.Nothing else felt like it would matter now,and so maybe it could be true.Couldn t it? They could make it workwith just a little optimism, some luck, and some blind faith.He hoped so.It was at least worth trying. About the AuthorM.KING resides in a damp, verdant corner of southwest England,where she may usually be found behind a keyboard and a vat of coffee.A former Arvon Foundation Award winner, she is an inveteratescribbler and teller of tales and has never yet met a genre she didn tlike.Her work features flawed and fascinating characters, vibrantstorytelling, and worlds to lose yourself in time and again, with titlesranging from horror to fantasy, humor to romance, erotica to tear-jerking drama& and more.On the very rare occasions she isn t writing, M.King enjoys takinglong, muddy walks with her dogs otherwise known as the hairychaos monkeys reading, dabbling in her herb garden, and falling offhorses.Just not all at the same time.Visit her web site at http://www.thenakednib.com.You can contact herat lavengra@yahoo.com. Also from Dreamspinner Presshttp://www.dreamspinnerpress.com Also from Dreamspinner Presshttp://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
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