Fall Apart Page 6

  The two of them didn’t make any sense to Damon. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how they managed to hook up the night before, but he was surprised over the tug of war he saw going on between the two of them. Valerie? Getting under Todd’s skin?

  Todd walked tiredly to Damon’s side, running a hand over his forehead impatiently. Damon knew to keep quiet.

  “I’m going to find Luke and Mandy, say goodnight, and get the hell out of here. You bugging out?”

  Damon nodded wearily. “Did Franco leave?”

  Todd nodded toward the dance floor and Damon followed the look to see Franco and Sandra holding each other tightly, eyes closed and swaying to the last song. Another odd couple, but they worked.

  “Thought you were getting something started with the British boy.”

  Damon gave him a look of warning. “Thought you were getting something started with Val.”

  “Touché.” Todd sighed and mumbled to himself. “Let’s go find the happy couple.”

  Damon didn’t have to tell Todd that he was pulling his classic avoidance techniques as they snuck out of the ballroom. Todd chose the hall less traveled and they actually came upon Mandy and Luke making out like fiends, hands everywhere, hips grinding. What was it with all the exhibitionism at this wedding? The two of them had somehow made it out of their regalia and into comfortable clothes without having sex and yet, they chose to dry hump in the open for anyone to find them.

  Straight people. He didn’t get it.

  Damon and Todd coughed and the happy couple barely noticed, smoochy-kissing half a dozen times before the grope session ended. They didn’t seem embarrassed as they loosened their hold on one another, probably because of the booze.

  “We’re sneaking out,” Todd informed them, looking a little green. “You guys have a good honeymoon, alright?”

  Luke and Mandy hugged them sloppily one last time and when Mandy tried to bring up Alarik, Damon stopped her.

  “Not tonight,” he said as kindly as he could. “Have fun in Jamaica. Congrats again.”

  “We love you, Day,” Mandy whispered in her sweet, intoxicated voice. When she kissed him on the cheek he smelled flowers and rum.

  “You too,” he flushed at her kind words. “I’m outta here…”

  He and Todd walked together to the parking lot and gave one another tired waves when they had to separate to get to their cars. Damon didn’t see Alarik anywhere. He was relieved and disappointed at the same time, then he was pissed because it was his inexperience that made him pull stupid stunts like hiding from a guy he really didn’t want to hide from. Times like these, he felt like such a bastard.

  “La Jolla Canyon next Saturday?” Todd called out, turning to walk backward as he asked.

  Damon waved again. “Gotta check the schedule with dad and Jess, but yeah. For now.”

  Todd nodded and turned away, head down as he ambled to his car. Damon wondered if his friend was thinking about Val and whatever was happening there, because Val was clearly thinking about it. Damon was thinking about Alarik. Was Alarik returning the favor?

  He pictured ash blond hair and those dimples as Alarik laughed. His eyes were gray. Light gray.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A combination of gentle kisses along his shoulder, a light breeze fluttering the curtains, and the sun on his back woke Mark. He grunted in sleepy pleasure and realized his throat didn’t hurt as badly as it had the day before. No fever, either, thank God.

  “Hi, baby,” Zane murmured against his skin.

  Mark mumbled something unintelligible, keeping his eyes closed and simply soaking in the sensation of his husband’s body heat at his side.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but you’re supposed to work today and if you don’t think you can go in, I should call for you.” Another kiss fell on the nape of his neck. “I also brought your medicine.”

  Mark took a weary inventory of his aches and pains. He was dehydrated; he still didn’t have to pee. His joints were stiff and sore, and when he tried to push up off the mattress, his head pounded a violent Oh no you didn’t! He dropped back down to the mattress and groaned.

  Zane gave a sympathetic laugh. “I’ll call now. Be right back.”

  Mark was vaguely aware of the bed shifting as Zane went into the hall to call in sick for him. His husband’s words sounded like they were filtering through cotton wadding and a couple pillows. It was possible that Mark dozed off again in the few minutes Zane was gone because the next thing he knew was a soft touch to his forehead and fingers in his hair.

  “Hey,” Zane whispered. “Can you sit up?”

  “Mmphh,” Mark answered, taking the journey to upright twice as slowly this time around. “Ffffuuuck.” His voice sounded terrible and his mouth felt like it was coated in powder.

  Zane made a noise like he was in pain, too, and pulled Mark close until his head was resting on his shoulder. He dropped a kiss on Mark’s temple. “You don’t seem feverish.”

  Mark shook his head in response and got another kiss for the effort. He didn’t want to say anything else until he brushed his teeth, not when he was this close. He patted Zane’s knee and stood up like he was made of glass, gesturing toward the master bath. Toothpaste and body wash, that’s what he needed.

  As he leaned over the sink, his head still protesting, he heard the shower turn on behind him. When he finished brushing, Zane helped him from his clothes and escorted him into the spray with hands on his shoulders. Under normal circumstances, he’d figure out a way to get his husband to stay and shower with him, but he barely had the energy to blink much less proposition a man. His dick had all but hung up a Do Not Disturb sign on his balls the minute his lymph nodes declared war on the worst case of flu he’d ever had. Even when he gave his groin a scrubbing, it barely registered the company, proof positive that this was the sickest he’d been in years.

  The cool air was nice on his body and when he grabbed his towel, it was toasty warm from the heated towel rack. Zane had left a pair of his own cotton workout pants, a t-shirt, and briefs on the counter for him and after Mark dragged his body into the clothes, he shuffled into the bedroom to find Zane changing the sheets. His heart jumped weakly.

  “I’m so sorry about this—”

  Zane shushed him. “Don’t even think about apologizing for getting the flu. I’m just glad I’m not out of town right now and I can be here for you.” He straightened the pillows and duvet, pulling them back and motioning for Mark to climb in. “Come on. It’s always nicer to sleep on fresh sheets when you’re sick.”

  “You’re so good to me,” Mark croaked, sighing as the crisp cotton was draped over him. He smelled the detergent on the linens and almost smiled. “Thanks for the clothes and everything.”

  “Medicine,” Zane ordered kindly. “And you need to drink this water.”

  Mark nodded pathetically, succumbing to Zane without protest. He drank a glass of water, swallowed another round of Tylenol and sank deeper into the pillows. Zane made it halfway to the door by the time Mark noticed and called out.

  “Where are you going?”

  Zane patiently looked over his shoulder. “I’m getting your breakfast and I have to make a few calls.”

  “My mom?”

  “She called yesterday and I told her you were sick, but we need to hammer out some of the travel details for the party.” Mark raised his eyebrows in question and Zane chuckled. “You really want to know about this right now?”

  Mark nodded weakly, milking it, and his husband’s laughing eyes told him he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “My mom’s been talking to your mom and they’ve got all these ideas they want to try, but they’re not going to be able to get it done if Patty’s in Bakersfield and my mom is here that week. I think we should just open up the house to the family the entire time my mom’s in town. It’ll be convenient, and nobody should have to travel back and forth to Bakersfield over and over again.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Mark
rasped. “Reid. Sean. Sean’s girlfriend. My folks. Your mom. Everyone together in this house.”

  “It’ll be fun. We haven’t all been together at one time since the wedding,” he answered patiently. “Meeting up again for the anniversary party makes sense.”

  “Let me repeat: Reid will be here.”

  Zane grinned. “I’ll invite Sophia Kirkland.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Mark pointed out bleakly, knowing this was a losing battle. “They had one date and I don’t think it ended w—”

  “Mark,” Zane interrupted, sounding amused. “I love your family. You love your family. We all get along great. Do you think they bother me? Is that what’s holding you back?”

  Mark closed his eyes and released a loud breath. “The Newlands are a lot to deal with. An intense bunch.”

  The bed moved as Zane stretched across it to touch the tip of his nose against Mark’s. “So are the Whitlows—don’t forget you’re one of us now.”

  Mark paused, bemused. “You’re right.”

  Zane dropped a kiss on his brow and got up. “I’m always right, Mr. Whitlow.” He disappeared from the room and Mark heard him call down the hallway. “Breakfast! Then phone calls.”

  “Great,” Mark grumbled to himself. “Reid’s probably going to burn this place down.”

  ***

  Alarik could have slept in; it was the first morning in weeks that he didn’t have to be anywhere by eight o’clock. He couldn’t sleep, though. He was up with the sun, sitting out on the balcony that overlooked the same lawn and terrace where Mandy and Luke had pictures taken. The morning was surprisingly chilly and he was in sweats, legs stretched out in front of him as he drank a scalding cup of tea and tried to figure out what happened with Damon the night before.

  He was unaccustomed to men fleeing from him in general, much less without some kind of provocation. Damon simply disappeared. One moment he was at Alarik’s side, and the next, poof…he vanished. He wasn’t in the ballroom, on the dance floor, in the lobby, or in the parking lot. Franco was too busy nuzzling at his wife to be interrupted for help in finding him, and when Alarik looked for Todd, he was disappointed again.

  Damon left him with a fleeting smile before Luke tossed the garter and although he’d been hoping to spend more time one-on-one after the festivities, Damon hadn’t given him an opportunity to ask. Alarik didn’t have a number to call. The only thing he did know was that Damon worked at the family sporting goods store and he was supposed to open up shop this morning.

  As soon as he finished his tea, he was going to shower, grab breakfast and drive to Ventura where Mandy had mentioned Damon lived. Alarik already looked up the sporting goods stores in the city, and the list was longer than he expected. He could rule out the well-known chain stores, yet, even so, he was left to cull though quite a few smaller businesses. Prepared to spend the day visiting each one until he saw Damon’s auburn hair and hideaway smile, he found Wright Sports at the bottom of the list.

  Armed with an address, Alarik was going to give chase, like he’d told Mandy he wouldn’t. Although, this wasn’t about “a fuck.” Damon was worth one more shot.

  The hotel offered a vast breakfast buffet and after looking over all the choices, he ordered an omelet and flipped through a copy of Details magazine while he ate. Brad Pershall, an actor with looks that eclipsed his chops on camera, yet who was gathering a larger following every day, was on the cover. Alarik’s friend, Claude, was the photographer.

  Claude loved geometric shots with harsh angles. The cover was a desaturated close-up of Pershall’s jaw from below, displaying his perfectly manicured facial hair and bone structure. Pershall’s eyes were heavy-lidded, but open, staring downward into the camera lens and giving the impression of condescension, scorn. The images attached to the article itself were equally good, and each one managed to make Pershall appear more of a dick. He’d have to give Claude a call and see if he’d done that on purpose.

  Alarik read through the article and snorted in derision at Pershall’s response to an inflammatory comment from the interviewer concerning Zane Whitlow.

  When questioned about rumors circulating through the lobbies, hotel bar rooms and restaurants of Los Angeles, that his work of late is a tacit attempt to dethrone the reigning king of action and dramatic films, Pershall laughs, finishing his drink in one swallow. In the past, he’s been vocal concerning the influence of Zane Whitlow on his own career, yet, now, Pershall is nonchalant, noticeably silent. “So there is truth to the rumors?” I ask, and Pershall’s ready laugh rises once more.

  “No king reigns forever,” he eventually answers, his eyes taking in the bar from floor to ceiling. We’ve occupied our booth for more than an hour and been interrupted five times for Pershall to sign autographs. “Stars fall. I could be that fresh perspective the world never knew it wanted until it arrived…”

  It remains to be seen if we, the public, are witnesses on the sidelines to the next big Hollywood coup.

  “Rubbish,” Alarik growled. “Zane is at home laughing his arse off over you, Pershall.” He thought of Zane’s performance in Sacrifice, a stunning film from start to finish that would certainly get the nod from the Hollywood Foreign Press, the Screen Actors Guild and The Academy. When compared to Pershall’s latest—a laughable attempt at film noir that only those truly committed to the actor’s good looks could stomach for more than five minutes—it was clear where the talent really lay.

  The article reminded him that he hadn’t seen Zane since the Entertainment Weekly photo shoot for Sacrifice—Alarik hadn’t been the photographer, but a scheduling fluke landed him in the studio a day before he was actually supposed to be there. He’d ended up having dinner with Zane and Mark. That was nearly six months ago.

  On the road to Ventura, he put in his earpiece and dialed Zane. He thought he was going to have to leave a message when on the fifth ring, the famous, throaty voice answered.

  “Are you kidding me? Is this phone call really happening?”

  Alarik smiled. “Tis I, your long lost friend. Note the emphasis.”

  “Oh, I noted it,” Zane answered softly, like he was trying to keep his voice down. The sound of a TV filtered over the phone from the background. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Truth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m in my very sensible compact rental car driving the lone road from Santa Barbara to Ventura. I am on the hunt.”

  “For work?”

  “On the contrary. For pleasure.”

  Zane let out a hum of interest. “Who do you know in Ventura?”

  “It’s rather about who I want to get to know in Ventura.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder to switch lanes. “I was at a friend’s wedding in Santa Barbara yesterday and a member of the wedding party caught my eye.”

  “It wasn’t the groom, was it?”

  “The Best Man.”

  “Nice,” Zane laughed. “Was this the wedding for your girlfriend from New York? The one you were living with when we met?”

  Alarik was impressed. “You remember everything, Whit. Yes, she married an All-American something or other. Quite nice. I can never remember what he does for a living, but I think it has to do with legal stuff when taking other people’s money and making it work for them. The Best Man—Damon, I shall call him—works with his family in Ventura.”

  “Does he know you’re planning a visit?”

  Alarik made a face because he knew Zane couldn’t see it and call him out. “No.”

  Zane chuckled and Alarik heard him telling someone, probably Mark, who was on the phone. “Well, well, well. This isn’t like you, Alarik. Last I recall; you had a waiting list.”

  “You know my rule,” Alarik said pointedly. “Never trust that they mean what they say when you’re behind the camera and they’re in front of it.” If anyone could understand what being used felt like, it would be Zane.

  “I know the rule, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a waiting list.
”

  Alarik didn’t quite harrumph because harrumphing was something his uncle did. “I want to see him again. I’ll leave it at that.”

  Zane, considerate as ever, changed the subject. “If you’re going to be in the area, you should have dinner with us. Mark’s got the flu, but it looks like he’s making a recovery. Maybe once he’s on his feet?”

  “My schedule is pretty open for the next few weeks, so it might actually work.”

  “You can try to bring your guy along. I won’t lie, it’s a surprise to hear what you’re up to with him.” Zane was carefully weighing his words as he spoke, like he didn’t want to accidentally upset Alarik.

  “It’s overly generous to call him ‘my guy’ when I’m still working on calling him an acquaintance,” Alarik admitted, but then he smiled. “He likes me, though, and that’s why I’m taking my show on the road.”

  There was a pause in the conversation because Zane was talking to Mark again. When he came back on the line, he had a plan. “Mark says Wednesday. I’ve got meetings in the morning, but the afternoon and evening are free. I’ll cook.”

  Alarik laughed. “You mean you’ll grill.”

  “I’ll serve it wrapped in newspaper if that makes you feel at home—are you coming? Should we put you down for two?”

  Talking like this made Alarik picture what it would be like having a double date. The idea of Damon agreeing to go out with him made him squirm in pleasure.

  “Put me down for two; I’ll see what I can do.”

  He and Zane said their goodbyes just as the GPS squawked at him in her computerized version of a British accent. She wanted him to exit the 101 and turn right at the light. He did as he was told and five more minutes on the road brought him to a shopping center with ten different stores side by side. Wright Sports held court in the middle. A place called Yo-Good! Frozen Yogurt was on its left and a coffee shop was on its right. How Damon stayed in shape working betwixt the two, Alarik didn’t know; he was forever at war with his own sweet tooth.