He raises a brow in question.
“The repercussion of going to my friend in the drug squad was two guys approaching me. Their boss apparently wasn’t happy with Gary’s loss or the effect it had on his business. Basically, I’d ruined their lives and caused a set back with their business so they’d attempt to ruin me. They threatened you and Carla.” I sink back into the chair, so tired of every damn thing.
“I never in a million years would have left you if I’d had a choice. As soon as I heard the threat was over, I made plans to head back to Lexington after my current job was over. Which brings me to how I met Eric.”
“I wondered how Eric managed to set the meeting up in Denver because he had no idea about us,” Ramon pauses, “or did he?”
I shake my head. “No, he knows nothing about us. I didn’t admit to knowing you, even after he told me what the job was that he wanted me involved in. I needed to see you first and talk. He’s part of your family and I had no idea how much, if anything, you have told him. I wasn’t sure if you’d told him about our relationship…or if you’d just said we were friends so I stayed quiet.”
“He didn’t know anything about us. He knew someone had hurt me, which is how I explained going slow with Sylvia whenever anyone asked. No one knew.”
“Knew?” I question.
“My family, bar Michael and my parents, know about us.” He pauses and then thoughtfully rubs his chin. “Well, Michael might know since Lucien has a big mouth, but I doubt my parents do. My brothers will leave that one for me.” He smiles.
I’m finding it hard to believe that after all of our time together, he finally told his brothers about me when we’re not involved anymore. There’s something wrong with that picture.
Not really wanting to know the answer, but unable to keep it inside, I ask, “If I hadn’t disappeared, would you have told them about me?”
Ramon blushes and refuses to meet my gaze. His lips tighten around a word but he doesn’t let it slip. I have my answer. It feels like a sledgehammer straight to my chest.
Slowly pushing to my feet, I head toward the bedroom and, stopping in the doorway, I glance over my shoulder at Ramon. He’s facing the window, his eyes averted from me and I notice the slump of his shoulders. He looks as wrecked as I am. And I still haven’t explained how I met Eric.
Ramon
I’m not ashamed of my past relationship with Noah, nor would I be if I took another chance on him and let him in again.
The fact that I’m a grown man should make it easier to come out to my parents. With the way I’m acting you’d think I was a teenager again, and that has to stop. I didn’t miss the hurt that flickered in Noah’s eyes at my silence.
Rubbing my chest over my heart, I sigh and follow Noah into the bedroom to finish our talk. I also need to know what’s going to happen now. I can’t leave it…whatever this is…between us. And I can’t leave Noah thinking I’m ashamed to be with him.
To my surprise, Noah isn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom. My heart starts to pound wondering where the hell he’s disappeared to. He couldn’t have left, but then I see his shadow through the curtains.
Blood still pounding through my ears, I open the door to the porch and sag against the doorframe when Noah turns to look at me.
His eyes widen with surprise. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, taking a step toward me.
“I thought you’d left.”
His lips tighten. “I’m not going to do that to you again. If I’m leaving, you’ll know about it.”
I nod and, pulling myself together, drop my ass into one of the two rocking chairs on the porch.
After a small hesitation, Noah sits beside me.
“You still love me.”
My head whips around in surprise at his bold statement.
He grins, and repeats, “You still love me.”
The frown on my face shuts him up.
“You do, right?” he asks, the surety draining from him as quickly as his smile.
“I don’t know how the fuck I feel.” Which is a lie because I still love him. “Tell me about Eric,” I change the subject needing more time to come up with a plan of action before heading back to Lexington.
He’ll come back with me. He doesn’t have much choice, and I’m not about to give him one.
Resting his feet on the porch railing, he starts to slowly rock in the chair, looking relaxed until I glance at his hands. They’re flexing against his thigh—a sure sign that he’s stressed.
He isn’t the only one.
My first instinct is to lean forward and touch him. His chest is bare and the sprinkling of hair that trails over his nipples and down past his navel has my mouth watering. I want to follow that trail further south with my tongue, past the elastic of the sweats and over something I’m longing for. I’m craving his taste, his touch, more than ever. It’s been a long time since I experienced Noah.