Undue Influence Page 8

  It was just…never like that again.

  Eventually, he’d decided that hookups weren’t worth it. His own hand was less trouble.

  The worst part was that Freddy was clearly not so affected. Though he was older than Adam, he seemed younger at heart. He wasn’t wearing heartbreak like a heavy yoke the way Adam was. He’d bounced back.

  Of course he’d bounced back. He’d gone on to be wildly successful and had men and women alike throwing themselves at him. While Adam’s life had stayed exactly the same, Freddy’s had expanded.

  Lost in his thoughts, he wasn’t aware of how much time had passed until he felt someone approach. It was Freddy, carrying one of the stools from the kitchen island. Without a word, he set it down next to Adam. He didn’t smile or nod or do anything, just deposited the stool and made his way back to the kitchen.

  Adam’s leg was hurting. Damn Freddy. Did he have to be so observant and thoughtful all the time? He never could stand to see Adam suffering. Or, forget suffering—he could never stand to see Adam ever-so-slightly inconvenienced. And apparently even the passing of eight years—even betrayal—could not temper his reflexive kindness. Adam felt again what he had lost when he’d forsaken Freddy.

  At dinner, Adam was seated next to Ben, who surprised him by being an avid reader. That certainly hadn’t come out on Food Fanatics.

  “I’ve been reading Thomas Hardy lately,” Ben said. “Somehow I never got to him. I just finished Tess of the D’Urbervilles.”

  “Well, that can’t be good for you right now,” Adam said, and instantly regretted it. Who was he to tell a grieving man what to read? He tried to make a joke. “I mean, sexual assault, suicide.” He thought back to the book. “Turnips. So many turnips.”

  “She does pull a lot of turnips, doesn’t she?” Ben laughed. “You sound like Freddy. I think he thinks I’m wallowing unnecessarily. Maybe I am. I’ve been taking a certain macabre comfort in reading this depressing stuff, but maybe I need to branch out. What would you prescribe?”

  Adam gave it some thought. “A romance novel, maybe?”

  Ben laughed. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried one, but if someone of your taste is recommending them, I’ll give it a shot. Give me a title.”

  “Well, I mostly read queer ones.” Adam tried to backpedal. What had he been thinking recommending romance novels to this straight man he hardly knew? Who, even worse, was Freddy’s best friend?

  “Even better,” Ben proclaimed, “if your aim is to get me out of my own head and life. Give me a title and I’ll read it, but only if you promise to make yourself available for discussion when I’m done.”

  Adam was happy to agree. He never talked about books with anyone. His family was certainly not going to fit that bill, and Rusty favored mysteries, which had never been Adam’s thing.

  Before he knew it, dessert was being served. He and Ben had been yakking happily without noticing the passage of time. As a platter of individual apple turnovers being passed around reached him, he looked up to find Freddy staring at him from across the table. His eyes moved to Ben and then back to Adam. Suddenly, he smiled—Adam thought so, anyway. No sooner had he flashed a smile than he’d pressed his lips together to extinguish it and turned his head to obscure his face. It was like he’d been overcome for a moment with a goodwill he did not want Adam to witness—like watching the sun peek out for just a moment from behind fast-moving clouds and then be subsumed again.

  But Adam had seen that secret smile just the same, and it might as well have been a knife to the gut because it reminded him so sharply, so exquisitely, of what he had lost.

  Chapter Eight

  Eight years ago

  I don’t kiss smokers.

  A week had gone by since he’d dropped that little nugget, and Adam was still embarrassed.

  I don’t kiss smokers. Like, what? He had a policy or something?

  He didn’t kiss anybody. Not only was he a nineteen-year-old virgin, he had literally never been kissed.

  Unless you counted the mis-aimed and then aborted attempt of last week.

  God, he wished he could take it back. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Certainly not if it meant he got to kiss Freddy Wentworth.

  He’d just been so surprised by the ashtray taste. Being with Freddy, thinking about Freddy—these caused certain associations in his mind. Freddy was sweet and funny and kind. Even though they only ever saw each other at night—except that one time Freddy came to the garage and they went for coffee—he associated Freddy with lightness. In every sense of the word. Freddy made him feel like his body required less effort than usual to be in the world. He made him feel like he could see into previously shadowed places—including his heart—clearly.

  So when he’d finally gotten up the nerve to make a move—and Freddy, in his usual Freddy way, had come to his assistance when it seemed like he was going to botch it—the taste of him had been a shock. Ashy and acidic and just…gross.

  But not gross enough to stop kissing him, for God’s sake. The pullback had been instinctive—and regretted.

  Anyway, he’d decided to try to right the ship tonight. They were in the middle of a heatwave, and even though it was after midnight, it was still quite hot. Freddy had been sweating heavily when they’d set out from Miller’s. Adam, as a valet, got to work outside. He could only imagine how hot the kitchen must be.

  So when they reached the edge of the drive, where things usually got a little weird, his whole body practically vibrated with anxiety. He tried to preempt the usual awkwardness that descended here by reciting the three sentences he’d been practicing in his head for the last hour: “It’s so hot. I’m going to go for a swim in the lake. Do you want to join me?”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said. “That would be great.”

  Well, that had been easy. Like pretty much everything with Freddy, actually. Adam often felt awkward in social situations, but, bottom-of-the-drive goodbyes aside, not with Freddy. Soon, they were on their way to the water. Kellynch gradually sloped down to a rocky shore. Adam pulled his shirt off as they walked, but said, “I recommend keeping your shoes on until you get onto the dock.”

  He could hear the sound of Freddy removing his shirt, and whoa. The idea that he could just turn around, and there would be Freddy Wentworth, shirtless. Freddy was broad chested. Adam wasn’t sure if that was just the way he was built, or if it was the result of a concerted effort. In all their rambling conversations, Freddy had referenced a home gym he’d assembled in his mother’s basement, so Adam assumed the latter.

  He kept going without turning, wanting to prolong the reward, like a kid saving his last piece of Halloween candy.

  There was a shed right at the edge of the water, and Adam opened it to retrieve a flashlight—both because it was dark and Freddy wouldn’t know the dock by feel like Adam did, and because, well…eventually he was going to eat that piece of Halloween candy, and he wanted to be able to see.

  It was an upright, lantern-style flashlight. He turned it on, walked to the end of the dock, and set it down. Then he sat and started taking his shoes off. He felt Freddy sinking down next to him. Heard the swish of his Docs being unlaced.

  Finally, finally, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he turned and looked.

  And oh, my.

  Yep, the source of Freddy’s bulk was definitely that home gym. He wasn’t like the Incredible Hulk, but each muscle in his arms, shoulders, and chest was defined. And he had a tattoo—of course he did. Some kind of Celtic-looking design snaked around one bicep.

  Adam might be bookish, but he wasn’t immune to such a display of fleshly beauty. It was too much, almost. He had to look away.

  But just as he was about to, something caught his eye. A big Band-Aid on Freddy’s arm, just above the tattoo.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Before he could think better of it, Adam reached out and brushed his fingers over the Band-Aid.

  What was he doing? He started to pull away, but Freddy reached around with his oth
er hand and covered Adam’s, effectively keeping his fingers where they were.

  “Nope. That’s a nicotine patch.”

  Present day

  After dinner, Ben took Adam down to the lake. Freddy might have been jealous were he not supremely confident in Ben’s unambiguous heterosexuality. Instead, he was once again overcome with a rush of gratitude and goodwill toward Adam for being the one thing in the time since Ben’s wife had died that had drawn Ben out of his grief.

  The two of them were remarkably similar, now that he thought about it. They were both contemplative sorts more at home with their heads in a book than in the real world. Yet they could both become animated and downright charming given the right inducement.

  Where they diverged was physically. Ben, tall and conventionally handsome, looked like a movie star, which was part of why the Food Fanatics team had decided to position him as the “good guy” chef on the show. Adam, who was only five-seven, had an unusual collection of features: a fine, small nose, a smattering of freckles that had always seemed out of sync with his dark hair, and dark brown irises that were almost indistinguishable from his pupils.

  And yet, to Freddy, Adam was sexier—by several orders of magnitude.

  Some of that was probably down to the fact that Ben was Freddy’s longtime, decidedly straight, platonic friend. Freddy had never thought of him as anything else and never would.

  But some of it was just…Adam. The sight of him, standing at the valet stand at Miller’s Inn, had always set Freddy’s pulse pounding. And then, later, being able to examine those freckles—and the ones on his body—up close? It had nearly undone Freddy.

  He still wasn’t over it.

  “Oh, Freddy, let’s go down to the lake now!” Lulu cried as they finished with the dishes.

  He sighed. Lulu was wearing thin. She was nice enough, but her…striving was so plain, it was impossible to find her attractive. And yet, she could serve a purpose. Namely, reminding him to hang on to his pride. In this damn town, it was all he had.

  “All right.” He dried his hands on a towel. He’d deflected her previous suggestion that they walk to the lake, wanting to give Adam and Ben space to continue their chat unmolested. But what the hell? It was a beautiful night, and a walk in the real world was certainly preferable to the agonized strolling down memory lane he’d been doing. He looked at Henry, who’d been wiping the table. “Will you join us?” Henry happily agreed as Lulu pouted. Given a choice, Freddy would have preferred the attentions of Henry, but word was that Henry was on again with his sometime girlfriend Charlotte Haywick. There was nothing wrong with Lulu—she was pretty and fun—but he just wasn’t feeling it.

  “Let’s all go,” Freddy said, gesturing for everyone else to join them, too. The bigger the crowd, the more buffer there would be between Lulu and him. Mark and Chloe easily agreed, as did Sophie and Geordie after a bit of coaxing—they’d been snuggled up on the sofa together. The bigger the group got, the more Lulu’s pout seemed to deepen. Freddy tried not to find it funny. Maybe he should talk himself into the idea of a fling with Lulu. God knew, he could use the distraction.

  It was nearing the end of June, so twilight was just descending even though it was late. Freddy led the way down the terraced yard to the lake. Ben really did have a beautiful place here. The house was high on a cliff, and whereas most people on this stretch of waterfront built steep staircases down to the lake, Ben had had chunks of garden and yard carved out of the cliff, creating the appearance of levels or stories. A path ran through these terraces, functioning as a switchback as it wound through the steep yard until it reached the beach and dock at water level.

  “Oh, this is fun!” Lulu said, jumping from one level of yard to the next instead of following the path like everyone else.

  “Careful!” Freddy called, drawing the attention of Ben and Adam.

  The sight of Adam looking at him from below, his eyes wide, sent a sudden jolt down Freddy’s spine. That was exactly what he used to look like when he sucked Freddy’s dick. Like what was happening was the most amazing thing he’d ever been part of.

  Lulu heaved a theatrical sigh, stealing his attention from Adam. See? Lulu did have diversionary potential. She put her hands on her hips, a parody of martyrdom. But she had paused in her descent and was waiting for them to catch up. “You just don’t want me to have any fun, do you, Freddy?”

  “Yes,” he deadpanned as the larger group arrived on her level, which was one above the beach. “My sole aim in life is to curtail your fun, Lulu.” He shot her a wink.

  She didn’t say anything, didn’t even move as the rest of them continued past her. It was only when they’d arrived at the beach and were standing below her that she cried, “Catch me, Freddy!”

  And God help him, she jumped. What could he do but play the role she’d forced him into? He lunged and caught her, swallowing a cry of pain as her landing felt like it nearly tore his arms out of their sockets.

  “Eee!” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “That was fun!” He got the distinct sense that she wanted him to do something silly like twirl her around.

  That was not happening. Irritated by her little stunt, he set her on her feet. She did not let go of his neck. He was forced to shake his head and step back rather forcefully to get her to let go of him.

  “Lulu!” Henry scolded. “That could have been a disaster.”

  Lulu harrumphed. “Oh, it was fine. Freddy will always save me, won’t you?”

  Freddy’s silence must have been taken as assent, for she skipped off down the dock.

  The others gathered on the beach. The first stars were coming out, and as if by silent agreement, they all tilted their heads back to look at them. The sky, midnight blue, hovered on the tipping point between twilight and true night. God, the colors here. He’d forgotten about them, apparently, too busy with his nose to the gray grindstone in New York.

  “I think I see a fish!” Lulu called from the dock. “Freddy, come see!”

  He was about to reply that certainly it was too dark to see a fish—the lake was murky even under the sun of high noon—when she jumped in.

  Or fell? She must have fallen. People didn’t just jump fully clothed into lakes during dinner parties.

  Yes, she must have fallen, judging by her brother’s alarmed shout. Actually, everyone was shouting all of a sudden. He recognized his sister’s shriek.

  Shit. Freddy’s annoyance at Lulu, who was splashing and sputtering in the water—surely she could swim, right?—was replaced by fear. It was hard to believe a person could grow up in a lake town and not know how to swim, but she wasn’t doing a very good job keeping herself afloat as she thrashed.

  “The lake is deep here!” Ben voice was laced with panic.

  Chloe and Mark both started waving their hands and yelling and generally being unhelpful. His sister was patting her pockets, looking for her phone. “Geordie! Where’s my purse? Did I leave it in the car?” Her voice was high, as it always was when she was upset.

  Freddy tried to get past everyone, to join Ben, who’d run down the dock. They had to do something. But what? He looked around in vain for a life preserver.

  And then Adam jumped in the lake.

  Adam was a strong swimmer. The two of them had passed many a moonlit night in the water at Kellynch. Warmth spread through him at the memory of Adam’s smooth, lean chest painted with silver moonlight. Of Adam laughing and splashing him. Confessing that he loved to swim because his leg wasn’t such a hindrance in the water.

  Of Adam gasping, even as he turned Freddy inside out.

  But he had to get ahold of himself. Now was not the time for lust-tinged nostalgia.

  Adam had Lulu in one arm and was using the other to swim them both to safety. Ben was kneeling on the dock, and Freddy joined him, preparing to help.

  “She’s bleeding—I think from the head. She must have hit it on the dock as she went in.” Adam’s voice was calm and strong as he and his cargo arrived dockside. A
s Ben grabbed Lulu under her arms to hoist her up, Adam said, “Henry, call 911. She’s probably fine, but we should make sure the wound isn’t too deep. After you’ve called, walk out to the main road to meet them.” Then, still in the water, he turned his attention to Freddy. “Can you go upstairs and find flashlights and blankets? We’ll need to keep her warm so she doesn’t go into shock.”

  “Adam! Adam! What can I do?” Chloe called. Freddy sensed rather than saw Adam roll his eyes.

  “You can help me, Chloe,” Freddy said, knowing that the best thing to do was to get her out of the way.

  “Thank you,” Adam whispered.

  Freddy was seized with a strong desire to help Adam out of the water, but he’d received his instructions, and Adam was perfectly capable of managing on his own, so he took Chloe’s arm and ran for the house.

  On his way back with an armful of towels and blankets, Chloe lighting the way with a pair of flashlights, he couldn’t help but think about how impressive Adam had been just then. The way he’d calmly taken over, not just saving Lulu but authoritatively dispensing tasks to the others, making a decisive judgment call about what sort of action was needed. Adam had always been quietly capable, taking care of things for his family behind the scenes, not allowing their drama to infect him. It seemed he still possessed that same understated competence.