What He Fears

  What He Fears

  Desires Book Four

  By

  E. M. Denning

  DEDICATION

  To my readers

  The people who loved

  Alan and Craig

  Steve and Matt

  Everett and Xavier

  Thanks for sticking with me.

  This book is for you.

  Chapter One

  Andrew

  Andrew sat at the bar with his back to the room. He stared into his beer and watched the bubbles dance around. He’d already checked out every single person in the bar and no one stirred any interest. And that was the problem. No one interested him. Almost no one. He did have some pretty unfortunate feelings for his best friend, Everett, but he would never like Andrew like that. He was all wrong for Everett and he knew it. That didn’t lessen the sting when he found out his kid brother, Xavier, had fallen for Everett and Everett fell right back.

  He should be happy for them. Somewhere down inside himself, he was happy for them. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be miserable for himself. Andrew finished his fourth beer and ordered a fifth. A lovely brunette with doe eyes tried to flirt with him, but he wasn’t interested. She did everything by the book, too. Stroked his arm, leaned in toward him. Flashed him her cleavage, but there wasn’t an atom in his entire body that took an interest in her.

  He could count the number of women he’d been sexually attracted to on one hand. Four. In his twenty-eight years, he’d been with four women. Andrew wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to play the field. He liked being in relationships. He liked the process of getting to know another person. His preferred snail’s pace in relationships didn’t always sit well with his would-be partners. Those four women were the only ones who had stuck with him long enough to break through his frosty defenses as one of his exes had put it.

  The first time he’d felt the stirrings of desire for his best friend, he’d freaked out. He’d never really thought much about men before that point. Sure, he could pick out a good-looking guy in a crowded room, but who couldn’t? The sudden interest his dick took in Everett had disarmed him. Andrew had never lusted after a guy before. It wasn’t long after that first inconvenient hard on he realized he’d fallen in love with his best friend.

  From then on, he’d been doomed. He stopped pursuing relationships with women. He knew nothing would ever come of his stupid crush, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to be around Everett so he could analyze his reactions to his friend. Fat lot of good that did him.

  There he sat, months later, with no answers and no friend because he had to go and be a jerk. Everett’s words still swirled around in his head and made his stomach lurch. Everett had been right. Andrew could be there for him after his attack, but he couldn’t be there for him now that he’d found some happiness. It was fucked up, but there it was. The bitter truth about falling in love with your best friend was that life wasn’t a romance novel and your best friend didn’t always fall in love right back.

  The last time he’d seen Everett had been a week ago. He’d climbed out of bed that morning, late, with a fuzzy tongue, a bitching headache, and a bad memory. He remembered Xavier coming home late, and he remembered going to bed. When he saw Xavier’s key sitting on the counter next to a crumpled wad of cash, the memories flooded back. God, he’d been such a jerk to his brother and for no reason. No real reason other than a case of hurt feelings. Feelings Xavier hadn’t been responsible for hurting. He had no way of knowing about Andrew’s seemingly flexible sexuality, or his feelings for Everett.

  What really hit Andrew had been seeing Everett. He saw the way Everett looked at Xavier. He saw the way they were with each other. Anyone with eyes could see that they were totally hooked on each other. It got Andrew thinking. How had Everett never realized Andrew was in love with him? Had he ever looked at Everett like that? If he had, how oblivious had Everett been to not have noticed?

  That made Andrew question himself even more. Had he ever really loved Everett? Was his attraction to him a fluke? He rubbed his temples. He tried to stop thinking about it, knowing he’d thought about it too much and had only created more questions for himself. Answers were elusive. Especially after six or seven beers.

  A warm body bumped into Andrew. He didn’t realize how drunk he’d gotten until he had to clutch the bar as he tried to stay seated on his stool. “Holy sshit.” He slurred. He turned his head to look around and his vision swam. How much had he drunk? Weren’t bartenders supposed to cut you off before you got shit-faced?

  The warm body that crashed into him belonged to some middle-aged dude who looked just as smashed and appeared twice as lost as Andrew felt.

  “Sorry.” The red-rimmed eyes held his gaze as the sad-sack drunk helped Andrew steady himself. He almost offered to buy the guy a drink, misery did love company after all, but the guy disappeared into the crowd before he could get his thick, drunk tongue to work.

  Andrew ordered one more beer. He ordered one more beer one more time, maybe two. The room had tilted half an hour ago and he couldn’t feel his face. He gazed down at his feet. He somehow had to convince them to carry him to the bathroom.

  The room swayed when Andrew turned his head to the bartender. “One more.” He shoved the empty glass toward the bartender who threatened to divide into two people right in front of him. Andrew rubbed his eyes until the double vision ceased. His empty glass was gone, and a new one had yet to take its place.

  The bartender—bartenders? Was there two of him?—gave him a sad look. “Sorry, pal. You’ve hit your limit. You need a cab? We’re closing soon.”

  Andrew shoved to his feet. “I’ll walk. ‘S’not far.” That was a lie. He lived way too far to walk, especially with summer fading into autumn. Night time temperatures were unpredictable and tended to be either slightly too warm, or far too cold to be running around, drunk out of your head without a coat.

  Andrew stumbled through the bar until he found the men’s room. Relieving his too-full bladder and not pissing half way up the wall or on his shoes as he struggled to stay upright was a feat and a half, but he managed. After washing his hands and splashing some water on his face to try to sober himself up a little, two men, who were obviously en route to a hook up burst in. Andrew watched through his beer goggle eyes as they stumbled, groping and kissing, into the stall.

  What would it feel like to be able to grab someone and lose himself in them? To drink in the feel of their skin under his hands and the sounds that caught in the back of their throats. What would it feel like to be pinned down and fucked within an inch of his sanity? Andrew tried not to think about Everett, but he couldn’t help it. He’d imagined Everett pinning him down and fucking him senseless. He snorted. That was never, ever, ever going to happen.

  He had to stop thinking about Everett like that, because now, whenever he did, he imagined Xavier with him. The images disgusted and tortured him in equal measure as Andrew drunkenly ambled his way out of the bar and into the crisp night air.

  Andrew inhaled through his nose and caught a whiff of stale beer. He reeled in disgust when he realized he was most certainly the source of the unpleasant smell. He cupped his hand in front of his face and exhaled into it, then breathed in through his nose. Bad idea. His stomach jolted and twisted. Andrew swallowed hard and dropped his hand. He’d walk home, he decided. There was no way he would get into a cab and risk the motion setting off his suddenly tender stomach. He might be drunk off his ass, but there was some scrap of humanity left in him. No one liked cleaning up some drunk asshole’s beer vomit.

  Andrew staggered down the sidewalk, dodging light poles that danced into his path. He had a nasty run in with what he thought was a newspaper box and it nearly knocked him over. Somewhere in the back of h
is mind, he became vaguely aware of the red and blue strobe lights that pierced the night. But home was… somewhere. Maybe close. Maybe not. Andrew stopped, swayed, and squinted at the street sign.

  “You okay there, buddy?”

  Andrew heard the deep voice and tried to turn to see who it belonged to. But somehow his legs didn’t want to work properly, and when he turned, his feet tangled and he crashed into a solid wall of muscle. Strong arms grabbed onto him.

  “Easy there, pal. How many have you had?”

  There wasn’t a hint of reproach in the man’s voice, only gentle concern. Andrew forced his head to turn, and he looked up at the guy. The guy with a badge. The guy with the deep voice had a badge. A cop. His beer addled brain struggled to catch up. Shit. He’d drunkenly stumbled into a cop.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Andrew struggled to straighten up, but his feet stopped working entirely. That’s when he realized the cop still had his arms around Andrew. He was very possibly the only thing holding him up.

  “You got a name?”

  “Andrew.” He frowned as his stomach clenched. His stomach seemed to be the ringleader in a sudden, violent mutiny. He clutched onto the cop’s arm and turned his head. Bending over, he aimed his face away from the cop as best he could before what felt like gallons of foam and stomach acid erupted like a fizzy volcano and splattered the sidewalk. Andrew stared at the steaming liquid with tear-filled eyes. He always cried when he got sick. “Sorry.”

  The cop patted Andrew on the shoulder with one hand and held Andrew’s bicep in a firm grip with the other. Andrew thought it was especially sweet that the cop wasn’t going to let him fall face first into his own vomit which was a distinct possibility.

  “If you’re done, Andrew, I’d like to sit you down in my squad car and get you some water. Think you can handle walking ten or fifteen feet if I help you?”

  “If I can’t manage, you’ll have to carry me.” Andrew said as he straightened up. The world tilted and tried to throw him down, but hot cop held him up. He stared at the cop, which was probably rude, and decided that yes, even in his drunken state he could appreciate an attractive person. Hot Cop had dark hair, curly and cropped close to his head. His five o’clock shadow looked thick and coarse. He had an olive complexion that gave him a nice, permanently tanned look.

  The cop opened the back of the car and helped him sit down. He put a hand on the back of Andrew’s head to keep him from smacking it on the car.

  “Hang tight.” Hot Cop shut the door and Andrew leaned his head back and willed the world to stop spinning. The door opened, and a gust of cool air made Andrew snap his eyes open.

  “Here.” Hot Cop twisted the cap off a bottle of water and handed it to Andrew. “Drink this.”

  “What’s your name?” Andrew said as he took the water. He had to concentrate on getting the bottle to his mouth and tipping it without making a mess, but he managed.

  “Nick. Nick Young.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

  “Are you going to be sick again, or do you think you’ll be okay to take a short ride with me?”

  “Where are we going?” Andrew asked as he let Nick take the bottle of water from him.

  “Down town.”

  Andrew sighed and closed his eyes. “Shit.”

  His night just got a whole lot worse.

  Chapter Two

  Nick

  Nick never knew a drunk guy could be alluring. Alluring wasn’t the right word, but he’d had definitely felt a connection. It wasn’t Andrew’s politeness or his easy-going attitude that pulled Nick in. There had been a resignation in him. Nick saw it in the way he moved. When Andrew had crashed into him, then clung to him as he wretched his guts out onto the pavement, Nick’s gaze went straight through the calm exterior and saw the pain in his eyes.

  Nick watched him in the rear-view as he drove toward the station. Andrew stared out the window, and he looked so fucking lost that it made Nick ache for him. A lot of people might look at him and see another drunk guy with a mildly vacant expression. Nick saw a guy with too much on his mind and no one to talk to about it.

  Nick wanted the guy to talk to him, to open up and share his pain. Maybe Nick could find a way to help him. It’s why he became a cop, he liked helping people. He liked being useful and protecting people. Sometimes people had other problems that lead them to the situations he found them in. “How many did you have tonight, Andrew?”

  Andrew seemed to ponder that for a moment before responding. “Eight? Ten? I don’t recall. I sat, and I drank. Stupid though. Didn’t help.”

  “It never does, my friend.”

  Andrew lolled his drunken head away from the window. Nick glanced back at the road, but he could feel Andrew’s gaze on him. “Friend?”

  “Yeah. We can be friends if you want, Andrew. You seem like a nice guy.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not today, buddy. Today you’re going to what we call the drunk tank. I want you to sober up a little before I take you home.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to make sure you’re okay. You’re pretty drunk right now.”

  Andrew sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  They were getting closer to the station. Around the other cops, Andrew might clam up and Nick wanted to understand why he was out past closing time, three sheets to the wind, dodging light poles and slamming into trash cans. “What brought you out drinking tonight, Andrew?”

  Nick watched him in the rear-view for a second. Andrew stared out the window. His response was so quiet Nick almost didn’t hear it. “I don’t think I know what love is. I thought I did. But I don’t think I do.”

  With those words Andrew plunged a knife into Nick’s chest and carved out a chunk of his heart. His mind immediately wandered to his own blue-haired enigma. Rory. Jack of all trades, Master of no one. He and Rory had played on and off for a couple of years. They often hung out when they weren’t in a scene. Nick wanted more. He wanted everything Rory had to give. His friendship, his love, his dominance, his whole heart. Nick wanted into his life, his whole life and not just the corner Rory allowed him.

  Rory explained it to Nick. Rory was a Dom, Nick was a switch. Nick would never be happy with Rory. One day he’d feel like he’d settled and then he’d grow to resent Rory. The obvious pain that particular conversation carved into Rory’s face made Nick drop the subject for good. He’d never asked for more again.

  One day a pretty little sub, one with fewer than almost forty years would come along, and Rory would have the relationship he deserved. Someone he could have completely because Rory was right. Nick would always need the give and the take. The freedom to let go and the power to take control. If Nick loved Rory shouldn’t he be able to give Rory all of himself? Maybe he didn’t know what love was either.

  Nick managed to get Andrew into the drunk tank without incident. At least he’d picked one of the quieter nights to get wasted. The only other person in the holding cell was one of the regulars and he tended to keep to himself.

  Nick looked at Andrew as he lowered himself onto the bench. “I’m off shift in six hours. If you’ve sobered up enough by then I’ll give you a lift home.”

  Andrew nodded in silent acknowledgement and closed his eyes. Nick let his gaze linger on Andrew’s face for a moment. He looked troubled. His forehead remained creased as Nick watched the rest of his body relax and give into the alcohol induced sleep. He pried his gaze away and headed back to his car. He barely engaged with his fellow officers, he nodded at their greetings instead of stopping to say hi and shoot the shit. He needed to be back on the street where he could be alone to think.

  The city stayed quiet until the early hours of the morning. As the sky lightened by degrees, joggers slipped out of their houses and into the mostly deserted streets. Nick drove and, watched the streets fill with people as uncertainty churned around in his insides. The encounter with Andrew shifted something inside Nick. He saw too
much of himself in the younger man. He’d recognized too much of his pain mirrored in Andrew’s sad, blue-grey eyes. Nick didn’t like the fact Andrew had used booze to escape his demons. Not only did drowning your sorrows never work, but Nick had watched it destroy more than one life.

  While Nick clocked out and swapped his uniform for street clothes, he had another officer turn Andrew loose. Nick met him at the front of the police station. Andrew sat on the concrete stairs. He stared down at his phone with a miserable expression on his face. A mixture of anger and sadness.

  “Hey, Andrew. You up for a ride home. I can drop you.”

  Andrew shrugged a shoulder. “Normally I’d call Everett, but…” Andrew let his sentence trail off. He leaned heavily against the brick wall.

  Nick eyed the man, who looked a few shades too pale. “Do you want to go home and sleep it off, or would you rather have breakfast? There’s a great place not far from here that sells a hangover special.”

  Andrew considered it for a long moment, then eventually shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.”

  Nick extended a hand down to Andrew, who gripped it and Nick helped him to his feet. He put a hand on Andrew’s lower back, only because he appeared to be slightly unsteady, and led him to his SUV.

  Andrew didn’t seem to want to talk much on the way to the restaurant, and Nick didn’t press him. He figured Andrew might be more talkative once he poured some caffeine into him. He followed Nick into the diner, a cookie cutter eatery you could find in almost any city. Vinyl bench seats near the windows. Tables for two in the center, a long counter with a few stools. Nick grabbed a booth and motioned for Andrew to take the other side where the sun wouldn’t shine in his eyes.

  A waitress came around and Nick took the liberty of ordering two glasses of water and two coffees. “I’ll have the scrambled eggs and sausages, whole wheat toast.” Nick watched as Andrew ordered the same thing, but with extra bacon.

  By the time Andrew downed his water and drank half his coffee, the food arrived, and he dug in like a starving man. Nick tried not to stare, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Andrew. Watching him eat was an exercise in torture. From the way his lips closed and slid over the tines of the fork, to the way his jaw moved when he chewed. The bob of his throat when he swallowed. Then Andrew bit into a chunk of bacon and moaned. Nick shifted in his seat, his cock uncomfortable in the confines of his pants, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by adjusting his package.