Survival Instinct: Brian Book One (Van Zant Siblings 1) Page 3

  “I’ve already talked to the museum.”

  “Great! When do you start back? Work will make you feel better, take your mind off your problems.”

  “I don’t have a job, Dad. I refused their offer.” Brian sighed, not meeting his dad’s eyes.

  “You did what?”

  This was the moment Brian had dreaded. He knew it was tough enough on his parents, raising one son who refused to grow up. Having another grown son move back in was definitely cramping their retirement. Brian tried for sympathy. “They hired Jameson Wells as museum director.” He didn’t think he had to say more than that. Ex-boyfriends could never be acceptable bosses. Period.

  “Whatever happened between you two, it’s time to get over it.”

  “No!” Brian pushed his fingers through his hair, digging into his scalp with his nails, the scrape of pain a relief. The last thing he wanted was to fight with his Dad. He tried to explain, “You know I can’t work with Jameson! We were involved. I dumped him for Michael…and now”—Michael is dead, Brendon too—“It’s too complicated.”

  He certainly wasn’t ready to jump back into a relationship with Jameson, and the phone call they’d shared had been laden with innuendo.

  “If he was good enough to sleep with once—” Jake said sarcastically.

  “Jake,” their father said warningly.

  Jake didn’t let it go. “At least he didn’t have an affair with one of your brothers. Who cares if he had sex with everyone else in town who was willing?” Jake smacked his own ass and scrunched his face in ecstasy. “Rumor has it, he likes it very, very rough. Were you his Master, brother? Or were you his boot boy?”

  “Jacob!” his father reprimanded. “Enough!”

  “Screw you, Jake.” Brian flipped his brother off, then realizing his dad was still watching, sniffed indignantly. He certainly wasn’t going to reveal “I just lost my husband. I don’t think seeing Jameson in any capacity is appropriate right now.”

  “Give it up, Brian. No one wants a martyr in the family, and you have been prima drama queen for months,” Jake grumbled. “I have it on good authority, Jameson Wells wouldn’t take you back if you were the last man on earth.”

  “Excuse me?” Brian asked shrilly, wondering who the fuck his brother had been talking to and why his dad wasn’t jumping in to rescue him yet.

  Jake admonished, “It’s getting old.”

  Brian fought back tears.

  “Look, you’ve been hogging the sofa for months. It wasn’t like you were happily married. You’d both moved into your own places. The house you’d shared was already up for sale to divide the funds in an amicable divorce. Please just get out of your pj’s and do something. I, for one, am sick of looking at you.” Jake left the sofa in a whirl of flannel robe and powdered sugar as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Seconds later Brian heard the telltale thump of the basketball on pavement and the distinctive ring of the ball piercing the metal hoop.

  Brian skittered to the open window, shouting out, “Why? Because I took your throne, Mr. Unemployment? Do I bow to you now or after I slap you silly, King Can’t Keep a Job?”

  Flannel swirling, Jake managed to shoot, flip him off, and do a bare-kneed victory dance all in one motion. Brian flipped him back.

  “Brian, that’s enough. This just isn’t working.” His dad broke the silence. “You’ve lived on your own too long. Maybe coming back home wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe you should move back into your house now. You loved that place, and what wasn’t to love? Large decks overlooking the river, gourmet kitchen, bright, sunny windows. Take it off the market. Being there will help you face your loss and start living again.”

  Brian blinked, realizing just how in the dark he’d kept his family. The dream house on the river had already been sold, and he’d leased the condo he’d just bought to a friend during a moment of grief-filled fog. He sure wasn’t moving into an apartment. Wait. What? Brian stood absolutely still and drop-jawed silent. His father stood in the middle of the room, looking dead serious.

  “You want me to move out?”

  His father looked sad and didn’t answer, instead walking away. Brian hurried to the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. “You’re throwing me out?”

  “Martin?” Brian’s mom interrupted with a steel calm, finally making an appearance. Brian knew she’d heard every word; it was impossible not to in the house of his childhood with paper-thin walls. Finally, someone on my side. Go Mom!

  His father whispered harshly, “It will hurt me as much as it will you, Ellen. But look at him! If we don’t do something drastic, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m worried about the boy.”

  “We agreed to wait until after Friday.”

  Brian swiveled his head, eyes narrowing. Friday? So this had been discussed and it had been agreed to wait until—after Friday? Just say “We don’t want to put a damper on Alex and Alexandra’s thirtieth birthday celebration.” Sure, why not? Always the same first set of twins takes precedence over the second set of twins’ drama. “Jake gets to stay, and I have to go? I’m not even believing this!”

  “Jake has never lived on his own, dear. He doesn’t have any experience in what it takes to be out there. He’s not like you. He’s not domestic. When he finds a wife—”

  So, because I’m gay, I’m domestic? Well, I am, but that’s not the point.

  “Wife?” Brian interrupted his mother. “Who will have him? He’s twenty-eight years old, didn’t finish college, and can’t keep a job… so you’re basically admitting he’s an incompetent loser!”

  “Brian, now that’s enough!” his father said.

  “No, Dad, not nearly. Just because I moved out—”

  “Oh, tell me I’m missing the ‘It’s-time-for-you-to-go’ speech.” Jake chose that moment to come back inside, voicing his opinion with a laugh. “Thank god!”

  “Shut up, Jake!” his mother said crankily and reached into the cabinet for the good whiskey and four glasses. She poured four drams.

  They were at least going to be civilized while they tossed him to the curb.

  “He was privy to the fact that you were going to ask me to move?” Brian couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Look, Brian, it was bad enough with you two fighting all the time when you were growing up. Now—you’re both adults and it’s just impossible,” Brian’s mom tried to explain as she handed out the glasses. “You and Jake just can’t be under the same roof.”

  “I’ll try harder,” Brian begged. “Really.”

  “No, dear, move on. It’s time for you to face life again.” His mother smiled slowly. “You need to see what you’re capable of in this lifetime. Maybe you could do some fieldwork. I’m sure archaeologists are needed all over the world. Doesn’t going off on an adventure sound fun, dear?”

  All over the world. Right. Did his mother just say that?

  She lifted her glass and both his Dad and Jake followed her lead. Out of respect, Brian lifted his own, knowing this signaled the end of the discussion. She said, “Sláinte.”

  “Sláinte,” Jake and his father echoed.

  With a sigh, Brian repeated, “Sláinte,” and the four threw back their drinks at the same time. It was settled. He was moving out.

  Brian felt a moment’s pang of envy as Jake and his father sat down at the kitchen table then split the newspaper trying to pretend tears weren’t running down his cheeks. . He’d never had that kind of relationship with his father. Sure, his father had taught him to hike and rappel and shoot—all manly skills—but he’d just never been tough enough to suit him. He watched as his father signaled to his mother it was time to serve breakfast and remembered exactly why they’d never bonded. If rude and inconsiderate was what it took to be a real man, he wasn’t interested.

  Jake made a face and mouthed, “Tough love, Bri. Get over it or d—”

  Brian’s heart stalled in his chest, remembering the roughhousing of their youth. They�
��d all played hard, and when one of them got hurt, the others would tease, “Get over it or die.”

  Was that the bottom line here?

  Jake stood and dropped the paper, his face stricken as he realized too late what he’d said, or almost had. “I’m sorry, man.”

  Brian held up his hand, silencing him. “Too late.”

  ♥

  Brian woke up to liquid-chocolate pools, flecked gold. Believing he was dreaming, he snuggled deeper into the heavy mound of blankets, expecting to stay snared in the dream he’d been having. Instead he found himself in a furry tangle of arms and legs.

  Fur?

  Bolting upright he found himself nose to nose with a not-very-friendly-looking canine. Dog? Wolf? He couldn’t really say. The animal let out a low warning growl.

  Oh shit! Oh shit. Oh shit.

  “Shadow. Down.”

  The dog hopped off the bed and walked to a corner of the room. With a heavy thump and a disgruntled-sounding sigh, she lay down and curled into a ball. Brian breathed easier once he felt less menaced and turned his attention to the one who’d issued the command. He didn’t expect the person to be a naked man in bed with him.

  “Good morning, Just Brian.”

  Startled, he looked into the honeyed brown eyes of his dreams. Oh God, I didn’t dream him. He was in bed with a stranger. A man he’d place as Native American by his features: long black hair, and a necklace made of bits of what looked like bone. That couldn’t be. He was definitely still dreaming

  The man didn’t move. He was reclined against his pillow, the sheets low on his waist, and from what he could see of him—-bare, deep bronze skin, well-defined chest bereft of any body hair, and a deep V of abdominal muscles that led —

  He’d bet money he was naked. “Okay, I have positively watched The Last of the Mohicans one too many times. I really need to wake up from this dream.”

  “Wrong tribe, wrong time zone.” He chuckled. “And you’re awake. Finally. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “Days?”

  “Yes.” Hawk sat up and lifted Brian’s wrist to take his pulse. That didn’t make Brian feel any better. He jerked his hand away.

  “Sorry. Habit developed over the last few days. I should have asked. May I take your pulse?”

  “My pulse is fine.” Brian had no doubt about that. His heart was pumping like a racehorse at the derby. God, the man is hot.

  Hawk shrugged. “As you wish, Just Brian.”

  “Why did you call me that? Are you making fun of me because of my Last of the Mohicans comment?” But even as he asked, the conversation they’d shared returned to his mind. Hawk’d only asked his name, but with the question had come the memories. His brother, Brandon. His husband, Michael Caine.

  “I would never mock a patient. Is there another name you prefer?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Just Brian is fine.”

  “Good. Just Brian it is then. My name is Tobias Red Hawk. Call me Hawk.”

  Flustered, Brian barely made note of the introduction. “No, I meant you can just call me—Brian.”

  “Two nights ago your spirit called to you, and you renamed yourself. Here you are among people who understand your need to be Just Brian, even if it is only for a time.”

  Brian looked at the man like he was insane. He should be panicked, terrified. He was in bed with a stranger. Holy fuck. He wanted to plaster his body next to his and lick him from head to toe. And that was just for starters. He had to focus on what Hawk was saying. “Do I need to call your wife? Let someone know where you are?”

  Brian jerked. Wife? What? “No. I’m not married.”

  Hawk looked meaningfully at his left hand. “The deep grove on your left ring finger tells a different story Just Brian.”

  Heart pounding, he didn’t want to give the guy a coronary, but he only had one personality. Bold. Gay. And outspoken. “I’m not married. Not anymore. My husband died. I’ve had a hard time letting go, but the ring is at the bottom of the Ohio River now.”

  He watched the hellaciously sexy man’s mouth open and close before he managed to say, “Your husband?”

  Guess he’d never met a gay man who was actually married. Maybe Montana wasn’t as evolved as other parts of the nation.

  “Is there anyone else I can call for you?”

  Brian caught his lip between his teeth and shook his head. “What day is it?”

  “Friday.”

  “Shit.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Brian nodded. “I’m missing my brother and sister’s surprise birthday celebration, and I didn’t even call them.”

  “You can use my cell if you like.” Hawk reached over and lifted his cell from the nightstand. Brian reached for it but then withdrew his hand without taking it. Swallowing hard, he said, “Maybe later.”

  Hawk laid the phone back on the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Brian decided he’d made him uncomfortable enough. “I should get dressed. And go.”

  Hawk tossed his hair off his shoulder. “Relax. Don’t get in too big a hurry. The storm dumped a blizzard in our laps. Whiteout conditions the last two days. No let up.”

  “Oh.” Brian grew more worried. “My Jeep?”

  “Still stuck on the mountain where we left it.”

  Brian scratched his neck, determined to not totally freak out. “Okay. So. If you can just tell me where my clothes are?”

  “I cut them off of you.” Hawk chuckled, and the sound was sensual. “Not that what you arrived here wearing would be suitable.”

  Brian shifted nervously under the blankets, realizing he was growing hard. He gasped when his bare knee bumped into Hawk’s bare knee and his erection stood up at full attention.

  “Why did you cut off my clothes?” He tried to not envision the scene and failed miserably, an erotic movie playing in his head of how the scene could have gone down if he’d been wide awake and Hawk had been willing.

  Something flashed in the depth of his eyes as the man answered, “I was keeping you alive.”

  Brian asked, “Bathroom?”

  Hawk pointed, leaving Brian in a quandary. He needed to piss; he really needed to be alone to think. And to do either he would have to walk across the room naked. Hawk was going to see his erection plain as day. Oh hell. “Could you close your eyes?”

  That made the too-sexy-for-words hottie laugh at him. Out loud. Rolling laughter. “I’ve already seen you naked.” And if that reminder wasn’t bad enough, he added, “Every inch of you.”

  When Brian jerked his head around to give him a piece of his mind about being terribly unprofessional, he saw Hawk had already closed his eyes as asked. So he stayed silent and raced to the bathroom. Watching his urine stream into the toilet, he worried about what to do. He was stranded in a strange place with an incredibly sexy man. “Probably a straight-as-an-arrow man. Not that I ever want to be involved with any man ever again. No relationships. I will never ever allow my heart to ever feel anything ever again. Just sex.”

  “God, is he straight? Would you really be that cruel? Putting me in bed with the sexiest man I’ve seen west of the Mississippi? Really? Like the whole Native American fetish thing wasn’t a tragic enough gift to bestow on me along with the homosexual thing?”

  On the other side of the door, Hawk cleared his throat. “I can hear you.”

  “Oh shit!” Brian shook the final drops of piss from his penis into the toilet and pushed his forehead against the wall. He banged his head a couple of times just because. Mortified, he opened the door a crack and peeked out. “You heard everything?”

  The man nodded, standing. His erection pointed straight at Brian.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God. “I should explain. I mean, I don’t really have a Native American fetish, not really. It’s a stupid thing my brother accused me of because while I was mourning I watched the movie The Last of the Mohicans back to back all day long for months.”

  Hawk looked away with a small shake of
his head, leaving Brian worried he’d not only offended him but that his rescuer now believed he was a liar. He pulled on a flannel shirt and changed topics. “I’m going to make some pancakes. Think you can eat a little?”

  Lost in the golden, perfect lines of Hawk’s strong, muscular body, it took him a second to respond. “I could eat.” Every. Inch. Of. You. “I’m starving.”

  Hawk pulled on a pair of jeans, no underwear. He was going commando. Now he’d be thinking about that all night. He tucked in his cock, and zipped his jeans. He lifted his face and met Brian’s gaze in the space between the door and frame. “You can pull on the robe hanging on the back of the door if it will make you more comfortable.”

  Chapter Three

  ♥

  “Hope you’re hungry. I took you at your word. You said starving.”

  He jumped, not realizing Hawk had entered the room. He’d been sitting and looking through the room’s small window at swirling snow. He’d wrapped himself in the plush pink robe and covered his legs in a blanket but still felt incredibly naked…and embarrassed. He couldn’t believe he’d said all that he’d been thinking out loud. Hell.

  The room filled with the scent of crisp bacon, melted butter, and maple syrup. Brian’s mouth watered. Turning his head to see Hawk carrying a tray with two tall stacks of pancakes, but he forgot all about food when he again got lost in the solidness of the man. Hawk might be wearing a flannel, but he hadn’t buttoned the shirt at all. God, the man knew how to do sexy. Swallowing hard, he said, “I am.”

  His answer earned him a slow, easy smile. “That’s good. Just Brian.”

  He liked the way the man said his name all thick and sensual-like—making him feel like he was a mystery to be discovered. He closed his eyes against the brilliance of him. No man had a right to be so gorgeous. He cleared his throat. “Tell me again why you’re calling me Just Brian?”

  He heard a shift of furniture. Hawk had settled the tray on a small side table before pulling a second chair forward. He sat and smiled, making Brian’s heart react in triple time. He felt a sudden urge to flee, knowing his heart couldn’t take many more smiles like that one before it caved. By the time he was handed a plate of cakes, a fork, and a cup of coffee, he’d almost forgotten his question when Hawk spoke.