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“What am I doing?” Kieran half whispered, lust circling in his brain, sparking his nerve endings with need. He winced as he realised what he’d said, waiting for Jordan to push him away at the apparent self-doubt.

“It’s been so long for me,” Jordan replied, his voice low. “How long for you?”

Kieran groaned, leaning the final breath of distance and kissing Jordan gently, then he pulled back. “Since I was with someone?”

“Not just that,” Jordan whispered in reply, “but for you… How long since you have wanted this, wanted us?”

Kieran was quick to shake his head, sneaking another soft kiss. “It isn’t just want for me. I thought you would know that from what I said.” Reaching up, he untwisted Jordan’s hand from his hair. He lay back on the bed next to Kieran. Jordan rolled to his side and propped himself up. Kieran felt those clever fingers finding the hem of his T-shirt and sneaking under the soft cotton to the skin underneath.

“Talk to me, Kieran.”

“I can’t think of another way to say it. I just know that I love you.”

“Kieran, you can’t love me, not really. Damn it, you hardly know me.”

Kieran jumped in, cutting off at the pass whatever else Jordan was going to say. He didn’t want to discuss this, nor did he want an I love you too in reply. He didn’t need platitudes and empty promises. Not at this point.

“I have half loved you since I was a teenager. Hell, maybe even before that.” He brought his arm up to cover his eyes, welcoming the anonymity of the darkness instead of having to focus on Jordan’s knowing expression

Leaving Main Street, he took the turn to the bay that gave his town its name. Not a bay, really, but a shoreline on Lake Champlain. One person was throwing sticks for their dog into the stillness of the water, and Kieran nodded in passing. He didn’t recognise them, but why would he? It had been so long since he had any kind of routine exposure to this small town. Half an hour into the run, when he saw the first car on the road into town, he doubled back to home, realising he had actually pushed back the worries with the rhythm of his feet on the road. It was a good feeling.

He could compartmentalise Jordan. He didn’t need to act on any lingering attraction he may have for his brother’s partner. His dead brother.

“Kieran, can you make sure you’re in the house at ten?”

Jordan’s voice forced its way into his thoughts as Kieran stopped at the yard gate to stretch out the muscles after his run. It startled him, and he blinked wide as his brain tried to catch up with his surprise. Jordan was dressed similar to him in sweats and an old tee, clearly just starting his own exercise. That had always been one thing they’d had in common—an enjoyment of the early morning run.

“Your dad wants a family meeting,” Jordan added with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Stupid response. Of course he’d be there, and why did Jordan’s question have an edge to it? “Will you?”

“Your dad wants me there. And in any case I guess I need to hand some stuff over.”

“What stuff?” Kieran asked because he thought he

the jet lag was killing him, muddling his thoughts and making him unable to concentrate. He needed to sleep. When he walked into the kitchen, his mom was sitting at the table, nursing a coffee, her hands wrapped around the mug. She looked at him fondly, a smile on her face. Again he was caught by how tired she looked.

“Everything okay?” she asked carefully, in that non-intrusive way that his momma had about her.

“Everything’s fine, Momma,” Kieran lied, pushing his confused jumble of thoughts way down where he could try to forget about them. He strode across the kitchen and dropped a small kiss on her head. “I promise. I just went to see Brad. It’s been a while. “

His mom smiled and shut her eyes for a few seconds. He’d almost reached the kitchen door when she spoke again, stopping him in his tracks.

“Can we talk?” his mom asked gently, indicating the seat opposite and rising to pour two fresh mugs of coffee. Kieran felt the pit of his stomach drop. He had avoided serious conversation with his mom for so long. So far, he’d managed to derail every reference to ‘the talk’ with the only person that could really see through him.

“Okay,” he sighed, resigned, realising it was probably for the best that they get everything out in the open. He imagined she would want to know why he’d chosen a school overseas, why he hadn’t come home, why she’d lost her middle child so very completely. He slid into the chair opposite her. He mimicked her earlier stance, wrap

Three days after the funeral, the questions had become too much, and he’d set out to find Jordan. He had things to discuss.

He finally found his brother’s partner in the yard, sitting under the tree in the corner, hidden from the view of the house, and he sat down opposite. So many memories arose when he thought of this tree, the large oak, gigantic before the first houses had been built, easily two hundred years old and steady as a rock. It held what remained of the tree house. It was the place where Kieran would sit and spy on his brother kissing his boyfriend, or girlfriend, of the week. The clubhouse was where he and Evan would sit and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He had finally realised he was gay on the scuffed timbers, and it was where he began to know that he loved his brother’s now long-term boyfriend.

Jordan half smiled. “It’s quiet here,” he said simply.

“It’s quiet in the house,” Kieran pointed out.

“Different sort of peace here.”

Kieran knew exactly what Jordan meant. The house was a sad house, full of unmentionable loss that just couldn’t be handled. Out here, under the beautiful blue sky, was a place for memories. They sat in companionable silence for a good half hour, then Kieran began to talk, sharing memories of his brother. At first Jordan simply listened, but after a while, he began to add in his own memories, and they even laughed, although Kieran

last thing that kept Brad’s memory alive every day. Kieran had difficulty comprehending how far his dad had actually gone to keep that dream. Over one hundred thousand dollars. Shit.

He crossed to the computer and collapsed into the chair, staring down dazedly when he felt his knees still shaking. For a short time, he huddled, resting his face in his hands, half waiting for the door to smack open and crash against the wall. Stay away, Jordan. Stay away, part of his mind pleaded. No, I need you, the other part whispered.

When it became clear that Jordan had decided not to follow him in, he began to think more rationally. He needed to start pulling his thoughts together in order to clear the debt. He logged on to his accounts and transferred his meagre savings into his checking account. It was the codes for the final account where he hesitated—his ‘away from Jordan, away from memories, away from pain’ freedom account. It was like the pain was in him again, the knife of agony in his back, and he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. He had vowed not to touch this money for himself. He didn’t even consider it to be truly his, and he felt like a cheat. Still, if this wasn’t an emergency, he didn’t know what was. The money would do some good now.

He input his password, hesitating only briefly, then, with acceptance of what he needed to do, he clicked on the transfer button, hoping to hell the exchange rate was

Chapter Five

Kieran leant back against the closed door, his head physically throbbing with everything he had just learnt. He realised he was holding his breath, waiting for Jordan to storm in. He knew the man must have so many questions, but he also knew that he couldn’t deal with him yet.

Seeing Jordan again was too much too soon. Kieran sensed the unspoken anger in him. Damn it, it wasn’t like he was even trying to hide it. Jordan looked so different from Kieran’s memories of him. He looked gaunt, tired, ill—older than his years, and so damned angry.

At the moment, though, his memories and his perceptions were snarled in knots complicated by grief and shock that had grown into a Medusa’s head of overwhelming horror. Just attempting to understand everything threatened to take him to his knees.

When his dad had said he’d been forced to mortgage the house to get a cash injection just to keep the company going, Kieran hadn’t even needed to ask why. He knew why. The family company had always been Brad’s legacy. His brother had been the one who excelled at hands-on construction and renovation. Kieran’s strength had lain in design, in seeing the way things could be.

His dad clearly had been desperate to hold on to the

Chapter Four

The ride to the bank was uncomfortable. Kieran sprawled against his side of the cab of the ancient GMC C1500 pickup, yawning. Jordan sat ramrod stiff, tight-lipped, his good hand clutching the wheel. They hadn’t spoken much after Kieran had disappeared into his dad’s study for a good half an hour.

When Kieran and his dad had emerged from what Anna lovingly called Phil’s Pit, both men had been red-eyed. Even then, Jordan hadn’t been able to find anything inside that remotely resembled pity. He knew his heart was hard, knew it was out of character, but all he could feel for Kieran was resentment and distrust. Why the hell had he come home now? Why pick this very moment to fall back into Jordan’s life, just as working hard had started to heal some of the grief. He didn’t need Kieran here, didn’t want Kieran here. No one needed Kieran here, not if they all really thought about it. Hayley had Jordan, and damn it, Jordan was doing a fine job of being a big brother. As for Phil and Anna, they didn’t need Kieran back. All he would bring with him were his wandering ways and his childish view of what was real.

He shouldn’t be here, sitting in Jordan’s truck watching the scenery roll by outside, his stare bored. Brad should be here. His Brad—Jordan’s lover—Jordan’s other

He would be giving everything up if he had to go home. Had to go home? He didn’t have to go home. Going home was the right, the only thing, to do, regardless of his reservations. It was an easy decision to make in the end. Knotting his tie and slipping his jacket back on, he approached the partners to request a break to attend to family business. For two weeks, maybe three, at the most four.

They deliberated, offered him two weeks with the expectation that he would return. He thanked them, thought inwardly that two weeks was fine, that it was actually pretty generous. If his inner voice was snapping that two weeks with his family was too long, then he squashed the thought.

* * * *

Kieran had booked a ticket to the incongruously named Burlington International Airport, and packed his entire life in two suitcases and a carry-on.

Evan McAllister, the reason he’d moved to London in the first place, had driven him to Gatwick, and they’d been sitting for a long time in the outside concourse waiting for the flight to be called.

“I have a month left on this contract with the design company.” Evan ran a hand through his spiky red hair, wrinkling his nose as an indication of exactly what he thought of the company he worked for. “I’ll be heading back home for a visit.”

“You won’t need to. I’ll be back here soon,” Kieran

through. Ben should leave well enough alone. Why did he even have to mention Brad, tonight of all nights? Couldn’t he see that Jordan was busy trying to save the company from going bust?

Ben looked at him with such mute understanding in his lined and weathered face that Jordan felt the temper in him begin to dissipate. He banked the fire of his anger as much as he could, channelling it to fuel his stubbornness. He didn’t have any response to Ben’s statement. Really all he wanted to say was that, yes, maybe he did want to join Brad, that somehow dying would make everything easier. Maybe if something did happen to him it would be for the best. He was insured big time, and his will specified everything would go to his surrogate family, the Addisons, and that would clear all the debt and then some. He turned on the small jigsaw he’d been using earlier to do more shaping on the newel post. The high whine of the machinery made talking impossible, and it was the only way he could stop himself from giving in to anything other than the determination to finish this damn house. His throat was thick with emotion, and his thoughts writhed—tangled and tied in all manner of what-ifs in his head.

Ben should never be forced to bear the brunt of that horror. Deliberately, Jordan turned his back on Ben. In no uncertain terms, he declared the conversation over and returned to concentrating on finishing the work. He caught a glimpse of the worried expression on Ben’s face, but he ignored it. And he heard the quiet “This is getting too dangerous” Ben muttered to himself as he left, but he

way he knew how, by dismissing Ben’s concerns out of hand, not giving the electrician any room to carry on the conversation.

“For God’s sake, Ben, I’ll be along in an hour.”

“Half an hour,” Ben snapped back at him. Temper coiled in Jordan, but how could he lose it with Ben, when the older man really did have reason to worry? And Jordan knew it.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so low on reserves, so damn drained, but Ben didn’t know the full extent of the shit that Addison Construction was in. He wasn’t aware of the debt that sat at the bank, the check that the Mistral House was just about to cut for them only just covering the deficit. The timing had to be perfect. They were coming to inspect in two days, and he had so little to do to finish. Jordan let Ben keep talking, ignoring it mostly for his own sanity, until Ben reached his peak then just as suddenly stopped.

Jordan frowned at the sudden silence. Silence with Ben was always a bad thing.

“Brad wouldn’t want you working yourself to death just to get to see him sooner.” Ben’s words were weighted with sadness, and he said them so firmly, not backing off one inch from his opinion.

Guilt, anger, temper—all three churned in Jordan’s gut, then came a sudden maelstrom of grief. The overwhelming feelings he felt when he thought about the man he had loved and lost were something he ruthlessly pushed down. He locked them away, behind walls of stone. Fuck. Exhaustion was letting the hidden emotions