Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

rolled his head back and forth. Memories of Reverie, of Bobby, of that asshole Charlie, of feeling like every day he had to hide, had to control every thought, every action, every glance. Now, here, in this room he felt like the layers of his skin were peeled wide open. Every inch of him exposed to Will. A man who should have been a stranger, but wasn't.
    "Answer me. He didn't know did he?" Will's warm breath feathered across Sinn's cheek. Stretched taut, weighed down, the echo of delicious pain throbbing through him, Sinn had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was exposed in a way he had never allowed himself to be before. And at some level he knew this was exactly what he needed–what he wanted. Nowhere to hide and Will had the ability to exact every last secret from him if he so chose.
    He rounded on Will, even though he couldn't see him. "And did he know you were a fag, too? His little brother–Billy?"
    "Hardly. I was thirteen when you left. I was fifteen when he died. I barely knew it myself. I was relieved when you left. Thirteen's a hard age for a kid–especially when the only person he fantasizes about sexually happened to be a guy."
    Sinn's emotions were conflicted by that revelation. To be honest before he left Reverie he'd barely noticed Bobby's younger brother, except that he was a nuisance hanging in the shadows watching them all the time.
    "I barely remember you," he admitted.
    "I didn't figure you would. I counted on it."
    "So you stalked me. What is it you want? Revenge for Bobby dying? Or some sick way of trying to resurrect your brother?" He taunted Will and he knew it. Was he looking for a beating? He used to do that with Charlie just to get the whipping over with. It usually worked. Or was this just a way to make Sinn pay for Bobby dying?
    "Bobby's accident was an accident. Bobby was happy with Mary Anne. Well, as happy as he could be considering they had to get married and his best friend had left town. He was never hungry like you to get out of Montana. He had ties and he doted on his son."
    "What happened to Mary Anne and the–the baby?"
    "They're with my folks. My mom loves Davy."
    Sinn stilled. "What did you say?"
    "Bobby's idea. They called him David."
    "Shit." Sinn's head dropped back. He felt something choking him, some emotion he'd never let grab him. "Shit!"
    Will's finger wiggled in his ass, snapping him back to the present.
    "I had to leave. I'd have died there, and it wouldn't have been an accident."
    Will's finger stilled inside him. "I know. Bobby knew it too. He knew you had to go; he had to stay. He couldn't cut his roots."
    "What do you want from me?"
    "You didn't answer my question. Did Bobby know about you?"
    "No one knew. They just all figured I was so into the music I didn't have time for girls." And for Sinn there was a lot of truth to that. He was focused solely on getting out of Reverie and pursuing his career. It had taken several years working as a bus boy in a restaurant in LA and spending all his spare time writing songs and trying to break down some of the right doors before he'd been "discovered" by the record producer. He'd been so ripe for it when the guy had propositioned him. Too hungry.
    "Did you want to fuck Bobby? I thought maybe that's why you really left. You were in love with him, but you knew he wasn't in love with you. Not in that way."
    Sinn whipped around, dislodging Will's finger, making him feel suddenly as though a part of him was missing. Having Will inside him, now he was empty. "I never thought of fucking Bobby. It wasn't like that between us. I loved him like a brother. I'd have done anything for Bobby." Then in a lower tone. "He was my brother in every way that mattered."
    Will stroked a hand over Sinn's ass, soothing him, centering him. Sinn exhaled on a long shuddering breath. Again, he felt the weights bearing down on him, balancing him somehow.
    "What is it you want...Billy?"
    The hand stopped stroking. "I'm not Billy any more than you are Davy. Isn't that right? Do you really think I'm that little boy that was so easy for you to forget?"
    Sinn considered that shadowy image of a child–no, an adolescent at that gawky age of in-between. No, Sinn hadn't thought twice about him once he shook the dirt of Montana off his boots and arrived in L.A. But the man standing next to him would never be so politely dismissed. Whatever the rest of the night brought, Sin had a feeling he would never forget Will, with the amazing hands and seductive