Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

is over."
    He spun from the podium, clenching his fists. Assholes. He'd said he wasn't answering questions about Kim, trust someone to challenge him on it. Voluble protests—some directed at him, others at the reporter who'd broken the rules—followed him through the door into the antechamber. The others weren't there waiting. Sighing, he pushed a hand through his tangled hair and pulled sharply. Focus. Find them, see if Lars is okay, apologize for your stupid mistake, and then get the fuck out of here and on that flight to Denver.
    From there back to Aspen. Back home.
    His feet led him unerringly to the door he'd opened earlier. This time, with a bitter twist of his lips, he knocked loudly before swiping his card and opening the door. Loud voices came from the sitting room, and he turned the corner quickly.
    Silence descended before a loud shriek rent the air. His jaw dropped. He watched as everything slowed to a surreal speed. Lars grabbed something off the low table and threw it. Light sparkled on glass as it soared through the air in a perfect arc. He dodged to the side a bit too late to avoid contact, but soon enough to avoid losing an eye as the cut crystal wine glass glanced off his temple instead of hitting him full on in the face.
    Skin split and warm blood seeped down his face, but he ignored it, stepping forward as a crying Lars sank to his knees. Rik wrapped his arms around his brother and scowled at Dion.
    Heart aching, Dion crossed the room. He was an asshole, and he knew it. "I'm sorry."
    "I told you." Lars choked out, stifling his sobs, brushing the tears from his face angrily. "I told you someone saw us!"
    Rik patted his shoulder. Startled, Dion looked around for Pamela.
    "She left. Damage control. Jesus, Dion. I could fucking kill you."
    Dion shook his head. "Why bother? I'm already dead." As good as, anyway. "I'm sorry. I was looking for you to tell you. You're right, I saw you."
    "Is that why?" Rik demanded fiercely.
    "No. I already made up my mind when I called the conference." He touched Lars's shaking shoulder, sighing softly when the other man brushed him off as though his touch were venomous. "It didn't help though."
    "Then why?" Lars was plaintive. "Why? We've had good years together. Don't we mean anything to you?"
    "Lars, honey," Rik soothed, but Dion caught the tremble in Rik's fingers as he sought to comfort his brother.
    He grabbed Rik's hand, squeezed. "Of course you mean something to me." He paused. He'd lost Kim because of this. Was he willing to lose more people he cared about because of his fear? "I care about you maybe too much."
    "Then why? Make me understand why, Dion." Lars pleaded, clasping desperately at Dion's hand.
    Dion pried the long slender white fingers lose then enclosed Lars's hand in his own. "I'm not like you and Rik, Lars. I can't do casual sex, random hook ups. I have to care deeply about someone to have sex with them, and…"
    "I think he just called us whores."
    "Sluts, more like." The twins whispered to one another as though he weren't right there in that circle of arms with them.
    "No. I mean...It's wearing me down. I just can't do it anymore."
    "I'm tired, too." That was Lars's soft whisper, directed off in the corner of the room to no one.
    Rik had tensed. "Do what?"
    "Watch you two leaving every party with a new trick, ducking into hotel rooms and backrooms, and bedrooms—knowing you're going to have sex, wanting to be the one with you."
    "You could be." Rik's voice was dark, intent. "You could be with us, Dion."
    God how I wish that were true. But not after what he'd seen this afternoon. "Yeah. Right. I saw you, remember?"
    The "I told you so" in Lars's glare at his brother made Dion smile a little painfully. He'd dreamed of being with the Sanders twins since they'd walked in his garage and announced that they were going to be a band. He'd seen them at school of course. They were popular, athletes, scholars, good looking members of the in-crowd. He hadn't understood then or now what they saw in him. Back then he'd been a silent Goth-inspired outcast by choice.
    But even then he hadn't been able to resist their golden glow. The allure of their company. He'd let them into his garage band, into his heart in one hot, humid summer.
    Devil's Halo had been born, and so had his obsession. First he thought he was in love with Rik, then Lars, then he realized he was more perverted than gay. He wanted both of them. Together. Just the way he'd seen them this