Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

scratch that, over the last five years, ever since Timothy's death—broke over him in a wave. Fuck this; he was so out of there. He took a step toward the door.
    Wasserstein jerked upright to glare at him. "Where do you think you are going?"
    Travis rounded on him, baring his teeth and damn near growling. "Home. To pack. And then to a hotel."
    A choked-off noise from the front of the room drew Wasserstein's attention, and then there was just the clicking of the camera and the softly hushed sound of the studio's door shushing closed behind Travis. He was done with this.
    CHAPTER 2
    Aaron watched Travis storm out the doors of the studio. Something hot and vicious sprang to life in his stomach, wrestling with itself while swallowing down all his strength. He pushed back into the pillar he leaned against hard enough to feel the rough edges of the thing dig into his hip and side. The familiar bite of pain steadied him enough to keep his legs from folding under him. His eyes remained locked on the doors Travis was on the other side of, the wrong side of, getting farther away with every second. Aaron's ears filled with a static hiss. Tearing his gaze from the door, he turned an imploring look on Wasserstein.
    Click.
    Click.
    Click.
    Wasserstein grunted again, the sound filled with the thickly satiated tone the man got when the camera, the subject, and the light all agreed to let him have his way. Well, that's the way he'd explained it to Aaron once. Pushing his hands into the small of his back, he leaned away from the camera and slowly unfolded his body from the contortionist's pose he'd adopted to gather his shots. "Go. I'll need him tomorrow. I want him here at eight o'clock sharp. That's in the morning, Aaron, not the evening."
    Aaron ran to the dressing room and slung himself into the paper-thin low-rise jeans he'd worn today in lieu of his normal leather riding pants, because it was just too much hassle to climb in and out of the leather when the air dripped with humidity like today. He'd learned at his first photo shoot with Wasserstein that he'd be climbing in and out of his pants all day. Not that it mattered right now. He scooped up the rest of his things and raced back out the door with his shirt still clutched in one hand. The sting of his bare feet slapping against the rough concrete at the edge of the sidewalk reminded him that he hadn't put either his socks or shoes on before rushing down the hallway and through the lobby past the very astonished-looking receptionist. He spun around and headed back into the building, figuring he'd use one of the benches in the lobby to put his black socks and crimson Dock Marten's on. Balancing himself on the seat of his Harley while attempting to lace up his boots equated to a flawless recipe for disaster. Aaron did not have time for even one more thing to go wrong. He had to get home before Travis could pack his stuff. It—fuck, just fuck. Travis was his last link to Timothy, and he just couldn't lose Travis too.
    He just couldn't.
    Timothy had been his best pal, his first crush, his solid rock. When he came out to his own folks and they left him twisting in the wind, Timothy had smacked him on the shoulder with one long-fingered hand, nodding like he'd just made an agreement with the head of the UN.
    "Mom and Dad still have the bunks from before I got promoted to eldest-son-gets-his-own-space status. Should only take an hour or two to get the room set up for us both."
    And that had been that. Aaron had moved in with the Morris family, and no one had said a peep. He was pretty sure Mr. Morris had called his dad…but no one made a fuss. They just all took their cue from Timothy, and Aaron slid into the family home like a much-beloved foster son. He lived there for the last six months of high school.
    He'd nearly had a fight on his hands at dinner the night of graduation. When he announced he wasn't going to college but taking a job, moving into a little studio apartment, and trying to start a band, the whole family broke into an uproar. Everyone except Timothy shouted out, clamoring about how he was throwing his life away and that he needed a good education first. Timothy locked those clear hazel eyes on his face for a few seconds, and then spoke up in his easy baritone.
    "I reckon if Aaron thinks he can make it as a rock star he's likely right. I've never heard better lyrics, nor a smoother tenor. Don't get upset though, Mom, Dad. He's not gonna be all on his own. I'm