Chapter 2

Three years, Lucian thought as lather built. It’d been over three years since Lucian had laid eyes on Shea, and though Lucian would never admit it to a soul, he had felt the loss every single day. There’d been no fight or falling out, just a protracted silence perpetuated by both sides. Because Lucian couldn’t assume it had anything to do with his own actions, else the mystery drive him insane, Lucian thought the cessation of communication had to do with Shea finally getting away from family expectations. The Ollivanders owned one of the largest dairy manufacturing facilities in the country. Shea had never wanted anything to do with it and had gone to school for economics. He’d been successful, of course. With a mind like Shea’s, being bad at much of anything would take work.

Three years ago, however, Shea had quit his job and vanished, quite literally, into the woods. Shea had built a cabin on the fringes of his family’s land with his bare hands. He’d retreated from people and eventually took a job in construction, of all things. Lucian would have been worried, but every source Lucian used to keep tabs on Shea didn’t indicate that Shea suffered from anything worse than exhaustion. The rat race didn’t agree with Shea, and so Shea had dropped out of the competition. That was all well and good, so far as Lucian was concerned. Lucian wanted Shea happy, and if he liked digging ditches, more power to him.

But Shea didn’t call, and that was not so well and good for Lucian. Granted, their lives were busy and very different, but they usually got in touch at Christmas. It was a tradition they’d begun back in college. Both of them went to schools on the West coast to get away from their families, and they saw one another from time to time to get into trouble. Shea, though, always went home for the holidays, and Lucian followed.

Back in their familiar stomping grounds, they’d meet in a bar, get drunk, talk about how their lives were going to be different from their parents’, and that was how they’d celebrated. It was far nicer than his estranged father’s empty penthouse or, later, Lucian’s quiet home. The tradition had lasted through Lucian’s law school stint and Shea’s Masters, through life decisions both big and small, and through tragedy, family problems, and coming out.

December twenty-fifth meant a night of platonic companionship with Shea instead of a lonely night of longing, and that meant the world. Shea meant the world, had always been there as long as Lucian could remember, and if he somehow fucked that up tonight, somehow lost the friendship he treasured because Lucian couldn’t keep his fucking feelings to himself, he would never—

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucian answered the attendant with a deliberate smile that Lucian watched in the mirror. It was a careful turn of thin lips, nothing more, and the attendant looked away. Lucian dried his hands on a towel, tipped the man generously, and left. He returned to his table and watched the door for a familiar slender form.

Three years. Lucian swallowed bile and wanted to laugh at himself. Corporate climbing, speeches, charity functions, shady deals, meetings to discuss the nastiest parts of the city he claimed as his own and tried to save from his father’s network, and a dinner date with a man he had known for a lifetime made Lucian feel sixteen and virginal. He just couldn’t believe it was actually happening, couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this. He’d been shocked to hell and back again when Shea had answered the phone three nights ago—

“Lucian Gray calling for Sheldon Horatio Eucristicles Alexander Ollivander the Third.”

A heavy sigh. “Luke, this is my cell phone.”

“Yes, Sheldon. So I realize.”

“Lucian.”

“Shea.”

Another deep breath. “Well, who the hell else do you think is going to answer?”

“Any number of a harem, no doubt.”

An unkind snort. “The fuck do you want, Prince?”

“It’s Christmas.”

A pause tinged with resignation. “…yeah. Okay. Which bar?”

“I thought maybe this time we could upgrade.”

Hesitation and interest. “Oh?”

—and even more shocked when Shea had agreed to meet. It wasn’t like Lucian had called at any point over the last few years, either, and by all rights, Shea could have told him to go commit an anatomically challenging act. When that didn’t happen, and when Lucian cleared the dazed fog in his brain, cell phone still clenched tightly in one hand, he started preparing a plan and bracing for the worst.

Lucian finished off his wine, watching a tall, broad man in jeans stop at the host station just inside the entrance. Lucian grumbled a curse under his breath and checked his phone. Shea was officially late by ten minutes. Naturally. He had never been on time for anything since they were six, so there was no reason why Shea should begin now, and why was that man shrugging into a borrowed suit jacket walking toward the table like it was somehow appropriate? The man looked familiar and, God, Lucian hoped it wasn’t a scorned lover about to make a scene. That was the last thing Lucian needed tonight.