GuardMyBody

  Guard My Body

  S.C. Wynne

  Andrew has spent the last year barely holding on to the will to live. Life just isn’t as bright without his lover of more than thirty years. He just can’t figure out how to move on, how to create a new life without constantly feeling the gaping hole where his lover should be. He’s not even sure he wants to try. In his fifties, out of the dating game for decades and barely managing day to day, what could he possibly have to offer someone else?

  Michael has spent most of his life hopping from one lover to the next. He longs for security and stability but is afraid of sacrificing heat and chemistry—until he lays eyes on Andrew. From their first conversation there is no denying the intense physical attraction between them. With a little faith and a lot of laughter these two men might just discover that age is just a number and the future is bright for those who reach for it.

  A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Guard My Body

  S.C. Wynne

  Dedication

  Hiding isn’t healing, and sometimes we need a loving nudge to start the journey toward being whole again.

  Chapter One

  Rory was in front of me. He was charging in like a bull, with no regard to our safety. He shouldn’t have gone first, but he’d brushed off my concerns as usual. I could never get him to listen to me lately. He’d laughed at me when I said being cocky could get us hurt. But Rory knew best, he always did. So I followed him with my stomach churning, as I tried to make out any movement in the shadows that surrounded us. Something was off.

  The old, dark warehouse smelled like gasoline and mold and it worried me there were too many rust-stained barrels and wooden crates to hide behind. I needed to tell him something wasn’t right, but when I opened my mouth to speak, no sound came from my dry throat. The silence was so thick I could almost hear the trickle of sweat that slid down my forehead right before the bullet hit him. Blood smacked my cheek, and I froze as the scarlet warmth slipped to the corner of my mouth. It was like sand slipping through my fingers as he crumpled to the ground and I flew on top of him. Too late. Always too late.

  I jerked awake, smearing the hot tears off my face. My heart was about to explode from my chest, and I was nauseous, drenched in perspiration. Just the sound of my labored breathing and a clock ticking somewhere in the room. So quiet. So fucking silent. That was the worst part of waking up like this. No one to hold me and tell me it was just a dream. But that someone would be Rory. And it wasn’t a dream.

  I stumbled into the kitchen, stretching my stiff muscles. Making coffee always calmed me. The heady smell of the beans grinding, pouring the water, flipping the switch. Rory had hated how strong I’d always made it. “Is this sludge or coffee?” he’d have said, grinning as he leaned against the counter. I’d have ignored him and poured myself a generous cup. I should have listened to him about the coffee. I should have paid attention to a lot of things better. I wished to God he’d listened to me about my gut feeling that morning.

  I washed while the java brewed and got dressed in the little bedroom we’d shared Everything looked the same as before he died. I couldn’t bring myself to change anything. On the dresser was the picture of us in Santa Barbara last summer. We looked so happy, sun kissed and relaxed. I talked to that picture sometimes. But then the sound of my hollow, bitter voice would make the house seem even more empty and cold. Maybe I should get a cat or a dog. If only so there would be some noise in the house other than that damn ticking clock. I filled my travel mug and let myself out of the house.

  The sun warmed my shoulders through my thin shirt and a blue jay screeched somewhere unseen above my head in the purple jacarandas. It would be a beautiful day in Los Angeles, too bad I would be sitting in a courtroom all afternoon. I got in the car and sat for a moment. More silence. Rory would have had a story to tell, or maybe one of his dirty jokes he loved so much. Did you hear the one about the three-legged prostitute? I flipped on the radio and winced at the perky chatterbox giving the traffic report. How did she do it? How did she muster such enthusiasm for the traffic? I shut it off, disgusted. I don’t know, maybe just people in general irritated me.

  I drove the short distance to Fredrick’s office, surprised to see he was already waiting on the patio out front. He threw down his cigarette and crushed it under his designer leather shoe. He strode gracefully to the car and I climbed out to open the back door for him.

  “Jesus Christ, Andrew. You’re late.” He lowered his head and slid into the car. “You’re never late, I was worried.”

  “You’re never on time. I didn’t think it would matter.”

  As I returned to my spot behind the wheel I observed his scowl in the rear-view mirror. He was watching the back of my head intently. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing, I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

  “Did you have that damned dream again?” he asked, running a slender hand over his sleek graying hair.

  I ignored him and pulled out into traffic. The roads were unusually quiet as we made our way toward the Los Angeles Superior Court. Maybe the other drivers knew something we didn’t. Maybe the world had ended. Was it a bad sign that I didn’t care either way?

  “You need to talk to someone, Andrew.”

  “Is talking going to bring him back?” I asked gruffly.

  Fredrick’s face looked drawn. “It might be helpful to have professional insight.”

  “Professional insight,” I snorted. “Here’s some insight, mind your own business.”

  “Well, if you’re going to make me late it is my business.” He sniffed. “You’re generally a very punctual little son of a bitch.”

  “It won’t happen again.” I bit my tongue. I wasn’t here to argue. He was my employer these days, and my job description was to keep him safe. I would love to tell him to go fuck himself, but that would be impolite, wouldn’t it?

  Rory and I had met Fredrick right out of college. The ink hadn’t dried on our criminal justice degrees when Rory struck up a pseudo-friendship with Fredrick at the local sandwich place near the courthouse. Rory had always been good at things like making friends. He’d connected with others effortlessly, while I was more reserved. Rory had loved everybody, and I’d had what I considered a healthy distrust toward most humans. But we’d been a great team. He’d plugged my gaps, and I liked to think I’d done the same for him.

  Eventually over turkey on rye and dill pickles our desire to become private detectives had been discussed with Fredrick. Fredrick had already been establishing himself as an up-and-coming criminal defense attorney back in those days. Because of his relationship with Rory he’d set it up so we could get the hours needed on the job to become licensed, and from there a beautiful partnership had been formed.

  That was, until Rory died last year and I’d gone off the deep end. I hadn’t had it in me to continue the way it had been, and Fredrick had made a spot for me as his personal guard. I knew I owed him my sanity, but I couldn’t quite let him know that for some reason. Maybe I wasn’t positive my saneness was going to stick.

  “I only say something because I care.” Fredrick’s testy voice broke into my thoughts, bringing me back to the present. The sides of his mouth were turned down. “I don’t want you starting up that…behavior again. You know I took a chance and I hired you when others said you were too old, burned out and just a drunk. I have my fingers crossed you don’t prove them all right and make a fool of me.”

  If he was going to keep talking it was going to be really hard to be polite.

  “You know I’m grateful for the job, Fredrick.” Let’s not forget you pay me peanuts, you cheap bastard.

  He seemed to buy it. I’d become a pretty good actor the last twelve months. You had
to be when you were hiding stuff. There were so many prying eyes and caring questions, it was annoying and touching all at the same time. But I would probably be fine if they would all just leave me alone. My body had healed fairly quickly for a fifty-three-year-old.

  “I really wish you’d talk to someone.” His voice was soft and distracted as he read over his legal briefs.

  We entered the courtroom together but I veered off to the side and seated myself behind him near his legal team. I tuned out the voices and scoped the people and the room casually. There were two beefy guards near the door, looking bored. A nervous young blonde girl bending the corners of her paperwork sat near me. There were families of victims and the accused huddled in the hard seats, waiting for the lawyers and judges to decide the fates of all involved.

  The judge eventually breezed in and Fredrick and his team went to work. Fredrick was very good at what he did. He was one of the top defense attorneys in the city and his caseload was staggering. Tough and relentless as a bull terrier, Fredrick rarely lost so that made him popular with the criminal element in town. But when he didn’t prevail that same element was none too happy and that was why he had me. He’d failed to win an assault case a couple of months back with a kid who had gang ties, and his client had threatened him. Odds were the crook would never follow through on his threats. His clients tried to intimidate him all the time. I suspected Fredrick’s main motivation in hiring me hadn’t been his safety so much as wanting to help me financially. And prideful or not I’d needed the assistance, so I’d agreed and he’d retained my services as his protector. So I drove him around and kept an eye on him at the courthouse. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. He didn’t die and I got to eat.

  Five hours later Fredrick finished arguing his last case and I drove him back to his office and sat in the corner quietly as he worked. My cell buzzed, shaking me from my drowsy state, and I answered, not recognizing the number.

  “May I speak with Andrew James?” a husky male voice asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Michael Lawrence. I was wondering if you wanted to set up a time to get together this week?”

  I was mystified as to what he meant. Set up an appointment for what? “I’m sorry. Who’s this?”

  “Michael Lawrence. I’m sorry, Dr. Michael Lawrence.” He was a doctor? That did nothing to clear up the mystery for me.

  “I think you might have the wrong number.” He had a nice voice though, it was throaty and warm.

  There was a pause, and the voice grew sharper. “It isn’t the wrong number if you’re Andrew James.”

  “I am, but I don’t have any doctor appointments scheduled,” I said, touching the base of my neck, my tone uncertain. Had I forgotten an appointment? I was positive I didn’t know a Michael Lawrence. It would be hard to forget a voice as sensual as his. “I’m all healed up.”

  Silence met me at the other end of the phone. I heard the shuffling of papers and the man returned, sounding baffled. “I’m not sure why I have this note to call you.”

  “The shoulder’s fine now, I have full mobility.”

  There was a muffled laugh from his end. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

  I frowned at my phone. “What kind of doctor are you, exactly?”

  “I’m a psychologist.”

  Oh fuck no. “I don’t need a psychologist.”

  “That’s what all my patients say at first.” His voice was riddled with humor. “So then I am assuming you don’t want to make an appointment?”

  “Nope. I would love to know who gave you my cell number though.”

  “Like I said, I just had a note from my secretary.” He sounded almost as if he was hiding something. His tone was guarded. I found it odd that he knew my name, but didn’t want me to know who’d given him my number. “I’ll throw the note away and no harm done?”

  “I guess. I’d prefer it if you’d shred my number,” I said as an afterthought.

  Silence and then he said, “You’re sure you don’t want to just come in and chat?”

  “Positive. I’m as sane as anyone else,” I said off-handedly.

  “In that case you should definitely make an appointment.” That humorous tone was back, and once again I found myself admiring his deep, masculine voice.

  “No thanks. Nice talking with you, Doc.” I hung up and shook myself mentally. Instead of focusing on the guy’s sexy phone voice the real question was who the hell had told him to call me? I looked up to find Fredrick’s curious gaze on me.

  “Who was that?” his voice sounded fake, his curiosity scripted.

  “Did you give a psychologist my number?”

  He looked down, shuffling papers on his desk as if they were the most fascinating documents in the world. “What?”

  I frowned at him. “Did you ask some head doctor to call me?”

  “I don’t think so.” He was fidgeting with things on his desk and avoiding my gaze at all cost. Oh yeah, that innocent, clueless expression was phony as hell.

  “You aren’t sure?” I stared at him. “Did you or didn’t you ask a Dr. Lawrence to call me?”

  A pretty pink swept up his cheeks and he continued to avoid my gaze. “I don’t appreciate your accusatory tone.”

  “You did, didn’t you?” I shook my head in disbelief. “You are so stubborn and meddlesome. I don’t need a psychologist, Fredrick.”

  He pursed his lips and his tough lawyer expression descended His gaze hardened and his mouth thinned. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

  I paused, taken aback at first by his more aggressive attitude. “You’re losing it, Fredrick, I’m fine.”

  “You are anything but fine. You’re not the only one who can act. I pretend to accept your bullshit excuses for never going anywhere or doing anything socially. But I am fully aware you are in a very dangerous place.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “That’s not the point. You too are nuts, my friend.”

  “I’m doing fine. I’m working. I’m not drinking. Not like I was.” I kept my gaze down. He had good instincts, the fucking bastard.

  “It’s been a year. What I don’t understand is why you don’t want to get better?”

  “I am better.” My voice broke and I bit my tongue to keep from tearing up. He was getting under my skin and it was pissing me off. Didn’t he remember picking me up at a different bar every night, unable to walk or speak, I was so wasted? How was it possible he couldn’t see I was better than when I hadn’t been answering my phone and blowing off meetings he set up for me? How fucking dare he not appreciate how far I’d come! It had been a hard and torturous crawl, and he should sure as hell recognize it.

  “Prove it.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” I said.

  “You do. You need to show the people around you who care that you are at the very least trying to move toward the future.” He was leaning forward, hands pressed flat on the desk.

  “You know I’m better than I was. I don’t know where this is coming from. I was late one time and you’re going fucking insane.”

  “I’ve been feeling this way for months. It’s not just me who’s worried. Your parents—”

  “My parents can go to hell.” I swallowed roughly. “Why are you bringing them into this?”

  “They’re your family and you haven’t spoken to them in over a year.”

  “You can’t pick your family,” I said harshly.

  “Perhaps they have regrets and they want to make amends. You’ll never know if you don’t communicate with them.” He shrugged. “I know they were less than supportive when you came out to them but people change.”

  “Trust me, they haven’t changed. I have no idea why they’ve decided they need to reach out all of a sudden, but I don’t give a shit either. I’ll never forgive them for not coming to Rory’s funeral. If they couldn’t be there for me then, I don’t need them in my life.” My voice sounded cold and dead, even to my ears. “I don
’t want to talk about them. If you mention them again I’m walking out that door and you can find yourself another keeper.”

  “Fine, we don’t have to talk about them. Let’s talk about you.”

  “Yeah, because apparently I’m fascinating.”

  “I want you to come to dinner Friday. I’m having some people over and I want you to come as a guest. Not as my bodyguard.”

  “No.” My reaction was instant and instinctive. I couldn’t conceive of sitting at a dinner party, making small talk when all the while I would be wishing Rory were beside me. There was nothing for me in a situation like that. I had no desire to meet anyone new.

  “You need to do this.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist.” His face was red as he spoke.

  “I have plans Friday.” God, he was pushy. Didn’t he understand how awful that would be for me? I couldn’t be healed because he wanted me to be. I was nowhere near dinner-party material. Baby steps were all I could handle right now. He needed to back off and leave me alone.

  “No you don’t, liar.” He stared at me disapprovingly. “If you don’t come I’ll fire you. I will.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “Don’t tempt me. Come to dinner on Friday.”

  “You honestly think having dinner at your house will make it all better?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I’m fine.” Well, I was fine so long as I could go home at night and lick my wounds, surrounded by my dead lover’s things. Because that’s when I pretended Rory was still here. I regrouped while huddled on the couch we’d argued about buying. Late at night Rory was real for me again, and I had no desire to meet new people and forget. Moving forward meant leaving him behind and I wasn’t going to do that.

  “You, dearest, are the complete opposite of fine.”

  Jesus, he was a pain in the ass. He pissed me off and then begged me to come to dinner. I had no interest in mingling with his rich, snobby friends. Why would he even want me to?