Fall Apart (19 page)

Alarik acted oblivious to the attention, but Damon thought he saw him wink at Zane and flash a cheeky grin. Max had temporarily lost his power for the moment and it reminded Damon of the wedding reception when Alarik had saved him from Andrew.

The food was good, the conversation was better, and Max’s silence was best. The only time Hayama condescended to speak was when Zane mentioned the upcoming film they were working on together. With all the sexual claim staking, Damon had completely forgotten that he was sitting at the same dinner table as a famous actor he’d seen on screen and in the news. Most surprising of all was that Zane Whitlow was a regular guy like Luke, or Todd, or Franco. He and Mark were clearly committed to one another and very easy in one another’s company. It was nice to see how stable they were.

Damon hadn’t really seen much evidence that this kind of relationship was possible because healthy gay couples didn’t really run in his circle. He was very much
the
gay man amongst straight people. Three straight buddies and the only gay dude in his family… He was a thumb in the midst of fingers. The one time Damon thought he was ready for commitment, he’d been too naïve. Kenny wasn’t going to come out no matter what and the fact that Damon decided he couldn’t live another minute dishonestly, made his boyfriend panic. Kenny had cut off all contact with him and gotten engaged to a woman. Once they got married, Kenny moved his wife and dogs to Long Beach. Who knew that kind of thing happened in the real world?

“Filming starts soon…” Zane sat up straighter and shifted a bit closer to Mark.

“Is that why you’re growing a goatee—or what I’m assuming is supposed to be a goatee?” Alarik asked Zane, gesturing with his fork at the actor’s chin.

Zane ran a hand over his jaw and nodded. “Give it another day or two and you’ll see.”

“I hope so, because right now...”

Mark snickered and tapped his beer bottle against Alarik’s. “He can’t shave for a while. How long does it have to be, Max?”

“Depends,” Hayama answered, his voice soft. “Probably a month and a half. Maybe a little less. Then, the goatee and the rest of the hair have to go.”

Alarik did a double take and spoke directly to Max for the first time since their Finnish cultural exchange. “A completely shaved head? To the skin?”

“And hours in makeup everyday getting fake tattoos. Comes with the territory,” Max smiled, his eyes softening as he spoke to Alarik.

Damon figured he’d done enough posturing for one day, so he looked at Mark and noticed his carefully neutral expression. “What do you think about it?” he asked.

Mark laughed sadly and ran a hand through Zane’s full, brown hair. “I’ll be happy when it grows back.”

Zane smiled indulgently and Damon had to look away. Unfortunately, he ended up locked in eye contact with Max.

“May I borrow Alarik a moment?” Hayama requested. “I have to leave soon and I have business to discuss with him.”

Oh, I just bet you do.

The hair stood up on the back of Damon’s neck and Alarik gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. At least if Max talked now it meant he was leaving soon. Damon offered no objection as both men stood and Max flicked his perfect head toward the house.

“I just need a few minutes,” Max said. “Maybe we can talk in the kitchen?”

Alarik hesitated, glancing back at Damon before reluctantly going along with it. “Be right back, Damon.”

When Damon turned back to the table, three sets of eyes were fixed on him.

“What?” he asked.

Mark shook his head back and forth. “You’re lucky my brother, Reid, isn’t here because he’d be talking about this tug of war you and Max have going until you’d want to kill him.”

“Tug of war?”

“Mmm,” Zane and Mark said at the same time, nodding.

“I need to get laid,” Jenny sighed. “All this misdirected testosterone is making me crazy. It’s like being in a sexual firefight and only getting hit by ricochets. Where are the men who want to roll around with an eligible middle-aged woman?”

“I think you have to go a few blocks down for that kind of action,” Mark grinned. “Nothing but a bunch of gay guys here… Just ask Max.”

Alarik was waiting. And waiting some more. Words were supposed to be exchanged by now, business conversation completed and the night moving forward, but Max was simply staring at him. The only reasonable response seemed to be staring back. That wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was that looking at Max made something quake within him in a way that it really
shouldn’t
—not with Damon nearby, and not after a week spent completely enthralled by him.

Max came a bit closer, within arm’s reach, and Alarik looked over his shoulder in silent warning:
We aren’t alone…

“I realized something,” Max murmured, his body so controlled, as though he were completely unaffected.

“What was that?”

“I realized,” Max began, taking another step, “that I didn’t make myself clear to you before. I assumed you knew that I was confused about our circumstances. I thought you understood.”

Abruptly irritated, Alarik wanted to yank his hands from his pockets and shake Max by the lapels. “Understood
what
, Max? That you wouldn’t tell me what was going on, or that you were afraid?”

“You know my life,” Max breathed. “You know where I come from. My family. How can I say this? How can I need this?” As his voice raised, his accent grew thicker and for the first time Alarik got a sense of how deep this ugliness went.

“Need
what
?” he demanded, completely troubled now. “You still can’t acknowledge it aloud. It was unhealthy, what I was feeling. We were nothing in reality and only the beginning of something in secret. I don’t even know if I should be saying this to you now, or if you’ll deny you know what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t mock me!” Max rasped.

“I’m not—I wouldn’t.”

“Why couldn’t you accept that I was doing all I could? Saying all I could?”

Alarik snorted and Max frowned in offense. “You did
nothing
. You said nothing. I looked at what was happening and I knew I could save myself years, maybe even a lifetime of pain and secrecy by walking away when I did.”

Max’s chin dropped a fraction and he crossed his arms over his chest in a way that said trouble was coming. “You pretend you didn’t know my feelings.”

“You never said a
bloody word
!” Alarik shot back, his temper flaring. “You let me want you, and there were moments I could sense you wanted me, too, but the shame and disgust in your eyes told another story altogether. You still won’t say it aloud. You won’t tell me who you are. You wait for me to take action because you’re scared—”

One second Alarik was struggling to keep his voice down and the next his body was snapped forward until his chest collided with Max’s. An
ooof!
escaped and Max’s mouth dropped toward his, and then froze…a breath away. His eyes were closed tight, almost as if he were in pain.

As close as they were, with his own hands braced on the other man’s shoulders, Alarik was very aware of Max’s body and the movement of his chest as he breathed. The scent of his aftershave took him back to months ago when the indecision and frustration were acute.

This was the first time Max had ever touched him more than a handshake or a brush of the shoulder or hand. Why now? Why like this? The quaking within grew stronger and he couldn’t endure the sensation another second.

“Max,” he whispered as gently as he could. “I’m not doing this. Let me go.”

The grip on his waist tightened a fraction and Alarik nearly stopped breathing when the hold shifted into an embrace.

“I want to let you go,” Max said, his cheek against Alarik’s. “I want you to mean nothing to me. And I want to break your lover into pieces for daring to touch your skin and your mouth with his own… Are these the words you want to hear? You want to know how you’ve weakened me and taken my life?”

“Is being with someone this way that bad for you?”

Max’s sigh as he released Alarik and moved away epitomized defeat. “It’s an impossibility,” he replied after an extended pause, the emotion of a moment ago now absent. He was steady, the impenetrable Max Hayama once more. “You were right to walk away, Alarik, and I’d be right to accept it.”

Alarik was trying to find mental footing after being caught in this emotional slingshot, but he didn’t know where to go with this. “You don’t—”

“No one believed me,” Max spoke over him, his tone brusque and businesslike, signaling an end to further revelation, “but I really did need to discuss something else with you.”

Alarik’s head was spinning, so he barely nodded in response.

“This movie Zane and I are working on is going to be critical for our careers. We could both carry on as we have been and be considered very successful, but I believe that this movie will change the game.” Max turned back to Alarik, his composure completely restored on the surface. “I want only the best people working on this film from the ground up. I want to work with my mind ten steps ahead, you see? I want you to be a part of this. I want your photography to be the siren that lures people in.

“I’ve had a lot of meetings with the production team and they know I want you involved in this. What’s better is that the other production companies besides mine are familiar with your work. They want it, too. Zane is comfortable with you and it would be a great opportunity for the two of you to work together again.”

The conversation had taken such an unexpected swing that Alarik went from being stunned with an emotional confession to being offered a job. “This isn’t really something I’ve done before. The studios are responsible for this sort of thing.”

“We all want you in on this. You would have a very active photography role throughout the making of the film. We want to make a pictorial diary,” Max said, reaching into his jacket pocket and extracting a business card. “Here. In case you lost the other one when you…walked away.”

Alarik automatically accepted it. He still had the old one somewhere. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know how this will impact my schedule for the next few months.”

“Look into it.” Max nodded once. “I need to know your answer within two weeks.”

“I-I’ll call, but Max—”

“Please tell the others I said good night,” he gave a wisp of a polite smile. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

Max wasted no time leaving. One moment he was across from Alarik, and the next the front door was clicking shut. Alarik glanced down at the business card in his hand and flipped it over a couple times, testing the weight with his fingers. After a few minutes to himself, he tucked the card away and returned to the patio. So much had happened in the space of a few hours that he didn’t want to spend any more time in other people’s company. He let ten minutes go by, then he grabbed Damon and they left.

***

The door to the condo clicked shut and Alarik flipped on the entry lights, hoping the cleaning service had come the day before like he’d asked. He and Damon both blinked in the low light, and Alarik silently led the way into the loft-style lower floor. The kitchen was spacious, with a large island separating it from the dining and living areas. He’d never invited anyone else to come here with him and he tried to look at it through the lens of a guest.

It’ll pass muster, he decided.

There had been a period of time a few years ago when most of the jobs he had were in L.A. Tired of staying in hotels and feeling like he couldn’t completely relax, he did a lot of house hunting and bought the place. It wasn’t part of a new construction development, or even in a sexy neighborhood, but that was part of what Alarik liked about it. Old flowering shrubs and vines that provided a lot of warmth flanked the walkways throughout the complex. This place also eased his homesickness when he missed the company of his aunt and uncle in London.

Alarik’s apartment in New York suited the other half of his personality; the constant movement and energy outside its door revived his creative senses. There, his world was brick walls and stainless steel. L.A. was hardwood floors, rich accents and masculine warmth. The only bad thing about it was that it didn’t see much use. If he took the job with Max—or maybe it would be better to think of it as taking the job with the studio—he would be in L.A. for a while. He’d be close to Damon. He’d also be a lot closer to Hayama.

Bollocks.

A heavy exhale was queued for release, but he squashed it. He wanted to put that man from his mind and focus on someone more important to him right now: Damon.

Stealing a peek, a soft smile spread across his face. Damon, with his hands wrapped around the shoulder strap crossing his chest, was taking a slow turn of the living room like he was receiving some kind of radio transmission from the furniture and artwork.

Alarik opened the doors to the entertainment center and punched a few buttons on the remote until a deep bass melody filled the house. Goosebumps skittered over his arms and chest and he noticed a tiny shudder move through Damon’s body at the same time.

“What do you think of my lair, Mr. Wright?” he asked, blood already moving to his groin as he watched this intriguing man wander around his home.

Damon continued his silent perusal, taking everything in before he answered. “If this is your lair, does that imply I’m your sex slave? Isn’t that how lairs work?”

Alarik tossed the remote on one of the end tables and walked into the kitchen. “It may very well be. You’re the first company I’ve had here and there’s enough room to lock you away for some time.”

Damon took off his bag, sliding it over his shoulder and once again distracting Alarik with the pads of muscle visible beneath the dark blue sweater. “So, this place is really yours?”

“Mmm,” Alarik hummed in response, looking over his wine selection. If he were going to be sticking around California, he’d have to buy something better than what he had on hand. “I’ve owned the condo for about ten years. I wasn’t making as much money years ago, so my uncle helped me with the down payment—is red okay?” He held up the bottle in question.