Time Out of Mind

  Bacon?

  After using the bathroom, he grabbed a tester kit and found Mevi, dressed only in shorts and working at the stove.

  “Good morning. I didn’t have anything to drink yet.” He walked over, holding his hand out.

  Doyle handed him the tester. “What time is it?”

  “Seven.” He smiled. “Your coffee is on the counter. I heard you up. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Thanks.”

  Thinking maybe he’d just dropped into a wormhole, he got his mug and sipped it while waiting for Mevi’s results.

  Negative.

  Of course.

  Now Mevi got his own coffee. “How many eggs, and how do you want them?”

  “Um…three. Scrambled, please.”

  “Cheese?”

  “Oh, sure. Thanks.” He decided to take a seat at the counter and watch this play out.

  He couldn’t peg what was different about Mevi this morning, but…

  He liked it.

  And he couldn’t exactly pin down why.

  They talked while Mevi cooked. Sure, Mevi was fine following the previous evening. He shiny-squirreled between several different topics, including revisiting a few he hadn’t explored thoroughly about his father and mother.

  Doyle decided to hang on for the ride and let him talk.

  By the time they’d finished eating—and Mevi had insisted on cleaning up the kitchen while Doyle sat there—Doyle was beginning to buy the “wormhole” theory.

  As in he’d been dropped into one.

  Mevi headed downstairs to work while Doyle sat there trying to sort things out.

  The only difference had been what Tilly had done last night, taking things a bit farther than before. Nothing he’d felt like interceding in, either.

  It was almost like…

  Doyle thought about it.

  It almost seemed like a circuit had connected in Mevi’s brain.

  Maybe it had.

  Like anything else, he’d have to wait and see. Meanwhile, he was in search of a restaurant to take Mevi for his birthday. He wanted to check an old favorite down on Manasota Key, with a view of the beach, to make sure it was still there. And then take him for a sunset walk.

  Doyle wanted this birthday to be a nice one for the man, one Mevi could remember in positive ways.

  Meanwhile, he was trying to decide what to get him for his birthday. He wanted the guy to have at least one present to open. He could have it shipped there. Already, he’d ordered him a guitar stand and stand for his sheet music. But those were work things.

  He wanted something fun for the guy, or at least meaningful.

  I’ll have to think on it.

  * * * *

  If Mevi suspected Doyle had something up his sleeve, he never let on. But over the next week, he also continued the…well, if Doyle had to label it, he’d call it submissive behavior.

  Like a perfect submissive. Mevi insisted on doing chores, and when Doyle started pressing him harder during their talks, especially about recovery issues, Mevi didn’t balk even if he found the talks difficult. Doyle found himself assuming a more overtly Dominant role with him, if not a kinky one. Things like making him stand and wait for a minute to get and take his morning tests.

  Making him ask permission to get up and leave at the end of their now-daily counseling sessions.

  Sometimes making him wait to do that, if Doyle didn’t feel they were done.

  And Mevi adapted to it as if he knew this was how it should be, which in some ways terrified Doyle.

  Because it did feel that was exactly how it should be.

  At least Doyle had come up with the perfect gift for him. So when he told Mevi to dress in slacks and a button-up shirt for dinner that night, he didn’t even get a question about it, even though from wishing him happy birthday that morning Mevi had to suspect this was a birthday dinner.

  And while Mevi was showering, Doyle tucked the present in the trunk of the car. It’d arrived from Amazon and since it’d been for Doyle, Mevi hadn’t even asked what it was, much less opened it.

  On the drive to the restaurant, Doyle kept finding himself wanting to reach over and hold hands with him and knew he couldn’t do that.

  He’d specifically requested a corner table, or along the wall, with a view of the water, if possible. He wanted something inconspicuous, and they obliged by putting them at a booth at one end with a nice view. Doyle sat with his back to the water, wanting the birthday boy to have the view.

  And while they were waiting for their drink order to arrive, Doyle leaned in. “I’ll be right back.” He tapped the table with his finger. “Don’t get up, do not leave. Understand?”

  Mevi nodded, smiling. “Yes, sir.”

  He’d done that more and more, too, the “yes, sir” answers. The lower-case s obvious, but still tugging on Doyle’s heart just the same.

  Doyle hurried down to the car and got the package, bringing it back up and holding it behind him as he returned to the table.

  Mevi didn’t look like he’d so much as moved.

  Doyle walked up from behind him. “Close your eyes.”

  Mevi did.

  He sat the wrapped box in front of Mevi before retaking his seat. “Open.”

  He did, nearly making Doyle cry when he started blinking back tears.

  “Happy birthday,” Doyle said. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Thank you!” He seemed hesitant to open it.

  “You can open it.”

  He stared at it, then met Doyle’s gaze. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got a birthday present? I mean, from someone I’m close to?”

  Doyle shook his head.

  “Since I was a kid. We decided early on with the band we don’t exchange gifts every year. We get together and do a group donation to their favorite charity, and on Christmas we do a band donation to a charity and play for them for a fundraiser.” He started to reach for it and hesitated. “Can you take a picture for me, please?”

  Doyle was struggled not to cry for the poor guy. “Sure.” He pulled his phone out and got ready, snapping one before he started.

  As he opened it, Doyle took pictures, capturing perfectly his tearful gasp when he saw the books inside.

  “Oh, Doyle! Thank you!” He got up and rounded the table, hugging him, before retaking his seat.

  All the while, brushing away tears. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Doyle had bought him the print versions of the Ron Chernow book Hamilton was inspired by, Hamilton: The Revolution, by Lin-Manuel Miranda, which was a behind-the-scenes look at the production, and several books of sheet music from the production.

  “I hope the music books are okay. I know how much you really loved it.”

  “This is great, thank you.” He blinked away tears, smiling. “Really. I’m not kidding. This is awesome.”

  Doyle reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You’ve worked hard. I wanted to get you something that might mean something to you. I want you to be able to remember how hard you’ve worked. You should be proud of it.”

  He nodded, smiling. “My own mom didn’t call me. Clark checked my mail and said no cards, either.” His smile faded. “Not that I expected any. I call her on Mother’s Day and her birthday and Christmas. I send her a check every year before her property taxes and homeowners insurance is due. I paid off the house when Dad died. I guess I’ll never be the son she wanted.”

  He stroked the books and took a deep breath. “Thank you for this, Doyle. I know I was kind of bitchy at the beginning, but honestly, I think you’ve saved my life.”

  He met Doyle’s gaze. “I know you’re right. I would have eventually started drinking again. But even though I sometimes crave it, lately? No. I get a craving and think about what you said. That I have a hundred percent survival track record so far, and worse days than that. So I can get through it.”

  “I’m very proud of you for that. It takes a lot to admit that.”

  ??
?I started researching twelve-step stuff again. It was the religion part I always had a problem with. My parents went to a ‘gays are bad’ church, so I didn’t want any part of that. But now I can see what you meant about using what I need and ignoring the rest. I’m going to need to make amends to Bonnie and the others. Especially Bonnie.”

  “Be prepared for her to maybe not accept your apology.”

  “I know.” Another deep breath before he set the box on the seat next to him. “If you’d told me a couple of months ago that I’d actually be enjoying life again, I’d have decked you and called you a liar.”

  “You’re probably still going to be dealing with anger.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will.” He reached over and touched the box. “But I think now I understand I can get through that, too. I just need to…not avoid it. I did a lot of avoiding. That’s how I ignored the red flags David was throwing for so long. I didn’t want conflict. I didn’t want to fight. I had so many struggles already, it was one too many, and that was dumb on my part.”

  “Well, for tonight, let’s have a nice evening. When we finish eating, I have one more surprise for you.”

  Mevi didn’t even ask. “Thank you, D.”

  Doyle smiled, loving the nickname. “You’re welcome, Mal. Very welcome.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dinner was amazing and delicious. The present from him, so thoughtful and carefully chosen, was a wonderful bonus.

  After dinner, Doyle drove them north up Manasota Key to a beach to watch the sunset. The whole time, Mevi struggled and failed to say the words he longed to tell the other man.

  Words he’d never said to anyone before as an adult. Romantically, that was.

  Still, he chickened out. “You’re not worried about someone recognizing me here?”

  “If I was, I wouldn’t have brought you. Less chance of it here than in the restaurant.”

  He trusted Doyle. If there was one thing the past several weeks had taught him, he absolutely could trust Doyle.

  Maybe more than he’d trusted anyone in his life.

  The sun lay low on the horizon and there were maybe two dozen cars parked in the lot across the road from where a boardwalk split the dunes and headed west. He couldn’t see the beach from that angle. Doyle found a parking spot in the shell lot and after they kicked off their shoes, Mevi followed him down to the beach.

  He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it. The Gulf lay before them, the sun a fiery orb beginning its dip into the horizon. The sky and a few puffy clouds were painted with nearly painfully pure pinks and blues and purples as they struggled and lost their hold on the day.

  He couldn’t ever remember seeing such a vibrant sunset in LA. Other places along the west coast, sure, but never in LA.

  Even the fluffy, white sugar sand wasn’t like anything he was used to. They walked, heading north away from the opening from the dunes and away from the majority of the other people.

  “I love coming here,” Doyle said. “I always did. I’ve missed it. I spent a lot of hours here during and after my divorce to Kathy.” He sighed. “Part of me wishes I’d never left Florida.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I lost so much. I cut myself off from my friends. I made a lot of money, but I wonder if it was worth it.”

  “We met, though. And you told me to be thankful for the things I can be thankful for.”

  Doyle smiled. “True.”

  “I’m thankful for you.” They shared a look for a moment before Doyle continued walking again.

  He finally came to a stop as the sun remained little more than a glowing sliver above the distant horizon. Mevi stood next to him, inhaling the sweet breeze and unable to ignore the warmth radiating from Doyle’s body.

  Maybe he was just hyperaware of the man, now that he couldn’t deny what he felt for him.

  Neither of them spoke as the sun finally completed its descent. Down the beach, they heard faint applause and people started making their way back over the dunes. Doyle smiled at him.

  “Guess we should head back.”

  “Okay.”

  It was close to full dark and Mevi knew if he didn’t force himself to say something soon, he was going to lose his nerve. He reached out and touched Doyle’s hand, coming to a stop in the sand and hoping the other man did, too.

  Doyle stopped and turned. “What?”

  “I don’t want to go back yet.”

  Doyle glanced around. There was another couple about a hundred yards south of them, but other than that, they had the beach to themselves now that the sun had set and Mother Nature’s evening show was over.

  “Are you all right?”

  “We need to talk. I need to talk.” Mevi swallowed hard, the sweet, salty tang of the Gulf breeze washing over him so different than anything he’d ever felt off the Pacific. Better, softer, more pure in some ways.

  “Okay?”

  He reached for Doyle’s hand again, hooking his first two fingers around Doyle’s. “Maybe I’m way off-base, maybe I’m about to fuck things up, but if I don’t say something, I’m going to explode and hate myself. I love you.”

  * * * *

  Doyle thought his heart might stop, but he didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt Mevi.

  “I’ve liked you ever since we first met. I realized as I was playing with Tilly the other night that I liked it, but I didn’t really want to play with her. I want to play with you. Because I love you.” His gaze finally focused on Doyle’s. “I want to be yours. This isn’t some sort of weird bonding with my therapist kind of thing, either.” He went silent.

  Doyle had to force the words out. “How do you know it’s not?”

  “Because I’ve had counselors in rehab. Gay and straight, even though that wasn’t really a topic of conversation, but I could tell, duh. The one guy had a wedding picture of him and his husband on his bookshelf. I never felt anything for them like I feel for you.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gay. And I’m a submissive. When I looked into the mirror and finally admitted those two things to myself, it was like this huge, angry ocean in my soul suddenly went quiet.”

  Doyle’s gaze fell to their hands. He made no move to let go or shake Mevi’s loose grip free. “Why me?”

  “Because you. Something about you unlocked me. Opened doors inside me I didn’t even know were closed. Inspired me not just to create but to become the best version of myself possible.”

  Doyle couldn’t make himself meet Mevi’s intense gaze again. “If I get involved with you that crosses a whole lot of ethical boundaries. We’ve already come damn close.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. But I can’t not tell you how I feel. You told me honesty was mandatory. Well, I’m being honest. More honest than I’ve ever been in my life. I love you, and I want to be yours. Unless you don’t want me.”

  Doyle closed his eyes, his cock throbbing in his shorts as he breathed and tried to maintain control. It was too easy to call up a fantasy and bring it to life.

  Then there were his own issues. He fully recognized he dealt with abandonment issues, his childhood rage over his father’s death, losing his mom, then his divorce.

  But…

  Mevi.

  Never in Doyle’s life had he wanted someone so much.

  The fear…wasn’t it worth the reward? To finally possibly have a relationship that pulled so deeply at his soul as Mevi did?

  When he felt the soft caress of lips against his, his eyes flew open. Instinctively, he grabbed the back of Mevi’s head, fisting his hair, and kissed him. Hard.

  Kissed him in a way Doyle damn well knew Mevi had never been kissed before.

  And that moan in the air? Oh, that was from himself as he tasted Mevi’s lips, the salt air on them, the other man’s tongue tentatively searching through parted lips to find his.

  Finally, he used his grip in Mevi’s hair to break their kiss, not letting go of him. “I can’t be your SC if we’re involved.”

  “I know.”


  “I need to call Clark and cancel the contract. Ethically, I cannot do this with you if we’re professionally involved.”

  “Please don’t leave me. Come on tour with us.”

  “I’ve never been involved with a client before. Ever. This is a hard line I’ve never come close to blurring, much less crossing before. Not just as a sober companion, but in my entire career.”

  “I know. I get it—please? I-I’ll even keep pretending we’re not involved so it doesn’t tip anyone off and put you on the paparazzi’s radar. I’ll pay your expenses out of my own pocket. Please, Sir!”

  Those two words, and the tone Mevi said them in, finished Doyle, swept away every last rational and logical objection. He pulled Mevi in for another kiss, this time in full control of it from start to finish.

  This was probably one of the worst ideas ever. For the first time in his professional life, he was going to completely violate every ethical practice he’d sworn to uphold and had upbraided others for not adhering to.

  And he realized he didn’t care.

  Because he’d never felt about anyone the way he felt about Mevi, and he’d be lying if he denied it any longer, guilt over the professional lapse be damned.

  He cupped his hand around the back of Mevi’s neck and stared into his eyes. “Being mine means I own you. I did a vanilla-sprinkles marriage with Kathy. I vowed I’d never do that again. Anyone who’s with me needs to understand that. I’m a sadist. I’m a Dominant. And if you think there were times in the past several weeks that I was a hard-lined asshole, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “That’s what I want, Sir.”

  Dammit. Every time he said that word, it made Doyle’s cock painfully throb.

  Mevi noticed. He leaned in, nearly kissing-close. “Sir,” he whispered. “Master. My Master.”

  Doyle’s hand tightened on the back of Mevi’s neck, pulling him in for the kiss, bruising, crushing, possessive. He slid his hand up to fist his hair again to break the kiss. “Being my boy means following my rules.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “No sex with anyone but me, that means men and women. Not even kissing. I don’t mean friendly pecks on the cheeks or something with friends, I mean romantic kissing.”