With an aggravated growl, Javier crawled from the bed and grabbed his robe. He was still hard. Lucky’s presence hadn’t affected him in any way other than being an unwanted frustration.
Lucky automatically moved to the hall as Javier headed his way. Javier closed the door behind him and pinned Lucky in place with his stare. “Did you not see your bags in the foyer?”
“I saw them.” Lucky sounded so damn calm, even he didn’t know how he managed it.
Javier motioned for Lucky to get moving, as if that was all that needed to be said.
Even though Lucky knew he would hate himself afterward, because Lucky always hated himself, Lucky heard himself begging for more explanation. “Are you seriously done with me just like that? I go to one wedding without you and there’s already someone else in our bed.”
“My bed,” Javier corrected. He took an audible breath, as if tired by Lucky’s presence. “You’re just candy, Lucky. You knew that going in. You’re very pretty to look at, but that’s it. Everyone is sleeping with someone else on the side. After all, that’s where you were tonight, right?”
Lucky swallowed the hurt. No way would he look even more pathetic by saying he hadn’t been with someone else. “Sure.” Javier was right. Everyone cheated. Just because he never had didn’t mean anything. Maybe one day he would. After all, everyone always cheated on him. It might be his turn someday.
Javier smiled as if satisfied their conversation was at an end. “See? No hard feelings. You knew this was temporary.”
“Of course.” What else could Lucky say? He hadn’t thought they were permanent. No one ever was. He had known this was coming. “Have a nice life, Javier.”
“You too, Lucky.”
Like that, Lucky jogged back down the stairs and grabbed his things. He had gotten exceptionally good at moving his four bags from place to place over the years. Tonight was no different. He never had anywhere to go. Lucky was a little worse off this time since he had next to no money left to his name. He wasn’t flat broke, but he couldn’t afford to get a place to live. Lucky had enough to hit the closest liquor store and get plastered beyond consciousness. He should have taken that final step tonight. It wasn’t too late.
The house felt empty. To be honest, Damon’s house always felt devoid of life. The nights were the worst, though. It had been almost nine years since Damon’s son Mack had committed suicide, leaving Damon to pace the floor at night. He had long past accepted that there was nothing he could have done. Mack had been schizophrenic. He had gotten incredibly good at hiding his symptoms. In fact, Damon had believed his son was in the best place in his life before he caught Mack beating up his boyfriend in their driveway. That boyfriend had been Tobin. The same Tobin that Damon had watched marry tonight. Two days after the driveway incident, Mack had leapt from a bridge in a town four hours away. He hadn’t wanted Damon to clean up the mess. Damon thought about that a lot, wondering if that was why Mack had hidden how bad things had become. Had he not wanted Damon cleaning up his mess? Damon didn’t know if it would be better or worse to know. He would have done anything, gone to any extreme to save his son. Now it was too late. All he could do was pace the floor alone now with no real answers.
Tonight, life had been a little better. He hadn’t felt quite so alone in the world, which was weird considering he had been with Lucky. Damon spent a lot of time with other people. He owned a bar that was always busy. There were plenty of people around if he wanted to chat. Yet it had been Lucky Whitehall who had made him smile. Jesus. Lucky was a goddamn mess. Damon wasn’t sure exactly how old Lucky was, but Damon imagined he had at least fifteen years on the guy. There wasn’t a gay man alive who hadn’t drooled over Lucky. He was probably around five ten, and that was literally the only average thing about Lucky. His inky black hair always hung in his light gray eyes, tempting a person to swipe it away so they could get a better look. Every inch of Lucky had been sculpted to tempt others. He had dimples and perfect teeth. The guy smiled all the goddamn time, even though nothing ever went right for him. He was too damn much of everything. Oddly, nothing about Lucky’s appearance was what enticed Damon. There was something else about Lucky—something Damon couldn’t articulate—that made the guy like a siren’s call. Damon wanted to shake Lucky and force him to be real with Damon for five goddamn minutes. He wanted Lucky to just fucking say what he wanted from Damon. Damon needed to know why Lucky kept seeking him out so he could shut the guy down or shrug it off. As things stood now, Lucky baffled the fuck out of Damon and Damon hated that. The guy took up too much of Damon’s headspace. Damon needed to cut him out.
The cellphone Damon left on the coffee table rang. Damon checked the face. It was his alarm company. He quickly pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Damon Patterson?”
Damon’s forehead furrowed in his impatience. “Yes?”
“This is Sonya with Steel Security. The alarm at one zero four Stanton Place has been activated. Can you confirm?”
Damon pinched the spot between his eyes where a pain bloomed. “I’m not on site currently, so I didn’t set it off.”
“We’ll dispatch the police.”
Damon blew out a breath. “Okay. I’m heading that way.”
“Would you like the officer who responds to call and let you know what they find?”
Even though the woman couldn’t see him, Damon nodded. “Please. I’ll still head that way in case anything needs to be boarded up or whatever, but yeah. I’d like to know what’s going on.”
After making arrangements to have the responding officer call his cellphone, Damon quickly threw on a t-shirt. He took his truck since he didn’t relish riding across town on his Harley in his pajama pants. Halfway to the bar, his cellphone rang. Damon hit the button on his steering wheel to answer the call from handsfree.
“Hello?”
“This is Officer Hollis with the LAPD. Am I speaking with Damon Patterson?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Patterson, I’m at the Road Clan. Your alarm representative passed along your number. There was a guy waiting outside when we got here. He has a key and claims you’ve given him permission to stay in the upstairs apartment, but—for whatever reason—his alarm code isn’t working.”
If Damon hadn’t been driving, he would have beaten his head on the steering wheel. “Is his name Lucky?”
“Yes, sir.”
Damon took a steadying breath. “It’s fine. I’m sorry you had to make the trip out. Lucky has permission to be there. I recently changed the alarm code and didn’t think to give it to him. I’ll disarm the alarm from my phone and he’s welcome to stay. Thanks again for checking it out.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Patterson. Have a good night.”
“You too.” Damon disconnected the call and then dug out his phone. The first red light he came to, Damon quickly disarmed the alarm. He was almost at the bar and he was too irritated to turn around. At least, that was what he told himself. There was only one reason Lucky would be looking for a place to crash. He had burned through another man. The last time Lucky had come to him, needing to use the apartment above the bar, some dude had beaten the shit out of him. Rage boiled in Damon’s gut. So help him, if he got there and there was a single bruise on Lucky’s skin, Damon would kill someone. He wanted to think his outrage had to do with Lucky being with him all night. If Lucky got his ass kicked, it would be Damon’s fault. Damon knew the truth, though. Nobody put their goddamn hands on Lucky and got to keep them.