Chapter One
Ronan (Now)
I stabbed the up arrow button on the lobby elevator in my building. My breath quickly returning back to normal and the sweat starting to dry on my body. I looked forward to washing that sweat and grime from my skin once I got upstairs.
Maybe even doing more than that under the warm spray of the shower.
The numbers lit up one after the other as the elevator car traveled down from the sixth floor.
Ding. Five.
Ding. Four.
Ding. Three.
The buzz and click of the outer lobby door unlocking behind me had me glancing over my shoulder to see if I needed to hold the elevator for whoever just entered.
I pulled the sweaty T-shirt from over my shoulder where I had tossed it, and used it to wipe my face, because clearly I was seeing things. Sweat must have gotten into my eyes. Or maybe I was lightheaded because I hadn’t eaten anything since much earlier today.
Or…
Or… I was really seeing who I thought I was.
But that couldn’t be. I had to be imagining it. Imagining him.
Maybe I was having a stroke or some medical issue and needed to sit down. It was true that I hadn’t been running outside as much as I should be and it could be my blood sugar reacting to the intense cardio session.
Or I was simply delusional.
The man who had walked through the front entrance paused in the vestibule lined with the residents’ mailboxes. He appeared as if he had just rolled out of bed, even though he wore a suit. It was wrinkled like he’d slept on a park bench.
He couldn’t be homeless since he had the code to the front entrance and that was changed once a month. That meant he had to be a current resident, even though I had never spotted him in the building before.
However, not only did he look out of sorts, he was talking to himself. Just like the homeless man who often slept on a bench in Point State Park. The one who occasionally bathed in the fountain and also fished out the change thrown in by tourists and locals alike.
Funny, I never once had my wish come true after throwing a penny into a fountain, but maybe it worked for other people.
I couldn’t hear what the man was saying because of the second set of doors separating the vestibule from the lobby, but even with his head tipped down, I could clearly see his lips moving. He could be wearing earbuds and talking to someone on his cell phone.
Or he could be having a full-blown conversation with himself as he dug deep into his pants pocket. Most likely for his mailbox key.
Even after drying the sweat from around my eyes, he still looked so familiar.
Too familiar.
The elevator dinged as it arrived on the main floor and the doors whooshed open. Mr. and Mrs. Callahan from the fourth floor stepped out with their little yappy, ankle-biter Pomeranian, Mr. Pibbles.
I side-stepped to give the older couple room to pass and also so that little fucker didn’t take a chunk out of my ankle.
Mrs. Callahan’s gaze swept over me and I knew exactly why.
I was wearing nothing but black silky shorts that, when sweaty, clung to my assets, along with running sneakers, ankle-high sports socks and a Penn State U baseball cap.
It also didn’t help that my skin wasn’t a perfect shade of pale and I sported a wide assortment of tattoos covering my torso and arms.
However, it wasn’t the first time they’d seen me after a run and, unfortunately for them, it wouldn’t be the last.
Mr. Callahan held the elevator door for me even though it looked like he was sucking on a lemon while doing so.
They were lovely people.
By lovely, I meant judgmental assholes.
Even so, we needed to coexist since we all lived in the same building. Instead of flipping him the bird, I gave him a nod and said, “I’m not going up yet, but thanks,” then took a quick glance over my shoulder again toward the vestibule.
The newest resident must’ve found his key since the metal door to one of the mailboxes now hung wide open while he rifled through a fistful of mail.
Shaking his head, he continued to talk to himself. The only time he glanced up was when the Callahans walked past him with Mr. Pibbles yapping in warning. Mr. Pibbles didn’t like strangers.
Hell, Mr. Pibbles didn’t like anyone except for the Callahans. And even that was questionable.
As soon as the couple and their orange yap rat stepped out onto the sidewalk, the man shut the mailbox and turned…
And the revolving Earth came to a complete and abrupt stop, as if someone had jerked up the emergency brake.
My heart seized. My lungs emptied. My soul decided to flee the lobby without me.
But my mind… My mind began to spin like a Tilt-A-Whirl with a drunk carny at the controls.
“Oh shit.” When my heart kick-started, I yanked my baseball cap lower to hide my face and quickly tugged my damp T-shirt over my head and torso as I hurried into the nearby stairwell.
I made sure the steel door didn’t slam behind me and for a second pressed my back to the wall next to it.
I wasn’t sure what the hell to do. I certainly wasn’t ready to face him.
This couldn’t be reality. He couldn’t live in the same building as I did.
It couldn’t be him. No fucking way!
He left Pittsburgh twelve years ago after he graduated, why the hell was he back now?
My only guess was that it wasn’t Tate. That it was someone who looked like him. A doppelgänger.
I was freaking out for nothing.
I was being a foolish idiot.
But to be sure, I slid my back from the wall to the door, flipped my baseball cap backwards, then turned, bent my knees and popped my head up enough to peek out of the little fireproof window.
I watched as he headed over to the elevator and jabbed the button ten times in quick succession. While he waited impatiently for the doors to open, he shuffled from one foot to the other.
Twelve years.
It had been twelve fucking years since I last saw him.
But it was like yesterday.
We both looked different but also the same.
Definitely older. Debatably wiser.
But he looked worn out. Beat down.
As if the easy life he was supposed to be living turned out to be not so easy.
I watched him until he stepped into the open elevator car and the doors shut behind him, whisking him away.
I continued to stare at the empty spot where he previously stood because I had a hard time pulling myself away.
I could only chalk it up to shock.
Once I finally forced my feet to move, I sat on the third step and dropped my head into my hands to try to wrap my head around who I just saw. Unsure why he was here. In Pittsburgh. In the same damn building where I lived. Unsure why any of this was happening.
For a moment in the silence, I was transported back.
To when I had hope.
Dreams.
Expectations.
And, of course, to when those were all crushed.
****
Ronan (Then)
I spread myself out in the seat with an arm casually hanging over the back of the empty one to my right. I might be a freshman but I came to Duquesne with the intent to not act like one. To not be seen as a boy fresh out of high school.
Instead, I wanted to feel like a man ready to seize the world.
It might not be true, but the saying “fake it until you make it” existed for a reason.
Because of that, I did my best to look confident and like I belonged, when really, deep down inside I was anything but.
I did really well in high school, which helped me earn scholarships and grants. But attending Duquesne University was a whole other world compared to high school.
It would be fan-freaking-tastic if the students here weren’t so close-minded like they were at my high school in a small town right outside of Hershey, PA. My roomie in the dorm seemed to be cool so far, but I’d only known him for less than a week and I also hadn’t told him I was gay.
Yet.
My hope was that if he got to know me first, by the time he figured it out, he’d discover I wasn’t defined solely by my sexual preference. Being gay was just a small part of who I was as a person.
This morning I arrived earlier than usual for this first class—I hadn’t been sure where the lecture hall was located—and settled myself in an empty row of seats.
I didn’t want to be quite up front, but didn’t want to hide in the back, either. There’d be no point since this was Multi-Genre Creative Writing. A class I wasn’t forced to take but was interested in because I hadn’t quite pinned down my major yet. I had no reason to hide in this class, unlike with my algebra course.
At this point I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was leaning toward a business degree, so I had signed up for a core credit course along with a mix of electives to see if anything caught my fancy.
Since writing was a big part of most careers, I figured it couldn’t hurt. While I was a pro at sending texts and casual emails, when it came to professional correspondence, I could use some work. Plus, how hard could creative writing be? Unlike algebra.
Here I was, sitting in the third row, waiting for the professor and watching the seats fill up around me. I had my old Asus laptop set up on the flip-up desktop, hoping my electronic dinosaur held a charge long enough to get me through my classes today. The battery on my three-year old cell phone with the cracked screen was slowly dying, too. I just couldn’t afford to replace either soon-to-be paperweights.
That reminded me… I needed to find a job in which the hours would be flexible around my classes, studying and, of course, some partying. Since I was putting myself through school, the first and second were the most important. Partying, dating or hooking up with someone would be more of a reward for all my hard work.
I glanced at my flickering screen to skim over the syllabus one last time as everyone finished wandering in. When the chatter came to a halt, I looked up to see the professor wander in, drop off his briefcase on the table, write Dr. Mario Louden on the whiteboard and then turn to stand at the lectern.
Dr. Louden cleared his throat. “In case you’re lost, this is—”
The door was thrown open with a bang and a student rushed in. He paused, made eye contact with Dr. Louden and grimaced.
“Mr. Harris, this is one reason why you are repeating this course. You’ve known what time this class starts since you got your schedule at least two weeks ago. There is no excuse for you being tardy.”
“Sorry. Sorry,” he muttered, adjusting the gaping-open backpack half hanging off his shoulder.
“I expect this won’t happen again. Right, Mr. Harris? Otherwise, my suggestion is for you to drop out and find another class and instructor to insult with your tardiness, instead.”
“I need—” The student shook his head. “I swear I won’t be late again.”
That sounded like a lie to my own ears, but I didn’t give a shit about what was coming out of his mouth. I was more fixated on his actual lips and not the words being muttered from them.
He. Was. Absolutely. Beautiful.
A chunk of thick dark hair fell across his forehead and a flush had crept up his neck and into his cheeks.
I couldn’t keep my eyes from my future boyfriend—maybe I’d go so far as future husband even—as he jogged up the steps with his head down. Unfortunately, he disappeared somewhere behind me.
Hopefully, he didn’t notice me gawking.
And if he did… Oh well.
He would probably just think I’m staring at him because I thought he was rude to arrive late to class.
I heard the thump of his very heavy backpack hitting the floor a few rows behind me, a loud rustle and a slew of grumbles.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed. So did Dr. Louden who stared past me to the future Mr. Ronan Pak.
I liked that. Another man taking my name. If he really pushed it, I’d let him hyphenate. Harris-Pak.
“Are you sure you’re ready for me to start class, Mr. Harris?” Dr. Louden called out with one dark bushy eyebrow stuck high up his forehead.
A few sniggers and muffled laughs could be heard and I noticed everyone was turned around in their seats to check Mr. Harris out.
Correction. Mr. Harris-Pak.
A smile spread across my face and I pulled myself out of my fantasy to concentrate on today’s lesson as our professor began to teach. I certainly didn’t want him calling me out in front of the whole class for daydreaming.
Over an hour later, I was stuffing my shit back into my backpack, including my ancient computer—luckily, it hadn’t let me down during class—and thinking about the next time I’d see Mr. Harris, since I didn’t know his first name yet.
Yet. But I would.
I would make sure to get to class early on Friday and grab a seat toward the back so I could stare at my newest obsession without anyone knowing. Study him. Learn every detail to memory. For my fantasies.
When I stood, I heard a rush of feet coming down the steps behind me, so I waited and fiddled with my backpack, trying not to be too obvious.
I just wanted to get another look. Of the back this time, since I already liked what I’d seen of the front.
I was not disappointed as Harris jogged down the steps toward the front of the lecture hall. However, his backpack still gaped wide open and all the contents were at risk of falling out.
“Hey!” I called out in warning and quickly followed him down the steps.
He either didn’t hear me or was ignoring me as he rushed out of the lecture hall and into the corridor.
I elbowed my way through a group of students standing around and talking, but more importantly, blocking me from my future husband. I got around them and headed out, hoping I didn’t lose Harris.
I didn’t.
Not because he was waiting, but because what I feared had happened. His backpack was now dumped on the ground and all the items inside had been strewn across the hallway like the contents of a smashed piñata at a birthday party.
What made me almost tear up a little was what looked like a new laptop on the floor.
An utter tragedy. What I would do for a new laptop like that…
Hopefully it wasn’t broken and if it was, that it was insured.
Not my problem. My concern was with the broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped man, with a perfectly juicy peach for an ass, now squatting on the floor, collecting his belongings while everyone else walked around him and didn’t bother to help.
This was my chance to introduce myself and be his knight in shining armor.
Squatting down while facing him, I began to gather pens, a rainbow of highlighters and various colored sticky notes.
My takeaway was the man carried way too much shit in his backpack. Who hauled around this much stuff? No wonder he couldn’t zip it shut.
After my hands were full, I grabbed his backpack and tossed everything into it. If he wanted it organized, he could do that himself and once he was out of hallway traffic.
I stood and moved closer to my future lover, gripping the bag tightly. My brain was trying to trick me into thinking that holding his backpack was the same as holding him.
It wasn’t. Unfortunately.
I waited as he stacked some textbooks, and what might be some fiction, into his arms and rose to his feet, his face flushed from either embarrassment or the exertion.
I held the backpack out to him. “Here.”
After glancing around to see if he missed anything, his face lifted. And when he reached for his bag, I couldn’t release my hold. Once he got a more solid grip on it, our fingers touched and a shock zipped up my arm and a tornado of heat swirled around my gut.
Our surprised gazes locked, and…
I forgot how to breathe.
His blue eyes…
Seeing them up close and personal caused lightning to zap me right in the middle of my chest.
His awkward, crooked smile caused a heaviness in my balls and I hoped like hell I didn’t pop a boner right there in the corridor.
“Thanks,” got caught in his throat. He cleared it and repeated it more clearly.
“No problem.”
“The zipper’s broken,” he explained.
“Probably because you’re hauling around half of your college career in that thing.”
“I don’t live on campus, so I…” He seemed to lose his train of thought but never once did he lose hold of my eyes. His were locked solid with mine. “I… uh…”
“Don’t want to forget anything,” I finished for him.
He nodded and that chunk of dark hair fell lower on his forehead. I curled the fingers of the hand not holding the backpack into my palm to avoid reaching out and pushing it off his eyebrow and back into place.
“You can’t leave stuff in your car?” It wasn’t like I really cared what he carried around like a pack mule, I only wanted to keep him there as long as possible.
“No car.” His voice was much deeper than one would think by looking at him since he was on the slender side.
“How do you get to campus, then?”
“My bike or I walk. I sometimes catch a ride with one of my roommates, depending on our schedules.”
A little tug had me finally releasing his backpack, even though I didn’t want to. I wanted to hold him there, like a hostage. Take him for myself and keep him until he fell desperately in love with me.
Of course, I knew that wasn’t realistic. But there was one thing I could get from him, if nothing else…
“Cool. By the way, I’m Ronan, but you can call me Roe.”
His dark eyebrows pinned together. “Ronan?”
“Yeah, it’s Irish. I look Irish, don’t I?” I cocked my head and kept my expression serious even though I purposely put him on the spot.
I watched him panic about answering my question and possibly offending me. “Uh…”
I kept my lips from twitching and giving myself away. “I’m actually only half Irish. The front half. The back half isn’t.” I waited to see if he would ask me about the rest of my ethnicity since I certainly didn’t even look half Irish. But he played it safe and didn’t, so I asked, “How about you?” I wasn’t ready for this conversation to end.
“I’m… I’m not quite sure…”
He scraped his fingers through his hair, messing it up even worse. To me, it made him appear even sexier. I’d love to see his hair like that when I rolled over in the morning and found his head on the pillow next to mine.
“I’m a mutt, I guess. A mix of European. Like German and—”
“I meant your name,” I clarified.
“Oh.” The redness in his cheeks intensified. “Tate. Harris. You can call me Tate.”
When I grinned, I watched something cross Tate’s face I was not expecting.
Interest. Cautious interest.
Hmm. Could he be gay? Or at least bi?
Could I be so lucky that my future husband actually liked men, too?
Nah, I was never that lucky.
I jutted out my hand. He stared at it for a second like I had just thrown him a curve ball. Then he adjusted his backpack over his shoulder more securely and placed his warm hand with its long fingers in mine.
And, holy shit…
I couldn’t wait to get my next class over with since I needed to head to the computer lab and start printing our wedding invitations.
I hoped Tate wouldn’t mind.
****
Ronan (Now)
In the quiet stairwell, I dropped my hands and lifted my head, taking a deep, cleansing breath to push out the memories.
Out of all of them I couldn’t shake, that had been a good one and I needed to stop before they turned to the painful, soul-crushing ones.
Rising to my feet, I pressed my lips together and set my jaw. I began the long hike up the stairs to the penthouse. And as I did so, I realized one thing…
There was no way in hell I was ready to go face to face with Tate Harris.
Not today and maybe not ever.
In the time between the last day I saw him and today, I’d been with plenty of men. But not one had ever been like him and I’d never loved any of them.
Because of that, I never had a loss as great as losing Tate.
After all these years, I thought I was over him.
Clearly, I was not.
