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  A Kind of Home

  By Lane Hayes

  A Kind of Story

  Isaac Dalton is the guitarist for Spiral, arguably the biggest rock band in the world. The band’s meteoric rise to superstardom has its perks, but fame and fortune aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Nonstop touring and performing exhaust Isaac, and when an overzealous fan makes it imperative that he travel with a clingy bodyguard, he is ready for a break from the madness. More so when his newly single first crush shows up on his doorstep. Adam is strictly off-limits. He’s a memory from a place Isaac would rather leave behind. And he’s straight.

  Fun-loving former athlete slash construction worker Adam McBride desperately needs a new beginning. And New York City is the perfect place to start over and think about how to rebuild his life. A short stint as roommates with his brother’s best friend from high school seems like a mutually beneficial arrangement. However, when friendship gives way to fierce attraction, both men find themselves in uncharted and possibly dangerous territory. Isaac has to decide if he’s willing to take the ultimate risk for a kind of love and a kind of home he never dreamed possible.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  More from Lane Hayes

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  About the Author

  By Lane Hayes

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  To Brett. This one is yours. Dream big. Make music, travel the world, and live life to the fullest. And above all, trust your voice. Home is here, but the world is yours.

  “You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.”

  —Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

  Chapter 1

  MY EYES fluttered open when the car came to a stop at a red light. It was dark outside and raining hard enough to make visibility an issue, but I figured we had to be close now. I’d been traveling for days… no, weeks. The concept of sleeping in my own bed seemed like a dream or a decadent luxury. I was afraid to get too excited on the off chance I found myself being escorted to another hotel in yet another city. I slipped my headphones off and smiled as I peered out the streaked window. The neon lights of a restaurant three doors down splattered a rainbow of color along the slick pavement in front of my Tribeca building. I was home. Finally.

  “I’ll come up with you to make sure nothing is out of the ordinary in your apartment.”

  “Don’t worry about my place, Brian. It’s fine. I’ll call you if I see anything suspicious,” I said as I reached for the door handle.

  “Sir, I take your safety seriously. It’s my job to—”

  I twisted in my seat and gave my earnest bodyguard a sharp look I hoped wasn’t ruined by the shadowy interior. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle my safety and well-being from here. I’m a big boy and this is a secure building. I’ll call you if anything looks out of place. This is where we say good-bye.” I paused to stuff my headphones into my backpack before giving him an over-the-top lascivious grin. “Unless you want to come upstairs for another reason. You strike me as the shy type, but—”

  “I’m straight, sir,” he replied in a deadpan tone.

  I narrowed my eyes as though I wasn’t convinced he was telling the truth, and then winked. “Just playin’ with you, Bri. Catch you later.”

  Brian yanked my arm. “Not so fast. There are five young women loitering near the entrance and two men with large cameras. I’m going with you.”

  I sighed heavily as the car door opened. I was unsurprised to find a doorman waiting to escort me from the curb to my building. It was hard to believe I ever thought life in the limelight would be fun. At the moment, it felt like hell. And it was killing my homecoming buzz big-time.

  I made a mad dash to the entrance but stopped briefly to wave at the young women screaming my name before I darted toward the elevators. I wished I had enough energy to soak in the familiar ambience of the small contemporary lobby with its contrasting dark-wood-planked walls and marble-slab reception desk and the two enormous drum shade chandeliers overhead. It was chic and sexy. The kind of place I’d wanted to build once upon a time.

  Most of my fans knew if I hadn’t found music and eventually landed a gig as lead guitarist in a fledgling rock-and-roll band, I’d planned on becoming an architect. I’d wanted to build dazzling skyscrapers that kissed the clouds with improbable grace. I wanted to be the next Frank Gehry, not the next Keith Richards. But life had taken an odd turn. Instead of drafting innovative engineering feats, I was dodging rabid fans after completing the international leg of Spiral’s world tour. The weird factor was hard to ignore most days. However, it barely registered now. After months abroad I was home. And all I wanted was my bed.

  The ride to the seventeenth floor didn’t take long, which was good for Brian’s sake. I should have known my studio-appointed bodyguard wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was at my heels with his hand on the door before the elevator had a chance to whisk me away. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. As he’d said, he was only doing his job. I studied his stone-faced countenance and wished I had the energy to mess with him. The guy was very ordinary. Brown hair, brown eyes. Though I suppose the same could be said for me. He had to be somewhere around my age too. But normal thirty-two-year-olds didn’t have a stick up their asses 24-7. Or did they? I probably wasn’t the best judge regarding normal behavior anymore.

  I fumbled for my key as I strode toward my corner unit.

  “Let me help you, sir.” Brian deftly snatched the key from my hand and inserted it into the lock before I could protest. He immediately froze in place and furrowed his brow. “Someone is on the premises. I was told you had a houseguest, but—”

  “A houseguest?” I felt my forehead crease in puzzlement. What the fuck was he talking about? God, I was tired. Job or not, I was done here. I leaned against the door with one hand outstretched. “Hand it over. You’ve officially crossed the line into pissing-off-Isaac territory. Give me—”

  The door unexpectedly swung open from the inside. I fell sideways into my condo and almost landed on my ass before I righted myself.

  “Welcome home, Ize! Long time, no see.”

  I was immediately enveloped in a bearlike hug by a mountain of a man. I made a mewling noise of protest and pushed at his chest. When he finally released me, I punched my assailant in the stomach and then moved past him into my spacious great room.

  “Sir, your name?” Brian asked in a threatening tone. He was poised to attack, seemingly unconcerned the other guy had him by at least four inches and twenty-five pounds.

  “Adam McBride. Nice to meet ya.”

  I listened with exasperation to their abbreviated greeting. This was not what I’d envisioned. At all. I wanted peace and quiet; a refuge from my insane life in a band. Instead I got an overzealous bodyguard and an unexpected houseguest.

  “It’s fine, Brian. You can go,” I said, casting a dirty look at my old high school buddy. “He’s cool. Sort of.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Brian….” I pointed meaningfully at the open door. When he paused to remind me he’d programmed his number into my cell, I didn’t bother to hide my eye roll. Or curb my sarcastic response. “Great. If I get horny, I’ll give you a call.”

  “I’m straight, si—”
>
  I slammed the door and locked it before pivoting to glare at Adam with my hands on my hips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nice trip, honey?” he countered with a winning grin, brushing his dark bangs away from his eyes.

  I flung my backpack across the rough-hewn hardwood floor. It skidded to a halt when it met the edge of the bright red rug anchoring the black leather sofa and barcelona chairs situated in front of an enormous flat-screen television. Adam chuckled softly as he followed me into the open kitchen.

  “Am I going nuts, or did you stay for a week and forget to move out? You’re squatting,” I snarked.

  “It’s called extended stay house-sitting, not squatting.” He flashed another smile, then gestured toward the door. “So you travel with a bodyguard now?”

  I looked out at the great room behind him and noted that my usually sparsely furnished home was sullied with crap that wasn’t mine. A battered acoustic guitar with a Smiths sticker leaned against the sofa. A pair of grungy-looking red Converse high-tops was tucked under the glass coffee table, which was littered with at least five Sports Illustrateds. Mysterious crumbs dotted the rug. High-school friend or not, I was going to hurt him.

  “No. Well, yes, but—don’t distract me.” I wasn’t in the mood to discuss fanatical fans or souped-up security. I poured myself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. “We talked in July. What happened to one week in Manhattan to clear your head? It’s September now. You said you and Deb—”

  “We got divorced.” His tone was casual. Not sad or pensive. It was the same general cadence and pitch one might use to describe the color of the sky on any random day.

  “Divorced. Past tense? I thought you just needed some time apart. Are you okay?”

  Adam slumped into a barstool. Then he sighed theatrically before draping himself over the marble island. I tousled his wavy dark hair. When he didn’t budge, I pulled it. Hard. He yelped, then sat up and gave me a withering look tinged with something resembling defeat.

  “I’m fine. It’s better this way.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. Sure, I was irritated to find I wasn’t alone. If I had my way, I would already be in bed with the covers drawn over my head, preparing for serious hibernation. But the good-looking goofball at my kitchen island wasn’t someone I could turn away easily.

  Adam McBride was an old friend. Technically he was my best friend from high school’s older brother. But I’d spent more time at Ned’s house during my teen years than at my own. Ned and I had a ton of classes together and had often paired up as lab partners because we were both serious students. If I wasn’t studying with Ned, I was taking guitar lessons with his eldest brother, Ian, and hoping for a glimpse of Adam. Yep. He was my first crush. Who could blame me? The guy literally looked like Superman.

  Adam was six foot four, muscular, and fit with dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, a square jaw, and chiseled cheekbones. He was gregarious, charming, handsome, and had been a star athlete on the football team. But he was straight, and until five minutes ago, I assumed he was a married man who had a few issues to work through.

  Though truthfully I hadn’t thought twice about Adam or his marriage problems after I’d agreed he could stay at my place while I was out of the country. I’d confirmed his name with the building staff and made up something about him house-sitting. Out of sight, out of mind. I’d outgrown my teenage crush years ago. And I’d been too busy this summer to think about much beyond Spiral’s outlandish schedule.

  No one had warned us about the endless travel involved in promoting a successful rock-and-roll band. Our lives were consumed by concerts, radio appearances, and television gigs. We’d just wrapped up the European leg of our world tour and were scheduled to continue with a few East Coast dates in a couple of weeks. I’d had no time to think about life outside of Spiral.

  Until it showed up on my doorstep and didn’t leave.

  I pursed my lips and took a quick glance at my watch. Ten o’clock. According to my body, however, it was three in the morning. Whether or not Adam belonged here, he looked mighty at home, and he certainly wasn’t going anywhere tonight. I grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from my wine refrigerator and two wineglasses.

  “What happened?” I prodded in a gentler tone.

  Adam shrugged and kept his gaze on my hands, as though he was mesmerized by my superior wine-opening skills. He cleared his throat noisily before answering.

  “It just… fell apart. We didn’t love each other.”

  “Ever?”

  “Is that fancy wine?” he asked, cocking his head curiously.

  I gave him a blank stare, then handed him a glass and gestured toward the adjacent living room area. God, it felt good to be home. I sank into the leather sofa just as Adam flopped gracelessly at the opposite end. Well, mostly good. I took a quick sip before setting my glass on the coffee table.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you feel like talk—”

  “Honestly there’s nothing to talk about. We didn’t get along,” he said in a rushed voice.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t be.”

  Adam gave me a weak smile before taking a small sip and setting his wineglass on a coaster. He pushed one toward me and motioned for me to use it. I narrowed my eyes but gamely obeyed. I wasn’t at my sharpest tonight or I might have called him out on the anomaly of using a coaster when he’d obviously overlooked the crumbs near his feet. I remembered enough about this guy to know it was important to stay on my toes. Selective hearing was as much a part of his charm as his broad shoulders and negligible body fat.

  “But—”

  “Hey, it happens. The thrill of being married wore off, and after a while the sex wasn’t great either. We were more like roommates who kept loose tabs on each other in case our families asked. Like an extension of high school. The truth is we’d lived separate lives for the last two years or more. It probably would have gone on indefinitely, but… Deb met someone. She filed for divorce in February. It was finalized in July.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s over.”

  “O-kay, but—why New York? What happened to your job?”

  “I worked for her dad’s construction company, remember? It got… complicated.”

  Adam twisted to face me, laying his knee on the sofa between us. He was a big enough guy that the shift felt invasive. Like he’d scooted into my space and was leaning over me, staring directly in my eyes. I shook the feeling and reached for my glass again.

  “Oh,” I said lamely.

  Adam and Deb had been a grade ahead of me in school. I didn’t know her well, but I wasn’t a fan. Sure, my feelings were probably rooted in jealousy. It was a case of unrequited love. Or at least major infatuation. It had been excruciating to discover I wasn’t wired the way other boys my age were. I didn’t lust after girls in short skirts and low-cut blouses. Every time I tried to show interest in Deb’s ample chest, I got sidetracked by her boyfriend’s ass in those tight football pants. I’d decided long ago God had a sick sense of humor. It was bad enough being the token half–African American kid adopted by a couple of lily-white overachievers—why not make him gay too? Of course no one knew. I faked being straight pretty well, and eventually I faked being bi too. I knew the truth, but it wasn’t something anyone in our small town wanted to talk about.

  My best bet was to keep my head down and stay as inconspicuous as possible. I watched from the sidelines, pretending not to notice the way Deb went after Adam. She was relentless. Everyone knew it was a popularity ploy. The most beautiful people in high school were supposed to date. It was practically compulsory. And no one could deny they made a beautiful couple. Adam was hot and Deb looked like a damn Barbie doll. They might have both won the genetics lottery, but something didn’t fit. Adam was down-to-earth and real, while Deb was… not. She was a daddy’s girl used to getting her own way. I was surprised they’d lasted as long as they had.

  He nodded and gave me a fev
erish look like he wanted to communicate something and hoped I’d get it via eye contact. When he caught on that telepathy wasn’t going to work, he let out a deep breath and made a funny face instead.

  “Deb didn’t tell her family the divorce was a mutual decision or that it was years in the making. She let them think I dumped her. And when she started moping to her mom and her sister about men being assholes, they all assumed her angst was directed at me. She didn’t want them to know she was already with someone new, so she let them think what they wanted. That guy cut ties when she started talking about how many karats she wanted in her next diamond ring.”

  “I never liked her,” I grumbled.

  “Sometimes I wish I could say the same.”

  His voice took on a wistful quality I’d never associated with him. Adam wasn’t prone to touchy-feely reflective musings. He wasn’t cold by any means. It was more a matter of being slightly oblivious.

  “You were married for four years. That’s a long time—”

  “Have you talked to Ned?”

  I frowned at the non sequitur. “No. I’ve been in Europe all summer. Why?”

  “Just curious.” He paused to let out a heavy sigh. “I had a feeling things might go south at work once the divorce was finalized, and they did. Her brother threw a punch and I didn’t hesitate to let him have it right back. Next thing I knew I had a black eye, a bloody hand, and no job.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it did. But it was also a kick in the ass to move on, ya know?” Adam cocked his head and furrowed his brow slightly. “There I was, sitting in my truck, driving with my left hand ’cause my right one was a bloody mess, and suddenly this Spiral song comes on the radio. The one about taking a chance and making a new start. And… it felt like a sign.”

  “A sign?”

  “Sure. A sign that if Isaac Dalton could take the music biz by storm with a kickass band whose songs get played to death on every radio station across the country, there had to be something out there for me too.”