AFTER FIVE DAYS of traveling up and down Ireland, the welcome sounds of Rome reverberated in the air as Nathan paced the entire length of the patio attached to the apartment they’d rented for that leg of the trip. No pool. Preston wasn’t allowed to swim yet. Distant church bells clanged, causing starlings to take flight from tall steeples and clay-tiled rooftops. Wild hand gestures accompanied the passionately spoken Italian from locals at a café across the street below. And Vespas zooming by announced their presence with jaunty beep-beeps. Nothing in his years of considerable travel experience could ever come close to the vibrant Italian lifestyle.
“People here live with a lust for life that comes straight from their loins,” his father had told him when they visited as a family. His mother had protested the imagery, seeing as the twins had been only eight at the time. Sadly, the person Nathan had been speaking with on the phone for the past hour was the complete opposite.
He should have known better than to take the call from Eleanor Grant when he had woken up on their third day with a persistent pounding in his head. He sniffed in an attempt to clear his increasingly stuffy nose.
“Mrs. Grant, if I may interject—” he said, but that was all he was allowed to say.
Preston’s mother kept right on speaking. They were three weeks away from the luncheon, and the longer the call lasted the faster his carefully laid plans leading up to the event unraveled.
“I do understand that you’re allowed to change your mind—” he tried again, and was cut off before he could complete what he had wanted to say, which was that they had already paid a deposit for the venue and for a million other things like flowers, place settings, and linens.
Something inside Nathan’s chest constricted. Good God of Vuitton, he was having a heart attack at eighteen. Hopefully it would kill him. Because if not, he was going to have to fling himself off the patio. Yet he was sure Mrs. Grant would find a way to make him finish planning this event even in the afterlife.
Damn, my head hurts. He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to alleviate some of the pounding in his skull from the construction crew that had decided to demolish his brain.
“I completely understand,” he said absentmindedly.
He realized his mistake too late. He hadn’t been thinking clearly when he opened his mouth. Everything on Mrs. Grant’s side went eerily calm. She said it was good that he understood and that she would expect a new venue and proposal in her in-box by morning. Then the line went dead.
For a full minute all Nathan could do was stare at the screen of his phone. If he threw the device away, would it make a difference?
“Are you sure I can’t swim? My shoulder is fine,” Preston grumbled as he stepped out onto the patio.
Nathan ignored him, continuing to stare at the screen until it displayed his wallpaper of Adam Levine in a ribbed shirt staring all sexy-like at him.
“Nate?”
“Your mother,” he said, voice small and lost.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
Nathan finally turned his head toward Preston, who stood by the doorway as if getting ready to bolt. Tears welled in Nathan’s eyes as he uttered the words, “She canceled everything.”
“What do you mean she canceled everything?”
“All the plans.” He swallowed, throat scratchy. “The Rose Room. The orders I placed for flowers and the caterer and everything.”
“But isn’t the luncheon—”
“Exactly!” A persistent chill rattled Nathan’s insides with each breath.
“You’re looking a little pale,” Preston said, finally stepping forward.
“I think I’m dying. I need to send her a new proposal and new venue options by morning.”
Within a couple of steps, Preston reached him and attempted to touch his forehead, but Nathan batted his hand away.
“I need to work.” Nathan’s eyes scanned the area. “Where’s my tablet?” Then he sniffed, swiping his nose against his sleeve without really thinking about it other than catching the bit of moisture that had refused to stay in.
Apparently not getting that Nathan needed to work, Preston reached out again and touched his forehead. “You’re burning up!”
“I’m fine. I need to get this proposal done.”
“No.” Preston wrapped a large hand around his arm. “You’re clearly sick.”
Nathan used what little strength he had to pull away. “If I don’t send in this proposal, I might as well say good-bye to my party-planning dreams.”
“Nate, I need to get you into bed.”
“No!” He wobbled on his feet slightly. Through the fever fog the idea came to him. “Better yet, ready the plane. You’re getting your wish. We’re heading back to Dodge Cove.”
Preston narrowed those green eyes and thinned his lips. “Can you hear yourself right now?”
Yes. Actually he could, despite the ringing in his ears. Yet he still said, “It was crazy to think I could plan one of the most important events of my career from overseas. We are going home!”
“Nate, you’re running a fever.” Preston softened his expression, his tone coaxing. “You still have a lot of time. Get some rest now, and I promise once you get better, if you still want to go, we’ll be on that plane.”
“No. Leave. Now.”
“If you promise to be good, I’ll get you that chocolate truffle gelato you like from that artisanal place around the corner.”
“With a scoop of macadamia too? You know I like to mix them together.”
Preston chuckled. “Sure, a scoop of that too, but you’ll have to get better first.”
The pout came out before Nathan could stop it. “Now you’re just treating me like a spoiled child.”
“If the shoe fits…”
“Hey.” But his exclamation didn’t have the intended indignation behind it. The pain in his head he had been valiantly attempting to ignore seemed to have traveled to his lungs. Each breath seemed to burn every time he inhaled, yet his skin rippled with chills. Soon he’d be shivering, he knew from experience.
As if sensing the fight draining out of Nathan, Preston reached out. “Come on. You have to lie down before you get worse.”
“But the proposal…” Nathan staggered slightly.
Preston was right there to catch him, tucking him against his side as he said, “You can do it on the plane after a few hours of sleep.”
Nathan nodded as they shuffled their way into the cool confines of the apartment. Under normal circumstances he would be cheering on the inside at having all that muscle pressed up against him. But no. He mustn’t let himself be tempted.
“I feel pathetic,” he said when they reached his room.
“It’s just a fever.” Preston’s hold on his waist tightened. “You’ll be fine by morning, you’ll see.”
With the last of his strength, Nathan said, “I’ll need you to go to the store and grab some fever meds, possibly cold meds, lots of orange juice, maybe a humidifier if you can find one.…” He lifted a finger for each item he listed.
“Should I be writing this down?” Mischief accompanied Preston’s ready grin.
Nathan scowled. “Oh, and don’t forget soup.”
Preston said as he tucked him in, “Sick and still bossy.”
* * *
After giving Nathan a dose of fever meds and making sure he was sleeping comfortably in his room, Preston padded to the kitchen. It was connected to the massive patio, where tenants could enjoy their food while looking out onto panoramic views of the city. The way the sunlight glinted off the terra-cotta-tiled roofs was stunning. He pushed through the swing door and headed straight for the stove to check on the soup he had simmering there.
Steam rose from the pot. Scents of garlic and onions wafted toward him. The broth was a nice golden color. He picked up the wooden spoon he had left on a ceramic plate and dipped it into the bubbling brew. After a quick taste, he added another pinch of salt, the carrots he’d chopped earlier, and the chunks of chicken breast. The noodles would go in last, since he’d bought them fresh and they would cook faster than the rest of the ingredients.
It pleased him that he’d finally gotten to dust off his cooking skills. He had taken summer classes because he’d got it in his head that pizza took too long to be delivered, so he would make his own. After a few lessons, he actually found himself enjoying the process. If he couldn’t be in the pool that day, then at least he was being useful.
He replaced the lid over the pot to let everything simmer a little longer, then stepped out onto the patio and stretched out on one of the lounge chairs. Orange sunlight bathed the city.
Minutes later his phone rang. A grin tugged at his lips when he saw the caller ID.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” he asked as soon as he swiped right.
“Busy,” came Jackson’s reply. “We finally made it to Prague. You?”
“Stuck in Rome with nothing to do,” Preston answered back, tucking his other arm behind his head.
“I’m preparing for my third show in two days.”
Preston could actually hear the stress in Jackson’s tone. Was everybody around him freaking out while he was the calm one? Just did not compute. “You’re double-booking again.”
“And I love every second of it.” A muffled discussion followed wherein Jackson seemed to be giving someone instructions. Then he said, “I thought you’d be back in Dodge Cove by now. Finally gave in to the trip, huh?”
“More like I messed up.” The memory brought an uncomfortable ache in his chest, which he rubbed at.
“What’d you do this time?”
He sighed. “First, Nate knows that we talk.”
A low whistle was the reply. “I knew he would find out eventually. He’s pissed, isn’t he?”
Preston snorted. “We got into a fight.”
“That’s rough, man. I’m sorry.”
“Second, it’s a long story, but I pretended to be his boyfriend.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Let’s just say it blew up in my face.”
“Of course it did. When the thought to pretend to be his boyfriend entered your mind, didn’t you think to consider Nathan’s feelings before acting?”
“That’s actually what I was doing!” He slapped his thigh. “He’d been moping all day—”
“And you thought pretending to be his boyfriend would make him feel better?” Jackson interrupted.
“At least get him to smile. Instead he wouldn’t speak to me afterward. I don’t get it. Where did I go wrong?”
A tsk came from the other line. “I can’t answer that for you, buddy.”
“Some help you are.”
There was a pause, and then Jackson said, “But I think I have a way for you to make it up to him.”
“If it involves apologizing, I already did that.”
“No. Listen. I’ve got these Maroon 5 tickets that I can’t use. Give me the address of where you’re at and I’ll send them over.”
“Nate loves Maroon 5.”
“Why do you think I’m offering you the tix?”
Preston thought about it for a second. Would Nathan be well enough?
“Funny thing, Nathan actually got sick when we got here.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“And he’s been threatening to cut the trip short. Another long story that involves my mother, so I’ll shield you from that one.”
“Many thanks. Shame to see these tickets go to waste, though.”
“Sure, because concert tickets are obviously more of a priority than your friend’s health.”
There must have been more heat in his words than he had intended, because Jackson’s voice was serious when he said, “Hey, you know I’m just kidding, right? Of course I’m worried about Nathan. How’s he feeling?”
Preston released some of the pent-up tension that had gathered in his shoulders by rolling them. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. Nate’s sleeping it off.”
“What about the tickets? The concert is tomorrow night.”
“We’re cutting it a little close, but send them over anyway. This could just be a twenty-four-hour thing.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Preston shook his head even though he knew Jackson couldn’t see him. Nathan might change his mind about going home once he felt better. “I’ll text you our address. We’re staying at one of the complexes.”
“No prob. I’ll overnight them. Should reach you by morning.” A pause. “I’m really sorry for being insensitive earlier.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it.”
“Do you think if I called him…” Jackson trailed off.
Preston knew exactly what Jackson left unsaid. He didn’t know why Jackson had run away. The DJ still refused to talk about it, but despite his cocky demeanor, he was a good guy. Unfortunately, right now, the whole of Dodge Cove—with the exception of Preston—didn’t think so.
“We’re still family,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like a consolation. “You never know until you try. Worked with me.”
“Let’s not push our luck,” Jackson breathed out.
For minutes after the call ended, Preston thought about opening his in-box. It would be so easy. Just a couple of seconds and he’d be done.
Lips pressed together, he sandwiched the phone between his palms and leaned forward until one corner of the device pressed against his forehead. Nah. If there was a new e-mail, he would have gotten a notification. So he got up to check on the soup instead.